Sunday, May 24, 2009

really random

so i haven't written in a while....but we're going to start with a bottle of wine, two plastic bags of broccoli, tomatoes and curry, three cameras, a handful of books stuffed in a maroon canvas bag and a precarious balance on the curvy back of a moto-taxi. it's been a hard week, full of work, new projects, sawing, hammering, teaching english, photography, cops, intermingled with beaches, relaxation, and many realizations.

no pictures, but just writing, missing home, and never wanting to go back because i love not having a cell phone.....and wondering... who is there, and even where "there" actually is, and who isn't "there" any more? who will be there when i get back to wherever that is, and who will i forget when i leave? who will be friends and who will be memories? will brasil still be the same, and is the sun ever going to stay still for more than a second so i can get a glimpse of what life will be like when i am gone? i am wondering, and i miss brasil already....hoping that two brothers will always be my home because they have taught me so much...about well, everything. i thank the dirty streets, the rowdy nights, and extraneous volunteers for my knowledge. i love matthew, and i love rocinha, like i never thought i would. it's been hard, and it's not over, but it will never be what it was when i first saw machine guns, overflowing canals, hills made of houses and gleeful children running up and down as far as they can. (which is really far by the way.) and this is not some odd goodbye blog entry, it's not even for you, or for me, but maybe for my ego, for my brain that sometimes feels bloated and captured. it is for the people out there that are struggling to break the limits that bound them to what they have become. it's release.

i salute you, i hope for me, and i am always cheering for us.
love your travels please.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

rapido velocidade

three and a half minutes on the back of a moto-taxi, you can see our whole favela in fast forward. not a second to take a picture, hanging on for dear life, your white knuckled grip tighter after loving beers and a couple of shots of tequila earlier in the evening. the night sky neon blurs past, you tuck your knees in tight, trying not to shatter a knee cap as you fly by just inches from the next motorcycle, bus, mini-van, or delivery truck. music shouts and then fades quickly as you lean into the next turn, and dart up the hill. the same "S" shape a dozen or so times, feels like the ride of your life, but it's just the ride of that night, for 2 reals, or 90 cents. beer and water flow into the streets and you try not to think of the slick road. in the walls of concrete that line the streets there are little slivers of barber shops, nail salons, all-night mechanics, pharmacies, and produce stands. swerving to avoid potholes, chickens, and the half dozen other motorcycles in our ten foot radius. you look behind you, trying to keep the delicate balance, and like a shot from a pistol, a canon, or a waterslide, you're home. finding your land legs once again, you steady, and smile. wishing you could do it all again because you missed so much. shed no tears, because there is tomorrow.