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It has been some time since I last spoke with her, called her to fight like I always say. But this week here in Los Angeles giving a playwriting workshop led me to rediscover my own drama. My old friend. Since "A pile of dishes in the kitchen" I really haven’t write anything too significant. I have four texts in progress. But that's it. When I say "in progress" is just that. They lay there, half abandoned, and squeezed between all other Word files, statements, authorizations, lyrics. They are there for me more and I did not pay any attention to them. They are fragments of conversations, written scenarios, outlined characters, but nothing much more than that.

I confess that one has little to do with the tremendous disappointment I had with "A pile of dishes in the kitchen." I find this text one of my best and at the time it debuted, the jury prize Shell indicated no text in half saying that it had opened with any text level to compete for the prize. I thought, "Oh, fuck you" and left the Drama for a while. I did not think far more worthwhile. Not that I take the prize as Shell (who won in 2000 with "Our Life is not worth a Chevrolet" and who has been nominated three other times) so seriously, but I thought, "I write a text and these fucking assholes who judge the work of the theater class to assume the right to say that my text has to be indicated even level? These fuckers do not even know how to clean your ass right. What do they understand of Drama? " So remember that I turned to other things.

I write lyrics, I spend more to rock and roll, finished my book of poems and also my book of short stories, written much on this blog and prefaces to books of friends, but I left the theater texts forgotten among all those files ( most stupidly unnecessary). And I was cheering for my friends dramatists who continued writing. I was rooting for John Fabio Cabral (this motherfucker writes a text a week. It seems when I was young), by Sergio Melo (I'm writing the foreword to his book pro), Paul F (where are the texts, my brother? It will become the King of Comedy?) by the couple Paulinha Chagas and Mark Gomes, for Jarbas Capusso director who turned up with his final text.

By Samir Yazbeck, each day taking more seriously madly their work. I watched the boys grow and I in mine. I went to work as an actor in the texts of friends ("To bones that ache so much in winter" by Sergio Melo and "The Coldest night of the year" Marcelo Paiva). But during this week, talking enthusiastically with these kids eager to write their own texts and to show me, and to talk about them and to hear my own text and to hear what I have to say about it. And listen carefully to all I have to say about it. And I never knew you had so much to say. It is a workshop where there were virtually no dropouts. They stayed there all week.

I always think after the first day, though everyone will type "was not anything I thought," but it was not what happened, so much so that today (last days) will miss time for us to discuss the texts of all. Some entire texts written during those five days. Texts with a level of cool. And then I encountered my old friend. Alone with my laptop in the hotel room. I began to write feverishly and was not long ago. And I started to like it a lot of writing. It was like I said, "Hey, your whore? Yeah I would like to see you here again? You'll make me a blowjob right now the way you know I like and will only stop when I say to stop."She took that huge smile and open it alone can give, if called that night would be long, stuck his head out in the middle of my legs and sent him to see. It's being fucking good. Today I talked to guys in the workshop: "One of our greatest enemies is MP3. That's it. In the past we went out on the street and kept thinking all the time in conversations, situations, scenes of closures. Today we get listening to music all the time, purposely distracted. We're choosing not to think. " So I turned off the MP3 and walked through the Lower City watching people at bars. But we must not abandon the MP3 fucking, even as a soundtrack is always welcome in such situations. We just can not get is dependent on it. I myself in and out of bars that do not know with people who do not know and I realized that the magic're all there. I encountered my old friend and it seems that's in the mill so, okay inteiraça a whore. Fine legs yet, despite the advanced age already. Those legs that we think of Bukowski's poems, so connected?

But of course there are all distractions. Of course the chair lift and turn on the cable tv and I'm watching a movie any. But it seems that the films conspire in my favor. It seems that the subject entered the house abruptly suggests to me an idea for a dialogue that was already entrenched there between a lyric (I did one more verse to "Agreement with woman", Fabia) and another verse of that poem trumpeter I I'm writing. Clip the little band of MTV pop gives me the clue that was missing to understand the main motto of the book's foreword by Sergio Melo. It's all so. It was ever thus. Tava is that I really fucking weird. But the biggest distraction of all (one of my famous quotes and sayings: "what a beautiful distraction") is the book of Raymond Carver ("Beginners") I got my friend Reinaldo Moraes. I had read "Short Cuts" and "Be quiet, please," but this "Beginners" is a melancholy rough, dry incomparable poetry. Each story takes you over to the back of the room makes you want to get drunk and stop any possibility of unbridled emotion. Is not that. It is a kind of Sam Shepard even drier, more hopeless, hopeless. It is the last poem by someone who knows it will no longer be able to write a crap because it has a cancer undermining their resistance (that sad story that his friend the poet, Marcelão. And what a beautiful poem that you posted it - go. The Link's here on the side). And it will not be whining about it. Thanks, Reinaldo. When the book was still being translated, you already told me how much I would get high. You were right. You're almost always. I said "almost," said?

But do not think I regret that vacation exactly playwrights. Not at all. I remember I was watching the show "Made in China" there in Aurora and Oswaldo Vechione invited me on stage with them and sing "My life is rock and roll." When I got off the stage, my friend Paulão hugged me and said, "You saw what happened? The Oswaldo Mario called to the stage, lead singer of" Bag of Mice ", that's what he said. He called the Playwright Mario Bortolotto . Did you notice? " And Paulão was right. It was what he called anyway. And I was proud of it. My life has always been rock and roll. I just started writing for the theater because of the rock and roll. I had my first girlfriend because of rock and roll. I broke my face a bunch of times because of rock and roll. I filled the face several times with my friends because of the desperate rock and roll and I'm proud as hell of today be the lead singer of "Bag of Mice", this band fucking rock and roll (we play on Tuesday on "The Wall "). My life has always been and will always be rock and roll, but I had forgotten I know how to write for this business there called "theater," you know. Damn, I'm good at it, y'know? And as I always said, one does not have to necessarily cancel the other. I still have to make some more copyrights for my daughter.