30 OUT

MARCELO BRAGA X BRUNO LEVORIN = see & eye.

by Bruno Levorin, around The Red Man (O Homem Vermelho), by Marcelo Braga

S

E

E

     &  E

             Y   

          E

I hear the great little man. I make him the character who has decided to question himself. He dissects contours, carries experiences on the lap of his hearing, smiles at what he remembers and introduces me to his community.

§

The pigmentation doesn’t wait for the speech order and makes the eye lid the need that transforms bipeds’ finite into the perception of emotions. This is what the natives of the old island of Adedanha (21º 0’ 0’’ S, 160º 0’ 0’’ W -21,-160) stated. This minor portion of land with acircumference of 32 km and total area of 67.19 km² is located in the South Pacific. Day after day, by the edge of the Mandragora cliff (also the name of the famous local plant, a borderline species between animal and plant that screams when torn out from the earth), unloading names and gestures, sewing the guts of imagination and bouncing the redness of their bodies, this people reflected on the perspectivism of the finished story, dying and being born again under the ultraviolet ray syndrome.

– Sound is goosebumps. Sound clock that penetrates the skin hair, that makes the earth quake with the cold rushing through the pores, and makes humans rain -, said one of the red beings to the one questioned by my intuition while playing his Koto, the local musical instrument.

I ask him:

– How to perform a future gesture of a happening that doesn’t seem to belong to the future? A happening that makes time frail and men unable to recognize their own end.

He answers me:

-In a world full of speculations, to diagnose in the disease the need for a future that doesn’t belong to this possibility seems enchanting. In the action of future acts there is no narrative that belongs to one station only, it strolls gaslike over the customary dimension, slips on the now, chokes on what has gone by and distributes the what is to come that is present there. In this extreme experience, image is a need. Different from the horizon that dilates its manifestations and gets lost in exorbitant durations, image is a meteorite. Reverberating scratches in time, it trampolines into a creating field, a field that is hit with and by the will. Medical tape that tears, bandage that touches, needle that pierces the untouchable fear – apparently a holy trinity of this group’s experience.

§

With the suspension of words, after a bunch of happy encounters with the impeccable philosophy of the flesh transmitted by the people from Adedanha, alas, a spacecraft hovers over the abyss. The enormous object spins before their eyes and examines what these very eyes don’t realize. From the inside of this object, comes out what the redskins nicknamed Coreutic, a human reflex with coins on the retinas that draw lines into the space limited by the machine structure. In the indecent lack of absence, everyone observe the creature that there remains re-existing in its ruby suprematism. The group’s silence before this apparition is a scar that recodes the expression of life transforming extinction into a timely movement.

After about 50 minutes, a song played on a tiny radio drips from the spaceship. I can’t describe here everything that was spoken on the gadget. However, I repeat the last stanza:

– I don’t believe in a world without affection.

 Bashshar Fatin, October 12, 1961.¹

Mandragora cliff                                                                                     Adedanha Island

Sketch by Bashshar Fantin, 1960                                                    Sketch by Bashshar Fantin, 1960

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