Dot in the Sky (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dotinthesky) wrote2005-02-24 12:26 pm
dotinthesky) wrote2005-02-24 12:26 pm
Lord of the Southern Fruitflies
I'm wearing the same clothes as yesterday (even underwear), my hair is matted, I smell of doggie sweat and there are tons of fruit flies hovering around me and trying to slide into my t-shirt.
I'm listening to the soundtrack to 'Morvern Callar', waiting for lunch to be served, and despairing at the giant fan over my head from ever cooling me down.
I received three phone calls yesterday:
1) Henrique, from São Paulo. He wanted to know when I was going to visit him, and if I wanted to go stay at his beach house. He has a giant scar that runs from one ear to the other, from an operation to remove part of his frontal lobe. He had an aneurism a few years ago. He is still the same person.
2) Ricardo, from São Paulo as well. He wanted to know if I would visit him in Curitiba (his home.) He will be flying into London in the beginning of April and I promised to take him out dancing with Silke and her friends. Popstarz or something just as gay.
3) Meire (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
roguejournal), from just around the corner. I asked if she wanted to come over for a cup of coffee but she was just about to enter the classroom. It was 8 o'clock at night. I'll be seeing her on Friday evening. She will take the Q magazine with Depeche Mode on the cover from my hands and hold it against her palpitating heart.
This morning, I saw two gay men in the park while I took Tete for a walk. Whenever I see da gays in Londrina, I feel a mixture of happiness and sadness. I'm happy because they exist here too, like myself; I'm sad because they look so drab, so incognito, as they try to disappear into the background and not get noticed. They were sitting on a table, clearly having just met. One of them was older, bald and smoked. The other was wearing a tight t-shirt (grand giveaway) and looking timid. I couldn't stay longer to watch them because Tete was too busy trying to catch the various cats that live in the park.
Now I'm off to take a shower. I have a couple of swimming pools to call this afternoon and find out whether I can get a temporary membership.
I'm listening to the soundtrack to 'Morvern Callar', waiting for lunch to be served, and despairing at the giant fan over my head from ever cooling me down.
I received three phone calls yesterday:
1) Henrique, from São Paulo. He wanted to know when I was going to visit him, and if I wanted to go stay at his beach house. He has a giant scar that runs from one ear to the other, from an operation to remove part of his frontal lobe. He had an aneurism a few years ago. He is still the same person.
2) Ricardo, from São Paulo as well. He wanted to know if I would visit him in Curitiba (his home.) He will be flying into London in the beginning of April and I promised to take him out dancing with Silke and her friends. Popstarz or something just as gay.
3) Meire (
roguejournal), from just around the corner. I asked if she wanted to come over for a cup of coffee but she was just about to enter the classroom. It was 8 o'clock at night. I'll be seeing her on Friday evening. She will take the Q magazine with Depeche Mode on the cover from my hands and hold it against her palpitating heart.This morning, I saw two gay men in the park while I took Tete for a walk. Whenever I see da gays in Londrina, I feel a mixture of happiness and sadness. I'm happy because they exist here too, like myself; I'm sad because they look so drab, so incognito, as they try to disappear into the background and not get noticed. They were sitting on a table, clearly having just met. One of them was older, bald and smoked. The other was wearing a tight t-shirt (grand giveaway) and looking timid. I couldn't stay longer to watch them because Tete was too busy trying to catch the various cats that live in the park.
Now I'm off to take a shower. I have a couple of swimming pools to call this afternoon and find out whether I can get a temporary membership.
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However, I would unreservedly recommend everything ever written by Alan Warner. The Sopranos remains one of my favourite books of all time. I can promise that if you read any one of his books, you will find it impossible to stop yourself rushing straight out and getting hold of all of the others immediately. Maybe Morvern Callar would be an appropriate place to start?
Incidentally, Morvern also appears in another one of his novels (These Demented Lands I think); although you don't find out that the character in question is actually her until the end. Whoops, I might have spoiled it a bit there...
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