Through a web of connections, I came upon a gathering last night. A gathering of poets, artists, and musicians, in a communal art house. In a decently sketchy neighborhood.
And there, I encountered poetry, art, and music.
It was all very Kerouac. And super-refreshing. The scene exists! Of course it does. It's the 3rd biggest city in the world. Super beatnik. Super bohemian.
Life is really hard in general. It is hard with good moments. And good with hard moments. It is shitty and fantastic. Last night was neither. It just was. Accepting the mediocrity of life is essential and seemingly impossible.
The days are bright, and filled with pain--enclose me in a gentle rain. Or in the case of Sao Paulo, a heavy one.
(I have tons of videos which really capture the scene better. But life is fast here. I don't have 2 hours to wait for them to upload. Or personal internet. Patience, gente--I'll be home soon enough).
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