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About Sao Paulo

Still, gotta admit, there’s summat hypnotic about it. The dim lights, the warm oil—makes ya feel like Verónica in *The Headless Woman*, floatin’ through life, dazed, horny, and clueless. “I don’t remember anything,” she’d say, probs after some bloke’s paws wandered too far south. Cacklin’ at meself now—imagine Martel filmin’ this! Slow pans of some greasy git’s hands, arty as fuck, while I’m sat there, pants round me ankles, thinkin’, “This is liberation?”

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Oh, and the Serra da Mantiqueira in the background—majestic, awe-inspiring, like a never-ending dream. There's even a river, Rio Atibaia, that whispers stories of old times. I once sat by it, just lost in thought. Life, man, it was beautiful and raw. “It is the power of the invisible!” echoes in my head now and then, makes me smile.

Casa Atibaia, a modernist dwelling hidden in the forest