December
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29th: "Emo kids exchange fresh blood"
Today is the day of my second rabies shot, I have to take four in order to not get rabies apparently, but when I got to the vaccination place they were closed. I assume the fault, sort of, because I was really late coming here, but technically they're also in the wrong, and so is the world.
I forgot today was the day, and it took me pretty long to realize it. I should've been at the vaccine place at 16:00, but I was getting ready to go right at that time, which meant I had to run, because it is so so so far from my house and I got no change to take the bus. So I put on all black, grab my backpack and my camera and start running. On the street, while I'm configuring my camera, some asshole purposefully drives into a puddle and covers me in stinky, diseased sewer mud (because it's a dirt road), so I have to go back home to clean what I can and change clothes and wipe up the camera, but guess what: I got no clean pants, and some of the stuff got into my eye, so now I have to shower and steal from the dirty laundry pile.
When I go out again, it's almost 17:00. According to Google, they close at 18:00, so if my math is right, I can definitely make it if I don't stop at all to take any pictures on the way, and that's what I do, turning off my mind not to regret all the great shots I'm missing.
I arrived at the place at 17:40, they've been closed for hours according to an old lady that lived right in front, who told me I stank of sewage and thought I was homeless. Well, that's great, I guess. I was going to come whether to take the shot or not, so at least I'm here. But I'm fucking fatigued and uninspired because of reasons, and nothing I photograph seems to look any good. I decided to give up on wasting my battery until the Xmas party tonight and go to the skate park.
Glad I did, because there Barbas and I had a great talk about 2024 projects, and we'll be collabing big time early in the year, and I also met my favorite tagger for the first time, Marte. His works are amazing, and I collect his tags, and talking to him was so pleasant. Hopefully we can work together in the future. But the greatest thing that happened today was to do with Korrpse (you know, the terminally-ill anarcho-punkstar I wrote about down below).
When he saw me, we sat down to talk, I showed him my ideas for him to model, he was super excited about it, and he confided me a little secret. He only declined to shoot today because he was there to meet someone special. It was one of the few alternative girls he hadn't yet tasted, and the reason why is that he actually had feelings for her. He pulled from his pocket a blood vial filled with freshly extracted blood, showed me the cut, asked me if I thought it was going to work, and I held my laugh so hard. I took one good look at him, at his pleading face, tapped his shoulders and said it was genius, "there's no gift more romantic than a piece of you". And he smiled. Then, he was "waiting for the right moment". The moment came, and the two vanished into the shadows.
As I was leaving, I found them eating each other's faces in the dark. He stopped me, asked where I was going, I took some pictures of them, and she might model for the zine too now. They looked so happy, I hope things work between the two.
I might've gotten a good pic today, who knows. Was so happy to be back home.
24th: "At my lowest, the only thing I got for Christmas was rabies"
It's Christmas' Eve and the idea is to walk downtown and work on the upcoming zine. Christmas just begun, but it's also almost over, so I'm being as restless as I can to try and get some shots until I can't no more.
Mosalina said she was coming with me today, so I even baked some banana fruit cake (my favorite) to share with her since we'd both be losing a proper Christmas dinner, but she cancelled last minute and I don't have anybody else to keep company. I've been walking over 20km every day this late-December, working on my Christmas special, and not gonna lie, with hundreds of pictures in my hard drive and countless more to come, I just feel frustrated, tired, and lonely (probably because of how unhealthy I am in my routine). When I'm walking, all I can think about is stopping, sitting down somewhere, and crying my eyes out because I can't take this anymore, but I keep walking, and the moments keep showing and, every time I get a decent picture, I'm reminded of how worthwhile this all is, and if I get at least one great picture out of all this struggle it would be so much more than just worth it—it would be everything. But shit sucks, and today, specially, the entire world seems to be against me.
The town is not as Christmassy as I wish it was, and it's fucking Christmas' Eve, so why would anyone be out, right? My friends are all busy and the streets are all empty, and I'm starting to doubt if it was right to give up my favorite holiday for this. I even got jumped by a gang of stray dogs who tore off my jeans and left my legs covered in bruises. I might even have gotten rabies because of my devotion to this project, and at the moment I don't feel accomplished AT ALL! But again, the night has only started, who knows what else is to happen today? Maybe the wheel is about to spin, but all I know is that, right now, I'm sitting here all alone, eating cake, on the verge of tears, not knowing what to do with the only gift I'm probably received this year: potential rabies.
This is the second check up: I've been walking up and down, photographing, for about two hours now. I got maybe two good shots, nothing for the zine yet, and it kinda sucks. There's still 40% of battery left on the camera, but about mine, it's reaching zero. I decided to visit the skate park to see if anybody was there, found the place blacked out, no one in sight, so I turned back and made my way to the town's Christmas party site. Midway, a light shop caught my attention like a moth's, and looking deep into that led-filled room, I could ponder for the very first time in weeks, trapped in the comfort of those artificial little suns.
Why am I doing this? Why am I putting myself through this? Why am I here? Is this worth it? Is what I'm doing right? Should I keep going? My body shouted "NO!", and scientifically, my actions are unnatural and unnecessary. It doesn't make sense to fatigue myself for the possibility of getting one good picture in the wild when I could simply stage whatever and still do a good job. But my heart, my heart looked beyond that, to what I would think of myself if I didn't do what I'm doing, how I'd feel if I never took this chance that presented itself to me, if I just gave up and moved on like none of this mattered when it does; when I care about it and wish to succeed at it. If I go home right now, one day I'll regret not giving my everything, haunted by the ghosts of potential pictures I would have missed; but if I keep going, and burn this 40% battery in another hour or so of shooting, I'll be able to sleep well, knowing that at least I did what I could have done. I guess this night will take a third check up.
3rd: It's over, now it's the 8km walk back home, even though my whole body is shaking because of how weak I am, finally realizing the only thing I ate today was that fruit cake. But things went well, maybe more than well. I met a filmmaker guy from the 80s, still active today, and we had a super nice talk about the photography/cinema scene from the early days, and even made a date to share some beers and tell more stories this January. And I met quite a few interesting characters that could be making their way into the zine, too. Also, I'm happy for contributing to a good general image of street photographers: I can tell I've been leaving a good impression on almost everybody I photographed tonight. And honestly, I feel so alive when shooting, it's almost like I'm someone else. I love photography, it's the meaning of life.
Glad I stayed, glad I kept going, glad I came today. Undoubtedly, the two best photographs I took this December are from tonight, including the cover for the zine, that I was still to find until today. I'm happy for being me, and I'm grateful for being able to listen to my heart. It seems to always know best.
18th: "A day in the life of a terminally-ill anarcho-punkstar & the woes of youth-based communist movements"
Today I hung out with Korrpse for the first time. Maybe not the first-first time, but we finally found the time to just talk and get to know each other. (Although maybe not, actually, because I can never help but make any conversation an interview with the other person; I can say I know a lot about him now, but maybe he cannot say the same about me—I wonder if I'll ever fall prey to the serpent's den of journalism because of this habit.)
He invited me to document the day. He'd be putting up posters and tagging walls in low-income neighborhoods —a way of "anarchizing" the city, he says— but for what?, he was too young and rebellious to give a full explanation at first, so I went in blind, he picked me up at the meeting spot, and we made our first stop: a hardware store.
It's surprisingly easy for "alternative kids" —who are clearly not buying spray cans to paint their bikes for the summer— to get their hands on vandalization tools. No questions asked, you can go anywhere and pick up cans of any color, pay with a credit card in your real name, and walk out of there with a transparent plastic bag that won't give anybody doubts about your intentions.
He chose red, the color of communism, and explained that he is part of two different youth communist societies. One of them is anarcho-communist and aims to obliterate any semblance of capitalist power and install a new communist regime; the other aims to propose and elect a non-radical communist party in each state, with different cells all over the country, in order to organize later on and rework the national power structure. None of these sounded very good when he tried to give his reason for doing what he's going to do today, so I said it, and he gave another explanation: in reality, within these groups, he was the punk that did all the radical shit nobody else was willing to do.
Although modern anarchists don't really coalesce, since that would mean actually submitting to a higher power, there is a surprising need for reason in Korrpse's actions. He fights battles that are clashes of power, be it the skaterboyZ against the cultural rule book, the marginalized youth against police brutality, or even now, as the communist societies fighting against local symbols of capitalist degeneracy. He is a powerful ally; him, a self-titled anarchist; but not the example of purpose one should ever look up to. Korrpse is different, he is a rare find, someone who will most likely be dead underground within the next few years.
As we went from the hardware store to the poor people's SEMATARY (the next stop), he told me he has his name well-stamped on the town's criminal records, having been caught three times already, all of them before legal age. This year he finally turned eighteen, and his record was wiped clean, which means he can't afford to be caught again; otherwise, there won't be no saving, and he'll be stigmatized as a criminal until the end of his days. He doesn't care, though, as he told me when I asked if he didn't consider a stained criminal record an obstacle to his future goals —since his life had barely started in the grand scheme of things— and I came to know why later on.
Nevertheless, he'll begin college in 2024, studying forensic science. That's cool, it's not every day you find someone invested in this sort of stuff. I asked what inspired him to follow this path, and he said, "Death Note. I'm a fan." Naturally, after that, he told me why true crime has turned to shit today: the community is now vastly composed of terror groupies. He sounded very certain, so I inquired why, and he admitted to being a groupie himself in the past—natural selection shirt and all that.
"In fact, I almost turned into a true crime case myself," he said. "You know what bullying does to people, right? They never stopped picking on me, I was fed up with that shit. The plan was to shoot'em all." But it didn't happen: "They found out. I mean, they were never sure, but there was a suspicion, and that was me on my groupie shit. I posted some dumb shooter edit in my status but forgot to block the school people, so one of them saw it and reported me. Not long after, swines at my door, put down the door, I ran to my room to try and get the gun —put down some pigs— but I couldn't reach it. They took me in, sent me to therapy, and took away all my things. (That's when they got me hooked up on xanax, and I'm still addicted to this day.) I was more than ready at the time, only waiting for the right moment, and I'm glad it never came. That's why this true crime culture sucks, it messes with young people's brains."
"That's Mama's house," he said, pointing at a green and white second-story building. He lives with his grandma, next year he'll be living alone to be closer to college, but his mom will never take him in again, and his dad died before he was born. "Lung cancer," he said. "A lot of people in my family have died of cancer, and I'm the next one." "Why do you say that?" I asked, and he told me that he found it out this year, after a good while of coughing up blood. He's lucky it's only in its initial phase, according to the doctor, "but I'll never stop smoking," he said, on his fourth cigarette in the half-an-hour since we met up. In the four hours we spent together, he smoked a whole pack, and when we said our goodbyes, he was going into the store to buy another one.
Walking behind us this whole time was Cabeleira. He's a man of few words when sober, but a right hand to Korrpse since, according to him, "well, he's got a car." During the mission, he helped with holding the materials, was paid with as many cigarettes as Korrpse would give him, and was anxiety-ridden when not puffing smoke. He says it's because of recent developments in his love life: Korrpse found him a partner, and he couldn't wait anymore, itching to see her again that night.
We arrived at the SEMATARY, and there we met up with Fernanda, leader of the communist group Korrpse was helping out today. She had glue, brushes, and a bunch of posters. The first question she asked was, "Are you interested in joining us (the society)?" And of course I am, but I don't know their ideals, what they stand for, or what they fight against, and she began to tell me all that—a conversation that never truly formed, because now Korrpse had a can in his right hand and eyes on his first target: the wall of that very cemetery we were just in. Not respecting the denizens of that targeted low-income neighborhood that passed by trying to ignore the act (nor the resting place of those who had died without sufficient funds to be buried in a more deserving place), he began tagging.
Here's where I became aware of why nothing any of them told me about the cause made much sense: Korrpse didn't know what to tag, and Fernanda didn't know either. So, she pulled out her phone and searched for "impactful communist quotes". Finding one of their liking, the vandalization began, but due to a lack of either communication or spatial awareness, the quote didn't fit, and it looked awful. (At the bottom of this text, I put a little gallery.) While tagging, Korrpse explained to those unaware how what they were doing was dangerous (because risk consideration was not in the plan), since that was an area dominated by gangs, and if they tagged the wrong wall, a target would be on our heads, and that could very well be our last day on Earth. Once he was finished and we moved on, somebody stopped Korrpse—a member of one of said gangs— who apparently greenlit the operations for the day. Nonetheless, there wasn't much more tagging after that. Again, the "plan" could not be labeled as such.
With school glue and little experience in putting up posters, utility poles, and those blocky power thingies, domestic and business walls found new decor. I documented everything and listened to reasoning after reasoning that didn't quite objectively explain why they were doing all that. "It's to help 'unalienate' the low-income people alienated by fascist propaganda" and to "guide potential sympathizers to the right path"; meanwhile, we didn't see a single person scanning the QR code, but many suspects of trying to peel off the posters. Luckily, no police made rounds around those parts, clearly left to chance by public security, and under daylight, they did what they did without repercussion.
We crossed the BR, and in the distance, a police car graced our view; the spray can lying elusively inside a backpack. Now, it was time to act in a neighborhood just a little richer, although police cars passed by us every few minutes. "Down with the rich" was tagged on one of the mentioned blocky power thingies, and more posters were glued all the way to that very first meeting spot.
We spoke of informational newspapers and zines, as well as new designs for posters and shirts—things I'll probably be helping them with in the long run. At the end, Fernanda went home, and Korrpse used the rest of the paint to dis some people who X-ed him. I called it a night too, and we all went our way: me, home, Cabeleira and Korrpse to the second part of their day: more cigs and the skate park, I guess their night was still young.
In conclusion, I think all radical youth aspire to be the young Olga Benário, but few of them know what her position was as an infant activist and how much it took for her to become a true communist hero. Most do not know how the communism of today is not at all that of the past, and how very little is currently being done to actually install a functional communist state in our western, capitalist world. Sure, I am not the best person to speak of the present, but I know very well I that live in the past. I acknowledge my position, and I fight the way I can for a better world, so I do not necessarily hope for a takeover, but for the reform that will save, through means of equality, my community. I can't discuss communism, but I have enough of a critical eye to ask why and listen, choosing to believe or not based on not only one reason or one truth, but in comparison and study, being open to acknowledge all sides. And honestly, everybody fucking sucks.
According to him, a deliberate choice of wardrobe
"Down with the rich"
Technically, criminals on the run
4th: "Oh, yeah, I have a journal. Damn."
I can't believe it's been almost a full month since I last wrote a journal entry. Been a while, eh? But I'm not sorry. So much has happened and has been happening currently, that I barely have any time to follow a proper routine like was my dream when I idealized this new section of the blog. I've been so non-casually active these days, and the stories I'm living through are so many, that I simply can't find the time to sit for a while and write them down. So I won't do so. I've decided not to worry about this past recounting so much, and just try to adapt the journal into the present and present future. Nonetheless, it would only be fair if I made at least a resume of EVERYTHING, so here we go:
Firstly, the city's very first literary fair was going to happen this November, and needless to say, I was HYPE for it. Right around the time I wrote the last entry for the month, I began preparing myself for what I was going to find there: making scheduled plans, and skimming through biographies and bibliographies, and tidying up my in-Portuguese portfolio, and [unfortunately/fortunately] discovering my identity as a photographer.
When The Trove started, I had been taking photos for a little while, and people who follow me here on the internet have had the chance of watching me grow throughout this little-over-a-year, and it's been pretty cool, even from my own perspective. One of these people is my good friend Mozart, he's a British cinema student and is pretty hip to my photographic career; checking all the updates and even commenting on them.
Something he's always told me is that I do "street photography", that The Trove is this "street photography thing", but back then I didn't really know what that even meant, since I didn't know shit about "real photography". My thing was taking my camera with me wherever I went and snapping pictures; wasn't interested in the technicalities of equipment, or programming, or philosophies and schools, or any of that; I was my doing my own thing, independent of labels or influences. So I just told Mozart to fuck off.
But, when the Sony DSC-H100 came into my hands, and I had my first experience with control over aspects of capture (ISO, shutter speed, aperture, etc.), I decided to give myself a break, and just look up some guides to better understand the scope of potential my new tool was giving me. That's when I came into contact with the works of Simon d'Entremont, and his amazing videos on photography basics.
Watching his stuff, I found out that I learned quite a lot by myself, but there was still plenty I wasn't yet aware of, and that led me to quite the rabbit hole. Now I was watching guides on flash, and posing models, and reviews for lenses that cost more than my house, and one day, on my homepage, there was a fancy-looking recommendation: an episode from a web series called Walkie-Talkie, interviewing a yuppie street photographer named Trevor Wisecup.
From the get-go, it really captured me. That scrawny son of a bitch, just smacking people with flash and seeking to capture real moments, life, in pictures, in the most clear and literal way of doing so: is exactly me.
I've always told myself that photography resumes to two things: you either are taking pictures of people, or you're taking pictures of things; you can take pictures of people like they're things, or of things like they're people, but you're either doing one or the other. I have been taking pictures of things, and of people like they're things, ever since I started photographing. Why? Because I didn't want to be intrusive, and would rather watch from afar. I captured my vision > life was seen from afar. When you're seeing a big number of people, like the audience of a live show, in one of those drone videos, they all morph into a mantle of skin color; but if you're amongst them, taking pictures right then and there, you're gonna find individuality, and you're going to find the human, and you're gonna find life.
I've always wanted to be part of the audience, but all I did was fulfill the role of the drone. I wasn't being real to myself, but I'm still learning; and now I'm pretty good at landscape photography. After watching that video, and seeing myself in Trevor Wisecup, I decided to shake things up a bit; pop up my built-in flash, point my camera to people's faces, and capture scenes I find worth it. Putting it together, this November I had 7 days of experience in hands-on street photography, and not gonna lie, this really is everything I have always wanted.
I love going around and complimenting people, and finding great scenes, and capturing life around me as is. From Delany's idea of contact, I am providing and exploring contact, and changing people's lives with even the simplest of interactions, and that's FUCKING AMAZING. But I need to shorten this up a bit, because you'll be learning more about it when the updates begin to pop out.
Just know that, from now on, life photography is what you're going to be seeing from me. Unofficially, this is going to be a fourth season for the Trove, and I'm so excited to show you all what I have in store.
During the fair, my life changed. The people I've met there are my people, being with them is where I want to be. Some pretty cool things are going to be happening this 2024, and if you can read Portuguese, you're at a serious advantage here. lol
And I also became a skinhead barber. S.H.A.R.P., though, fuck a chicken.
I'll try to write at least a paragraph every day from now on, but this is going to be it for today. And about Pep, I had to cut him up, more on that later.