VALENTE (Juiz de Fora 2010)
.jpeg)
Until my early thirties, I was one of the biggest womanizers in my city. Then I got married, had a daughter, and, after divorcing shortly thereafter, I transformed dramatically. I continued working as a photographer for the city's major newspapers, while word of mouth spread about my photographic talent and the number of budding models seeking my work skyrocketed, to the point that I had to improvise a small studio in my apartment, a tiny space. The studio could only be in the living room, where there was nothing; my bedroom (I'm a classically trained musician) was occupied by a piano, a computer, and a work table like the one architects use to analyze their designs under light, but on it I spread photos. the other room was used to store all kinds of mechanical parts, unfinished gadgets (I'm a mechanical and mechatronic inventor) and discarded pieces of devices that I tinkered with --- in the garage, down there, which overlooked the sidewalk and the street, I had placed the motorcycle that I was building myself from scratch, and which is now finished: a machine!
In more or less these terms, I can say that this was the life I led there until 2007, when I was 47 years old, near Avenida Olegário Maciel, in that neighborhood close to the center, when, one fine morning, before leaving for work, I saw a moving truck parked in front of our modest three-story building. I lived on the third floor, and the new residents were arriving to live on the first, whose window was above the entrance gate. That evening, I came home from work and heard loud music coming from the window—the sound of a vinyl record playing some very old jazz album. Then I realized that the new residents were people with distinct tastes. However, the first contact I made with the new resident, a young boy, was quite strange: he didn't even greet me on the stairs, perhaps because of my greasy hands and the welding mask on my head; Hahahahaha, he walked right past, smoking a cigarette, went to the mailbox, grabbed some mail, went back into the apartment, and slammed the door so violently that I started laughing to myself halfway up the stairs. Then he went back to playing jazz at full blast. I think if his girlfriend hadn't asked him to try to get some of my weed (I smoked a lot, in front of the garage, under their bedroom window), we never would have met properly. The guy really kept to himself.
It didn't take long, however, to shake off my initial bad impression. The conversation in the garage was very cordial, and I realized he was a well-read guy, who read all day long. He was quite impressed when I told him I'd assembled my motorcycle myself, with parts I'd developed myself, and also when I told him that the Beetle falling apart in front of the building was mine. He said a girlfriend from long ago had given it to me as a gift in Curitiba and that she'd driven it all the way here, worried it would fall apart on the way. We laughed, and he thanked me for the joint. A week later, he gave me a book as a gift, which I really liked and still keep today. It was called: The Zen Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, by an American beatnik.
ResponderExcluirSince then, our relationship has grown closer. He'd often come up to my apartment to smoke a cigarette while I played the piano: Gershwin, Bach, Mingus, and many others—he approved of everything, and, modesty aside, I truly am a great musician. What's more, and perhaps this was what caught his attention most, despite his distinct intellectual tastes, he loved browsing through the photo files on my computer and would always ask to copy some of them onto CDs, especially the ones of models.
"If Rafaela finds out what's on those CDs," I told him one day, "she'll kill you. You have to understand that you decided to live with a hottie, man, and life as a couple is sometimes very complicated. I speak from experience."
ResponderExcluir"It's not the first time I've 'married,' despite my age," K replied.
"And does that mean you agree with me or not?"
He looked at the floor and thought for a moment. Then he said:
"It means I don't believe in soulmates."
"But you two seem very much in love with each other," I observed.
"We are! But my last girlfriend and I seemed to be too. I mean (laughs) we were. What I mean is that when you truly love, when thinking about that love, you should start with the self; it's above and more important than happiness or unhappiness, in their usual senses." Or maybe it's better not to think about him at all. Not long ago, she almost broke up with me because of a trip I took to Rondônia.
"Rondônia?! What were you doing there?"
ResponderExcluir"Gold mining"
"Gold mining?! Are you a gold miner?! How long were you there?"
"Two months."
"Lol! Of course she almost finished. What did you expect?"
"He he, I think she only came back with me out of pity, I was so broken when I came back from the Guaporé River. Despite everything, I had gold! As soon as I set foot in Juiz de Fora, I started smoking and using drugs again. The same thing happened when I returned from Pará, and she continued to put up with it. Now, I think she's getting fed up. If I have another adventure, she'll never look me in the eye again."
"And do you date other people when you travel?"
"No, but I don't keep you updated either." I think she just wants to stay married to me until she graduates and moves to another city, because it's been working well for her so far. But maybe she'll dump me after graduation if I don't do it sooner.
"And you, what are your plans? To practice law after you graduate?"
ResponderExcluir"Honestly, I don't have any plans. I want to write again, but nothing has come of it. Besides, I've been involved in some social work with some communists here in town for a while now. I tried to write a little about the people I see, traveling around, and the experience of human misery. Some short stories turned out to be heartbreaking. I don't think anyone really likes reading about that."
Then, one day, these parties started happening at their house. Rafaela, a social work student, had an army of friends in her program. Apparently, only women studied social work. And then there were K's friends. A very polite and intelligent guy named Vidal, and another really crazy guy they called Bob. Every now and then some guys from the social sciences department would come by, but the bulk of the crowd was just a bunch of single girls drinking and talking nonstop. The occasional one or two were cute, at most. Despite having gone to several parties there, I never wanted to hook up with any of them, despite the jerks.
After a while of this, I realized, through our private conversations at the piano, that K was becoming less and less dedicated to cultivating his "marriage." At one of the parties, he even kissed a blonde who was sitting next to him in a room where we were smoking a joint while Rafaela barbecued outside. He was saved that time because the girl got sick and we had to call an ambulance. I can't say what happened next. K gradually disappeared. We didn't visit for a long time, and then, suddenly, Rafaela's graduation party, which I attended, arrived, and then she returned to her hometown. According to K, they were still dating, but suddenly, there was also a cousin of his living with him, a very pretty one. Even I became interested in her one night. He swore there was nothing between them.
ResponderExcluirLILITH, JUIZ DE FORA October 2009
Excluirhttps://paranoidinformed.blogspot.com/2025/06/lilith-juiz-de-fora-october-2009.html
Late tonight I will post some fragments about Lilith and Aline here
ExcluirStrange too: out of the blue, K moved out of our building and then, in a chance encounter on the street, told me he'd also changed majors six months ago and was now studying Literature, and was involved with a cultural foundation in Cataguases, where he went every weekend with a girl named Olivia, a sociologist, to do some really cool political education work for the foundation's target audience. He said he'd founded his own NGO with others, and they'd hired the sociologist to help with the project. I met her one night at Cultural Bar JF, between K and a very concerned husband. But he swore he had nothing to do with her. I laughed.
ResponderExcluir
ExcluirOLIVIA Juiz de Fora/ Cataguases
https://paranoidinformed.blogspot.com/2025/07/olivia-juiz-de-fora-cataguases-january.html
Almost a year later, I ran into him on the street at night. I stopped the Beetle at a light and asked if he'd like to go with me to Vila Mariana to take photos of craft beers and ice cream pizzas for the promotional material for Tuga's Bar, a traditional hangout for the city's wealthy adulterers. He got in the car, and we chatted on the way: K said that six months ago, he'd gone back to law school (I started laughing) in a hurry, to "solve the NGO's problems." I laughed and laughed. We smoked a joint on the way, and he felt pretty bad. He said he'd quit smoking anything a while ago, even cigarettes, and now that I think about it, he really did look better. There at the restaurant, while he was helping me position the light and the pizzas (he had already opened the beer and they had to bring another one) I told him that I had discovered a “forró class” at a gym on Pasteur Street that was full of hotties, both learning and teaching, and that every Friday night they met at Bar da Estação.
ResponderExcluirExactly these night!
Excluirhttps://m.youtube.com/watch?v=MjxgxL8eMuQ&pp=ygUVU28gcGFyZW50IHZhbW9zIGZ1Z2ly
He was extremely interested, and from what I heard (I myself had only been able to go two or three times), he took several classes, then disappeared and was only seen at the bar on Friday nights. Because of my work, we never met there, so I don't know what happened. The only thing I know is that the newspaper where I worked, every other day, news about the work his NGO was doing in the region appeared. Until one day, I was assigned to take photos there, where he worked. He wasn't surprised when he saw me there, with the camera and the journalist. We chatted later over coffee in the kitchen. He asked if I knew anyone who could modernize and maintain the NGO's website, and I told him that the guitarist from the jazz trio he'd been rehearsing with for a year did just that. We arranged to meet that night, at my place, just like old times.
ResponderExcluirK arrived punctually, seemed very interested, in dire need of IT guidance, and Marcos Vinícius, my childhood friend, a guitarist who came over every now and then for our rehearsals, answered K's questions "mechanically," just the way that "anguished" K seemed to want. At the end of the conversation, K said that the NGO would hire Marcos Vinícius's services, and that he could come over the next morning.
ResponderExcluirBefore we wrapped up the conversation, however, K asked me many questions about cybersecurity that intrigued me: emails, passwords, privacy, what was a crime and what wasn't, the safest way to restrict institutional advertising, and also about cell phones. He was pacing around the room like a caged animal, until, suddenly, he stopped in front of my architect's desk and asked, feeling a box:
"What is this?"
"What's that?"
ResponderExcluir"It's a drone," I said.
"A what?"
"A drone, a little camera robot that flies remotely. I bought it three months ago online, and it arrived here at my house yesterday. I think everyone will have one within a year."
"And you know how to operate it?" he asked, impressed.
"Very simple," I said.
He took a long time looking at the drone after unboxing it. I wouldn't be surprised if he was having some strange idea. Then, gratefully, he said goodbye and left. Then, much later, yesterday, or the day before, I don't know, on a Monday night, I had to go back to Tuga's Bar to take pictures of new pizza and beer flavors. Almost at the end of the photos, around 11:00 p.m., I looked toward the back of the restaurant, in a very private, dimly lit area, and realized it was K at one of the tables, accompanied by a blonde woman, attractive, but a little overweight around the waist. At one point, he got up to go to the bathroom, and I spoke to him. He swore to me he had no involvement with her and was just "taking a crash course on Law 8.666, which regulates bidding processes in the country." I laughed.
ResponderExcluirVALENTE end here!
ResponderExcluir