Month: September 2003





  • Field Trip to  TGI Friday´s


    This is the second time we take our students out to TGI Friday´s. It is a great oportunity they have to practice their English outside the school, and have fun at the same time.


       


    Some of our students…



    See the picture below? See the third guy from right to left? Taht´smy adorable student Eduardo who also has a blog here at Xanga! And….see the lady in red? That me….



    More people….the 2 ladies on the right are my director and cordinator.



    The staff( read..teachers!  )



    More snaps to be developed and posted later. Needless to say that the evening was great, and we all had fun!


    Have a great week, you all!




  • I should just step away from the computer. Only I find I can’t. Because, you see, my fingers aren’t done yet. But it’s just nonsense that tumbles and cartwheels into syllables. Linguistic rhythmic gymnastics. Sounds balancing on the palms of my hands, morphemes twirling around my arms, words jumping over-under-around-through ribbons of meaning. This floor routine of semantic handsprings and backflips, performed on a keyboard, my fingers carrying all the agility and flexibility that I wish my spine, my legs, my hips could have. Though even if they could, I think I would always find this mental push, this stretch beyond the limits of reality more satisfying than anything my physical self could accomplish.





  •  Sounds


    Growing up as a member of a rather large city, surrounded by the constant sounds of living, I’ve grown quite fond of silence. It is my belief that sometimes in order to hear the nuances and subtleties of sound, one has to diminish the over abundance of acoustic information constantly flooding our ears. Everyday I feel the need to quiet my world in order to truly listen.

    Now I will do nothing but listen
    I will be no more than an observer
    With my eyes closed
    I will experience the ordering of tones
    Sounds in combination
    Temporal relationships producing
    Unity and continuity
    A composition
    My beloved musica


     


    In one of the more contemporary definitions, John Cage has declared: “Music is sounds, sounds around us whether we’re in or out of the concert halls.” He said this in reference to Thoreau’s Walden, where the author experiences in the sounds and sights of nature an inexhaustible entertainment.


    Today all sounds belong to a continuous field of possibilities lying within the dominion of music. Little by little all the conventional definitions of music have been exploded by the activities of musicians: anyone and anything that sounds. It is difficult for all to agree on what music is or ought to be.


    Lovemaking
    Spring
    Oceans
    Thunder
    Whispering
    Landslides
    Breathing
    You


    What is the determining factor in defining what is good music? What makes you listen again? Is it a revolutionary style? Breaking the restrictions of chords, ordinary harmony, bar lines, and tempered scales. Or perhaps an innovative use of harmonic inversions and dissonance. Maybe your mind doesn’t think theory. Do you focus on the performance? An extraordinary technique – singing, humming, moaning. The intricate sounds of soft harmonies and melodic improvising. A pure tone that simply takes over your body like nothing else.


    Whatever it is, we all have our favorite sounds stored deep inside of us. Never to be forgotten. Even as I type these words I can hear them…in silence. Can you?





  • .Words are a tool like any other. We use words to put across the feelings that come in and out of our hectic minds and hearts. What happens when you can no longer put into words how it is that you feel? What happens when the english language fails to sum up everything that you want to sum up. What happens when the tears can’t morph themselves into words, words that will explain why it is that you waste so much energy hating yourself. I spin the globe with the tap of my finger and play that game. That game where you put your finger down on a random place and stop the spinning globe and imagine what it would be like to be there. But in a game without a winner, I have managed to become the loser. Because every place is the same. For no matter where I go my footsteps will find a way to follow me. I will follow me. Is there a way I can put myself on a seperate plane from where I’m going? Everyone should have a pair of wings. Wings that will fly ever so high and far away from all worry and pain. Everyone should have wings. I want wings.

  •  





    Another trip



    Embu is a charming historic city with a mountainous climate and colonial architecture situated 25 km from São Paulo. Currently, this is a center of a concentration of artists and artisans who use every weekend ateliers, galleries and open air fairs in the city to show their work. This is an excursion fit for some one who wishes to know a little bit about Brazilian art and take the time to buy some souvenirs. Full-day walk and lunch is recommended



    A legend tells that the Priest Belchior de Pontes walked up from Itanhaém to the plateau to find a place to found a Jesuit School. On his way, he got lost in the forest. An indian helped him and took him, uncouncious, to a hut. The indian left him to bring water and didn’t come back. Afterwards they found him dead surrounded by a big snake, called M’Boy in the Guarani language. The Priest Belchior buried the indian according to the customs and raised the Chapel Nossa Senhora do Rosário and later on the church, in that very place. The first name of the village was given after the snake: M’Boy, that turned to Embu afterwards. At the end of the 60s, Embu was the picture of the slogan „Piece and love“ from the hippie movement. Invited by the local artists, hippies craftmen started coming to the city on weekends, making ehibitions of their work on the main streets, beside the land crafts. That’s how the Arts and Craft Fair, which takes place there every weekend began, since 1969. The huge success of this fair, which attracts inside and outside visitors, thrives a permanent trade of crafts, antiques, country styled furniture shops and art galleries, which have become the trade mark of the city. In this whole day tour we will visit the main sights of the city, like the lanes and colonial houses, as well as the crafts fair.


                     


    **PS** A student of mine has just created his weblog after I told him about mine. His aim it so practice as much English as he can, and also meet people to share his ideas with Please, pay him a visit, so that he starts blogging… Thanks you all!

  • Block


    There are so many things happening, and I have got so much to say… But the words dont come easy. Maybe mind can´t put thoughts together. Writer´s block? Dunno…. Let me get some rest….






  • pucker up


                                               


    Let us caress one another with the lips – gently coming into contact with the souls we’ve learned to love. Sometimes you say you have nothing to say yet I always long to know. I’m curiously searching after your words.


     Have you ever fallen in love with the voice singing your favorite song? Do you ever fall in love with the words you read on a page/screen? Sometimes it isn’t love but rather a compelling passion we feel – compassion. We feel a sympathetic consciousness of others’ distress together with a desire to alleviate it.


     Some people would seem to have a gravity force field around them. We find ourselves being pulled in their direction and there is no way to get them out of our minds. Know anyone like that? Wonder what makes them so desirable? It is their passion. It acts as an external agent or force. An overmastering feeling which rules their lives making them oh so attractive.


     ”The only thing worth writing comes from deep inside, sometimes I get so deep I feel I can see my self walking on the ocean floor watching the sun set”. -Jimi Hendrix


     ”A bird doesn’t sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song.” -Maya Angelou


    “I paint my own reality. The only thing I know is that I paint because I need to, and I paint whatever passes through my head without any other consideration.” -Frida


     When a person reveals their passion in whatever form, whether it’d be art, words, music, or whatever else, one can’t help but to be moved. One can’t help but to want for more. I know I’ve asked before but I can’t help it. I want more therefore I must ask: What drives you? What is your ruling passion? What remains in you outside of reason? You see, for me, it’s people. The dreams of my students fuel my own. Their success makes my heart smile. And when they are afraid, I want to lead the way regardless of my own insecurities. The way that I easily make someone smile makes  me feel bleesed. The way I manage to learn from people, and so many other things I´m unable to number here… No wonder God spent some good time on us. How amazing is that? Because of them, I’m able to overcome my own fears and achieve even the most unexpected dreams.


     When is the last time you fell in love? I hope it was today.


     PS So, how about a kiss while I’m still here? Make it good because I’m still celebrating my birthday.* *

  • CAROUSEL FLESH

    Tell me where the difference is,
    Tell me where the circle ends,
    Tell me when the carousel won’t make me sick
    With its nickel nightmare nightly crushing the paper stars
    Hung with poisoned care, growing weak
    Upon the crowded thoroughfares,
    While the angels flare and die
    Like incandescent moths just above the heads
    Of the unconscious.
    I see them flutter
    In miniature agony,
    Streaking the chipped-paint horses
    With ash, under these flashing baubles
    And glittering gold of sad-eyed fairy tales.
    I see it fade away
    As though my afterthoughts
    Had drowned them
    In a plastic cup of pain.

    The music is not loud enough,
    To make a difference,
    Only enough to jiggle the dry bones
    Before my eyes in the wanlight
    That sparkles and spins.
    Surrounded by the glow of lament,
    How can I fail to see
    That I am alone?
    That the voices will always echo
    Off my skin, their hands touch
    A surface little warmer
    Than the empty saddles
    Of the sorrow-hung faces of hollow-sung horses;
    Oh, follow me dreamers,
    To the battered-mirror room,
    Where our faces will bounce about
    And stare at us with three thousand tired eyes,
    Veined with cluttered, rainy red gutters.

    There, we will be alone,
    With the best semblance of company,
    An illusion of someone else,
    A shattered stranger with a face as cracked
    As our inner eyes,
    Staring back with accusations as new
    As the fading bodies
    Of the carousel steeds.





  • Just another day…



     Another Septembet 7th is here. In Brazil, it is a national holiday, its Independence day is celebrated. News on parades all over the country, children singing the country´s hymn, everybody dressing in yellow and green, famous people on tv mentioning the wonders of being Brazilian. It´s an odd winter day, 83F outside. It´s a bright sunny one.. … …..


    It´s my birthday as well. For the first time in years, I´m not properly celebrating it. Day started well. Went to church in the morning, took my godaughter along with me. Heard the words of God and learned more of it at Sunday school. Had lunch at mom´s, got a few calls from closest friends, and now I´m taking a break alone. Just thinking and feeling moments. Concluding that all these do make sense to me, and this time i live is so very greater than any time has ever been. So many little things make my day better and my soul gladder.. As for the people who matter now, and also to whom I matter to. as for the way I play the violin, and for the drawings and paintings I have been making. And so, so many things I have no conditions to list here. It would not be fair to take just a day to celebrate. But do a bit of it each day. Every day… God, I´m happy. With all the troubles I have been facing, even with that, i´m glad and grateful.


    Well…day has not  ended yet… Let me catch up with some more stuff to do… And hopefully get some more calls..


    Have a great day, you all!







  • This is Ibirapuera Park, São Paulo- Brazil~photos

     


    waterfall


    i wonder if anyone else notices the fountain. that sits lonesomely beside some underpass entrance to the esplanade, along the walk from city hall to fullerton area. i hate it when they stop the flow of the water whenever i’m there. i mean what’s a fountain for when basic feature of it doesn’t even function most of the time? i wonder.


     anyway, it’s a nice place to sit around and talk. maybe even lying on the hard concrete floor, watching the clouds move gradually with the wind and the occasional trishaw guys past with techno music volume-up to the highest to attract silly tourists. the flowers that bloomed so ever sweetly seemed like some fake plastic plants lining the long walkway in bright yellow and white. time was and will never be a major factor. it’s a rare tranquility in the midst of the bustling urban district. nicely hidden yet noticable.


     a place to say a last good bye. a place to talk about dreams. a place to set the next unknown meeting time. a place to memorise the curve of his nose and the sparkle of those blue-green iris. a place to crush the remaining pack of menthol lights and swear never to touch fag ever again. a place where secret memories are concealed nicely till the next time u decide to dig up the buried recollection.


    life is such, build up ur dreams with solid logs of hopes and desires & risk them tumbling down when you reach the peak…