You have never seen me .

You have never seen me.
by Caio Fernandes 2010.


You have never seen me, early in the morning there is no sun light on the streets when i pass in front your house.
I see the lights up and some furniture by the windows while the perfume of the garden embraces me as a coat protecting fron the cold and drizzle.
I never had courage to stop at the sidewalk and apreciate it as a piece of art in a museum because i am afraid someone calls the police as my cheap old cloths can scare you neighbors and family.
Everything about you and your life is so beautiful.
You got married with this man that is good and can give you everything.
Every day i walk 2 blocks more than i should only for pass in front this house, and looking discretely to it makes me feel like to keep dreaming and living.

Then i arrive at the subway station at the same time every single day, pretending i am not going to work as a cleaner or i am not diferent of the other people.
Down the stairs i walk till almost the end of the plataform and take my place always at the same spot. When the train arrives i will be in front the tird door waiting it get opened.
What happens is that sat at the same place has that sweet pretty woman, she never looked at me, never noticed that i exist. I cough and change places passing in front of her, but nothing.
If one day she looks at me, i will get courage and say Hi.

When i am working at my job, people avoids me and my mop.
After 4 hours i leave that place whitout listening a good morning or a bood bye.
Then i go to the street walking down the sidewalk where i am less then one among hundreds of thousands. I say this because if i was at least one, i would have a name and a face... but not.
Every day i visit at least one agency of job, there are many but i went to all then hundreds of times. When i pass through the door the same staff of always look to me as it was the first time asking me to fill the formulary and leave on the table. I must to wait they call to my cell phone what never happens.

Back to the street i walk as much miles as God can count. Because it is for free and because i expect that a miracle can cross my way.
I get into all the stores of the entire downtown pretending i am looking for something to buy. I know the price of all the products of every single store. It is very rare a sales person comes and asks me if can helps me, what is fine by me as when they do it i have the impression they are asking me to leave.

By the evening i come back but pass in front your house again, hear the kids argueing or asking for new toys. It makes me happy and then i go to the house where i rent a shared bedroom. There is always someone coocking at the kitchen but nobody says nothing because it isn't anybody business.
I take a shower as fast as possible before someone knocks the door wanting to use the toilet. In my roon i sit on the bed counting the cents in my pocket even knowing very well how much it has.
This world has left and forgoten me in this hole, i pray for at least Jesus remembers that i exist.

I pray for one day have a house like yours, a smart wife with good character that smiles to me all the time i look at her.
The garden in front is going to be beautiful and everyone is going to be able to see fron the sidewalk.
I am going to put my name on the mailbox, so people will know that i exist, neighbors are going to pronunciate this everyday for saying good morning.

There is just one thing i am never, never never never going to do after to get all this.
I will never build a wall in front of my home and garden as i see you are going to start one now.
I am writing this note with the intention to leave inside your mail box asking to you for do not build this wall.
I know you are going to think it is very weird and see one more reason to build as there was a psicho observing you life.
But i am not a psicho, only an inofencive poor man the has used the view of your house to feed its own dreans.
Don't worry, i am invisible, you will never notice me passing in front of it, as you never did.
You have never seen me.

Forget.
I am not going to leave this note inside your mail box. If you realise that i exist is very possible you call the police to "give me a lesson" next time i pass in front your house.
I am glad you have never seen me.
And... am i alucinating? I mean, why did i think someone would do what i ask?
Forget.
You have never seen me.






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So weird to listen Bill Crosby and Ella Fizgerald in the middle of nowhere as i used to.

by Caio Fernandes
2010.

I was at the side walk geting into the cafe... didn't have any money, I had to wait for someone there inside.
When I heard this suburbian gay teenager at the other side of the street saying:" I am your fan, can you give me your autograph, I've seen everything you've made ... all the soup operas you worked on and movies. When you kissed that actor on the last episode...."
On a chair near the window I kept looking at the scene, the waitresses came and I said was waiting a person and would order later.
At the other side of the street has a theatre and that blonde old fat actress didn't hear one word of the kid, gave the autograph and came to the cafe. On a table next to mine orders a black coffe...
I know nothing about tv actresses and never heard about this one but I knew she is past now , forgoten, I see on her eyes... her shoes... and looking for love.
I like afternoons at down town, the way the orange sun lays on the walls of the grey buildings and evokes a silence that exists in a dimension over the car's engines, voices and machines.
She was there with her legs towards me being such an easy target...
Large flacid tanned breasts... So cheap that i could get anything I wanted.
This is all so sad... a decadent goddess showing herself to a vagabound nobody at the dusty Sao Paulo's down town. And I needing even so much sex, attention, money turning the face and looking to the sick pigeons on the street or the coffee machine as wasn't understand or realising nothing.
Now I put my head down looking to my feet, old jeans pants, and grey coat, incredible old black shoes...
I remembered sitting in my empty dark living room among solitude and cat's hair listening an album of Bill Crosby and Ella Fizgerald singing tradictional Christimas songs, remembering sitting in the woods and being very young, waiting the wind and bird's songs return fron the leafes feeling the presence of a big predator. Calm I looked to my black boots and the grains of brow mud under it. The smells of the trees and the humidity transformed the air in a herbal tea that I could drink the silence of it as a prayer. The durt on my wrist and hands telling me I was lost even knowing very well what part of the forest I was.
I didn't want to be there, I wanted to be somewhere else, I had dreans and nothing around could offer me a door to it, the same in my living room , the same at the cafe.
Weird , too many action and adventure in a life where nothing happened. And that decadent actress staring at me. She had everything and lost it or are losing yet. What could one offer to the other? Only depression as two vampires sucking the partners vacuum. I am not going to wait for anybody anymore, I get up and go to the street. Walking among peole that is leaving their jobs and going to their homes, I try to think about a place to go. I wish I could sit down in front a tv watching commedy and eating popcorn. I feel the smell of warm fresh bread coming fron the bakery and look to the woman's ass walking right in front of me . Red sign for pedestrians , I stop. The side walk looks like an isolated island where i get stoked for my entire life with no directions.
So weird to listen Bill Crosby and Ella Fizgerald Christimas songs in the middle of nowhere as i used to.


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