Da ontologia urbana

O observador caminha sobre paralelepípedos e cimento rachado; cacos de vidro e bitucas de cigarro; à volta com edifícios e janelas e portões e postes e luzes e muros escritos e calados e cartazes e outdoors e pontos de ônibus e árvores e carros e bicicletas e pessoas e cachorros, mas, principalmente, pessoas; comida e garrafas vazias e cheias e cigarros e fumaça e cheiros diversos e gestos e risadas e agressividade e indiferença e ostentação e miséria; quase não há flores exceto pelas que estampam os vestidos das moças; no entanto, florescem ali tantas coisas - belas e terríveis, vermelhas, cinzas, perigosas e inofensivas, naturais, não-naturais, razoáveis e incompreensíveis - que, ainda quando não encantem aos olhos, há que se dirigir a elas com atenção e dando-lhes nomes.

A cidade é um jardim de coisas.    

Frederic's Grove

Upon leaving the station, from the relative confinament into the open space, feeling the heat to dispel through the night, one will reconigze in the sign shouting the name of the street on wich now walks, reference to the name of the city in wich took place the famous treaty, that would result in war wey more cold than the hearts now moving around : Warschauer Straße.

Dozens, maybe hundreds impeled in the direction the street traces, in both possible ways over the bridge and over the rails the bridge. The search for any answers in the bodies of unknowns will make of this stranger a potencial enemy in face of every look to him directed. "They are all up in arms" - he'll think; and since his own perspective, the complete unknown will be, then, also persona non grata; those bodies on march will move forward over anyone who comes in the opposite way; and a new war silently announces itself under the text of the city.

But as one can understand the fisiology of that species hopelessly warlike, fraught with coldness and indifference from the eyes and outwards, will be possible to recognize the bloody heat circulating under those jackets, whereas each body - below the inaccurate sphere wich moves it - is also a whole universe. He'll run the risk, however, of loosing himself in the abism of possible texts projecting themselves behind those eyes if he could not commit himself with his own narrative. He must reconigze himself, thereby, in the position he now occupies and under the domain of the time wich embraces him, if he wants express and do not let himself loose simply in the uninterrupt movement that the city imposes on him.

I turn to the right and go on in the Revaler Straße, asking myself whether there is any change in the direction I trace or this is actually the given way, as a drawn line on the map, indicating the adventurer, the route he shall follow. But my questioning is interrupted by the darkness hovering around the corners, under less dense bodies' shadows, loaded with suspicious intentions behind looks facing me on and on, as if they were waiting for answers, for a wave or an order. They whisper in a language whose sintax is the context itself. I can´t reconigze the words, but I comprehend. I go on, yet, and with a brief pause in the indifference to say them they´re to me indifferent: Nein!

On the left, after the Libauer Straße, I move on by the right wayside in the Simon-Dach-Straße and a luminous and hot sign offers me shelter to the view across the darkness: "Primitv". Naming not only the proper place to the satiety it is required in order, but the very state in wich those desires are born. Die Lust hat mich bezwungen, zu fahren in den Wald – these are the poet´s words; and as his voice, hidden in the night, several others echo around. The whispers of before, however, have now exacerbated volume, as the nothing like primitive lighting of its homonym place - Wo durch der Vögel Zungen/ die Ganz Luft esrschallt. - In any case, an excessive arbitrariness would be to designate the desires of other birds, when even my own desires are obscure to me: Ihr strebet nicht nach Schätzen/ durch Abgunst Müh und Neid. - I shall, therefore, attribute them to the scenario, as the author who offers to his public, not the deep reasons of soul, but the wardrobe and the panorama. - Der Wald ist eu´r Ergötzen/ Die Federn euer Kleid.

The voices still sing, nevertheless, but now with different colors and changing after each step with wich I keep going on deep in that street, once my song has distinct assignments - as the top of the bildings around – than the assignments of the roof of Simon – and not even the spanish of Bolívar sounded exactly like the spanish of those who had imposed on him the language. What language is this, then, that inspires me daydreams and introduces me the city? I ask myself, cause, whatever the question is, the questioning is one of the treasures of the language that suits the stranger, but also the native one, to keep. But my linguistic embarrasment finds relief in the name printed in front of the store to wich a direct myself: Esperanto. I go to the cooler, pick up the bottle – whose message contained is merely the desire to sate -, I carry it until the cashier who announces me the price: Ein und fünfsig! - I take coins out of the pocket and I organize them in order to make me intelligible to the other, who expects from me just a simple mathematic operation and, above all, moral conformity to that well-established rule of the Capital. Everything so simple as should be the sound of a universal language. I pay, take the bottle and give him back one word: “Obrigado!”, without realize that my protocol thank is incomprehensible to the man.

At the exit, a few meters from there, another shadow approaches me, but this time I can distinguise the words amid the whisper: Willst du Weiß? But the text is, not even for that, clearer. As a matter of fact, the text is the same: each interpreter finds, this is it, in the style a distinct way to present it. But some steps forward and the threat is gone. The Simon-Dach-Straße goes on – with faultless rectitude if one ignores the interstitial space that Koperniku-Straße leaves on it while crossing this street – but it is no longer the same obscure habitat. The forest of nocturne voices gives way once again to the movement of the objectfied bodies. And the Copernicus' lesson compels me to revise my thoughts: Each body reveals on its movement not only the relative setting of its axis, as well as the other bodies' forces over it exerted; and because the Sun is the biggest luminary, should revolve around it these others, almost insignificant, named here merely after “bodies”. But there´s no answer, still, to another crucial question hoving over my conciousness: Around who revolves the Sun? Unknown, as a language of a bird migrating without flock, it is this force moving so promptly the body wich narrates to you the pathway.

“Minha terra tem palmeiras onde canta o sabiá” - But why sings he? And in what language? It is necessary, first of all, to solve the undetermined of a “Land of mine”.