It's been arround for a while now (days...?) but 'still in time to check it out.
Ele é implacável.
Ele é incansável.
Ele é persistente.
Ele é infalível.
Ele não me deixa dormir tarde aos fins-de-semana.
O que é o Bin Laden?
A escassos dias antes das eleições americanas, aparece ele a dizer mal do actual presidente. Estará ele a fazer campanha pelo candidato concorrente?
Claro que não! Segundo ele, independentemente de quem ganhar as eleições, o que está em causa é a politica externa dos EU... Estes estão agora em cheque.
Vejamos: se reagirem de uma forma, elegendo Kerry, então estão a dizer que se retraem perante o terrorismo, personificado em Bin Laden. Se mantiverem o actual presidente (não quero mencionar o nome dele pois acho um insulto aos arbustos...) aumentam as possibilidades de retaliações do mesmo.
Neste momento, deve ser complicado ser americano. Isto claro se se tiver algum tipo de consciencia e se queira pensar de facto em quem votar.
Conclusão: está tudo tramado. As coisas só podem piorar. E a culpa disto tudo é do Bin Laden. Coitadinho.
As cores também são uma forma de expressão...
.
O Semente começa a perceber que ao utilizar a mente pode ultrapassar certas dificuldades.
Após a sua visita á pediatra, as dores que tem no pénis são imensas, e cada vez que tem que urinar dobra-se agarrando o dito cujinho. Então, para evitar que o pai ou mãe lhe toque no lugar, nem que seja para pôr um creme, diz que: " O João não tem doi-doi."
E vai afirmando isto de vez em quando para nos garantir que não quer que lhe toquemos.
Tonight a post about religion.
The concept of religion, from my point of view, is that it should be a vessel for giving people guidance and hope. Albeit a false hope, but hope none-the-less. It should be guidance for unchecked anger and distrust - something like group therapy (ooohh, there's Orwell again...). Or not, perhaps something intimate and individual.
But when we see the church mingle in political affairs (or is it vice versa?), then we know that that guidance can be..., used, to influence decisions that should be made with a clear conscience based on social and political values, however unformed those values might be.
And so, what little credibility or rather, reason for existing, the church might have had, really vanishes.
Nice legs, but are they good enough to loose your job about?
Blogger grounded by her airline
This internet thingy really brings up some interesting questions. Where before we thought we had the right to free speech, but never really put it to trial, we can now with this blogging tool, conclude that: "You have to remember that as an employee, you don't have total free speech anymore,"
Humm... how obvious then that our "freedom" is nothing but apparent.
Today we start reading "Homage to Catalonia".
Hoje foste á consulta dos dois anos com a médica que te operou ás hérnias quando tinhas 2 meses.
Puxou-te a pele do pénis de uma forma que parecia estar a descascar uma fruta. Claro que na altura estava anestesiado mas assim que o efeito passou surgiu-te uma dor que te fez gritar.
Ali filho, todos nós nos dobramos quando a dor aperta.
Na viagem de regresso ontem, tive o prazer de me sentar ao lado de uma senhora muito querida, a Dra. Laura Silveira Ramos, uma cirurgiã de 79 anos que regressava de Los Angeles.
O tema da nossa conversa rondou sempre as eleições americanas mas focou em especial um tema que me parece bastante importante: a pesquisa nas chamadas "Stem Cells".
O actual president é contra a pesquisa nesta área.
De volta, e já não era sem tempo.
Hoje montamos a tua tenda no quarto.
É bom estar em casa.
You cannot go to a place like Ghana and not come back a diferent person.
Thank you:
Seth, who was my "guide" and showed me a little of the reality
Ben, for the history and personal opinion on the state of the nation
My east german friend, Thomas - who also saw Goodbye Lenin and was surprised that I'd seen it too!
Franz - 'wish you well in your early retirement. I also hope you find out a little more so that you can say whether your government is left or right wing (we eventually concluded that it's liberal with a central coalition)
all the ghanians that shared with me a little of themselves, a little of Ghana itself.
In Belgium, there is a company that allows for early retirement. This means that when you reach 50 you can be politely asked to terminate your work contract, receive a sum of money based on your salary at the time and be on your way - to unemployment.
What a nice way to fire someone! Someone who most likely has given most of his life to that same corporation!! It makes me sick.
"But it was either this or mass lay offs. Fortunately, the unions are strong enough to wrestle the government and these corporations in the interest of the workers."
Yes. How strong these unions are. Always compromising, of two bad solutions obviously choose the least bad.
The problem lies at a much lower layer...
With the advent of air travel for the masses, the world became suddenly much smaller. Driven by the ever increasing captilist venture, businesses everywhere, globally, were starting to expand. Expanding their contacts and markets at a rate never before possible. Millions of people started travelling and using the airplane as the choice transport for it's quickness. The market economy.
The simple logic is that the wider the audience, the larger the universe, the greater probability of sale, the greater probability of profit. But the aim of this post isn't to criticise globalization. It's about the unseen war which inevitabily arose due to the ever growing capitalist need for increased margins in the rates for plane tickets. Carrying on with "simple logic", the idea is once again, at first analysis, a simple one: the more people you fit in a plane per plane trip, the more margin you obtain.
And this also leads to the creation of the segregation, apartheid, of the classes: we can have economy class - what a wonderful name! The average middle class (sic!) person can even think that he is saving!! He could go for a little more space, but then that wouldn't be economical... Most likely hardly anyone that travels in economy class could aford to travel any other way. And business class - what a wonderful name! Those that travel here are doing business! They are going somewhere to generate profit (directly or indirectly) so they must be pampered. They can afford to pay more for a better traveling experience, lets face it, what "business" person would like to reach his/her destination tired from the trip? They wouldn't be able to generate as much profit, surely!
So what (?) if the "economy" passenger has to have less space? What of it? He only has to tolerate it for a few hours, after which he forgets the effort made, since he has arrived at his destination safe and sound.
And so the elbow war is born. On most (if not all) planes, the cheaper seats have a single armrest between them. think about it: two people, one armrest! Actually, it sounds like a good title for a an action packed movie. But this is quite serious. Who gets to use the armrest? An invisible battle arrises, with each side trying to conquer his half of the already too thin, single, armerest.
The imposing type will anex the armrest at first chance. The democratic type will go into some kind of time sharing mechanism. Those that couldn't care less are happy to either accept what is left, or will go into a kind of fraternal rubbing of body members (which in some circumstances may actually be an advantage, but I won't diverge here...). And the ultimate experience is, of course, if you have a middle seat! Both armrests have to be "shared".
Imagine sitting squashed bewteen two elephants for hours on end.
What I'm getting at, is that, at best, the elbow war is a temporary nuisance. You get on the plane tolerate your neighbour a few hours and then you forget about it. That's all very well if travel sporadically. But if you have to "put up" with this very often, a hidden anger starts to rear its head. All in the name of higher margins.
Adeus Accra. Adeus Ghana.
Pelo menos até á próxima.
I smell the rain down in Africa. And it brings tears to my eyes. Reminisce of a time and place long left behind...
Com mais ou menos interesse, as eleições americanas vão sem duvida afectar a estabilidade e progresso mundial.
Com mais ou menos interesse porque é de facto um caso de venha o diabo e escolha. Se a alternativa ao actual dirigente fosse algo que trouxesse esperança ao mundo, esperança no sentido de haver uma real preocupação com o proletariado, então aí sim estariamos perante um processo que poderia trazer algum resultado concreto para alterar esta triste existencia global.
Mas não. A alternativa está apenas preocupada com mais do mesmo.
"Nós queremos baixar os impostos para a classe média...", dizia ontem á noite uma assessora do concorrente presidencial no BBC Hardtalk.
O que é isso de "class média"???
Não se ouve falar da "classe baixa". Numa hierarquia de classes é supposto haver não só classe média e classe alta, mas tambem classe baixa. Ou será que são tão poucos os da classe baixa que não merecem menção?
Quais são os critérios para se pertencer a determinada classe?
Indepentemente da resposta, mete nojo!
Por isso, venha o diabo e escolha: com o actual, as coisas só podem piorar, e piorando talvez mais depressa se chegue a revolução. Com o outro, as coisas podem amainar, durante uns tempos o preço do petróleo desce, a economia recupera, bla, bla, bla... mas não deixa de ser um abrandamento na inevitável implosão capitalista.
Once again those funny coincidences. As I was walking to the restaurant last night at the hotel, a waiter that on a second ocasion seemed so polite (went so far as to shake my hand when I went for the one meal), met me and imediately set off to ask how I was doing, when I was leaving Ghana, etc. - he had been walking away from the restaurant and when he saw me, walked back with me to the restaurant and indeed sat me down at a table and proceeded to take my order.
During the meal he politely enquired if the the food was ok. When I asked for the bill, the total came to 80,000 cedis. I had only five 20,000 cedis notes, so I asked to get 15,000 cedis back from the 100,000 offered.
So it checked out. Last night at dinner, instead of 10,000 cedis, I gave only 5,000 cedis. The waiters' attitude imediately changed. As I exited the restaurant, he did not even look at me, let alone bid me a good evening as he most certainly would have done if I'd given him twice the tip. And I'm certain he saw me leave; I passed not a meter from him when leaving.
I'm pretty sure he now resents me. But I had to try it out.
Tonight I went for a ride arround Accra with Seth and his girlfriend Esther. She makes 500,000 cedis a month working in a bookshop that sells christian books. That's about 50 euros.
Anyway, the point of this post is about tips.
Last night I had become confused about what Seth told me regarding tips, so I asked him to clear it up.
"Well, if you give too much tip, you are inciting the person to mislead you at the first chance he gets. If he realises that you don't know how much money is worth here, he will try to get as much as possible from you."
-"How? How will he mislead me?"
"Well, think that if you need to buy something; the person selling will take advantage as soon as he discovers that you don't know the worth of the money you are paying. And so he will charge two, three times the normal price. The same thing happens with the tips. The waiter won't be serving you out of courtesy, but because you give a big tip."
So it becomes clear. People are in fact seperated more acording to class, than by race or nationality. The whole question lies in the value system. If you give too much tip, you are inciting greed.
How much is your labour worth?
It's really scary when by some bizar coincidence you realize that things that were prophesized, or at least thought of, in a book like 1984 are actually happening today. I begin to think that they have always happened.
Having seen a couple of hours ago, a documentary on BBC about an american abstentionist program called "The Silver Ring Thing" makes me think that George Orwell was either a visionary or that he simply laid down in words ideas that were (are) really scary.
This documentary states that the american government subsidizes multiple of these "projects" with millions of federal dolars.
The argument presented by these programs is that to avoid/prevent sexually transmitted deseases and unwanted pregnancies, people (teenagers) should not have sex before marriage. In reallity, they go so far as to provide a ring, a silver ring, which followers will wear as a reminder of their "purity" and to keep their celibate state until the first night of their honeymoon. After which they remove the ring.
Don't they see?
It's big brother working:
Gather the minds of the children. The children will grow up to be adults. Adults with values. Adults that will fight for the american way of life, for the american dream, the happy family, Thanks Giving dinners, the house in the suburbs.
I think that its frightningly scary that young minds are coerced into these behavioural guidelines. Brainwashed.
This particular program works together with the church. So while pulling the arguments from the bible they are implying their legitamacy.
This is wrong. Young people should be presented with their options. Should be informed about the risks of not using protection. Should be made aware of the responsibility of bringing a child into the world. That abortion might not be the way to "correct" something which nature intended to happen.
But above all, they must be given the freedom to make their own decision. With an unbiased state of mind. Uncoerced by any "program".
Sitting here in the hotel room, looking out the window at an impoverished area in Accra is most certainly a reality check. The discussion last night at dinner was about the huge difference that exists between the upper classes and the proletariat in Ghana.
For a while now, I've had the personal notion that concepts like freedom and privacy are utopic. The idea is getting through very clear: democracy is really a cover-up. The apparent freedom that countries all over the world are experiencing is just that: apparent.
The average worker here earns between 20 and 30 euros. A month.
I find myself with the internal conflict: how much do I tip? Think about it. If I tip a waiter 2 euros for serving me a meal, that's one tenth of an average salary!
Seth told me last night during dinner: "Don't tip 10,000 cedis (about 2euros). The normal tip here is about 5,000 or 6,000 cedis. If you give more than that they will start to get used to it. They will also understand that you don't know about the currency and conditions here so they might even trick you."
Seth is ghanian. Obviously not a lower class ghanian.
Aqui no Ghana reina o cheiro. O cheiro intenso de África. O cheiro intenso das pessoas. O cheiro intenso da terra, do chão, da humidade, do calor.
Existe muita pobreza. Ou antes, muita riqueza mal distribuida.
"You know, the problem here in Ghana is that the people need someone to constantly tell them what to do. They need someone to check that what they are doing is correct."
- "But isn't that a question of responsibility? Individual responsibility? I mean, look at what happened to many countries in europe after the war! The people got together and rebuilt the countries, the infrastructures..."
"Yes, but here war is always going on. We have no stability. So people never get to feel that they should unite and rebuild the country. They just carry on with their lives.
Also there is a lot of corruption. Everyone is trying to get rich quickly at the cost of others - look! See this highway that is being built here? The contractor should lay down 20 cm of asfalt. But he will only put 5 cm and keep the money he saves for himself..."
-"But I don't think that is a "Ghana" problem. That is a global problem."
"Maybe. But it is more serious here. People are also only worried about getting big luxury cars so that they can show off. They ride arround in these big fancy cars and the roads are full of holes, unpaved..."
Calor. Humidade. Confusao. Comida estranha. Calor. Humidade.
Africa.
O mundo esta' de facto a ficar muito pequeno.
Sentado aqui num ciberquiosque num dos principais aeroportos europeus, e' evidente a presenssa de gentes de todo o lado. Isto ja' nem e' nada de novo.
Para onde sera' que esta gente vai toda? Mais nao parecem que formigas. Formigas que carregam as folhas e migalhas do imperialismo ocidental. Todas livres.
Todas livres?
Quando hoje de madrugada sai', estavas num sono profundo.
Agora, num aeroporto, ja' tenho saudades.
Este post e' uma critica 'as horas perdidas em viagens. Ao tempo perdido em aeroportos.
Lá vou eu novamente para um lugar distante. Durante mais de uma semana não vamos estar juntos. Não vou poder adormecer-te. Não vou poder brincar contigo. Não vou poder ensinar-te palavras novas em inglês.
Não me vais ensinar a ser um pai melhor, um homem melhor. Não me vais fazer rir, sorrir, desarmar-me completamente com esse teu sorriso infalível.
Todo o tempo longe é tempo a mais.
Um repetir do post de 12 de Novembro de 2003. Hoje é mesmo necessário repetí-lo.
Sem titulo
She
May be the face I can't forget.
A trace of pleasure or regret
May be my treasure or the price I have to pay.
She may be the song that summer sings.
May be the chill that autumn brings.
May be a hundred different things
Within the measure of a day.
She
May be the beauty or the beast.
May be the famine or the feast.
May turn each day into a heaven or a hell.
She may be the mirror of my dreams.
A smile reflected in a stream
She may not be what she may seem
Inside her shell
She who always seems so happy in a crowd.
Whose eyes can be so private and so proud
No one's allowed to see them when they cry.
She may be the love that cannot hope to last
May come to me from shadows of the past.
That I'll remember till the day I die
She
May be the reason I survive
The why and wherefore I'm alive
The one I'll care for through the rough and ready years
Me I'll take her laughter and her tears
And make them all my souvenirs
For where she goes I've got to be
The meaning of my life is
She, she, she
Elvis Costelo
She knows who she is.
Uma tenda, um caixote de livros, muita roupa, um termo para levares para a escola, uma flauta... e ainda não é meio-dia!
Hoje fazes dois anos.
Ainda me lembro dos primeiros tempos em que vinha para o computador jogar de madrugada pois estavas com cólicas e a tua mãe tinha que descansar. Então lá te deitava de barriga para baixo sobre as minhas pernas para te aliviar as dores.
Agora estás em pé. Em cima da secretária - "Pai! Pai! O João está tão alto!!"
Enfim, e vão dois.
Muitos beijinhos e abraços deste teu pai. Parabéns.
Como será o mundo em que cresces? Como o vês? E o futuro? O que te reserva? Será que as consequências daquilo que eu e todos andamos a fazer agora te reservam um futuro risonho?
Será que vais poder andar por onde te apeteça, conhecer gentes e costumes que te enriquecerão?
Como verás tu a riqueza? Se não te faltar nada, pelo que irás lutar?
So keep the masses uneducated. Let them toil on with their petty problems of survival. While they are busy doing that, they won't be concerning themselves with the state of affairs.
Give them a false sence of freedom. Let them think that they are able to choose what, when, how to do what they want to do. In the end they are still only labouring for the upper levels of the social pyramid. All for the sake of freedom.
Ignorance is bliss... but of course! We don't have to worry about all the problems that the bosses, the politicians, the important CEO's, the VIP's worry about. We can get home from our 9 to 6 job and sleep with a clear conscience that another day has gone by productively. That we have contributed to society. That we have earned our bread, our freedom.
Oh how ignorance is power. Power to those who think they are above the masses because they are special. They are the ellite put upon this world to lead the dumb. And from the dumb they must get their dues.
I say it should stop.
Today I met a typical lady.
She was in her late 20's early 30's. A little overweight, with a single crutch (probably a fractured or broken leg), hair unkept, no makeup - a real person. So real that she said to me (as I handed a prescription over the counter to her, just a bit after lunch time): "You know what I feel like doing now? Going home and having a nap!"
After which she unfolded her life story (all within about a minute). Aparently this typical lady was running two jobs and studying at night. So obviously she would like to go home for a nap...
As if I had any right, I asked her: "So when do you spend time with your boyfriend?"
- "well, we sometimes watch a movie at home together, and he'll stay over once in a while... it's tough you know, but that's life..."
Something is wrong.
Letra e música: Sérgio Godinho
Intérprete: Sérgio Godinho
In: "Canto da boca", 1981;
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Espalhem a notícia
do mistério da delícia
desse ventre
espalhem a notícia do que é quente
e se parece
com o que é firme e com o que é vago
esse ventre que eu afago
que eu bebia de um só trago
se pudesse
Divulguem o encanto
o ventre de que canto
que hoje toco
a pele onde à tardinha desemboco
tão cansado
esse ventre vagabundo
que foi rente e foi fecundo
que eu bebia até ao fundo
saciado
Eu fui ao fim do mundo
eu vou ao fundo de mim
vou ao fundo do mar
vou ao fundo do mar
no corpo de uma mulher
vou ao fundo do mar
no corpo de uma mulher bonita
A terra tremeu ontem
não mais do que anteontem
pressenti-o
o ventre de que falo como um rio
transbordou
e o tremor que anunciava
era fogo e era lava
era a terra que abalava
no que sou
Depois de entre os escombros
ergueram-se dois ombros
num murmúrio
e o sol, como é costume, foi um augúrio
de bonança
sãos e salvos, felizmente
e como o riso vem ao ventre
assim veio de repente
uma criança
Eu fui ao fim do mundo
eu vou ao fundo de mim
vou ao fundo do mar
vou ao fundo do mar
no corpo de uma mulher
vou ao fundo do mar
no corpo de uma mulher
Falei-vos desse ventre
quem quiser que acrescente
da sua lavra
que a bom entendedor meia palavra
basta, é só
adivinhar o que há mais
os segredos dos locais
que no fundo são iguais
em todos nós
Eu fui ao fim do mundo
eu vou ao fundo do mim
vou ao fundo do mar
vou ao fundo do mar
no corpo de uma mulher
vou ao fundo do mar
no corpo de uma mulher
Obrigado Sérgio, obrigado ns.
Hello.
Just as Winston Smith started a diary to maintain his sanity, so this is a feeble attempt at the same.
Of late I've found that my human condition has defined itself a little more. Like catch phrases which float arround, that you never really focus on and then suddenly the realization that those phrases somehow awakened processes that bring reality a little closer to home.
We are all influenced by outside variables, be they the weather, living conditions or just other people. These variables are constantly forcing us to define ourselves. So lets see where you stand:
Ok then.
Oh, where was I? Regents Park Primary School, Regents Park, Johannesburg, Rebuplic of South Africa. Standard 4, 2nd last year of primary school.