terça-feira, 27 de janeiro de 2009

I’ve never been ambitious, but utterly curious, yes!

I’ve never been ambitious, but utterly curious, yes!
My earliest memories are of me sneaking into my mothers sewing drawers,
and being completely taken by the colorful buttons and threads.
My mother had a hard time keeping things in once piece: her sewing machine, alarm clock, medicines and kitchen utensils.
My father was driven nuts as I dug into his small shed and broke into his seed bags, axes, ropes and nails.
At the age of fourteen I had my room packed with a huge and chaotic collection of everything. This collecting and reading were my time’s all consuming business. Work, what I started at the age of five, helping my parents as the only child, in the field, was just a lapse in the important matters of life. Soon enough, thinking also became a great exercise, which I could carry on all day long, no matter what.
No electricity or running water on our dirt floor “drunk on a loose rope” house. Home, really; calling where we lived a house would be to stretch the universe of meanings away too far.
By morning my nostrils and eyelids were laden with lamp-black, I had pushed the night hours through the pages of a book or the re-reorganizing of my Babel like collection of everything.
Going to school the next morning was a must, but not a routine, as I often had to detour to work instead.

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