We Manufactured ORPHANS. | just in time for the New Year. |

I know the pain. It never subsides. An emptiness that never goes away, a massive, solid presence of nothing. Nothing that exists has form. That lingers.

These humans will be scarred for life. My heart is Palestinian. In 2023, the people of Gaza were the only ones I've seen displaying integrity, moral fiber, solidarity, and humanity towards one another.

A Very Beautiful ❤️ Christmas 🎁 Message

               The lies we were told.

Lament

The pain of a cuíca is universal: paradoxically lingers and travels, leaves the song carrying all the beauty and pain humans suffer. The cuíca  sings the lament of the soul: long lost love romantic or otherwise, even Socrates does not have enough philosophy to explains its sound. If the Greek philosophers had listened to a cuíca's lament, Greece would be silent of poets, playwrights and muses, and the Turkish soldiers could have been kept at bay, if from Greece's shore had they heard the sound of a cuíca carried by the waves: lamenting its dying days on the crashing waves.

Only an African could have invented an instrument that refuses to be contained within the constraint of a song, an instrument that asks no permission to be free. if you want to support a negro join Black Lives Matter but if you want to understand his centuries old struggles and pain, listen to a cuíca. It carries 300 years of suffering.

At 3:33, you hear a cuíca in this song of Brazilian poet and diplomat, Vinícius de Moraes ( who called himself "the whitest negro in Brazil ") Sao Demais os Perigos Dessa Vida" which translates to "there are a lot of dangerous things in this world", which bring us right back to Black Lives Matter protesters who understand that sentiment throughout. 

In the United States of America jaywalking for a negro can be a death sentence; enjoying a late night walk listening to Motown's Hits, a suicidal gesture. Yet, I do this almost every moonlit night or otherwise in total safety unless I open my latino mouth; racism in America is a descending stairway to the  darkest corners of a red neck muted soul.

While we fight for a more just world for everyone, I listen to a cuíca; one day, I hope, our descendants will look back at us in dismay for how primitive we were, and they will play the cuíca to understand the pain, caused by the oppression of an entire group of people due to the color of their skin. It will echo  the lament of a mother watching her son dying under the weight of prejudice and despise.

It will echo the lament of Palestine.

Shame on You. ALL.

TWO SCREAMING QUESTIONS:

HOW DO YOU SUPPORT THIS NONSENSE?

  COWARDS. 

WHEN THIS IS HAPPENING TO YOUR FELLOW HUMAN BEINGS. 

Every single person who paid for this movie should be in Gaza with their children being bombed by the very people you are giving your money to. Maybe you would understand then.

THE G.O.A.T. and the Hungry Children

  Empty words. From one the greatest actors. Her most significant role is pretending TO BE A HUMAN BEING. PRETENDING TO FEEL EMPATHY. 

Speaking about injustices ONLY when it's free to do so. All despicable people. 

Below is what courage looks like.

      I will never forget these children. Fear. Hunger. Sadness.Despair. Faith. Solidarity. Anxiety. Anger. Humanity. Empathy. Love.

All feelings Palestinians are experiencing.  No pretending on PALESTINA SOIL.

The people below can ALL GO TO HELL with the ZIONISTS THEY SERVE.

The Goat and all the Deaf & Dumb of Zionistown 

And another GREAT PERFORMANCE.

 

PRETENDING TO FEEL EMPATHY. 

Lady, empathy is not a condiment, not a spice you arbitrarily apply.

Other Deaf & Dumb celebrities.

The Battle Cry of Bigotry

Embued in this argument is all an intelligent person needs to understand Zionism, propaganda, and hatred of another group.

Listen to DISGUSTING ZIONIST SWINE Bill Maher, CHILDISH TON OF VOICE. Imagine saying, "Judaism is the mother of bad ideas." Imagine the chant of antisemitism.

I'm an atheist and still able to extrapolate the good things in each "fairytale."

viva, viva palestina

viva in Portuguese means to live.

viva Palestina eternally

"Palestinians, it's very nice meeting you all."

Every time I meet one of you, you display courage, faith, and solidarity with one another. 

I look forward to watching you rebuild Gaza, a Palestina that resembles more of your spirit and optimism. 

And I can't wait to see what this ONE will do. 

Note: The beginning is BLURRED, so no graphic is shown. It shows the moment they save this brave girl.

Click for an UPDATE

A Song for Palestina

Beat by beat, like a song

The truth finds a rhythm

And it comes together

For the world to sing. viva palestina 

A Small Dose of Beauty.

Amidst so much suffering, so much pain. A beautiful Palestinian girl.

A beautiful Algerian girl.

If I Must Die

They always kill the poets. Words are powerful and can reach others. Of the same kind. Same heart. Same willingness to fight.

INSPIRING

Who are these nurses and doctors. Inspiring.

🌺 The Flowers 🌺 of Palestine 🌺

Its unimaginable; yet we sea.

Palestinians are the portal for a better world; we find ourselves being a bit more patient with people on the street, stores, driving 😡

Palestine is the centre of the world 🌎 a portal to a more kind world of accepting others; holding that remark, forgoing that perfect come back. 

These children is what I see throughout my day, so I go around, to the best of my ability, letting everyone be.

Let them go their merry away in their way; as long as I remain the same.

PALESTINIANS make me think of my grandmother. In the afternoon, fazendo arte.

| love | peace | prosperity |

It is with tears rolling off my face I write this: other cultures, civilizations, other people different than us are to be celebrated; all of our differences will one day form an entire different world. 

I hope our new imprint will be one of peace, love and prosperity for everyone.

I'm marveled by the colors of the middle east; their skin color, their smile and faith.  The Arabic language written on a white pager is the most majestic of things.

Yemen, forever the country my soul grew up; perhaps my soul resides there still.

I was told all my life the Arabs were horrible. Something in me registered a dissonance I never quite understood. I recognize the Palestinians. The children, the laughter and the families; an orphan always gravitate towards the things that binds humans together.

Losing any civilization is losing a piece of ourselves. When will these murderous religious people understand that?

The Quran and the Bees. 🐝

I grew up in Brazil, in a very small village named Afonso Arinos. My grandmother had a large land with four different kinds of mango trees, jabuticabeiras, goiabeiras, figo, avocado trees and many other fruits.

Mangueiras e jabuticabeiras were my favorite. ( Use Google translator. Don't be lazy.)

I was not alone in my love for jabuticabas; bees loved that fruit. Every season, they would fly to my grandmother's house and build their nest at the tree's pentbranch. Then, while I was in school staring at Karla Maria, ( DOCTOR Karla Maria Piffer. Seriously girl 😒) these little working bees would devour as many jabuticabas as they could. 

They started up on top and made their way down like crack-heads Zionist Unjews, unstoppable. I started from the bottom towards the top due to my inability to fly. And at some point, we met in the middle and being a 9 year old child, I resented them for arriving in my house, uninvited, and making a ruckus while acting like our land belonged to them. The mid point of the tree was Gaza.

Finally, I had enough. Mid afternoon, my grandmother would finally sit down and begin her beautiful embroidery work, and get so distracted in her art that I could set the house on fire and she wouldn't notice; which I almost did, many times.

I was always creative; and those pesty bees demanded all I had to give, so, I went into the pantry and grabbed a bottle of alcohol, matches and got to work. I harvested a long bamboo from our canoe, that we use as a roar and covered one of the edges with a T-shirt. I tied it down. Drenched with alcohol. And lit a match. It was a thing of beauty. 

Now, all I had to do was to lift that bamboo until I reached the hive and those Zionist Unjews would learn to respect property lines.

I made it to the hive and had my first physics lesson at 9 years old: Quantum Mechanics. Instantaneously, those bees followed the bamboo until we were face to face, and I just ran like the little kid I was. 

Inside the house. Into the kitchen. Where my beautiful grandmother worked peacefully. My diabetic grandmother.

Pandemonium is a proper word to describe that delightful afternoon.

I got a beating. Time out. Screamed at. Abused verbally by my gay uncle no one could say was gay but everyone knew that he was. Just like Israel violence towards Palestinians.

My face was swollen. I couldn't eat jabuticabas for a week. The Zionist bees? They played the victims. After all they just wanted to survive. I tried to make the case they didn't belong in our yard but no one listened. 😢

I buried my grandmother. Moved to New York City. Karla Maria married someone else. And 30 years later when I went to visit my grandmother's house, my relatives had cut all the trees. Every single one of them. Including the roses 🌹 I watered every sunset ☀️ for my grandma. There was nothing left. The beautiful fertile ground that would glitter in the afternoon rain and the petrichor emanating from it, was replaced by cement. They paved over all of which my grandmother held dearest in her heart.

My visit was short and illuminating. I was an orphan and none of that was ever mine. The only family I ever had was gone. And the Brazilian singer-songwriter Fagner was right when he wrote: " Quem vai da terra natal / Em outros cantos nao para..."  "The ones who leave their homeland/ Grow roots nowhere else." 

Within weeks, my thespian partner and I, will call Paris, France, our home. She loves gastronomy as if she belonged in my dearest friend Ms. Ellen Elvin's  Les Dames d'Escoffier. I will fight my addiction to sugar. bread and coffee as the Zionist Unjews fight the Palestinians. We both believe we can succeed. 

And that's why the Palestinians need to stay. Because unlike myself, my relatives and the Zionist Unjews, they, like my grandmother, took pride in caring for the land. Today. I know what my grandmother knew all along: the Zionist psychopath was I and my relatives that tore everything down.

The bees and my grandparents were the Palestinians. Living in communion with the land and each other. Sharing the fruit of the land. For many, many generations before we came. With our misguided bad ideas.

Perhaps, when Israelis grow up, they will come to understand as much.

The Qoran and the Bees.

❤️ Flowers of Palestine ❤️

❤️ Ah, Girls will be GIRLY ❤️and dance

And make NO SENSE AT ALL 😂

They learn to balance on TWO FEET if their limbs are intact.

If alive, they SING

If their heads aren't blown up, they speak in TONGUES

Here's another RUGRAT

They drag balloons 🎈 like LIVING ghosts.

They grow up to become Journalists. Role models. ( this one is dead as disco, though. The "good people of Israel" passed her away.)

They CRY. BLEED. They LOVE Mickey!!!

They LAUGH. SING. DANCE arms stretched to the heavens. To collect the falling 💣The moment time stops. The dance stops. The moment a little girl sees death approaching.

They peacefully sleep. FOREVER. Thank you. Israel.

Flash fiction. A six-word story gained popularity through a story attributed to Ernest Hemingway. 

Describe the pain of losing a baby. Sentiment the Palestinians know well.

 Hemingway wrote this:

For sale: baby shoes, never worn." 

They LOVE playing with TOYS.

They are MISCHIEVOUS

Above all, they are human BEINGS