THE DEVIL TO PAY ON A SÃO PAULO AVENUE*

 "Oh where in the world have happened greater follies than among compassionate people? And what in the world caused more suffering than the follies of compassionate folks?Woe unto all lovers who have not yet a height which above their compassion!So once said to me the devil: "God also hath his hell: it is his love for mankind."And recently I heard him utter this word: "God is dead; for his compassion of humans God died. "

                         Nietzsche in 'Thus Spoke Zarathustra'              

[*A Prosaic Poem devoted to Wagner and Cristina]

When sadness takes hold of human minds, and one is in São Paulo (now Sampa), in mid-April, fear and avoidance only grow because the Sun is farther and farther away. Many, many people begin their weeping at city corners, never minding that no one pay attention to them.
Unreal ones persist, however, as a few alive and healthy people in the midst of the massive crowds of this monster-city. Yes, in this that resulted from that little drop of village which fell here more than four centuries ago, and since a hundred years so far has begun to grow disproportionately by circles on whose edges abound slums, hungry people, thieves, robbers, serial killers, old, miserable women, abandoned children and beggars, fallen teeth, dead.
Corrosive circle of the Earth, horrible shapes, São Paulo, Brazil.
As I said, the unreal people have always been no more than a very few. Rarely they bump into each other. The authentic unreal is a big loner. After so many anxious paces within his own room, during a misty morning, and after launching the TV set through his apartment window, Mario decided to get out and wander along the streets. Despite the chill, he dressed just a few pieces and it stayed quite easy to see the nakedness of his pretty body, while strolling through so-called public avenues, squares, pathways.
We love unreal people!
It happened then the impossible, divine encounter!. They made love up under the bright lights of the Paulista, and amid the median, intersection with Augusta. As can be easily inferred, the drivers of the cars bystanders have not watched their sex, because even being behind the wheel, they 'were weeping at the corners'. Anyone who weeps at the corners is unable to see the fury of lovers in heat.
After enjoying the most divine among rest moments, they got separated.            
Nobody may now be allowed to say that love does not any more exist in this crazed megalopolis.
Yes, we like literary figures!
It was after this last exclamation point that the actually impossible took place: a crowd of men and women, all unreal and beautiful and naked, bursts from every corner, as if such were still possible on São Paulo land. It's not feasible to ascertain who they are, what they want, where they are going to.
Cut, cut! Big mistake!  All that must be right away deleted. Those were nothing but the first city movements at an autumn dawn.
Please, forgive us. This is not the first time that such deception dominates our writing.
Some say a new day always brings wonder worlds. What a blunder! A sweet and fleeting erotic illusion, a dream of an autumn night has nothing to do with a new world...
The crowd of lovers occupied all corners of Sampa. No longer could one see men and women mournful and downcast. Everybody became suddenly and truly unreal. We too. You do not know how many we are, what we want, who we are or why we narrate this story. You will never realize what we want from you.
We hate to weep at the corners! So standing against such, we made up our mind to become unreal. Then we wandered the streets in search of other naked bodies, eager for penetrating glances, thirsty for life and love.
Unreal people hate certain words and certain gestures. It is not, however, a hatred to be scared. Unreal ones live to make love at  corners, on alleys.
We know you will point: "well, they make love at the corners".
We ask your excuses, but you must understand that the unreal are capable of loving each other everywhere, thus the expression 'at the corners' is pretty justified by the mere fact that there are corners everywhere here - it was like a figurative use, a poetic-rhetorical sense.
If we have struck up  your emotions with 'weeping in the corners'...
We really want that you be thrilled.
Given, however, that of an unreal you do not have - pardon the bluntness - absolutely nothing, it causes us much grief knowing about your actual future existence, even if only presumed. We would like to root it  out from the possibilities.
We will indeed definitely forget you.
The life blood flows in the lovers' crowd, thus driving the penetrating bodies to fertilize up this São Paulo ground as never before!
Amid this Dionysian explosion, Mario finds the other wishful being. They flee together away. It's no more enough the crowd for them. They hide in an alley somewhere.
"I love you".
"Love you too."
Many years pass, and Mario no longer remembers that autumn. We let Mario remember:
"It was at a dawn in May, amid the unreal crowd, you met her. We wish to see yet again the fury of your bodies in heat, Mario!  We hope your wish and her wish to fuck furiously!
"Nothing you can know, friends, what's up to us. Maybe it was a stupid oversight, or a fear that came from a simple truth. Do you remember that first dawn, that furious fucking amid the median of Paulista Avenue? Well, when leaving home I had taken for me a roll. Since I had not want to eat it immediately, who could know why did I carry such roll?

While we licked each other, wetting our bodies, dropped me the tiny bread there in the middle of that avenue.

Someone came in a black car, at full speed, saw the bread lying there, stopped the engine and got out. It was just one among the many who wept at the gray and dirty corners of Sao Paulo. As it was impossible for him to see us, since we were unreal lovers, he became raging, very intrigued with the smell of sex, which he could not guess where was coming from. He fidgeted, became mortified of envy, had hate, fear, dread, and at last trampled  that roll at a burst of anger, and thereafter run away at 140 per hour.

Our bodies then woke from the divine joy very hungry, so we ate of that bread without much thinking. It all started thus on that same night of our first meeting amid such a colossal explosion of desire. "

We shut up and left Mario alone, closed in his peace.

A graveyard's peace.

This same author has published “Owl Minerva's Overflying”, a novel at amazon.com, in Sepetember 2013. It may be accessed by clicking on:

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004FGMTRC/ref=rdr_kindle_ext_tmb