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3/13/03:

How beautiful could a being be

Choosing the long way home by getting off the train at Catete (and I'm always glad when I do), I hear, underneath the thick jackhammer that's the noise of this city, this unmistakeable beat - dat-dat-dat dat-dat-dat dat-dat-dat - and follow it past the vendors blankets to the courtyard of a crumbling old church. There's about twenty-five people, mostly kids or closer to my age clustered around a circle of capoiera dancers, and the triad beat grows to bells and wild drums, counterhythms threaten to knock the solid crowd to pieces. They're all kids, all young, faces with a slight mud like the walls of this church, and their bare feet brush the concrete, mocking bruises by the thick adrenaline that twists them into impossible flips, and the beat - dat-dat-dat- dat-dat-dat - steady in that dark three, sticks in my head for days and I wonder why I'd ever want ot leave.

posted by jeremy @ 7:16 PM

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