February 15. Belém.

That professor of mine might be infected too. He could be part of the complot. He accepted my PhD-thesis just because he felt sorry or something. Otherwise what would it mean? I am not used to squeeze meaning out of that. The complot thought could be interesting: just imagine the whole world working together diligently to make you believe you are contributing to it.

You could help me and correct the language. It’s nothing personal, don’t be afraid, these are just words put together. We can write together, wouldn’t that be nice? It’s an erroneous
idea that the chains of words that we scat along the trail of our lives are the zenith of our individuality. They are just a means to make it reproduce itself, they are so wonderfully external.

We went to Belém for a picknick. We were a big group. It was a delicious feast, we had bread, chips, wine, beer, cookies, we even brought a Sushi maker and real Wasabi sauce. The weather
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At night, we watched “little miss Sunshine”. It’s wonderful to see how an absolutely dysfunctional family finds together over a bizarre beauty contest for a seven year old. The homosexual acclaimed Proust scholar Frank, running energetically through the Rodondo Beach hotel corridors to make it in time for the subscription to that beauty contest as if everything depends on it – he is saving mankind.