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.