order

ocassionally you wake up from a kind of reverie and you realize that what you´re seeing is completely insane. eyes filled with sequins and fantasias. the glittering mask is pulled off and you feel you don´t know what´s real any more.

llamas, mariachis, demons, angels, prostitutes, hearts and diamonds, toys, balloons, knights and princesses, frenzied, jiggling to the beat of samba, singing the song, pressed against the fence, gathering up the energy to explode into the ring, dazzle and amaze.

fireworks crackle for ever on the sky, three thousand bodies keep moving, pushing, dancing, smiling as if for the last time. everything shimmers, pulsates, lives and dies.

the crowds go crazy, the mulattas are out, doing their thing, the alegoria got stuck under the bridge but no matter, more bodies come from everywhere, more colour, dancing, panic, more dancing, bring the bahianas, bring the bananas, bring the superheroes, bodies everywhere. the carro moves! heavens opens, glisten in the water, rivers of bodily fluids, laughing, running, more glitter, more rain.

samba, move your feet, hearbeat fast, into the night.

still

pidgeons frozen to conserve energy in the heat.

sambódromo

look up from your arquibancada and you will see: stars, confetti, balloons, fireworks and a million beautiful moths that have come to watch the show.

copacabana

on the beach there are endless rhythms to adjust to. the waves of the ocean carrying people and holiday debris in and out. the waves of beach vendors, miles-hardened muscles, peddling clothes, food, drinks, suncreams, holiday essentials in styrofoam boxes. the waves of heat that wash over you, bringing you in and out of consciousness. the waves of children with the mini-storms they bring with them. the clockwork motion of the professional sunbathers, lathering creams and ointments, turning themselves like bbq steaks, plastic cups at the ready for that all important cooling water. the hypnotic rhythm of tropical beats.

carnival order

the sets are always the same.

on the streets, the lubolos with their drumming, mama vieja and the escobero, the escolas do samba, the vedettes, the revistas with their incomprehensible fooling around, gramilleros, cabezudos, clowns.

on the tablados, the parodistas with songs for entertainment and humoristas with their witless schoolyard joking. and the murgas. going from life to death on the stage, sharp tongued, rainbow dressed, a smile and a tear painted on their face.

sitting on the floor, watching the murga on the stage, boys and girls saying hello -- everyone knows each other, i went on holiday with him, she's the niece of my teacher, we met in a disco the other night... --, children slide down the sides of the velódromo on cardboard slides, the moon is hidden behind the first clouds of the temporal that's coming, soon, i know.

under the surface

put your head under the water, open your eyes, fish for coins, blinded, surface again, breathe in, hold your breath, go under, stay the course, dazzle the punters, keep moving, don't breathe out, hold it in, lungs bursting, stay there, keep searching, don't come out, melt into the water, keep moving, nearly there, nearly changed, open your mouth, feel the water. drown into the blue light above.

siesta by the pool under the banana tree

dandelions float across my line of vision, past the pine trees, into the blue sky. a palm tree hides them between swaying leaves. in front of it, a humming bird fleets from red to red on the hibiscus tree. a swimming pool murmurs temptingly in the shade, cicadas matching the rhythm with hypnotic whistling. an owl offers an occasional word of wisdom. couple of ants explore the contours of my now dark belly. a dog barks lazily in the distance. the sun shines. i sleep.

invasion

in the water we see a suspicious shimmer. and another. and one more.

they come dressed in riské transparent outfits, edged in provocative blues or pinks or reds. dishevelled, hair floating crazily around them, trying to get hold of you.

uninvited carnival revellers, the jellyfish come in their best clothes, carried by the cold end-of-summer tides, every february, to spoil everyone's fun.

cain

salida
Originally uploaded by ladelentes.

a vodka martini makes its way through the crowd to thirsty hands. a girl watches another girl, longing. dancers take off clothes, fling their arms round each other, sweat together to the bored indifference of the strippers. a cool cat, young as a lamb, tries to impress the unimpressable with worldly chatter. eighties tunes ring along to the tinnitus which will be worse in the morning. the dj works the lights for maximum confusion. the only way is out. vodka kisses the boy to pull him off balance, kisses the girl to make her day, and rides away into the night on strange spirits and high heels.

olímpica

girl cursing her life, talking out loud, i'm fucking fed up, i've had enough, i'm done with it all, fuck it all, fed up, fed up, muttering. three harpies sitting outside their door, behind the railing, smiling to themselves, sipping their mate wisely, analysing the performance, raising invisible score-cards "3", "5", "4"...

the joy of simple things

here be a place where one can endlessly discuss the merits of one panadería over another, the exact crumbly-ness required for your galletitas, the most suitable length of your bizcochos, the type of oil that is used in the one in maldonado as compared to the one in palermo, the relative advantage of buying bread in the morning or the afternoon, the perfect route to take to buy the best pan con grasa in one shop, the most delicious ojitos in another, the choicest margaritas in a third...

still

time stands still inside me. no forward motion. no backward looking. coming back puts me to sleep. like a hibernating butterfly. changing but not changing. this landscape's always the same.

como ninguna

como ninguna
Originally uploaded by ladelentes.

gone down to the beach to meet a friend, and instead met the whole town. they were all there: the children with masks, the drummers, the vedettes, the guys selling cotton candy, the mama viejas, the bastoneros, the families slowing their cars to watch the parade, the lubolos, the fireworks, the fires on the beach to tune up the lonjas, the reinas del carnaval (centro comunal 5, viva el corso de pocitos!) waving from a prehistoric converted bus, the kids drinking beer (1 litre please) on the sidewalk, the mate, the noise, the heat, the feathers, the reds, blues, yellows, greens, flags, cars, heels, noise, lights, hips, beats, more drums, move, keep moving...

la verdad de la milanesa

ok, so i was going to write about how the lovely smell of the "lady of the night" had made me heady on the way home last night, how i woke up to see humming birds sipping on the hibiscus, and how the sun is still shining and the beach full of people having fun...

but really, what i want to write about is the three (3!) pairs of shoes i´ve just come back from buying...

*sigh*

70s glam-rock heroin addict

70s glam-rock heroin addict
Originally uploaded by ladelentes.

the result of going to a hairdresser´s on your third day back home and letting a young boy loose on your head just cos he´s cute.

there´s a lesson here for all of us.

let´s just hope i get a tan soon, which will hopefully counterbalance the lovely mullet.

(actually, i quite like it!)

heartbroken

la rambla.

palm trees swaying in the breeze, muddy waves lapping gently at the shore, the tyres from last nights cleaning trucks criss-crossing the sand, new buildings, old buildings all with balconies and views to the sea, ancient cars (how are they still running?) cruising lazily by, a couple of painters hoisting themselves up the side of a tall building with an ancient manual pulley mechanism (no automatic lifts here, no sir), everybody dressed in no clothes at all.

women running with their dogs, young children with bicycles, a gaggle of teenagers burning the bizcochos away with a brisk jog, brazilians playing beach football, tanned guys showing off their stuff, old couples drinking mate on a bench, a sprightly aerobics teacher encouraging a random group to jump to the beat on the beach.

an endless stream of topless middle-aged guys proudly displaying the bronzed scars of their latest bypass surgery, screaming from their chests "still here, still walking, still basking in the stolen sun".

and a girl taking pictures she won´t use, watching it all and smiling to herself.

risen from the depths

the day i arrived there was another new arrival. or rather an old arrival that had finally come into port.

the ship had been chased across the oceans for days and weeks and months. it had made it to a safe port, or so it seemed. it was, however, turned away, and the captain, knowing its coming fate, decided to sink his ship into the muddy river. down it went, with all its fearsome might. the captain killed himself a few days later. it took 5 more years for the war to end.

in the early days of a new century, the graf spee is disturbed from its rest at the bottom of the river by probing hands. the first thing they take is its proud eagle. the swastika is covered to prevent offense.

a couple of german tourists, also landing at the port, gasp in disbelief at the sight.

a historical souvenir. it is hoped that the ship will become a tourist attraction. perhaps a reminder of which things the world once said it was fighting against.

journeys

once upon a time, journeys were things you did to find out about other cultures. well-to-do young men and women all over the world were sent on discovery voyages: to improve their language, to refine their manners, to broaden their knowledge.

today, journeys are things you do to find out about yourself. slightly fucked up young men and women all over the world embark on self-discovery voyages: to find missing words, to lose the mask they´ve been hiding behind, to narrow their focus.

atypical post

i am supergirl

supergirl		88%
iron man		85%
wonder woman		83%
spider-man		70%
green lantern		60%
superman		60%
hulk		60%
robin		55%
catwoman		55%
the flash		50%
batman		30%
click here to take the "which superhero are you?" quiz...

Lean, muscular and feminine.
Honest and a defender of the innocent.


who would have thought?

inspired by strugglingauthor

short term memory

i'm a baby.
no, you're not a baby, you're five.
so... i'm five: i'm a baby. after six you're not a baby.
that's not right.
yes it is. i was born and i was five.

short let tennants

room without a view, central heating, meals provided.
male or female. could suit two occupants, but may be cramped.
9-month stay only.
non-smoking preferred.