… the book …

I never understood how someone could work on a book for ten years…
But now I do.
It has been Two, and the real work is just beginning to impress itself
upon me.     Editing… endlessly updating, minimalizing, saying it with less
words for more impact.
Two years ago my writing was different than today, with ramblings and
meandering paths to get somewhere, not always sure where that was.

I like to think I have grown as a writer, but more likely six months from
now, I will be chuckling away at my attempts to smoothly tell a tale.
Thus we grow.

As I proof read the earliest pages, I simultaneously tick away on the
completion of the final months of the story, the least pleasant times, the
stretching and waking times, of this saga of love, love lost and self found.

But there’s a bigger picture that is emerging, and it is social in nature…
Men and Women, what society asks, teaches, demands of each, for he
and I are archetypal characters …
Women lost in love fantasy, Men lost in proving themselves,
and the cost to each.

There is an overlay of thoughts right now, as I ponder War and it’s
effect on the men in our world.  Society says they are Heros, but at what
cost, to them and to society in general?  My firsthand account of the before
and after of this man cuts deeply into what we loose, even when we win.

And lastly, an even bigger perspective on the cost society exacts from those
who stand out, are different enough to question too much, to achieve too
much, to have been gifted more than their share.
Often they are not rewarded, appreciated or lifted up, but made to feel the
outcast for doing exactly what society tells them they should….
To be the best you can be, although it never seems enough.

And anger, the anger at the Real Lies fed to us, the ones we believed in as
children, the lies that we thought we should follow and embody, women
and men, each following what seemed to be the Truth, and the resulting
pain and disappointment that we see everywhere today.

And so my work is cut out for me.  and I intend to persevere.


… a favorite alcir joke …



Oh, he Loved this joke… and he told it well.


This man is shipwrecked, with Sharon Stone.
It’s fabulous, but still he is not happy.
He asks if she will grant him one favor,
as she sees he is not content.

Please, would you put on a moustache and beard,
and dress yourself as a man?”  he asks.
She cannot understand, but agrees to do it
for him, nonetheless.

So here she comes, all made up and dressed
as a guy, and wondering why…
He greets her happily….

Hello!  How are you Doing?”  he asks…
“Fine…” she says.
“Oh Good….” he replies….
“And Me?…
Oh…. Well!  Very Well!……
….You wouldn’t Believe who I’m fucking!!!”

… a resume …


alcir joins the Foreign Legion, 1989

I found this Resume, while searching for him in 2004
It was written in Portuguese, and robot translated…

“Been born on 14/02/1958, former Rio de Janeiro pupil of the
Collegio Pedro II, former urban guerilla during periodo of the
dictatorship, exiled em 1979, having lived in 5 paises, and
transited by others the 43 in all continents.

Having worked as Fishing of Ouricos of Mar (Professional Diver)
of the coast north of the State of California.
He ties the Alaska, where I lived per 4 years having worked
there tambien as Fishing of King Crab, that and considered the
profession most dangerous of the world,
And having served per 5 years in the French Foreign Legion, in
the Duzieme Regiment  Etrangere de Parachoutists of where I
gave low with apos metals  of bravery to have passed for tres
great conflicts, as:
Chad, Djbouty, and finally in the Gulf War Desert Storm.
Eximio sailor, having crossed the horn four times, two times
being aground.

The unica reason pra that I bring everything this tone, and so
that can subsidize what I believe gives a success, my book of
memories that would like to see published, as much how much
the remain of my tedious workmanship would literaria.
None ties the moment, but I wait to revert this picture how
much before.

In the truth, I have dues letters and an article on fishes of
ouricos of the sea, and the Exon Valdez, published in the
periodical San Francisco Chronical.
I Wait Contacts…”


… the discovery …

The story that Alcir told me, of how he discovered Who he was,
discovered that he was First and Foremost a loner and a diver…
is actually heartbreaking, yet beautiful too.

“My inner self started when I was 6 years old, and I was drowning
in high seas.   My father trew me in the wader, he watch me as
I tried to stay up, my arms an’ legs grabbing.

I wen’ down, and didn’t come up.  I Loved it.  I went down to the
bottom, and sat in the mud for a long time…. maybe four minutes.
Suddenly I appeared up, with a big smile, and I discovered my life.
All I wanted was to dive.
I discovered who I was…. a loner and a diver. I didn’t need anyone
else to help me, or to tell me who I was.
And that is when I started fighting it.
They…my parents… could never understand why I refused to use
my intelligence, which they said I had.
Two times I broke the world record for deep sea diving.
I went over 75 meters down…
I don’t care that it was not recorded.  I know who I am. “

 I remember he told me once that he went down … i don’t know…
200 feet or something crazy.  When he came back up, the
other guys didn’t believe that he’d gone down all the way to
the sea floor, so he went back down, following the anchor chain,
and brought up some sand from the bottom, just to prove
that he did.  This was a Free Dive.

He claimed he could stay down for many minutes… four or five…
and frankly I doubted his story.  I mean, impossible, right?
Then much later, I saw some nature program, where it talked
about how some people have this rare genetic ability …
and can, indeed, hold their breath for many minutes, and also
endure deep dives.  I had no idea.

“All I wan’ to do is make myself happy.  Society wans people who
wan’ to impress society.  I’m not a monkey… I’m not a circus animal,
that lives to amuse people… I jus’ wanna live my life.”

He got a medal for bravery.  It was in Desert Storm I think.
He carried a buddy on his back to safety, but he was already dead.

“He took 6 or 7 bullets for me”, he told me “but he was already dead.
Actually, he shielded me, but that was not why I carried him.
I never thought of that, I only thought of getting him out of there”

Another war story in Desert Storm… he was sleeping in his tent,
and in the middle of the night, he got up to take a piss… he heard
an explosion.
He looked back, and NO TENT…

He’s been shot 11 times, stabbed 4 times, and something happened
to his face.
“I know,” I told him. ” I can’t believe you’re still alive.  I’m amazed.”

“If You are…imagine me?”  His eyes grew dark and clouded over.
Still, his gaze was intent, as he looked deeply into me, knowing
he was sharing things hidden so deeply within his heart.

“When I am at war, I do not see them as human beings…no…
as a target; I have a perfect concept that they feel the same for me.”

“I don’ wanna die,  I don’ know why.  I don’ care about life or death, but …
somehow, I don’ wanna die”

He told me so many things about himself that night.  My heart is
heavy with the realizations of his youthful pain.  He said at six,
his mother told him he wouldn’t live til he was eight, and every
year she renewed her predictions.

“Why?” I asked.
“Because she didn’t like me.”

He was always in trouble, at home, at school.  And then came the
Now today, I realize that he is ADHD.  And these people are usually
extremely intelligent, and in those days they were completely

And the father story… a life of beatings.  With the belt, with a
piece of wood, with whatever he had in his hand at the time….
…even kicking him, and when he fell to the ground and curled up
in a ball, well then he’d kick him some more.
They both took great pleasure in punishing him in front of others.
Strange, how such terrible deep scarring can direct someone to
such drive, such accomplishment.
I’ve felt for some time that all of this was about proving himself
as a man.  But not to be loved, not to be liked by others.
And he was never accepted or shown love by either parent.

No, it was something deeper.  Proving to Himself that he was
what he Knew himself to be……  Extraordinary.


… what is love?…

Ah the eternal question… n’est pas?

What is it that turns stable and sane people, who are
quite able to function and breeze over most of the big
bumps in life…
…into creatures who suddenly find themselves on a
rollercoaster of internal chemicals, unable to
think of much else, and behave like mindless
blubbering idiots?

“Love…an intense feeling of deep affection, a deep romantic
or sexual attachment to someone;
fondness, darling, passion,
to fancy, be fond of, or adore.”

Well!  that certainly covers a bit of territory.
Me thinks we need about 18 words for love, like the
Eskimo/Inuit with their many words for Snow…
(although Google tells me this is another myth, and that
the European Sami People are the ones with all the words)

No wonder we’re confused. Let’s try going deeper…

“1. a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person.
2. a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection, as
for a parent, child, or friend.”

or how bout…

“1. A deep, tender, ineffable feeling of affection and solicitude
toward a person, such as that arising from kinship, recognition
of attractive qualities, or a sense of underlying oneness.
2. A feeling of intense desire and attraction toward a person
with whom one is disposed to make a pair; the emotion
of sex and romance.
3. a. Sexual passion.
Sexual intercourse.
A love affair.”

And it goes on…and on…My Favorite is ….
“a Zero score in tennis.”
OK… now I’m even more confused.
Biologically, they say it’s all about Chemistry.
There are wonderful substances that release when we
‘fall in love’, and these create such pleasure in our brain
centers, it becomes a high very much like cocaine,
and apparently, just as addictive.
But that still doesn’t answer the Why of it…
Why do we ‘fall in love’ with only certain someones…?

For me, I know that I was programmed for it….let’s call it
Romantic Love.
I’m an American, and between the old fairy tales, Disney,
and Hollywood… well, there ya go.

I was also somewhat sheltered, raised on myths, prone to
fantasy, and innocent in the most wholesome way.
I have grown wise to the world, but I am still a fool
when it comes to Love.

But I Do know the difference between “Being in Love”, which
is the Romantic equivalent of idiotic infatuation, and Real Love.
And I don’t think Anyone outgrows the ability to fall in love,
at least for a little while.
Out of mind would be the appropriate phrase.

But as time passes, if you have some genuine aspects there
that hold your interest and continue the attachments, you begin
to have Real Love, which is this deep and abiding feeling of tender
appreciation and attachment,  plus an admiration for parts of
a person, even though you are well aware of their
shortcomings and rotten parts.

This is very different from the first, and much more satisfying.
It is at this phase that you might actually find someone
you can stay with.

Well…?  don’t you honestly in your heart of hearts finally
somewhere believe there is a Someone for you, a someone
that was predestined to find you, or you them,
…someone who will be the mirror to your disposition and the
puzzle piece you’ve been waiting for…
…the perfect fit sexually, of course…..as well as
Someone who will appreciate the little parts of you that
others might find strange and irritating…
…and it really helps if that someone also Real Loves You…

Oh, the Right one will not only Get it, they will Enjoy it…
Relish it, Savor those eccentric, delightful parts of you, that
you Know are wonderful and shareable… and just a little weird.

Come on … admit it.  Even the cynics, the disheartened,
the broken hearted, and the most world weary amongst us…

I am willing to bet that down in the heart of your beaten up little
heart, is that soft little core, that childishly, purely as a child,
sweetly as butterflies, believes there will be someone who will
Understand who we Really are, while also turning us on….

….to the point of mind bending ecstatic transformational
blending of two souls into one magnificent pulsating
glowing being….whilst allowing us to leave our bodies and
become one with the Universe…
…oh wait…am I aiming too high?

Come on…. it’s there, you know it…
otherwise, why would we keep on trying to find it?

I wonder, as I look clearly at it now, if I was up to the task.
I chose not only a Brazilian man, but also a genius…
a Revolutionary, free thinking, well educated wild man,
…who read all the classics while still a child, and dreamed
of being one of those heroes who changed the world.
A man who saw very early that Most of the present world
is basically bullshit, and way off course.
Someone who didn’t fit in, and never wanted to.
And someone who was punished
from day one for being who he was.

And with a primal spirit that chose a physique so enriched and
so blessed, as to be called Special….in the nicest way….

So able and blessed, that he believed on the one hand that
he was able to do Anything, while on the other hand having
been told he was bad, so bad he was not even worth a mother’s love.
Confused, torn, convoluted, lonely, cynical, and hopeful…
…and a complete Romantic.

Do I like challenges….ya think?

So what’s my deal?  And what have I learned from all of this,
this story that is still and yet half-told…?

One…. Sometimes Love is not enough.
Two…. we know not what the goal or outcome is, or might be.
Three… let go and let…(insert the name of whomever you choose
as your source of wisdom, life and trust.)
Oh, and don’t forget
Four…. shit happens, the Universe decides, and shit happens.
Stuff floats into life…and we call it, even if we deny it.

That, and making Art of Life… is my project, my path, and
my choice… deal with it, process it, and enrich Life itself.

And make your wishes known to the Universe, visualize what
you’d like, and then…..choose what comes…



… Bobo de Camarao …

Bobó de camarão, sometimes referred to as shrimp bobó
in English, is a Brasilian dish in a purée of manioc (a.k.a. casava)
meal, coconut milk, and other ingredients.

Shrimp bobó is nearly identical to the West African dish Ipetê,
and is one of the many iconic recipes from the Bahia region of Brazil,
which is known for its heavy Afro-Brazilian characteristics.
Bahia is a region on the Coast,  far North of Rio.

INGREDIENTS  in Alcir’s Bobo…

onions, garlic, tomatoes, coconut milk, sour cream,
cream cheese, olive oil, yuca root and prawns or shrimp.

***note: there are many kinds of yuca or yucca  (they call
it Yooka), and you just have to find what you can locally.
In Rio, we had a brown one with thin skins, which we peeled
before boiling.  When I made in the US, I could only find
darker ones with thicker skins, but after peeling, they
were pretty much the same.

**Peel Yuca, and Boil til soft… then mash up leaving chunks.
**Chop and cook tomatoes til very soft.
**Sauce… add coconut milk to tomatoes, plus sour cream,
cream cheese, and salt.
He also took all the shrimp heads, and cooked them for a long
time, then strained them and used this liquid in the sauce.
**Cut onions in circles, chop garlic, and saute in olive oil
til very soft.
**Clean Prawns, add to onions, and saute briefly.
**Add yuca to sauce, simmer and mix.
*Lastly, add prawns and onions, and season.

Serve over Rice of any kind.

As side dishes, he served his bobo with :
**French fried finely shredded batatas…..potatoes…

**Mashed batatas and cenoura…. boil potatoes and carrots in a
two to one ratio, mash leaving chunks, and season with butter,
salt and sour cream.

**Watercress Salad…. just wash and dry, then drizzle with olive oil.

A delicious and satisfying dinner, and a great treat for guests!

…the poem…

November 2004…….I was swept away by Love…


After our notes back and forth, I of course sent him my number, and
very soon he called.  I have no remembrance of what we talked of,
just that it was stoney, heady, transporting.

The next day I received this email:

“I will published tonight kisses



Carol  !

Hear your voice

Made me feel capable of

Fooling the time

Flying around in a dream

Returning to days when life was truthful

And love dare to defy

All mediocrity and nothingness.

That surrounds and kill

The beauty that we can create

When we are living in love !


Your words touched my days

Of loneliness and sarcasm

Of cynicism and doubter

Hear you brought me back to a time

When love was solemn

And ruled my believes.

I remembered your taste

And the perfumes of us


As one.


Lovers of life

That discovered the fluorescence with…

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