The city of Rio is awakening,
And it awakens at the suburbs first,
From its edges to within:
Where the working bees live
before they leave to serve;
serve the ones fast asleep.
The sleeping ones,
Sleep tight,
Because in sleep
you mimic and conquer death.
At the noble areas within Rio
one can see the lights
sparkling from the slums
and the ones rising to face living.
I met a man from a noble area
that smoke cigars at 7am
and between puffs told me to wise up:
In Brazil, he told me, there is no art anymore;
it is the law of the jungle
and to make movies here, Gringo, you have to pay.
My native country grew up
and fell in love with the dollar
and in the New Rio-
which is how they named the bus station-
you pay "an arm and a leg" to wash your hands.
I met in Rio
a group of hippies, and adventurers,
and signed them up to make a film
because there are always dreamers around:
searching for meaning, searching for something more
something that stretches farther than the limits of a city,
the color of your skin, of your sexual preferences,
farther than Rio, bigger than a country-a film is-
and its earthbound limits.
A film is a Parasite that festers.
For the man puffing his cigar
nothing is bigger than his Rio
nothing is bigger than the dollar
and the parcel of land he resides
and even the car one drives symbolizes his importance.
I met men like this everywhere:
France, Spain, London
and the United States of America,
where the dollar is made,
where now everyone is also asleep.
Because it is late,
it is always too late for men with cigars...
While they sleep through the night
I covertly plot a film
because sleeping is so goddamn tiresome.
