Marco Aurélio

Thursday, November 23, 2023

Wednesday, November 1, 2023

The World According to israelis and...

...the INSPIRING Palestinians

She's dead. israelis bombed her house, killing both of her parents.

She lost her leg.

Then israelis bombed the hospital she was convalescing AND KILLED HER.

israelis killed this one too. There was no Hamas yet, so the Romans were blamed.

israelis have been killing people even before there was an israel.

Saturday, August 12, 2023

The boy and the barista

from the series LA NIGHTS | tab above |

Los Angeles, 07.01.2021

Day 1

Inside a landmark café in the city of Los Angeles enters a boy; the word boy brings back many feelings when spoken out loud. Boy. You can go back to the first days of school and remember writing the three letters that encompasses an entire life: brothers, sisters, mother, father, grandparents, friends, neighbors. An entire community surrounds this being.

At his early stage of life, hopefully, one is busy with being a kid: playing, attending elementary school, falling in love for the very first time. Boy and Girl, the very reason we exist lies in the romantic notion of these two nouns.

This particular boy is nameless; one of thousands that wander the city, while, the city in question, Los Angeles, now asks what to do with them all. This particular boy is tall, has curly hair, a goatee and is as handsome as the young stars Hollywood sell to us as the new face to watch. He carries a blanket; filthy. He takes three steps into the store and looks around; turns on his heel, opens the door and tosses the blanket outside, before walking to a barista and ordering: " Two glasses of water, please. No ice."

The young girl does not flinch, which makes me think that this has happen before and she is used to it. She treats him as well as any of her other customers, probably feeling a sense of accomplishment, because this might be the only humane interaction he will have all day. This café has a reputation for training their employees extremely well and if dealing with homeless was part of her training program she has not forgotten the lesson.

He does not engage with her in any way; doesn't look at her in the eyes, doesn't talk to her at all. His eyes are distant somewhere. I've seen this gaze before since starting this assignment. Some of the homeless I encountered have mastered it. Models have the same gaze; I will venture a guess that, for the very same reason.

I have an untouched cappuccino in my hand; I ask if he would feel offended If I gave it to him. He does not look at me. He does not answer me. He does not acknowledge my question in any way. I am not such a hopeless romantic that I don't understand where I am; the very next thing I do has to be the right thing not to offend this kid in any way. I look down, avoiding looking at him and turn away. The barista is looking straight at me and tells me softly that, " he just wants his water." confirming with the pronoun "his" that she has served him before. He has a friend in the city, at this café. I make a mental note of this and understand that at some point I ought to sit down and investigate what does that mean: this relationship.

She is casual about the whole thing; pleasant and yet I do not see any indication that she is following any protocol of engagement. She deals with it as if this is the most natural thing in the world; a young good looking boy, homeless, who has enough awareness to toss his filthy blanket outside the store before ordering a couple of glasses of water. His demeanor is the same as the girl by the bridge. You don't care for me, so I don't care for you. I deny you and your attention regardless of your intention.

The interaction had me thinking about the properness of offering him anything, after all, I have never approached anyone in the store and offered to pay for their coffee. My action reminded me of Madonna and the late, unbelievably misguided, Michael Jackson, who visited the country I was born, Brasil, and asked to tour the favelas. As if poor people were an attraction they schedule during their visit, after they had become bored with their other activities.

I wonder if this boy cared enough to give me a second thought. I wonder if I ruined his perfect day. A beautiful barista who treats him as a human being and a clueless writer who treats him as a homeless. The road to hell is paved by good intentions. I wonder if my motive, my reason, my failed attempt at humanity registered with him at all. My guess and hope is that it doesn't. We gave up on him. He gave up on us. Just another day in downtown L.A.

When you visit downtown L.A. try asking for direction to a passerby, your fellow human being, Nine out of ten times they will ignore you completely as if you don't exist. Yesterday, I saw someone in front of a couple asking for directions and they went around that person in a synchronized movement, as if they had agreed that 'we will venture outside our pristine, meticulously manicured expensive building, in the middle of this mess, but we will remain inside our little bubble."

Today, a tall gentleman gave me directions, so I engaged him: " why your fellow Angelinos don't like giving directions?" He smiled. " They get bombarded daily with beggars so they got used to doing this." So I put it into context: " Even for people that are obviously not homeless?" " It is easier to just avoid everyone." he said.

I had to smile at that; my mask prevented him from seeing it. I thought with meus botões, "this must be a new clause added to our social contract."

I am not signing it!

Wednesday, July 12, 2023

"Move Along"

from the series LA NIGHTS | tab above |

Los Angeles, 07.03.2021

Day 3

ONE HUNDRED AND ONE steps, is the count for this beautiful stairway in front of the central library in downtown Los Angeles. I lived a block away with my kids, and we woke up everyday at 5am and ran up these stairs three times, unto Hope Street and downhill to Hill Street where our building stood: a beautiful earthquake refitted 1920's subway station. A block to the right of the building was the Geffen Theater and the Disney Music Hall; two perfect examples of the opulence in this area.

On our run around the wide block we came down a hill, beneath a bridge; today overtaken with tents which is the residence of many. The contrast is staggering. Looking down from Hope street we can see the Central Library...

... and a small change in our perspective...

...and you can see the front door......

...and a gentleman trying to catch some sleep.

... before the city employees and security approach him to gently ask him to "move along" which it appears it is the city of Los Angeles new modus operandi to deal with the homeless. But move along where? There are not enough beds to the thousands of people who live in the streets in this area, which is in full display by the tents; improvised homes, in one of the most expensive commercial real estate per square foot in Los Angeles.

A block from our home, there was a park; nothing special: a water fountain, dog park, playground for children, and on Wednesday, a farmer's market filled the space with fresh fruit and vegetables and artisans selling their creations. It is one of the most beautiful images I have of my ex-wife, an amazing chef, as she took her time prodding and choosing, her face beaming with fulfillment.

Ironically, the people who could use some fulfillment, the homeless, who hang out on that park daily, were never there for the market. I never understood where they went. When the day was over, I sometimes saw them roaming around the nearly empty tables getting the spoils from the well to do people who lived in the buildings nearby.

Also not there were the teenagers I met while living here: gay teenagers who were forced out of their home by their parents when they decided to come out of the closet. Their Christian parents, not approving their "choice" followed the principles mandated by the bible and the Roman Catholic Church and tossed them out. Apparently, God does not approve of homosexualism and they wander the city of angels finding warmth, understanding in each other's arms. In a time of their lives where they should be planning their college route, as Anna did, they spent their days leaning on each other trying to understand how their lives ended up this way. My relationship with any God ends when he begins telling us to hate and despise each other.

But it is 10 years later and the teenagers are no longer there, in fact, neither are the homeless; a few security guards hired by the buildings are making sure to move them along. Where is not of anyone's concern; as long as it is not here.

So, at night, they ride the subways until the very last train and after that, they hop onto the buses all night to sleep. An existence that I am observing to be inhumane, as well as a very hard way of living.

But it appears, it is okay to the rest of us, as long as the streets are clean and we don't get to see them.