February 15. Belém.

That professor of mine might be infected too. He could be part of the complot. He accepted my PhD-thesis just because he felt sorry or something. Otherwise what would it mean? I am not used to squeeze meaning out of that. The complot thought could be interesting: just imagine the whole world working together diligently to make you believe you are contributing to it.

You could help me and correct the language. It's nothing personal, don't be afraid, these are just words put together. We can write together, wouldn't that be nice? It's an erroneous
idea that the chains of words that we scat along the trail of our lives are the zenith of our individuality. They are just a means to make it reproduce itself, they are so wonderfully external.

We went to Belém for a picknick. We were a big group. It was a delicious feast, we had bread, chips, wine, beer, cookies, we even brought a Sushi maker and real Wasabi sauce. The weather
was warm. I took a photo of a rusty chain. The decaying rings looked more like wood. The Electrity Museum next door had some interesting machines, big German AEG electricity generators. The guard signaled me to move on in every hall of the exhibition. We felt our Pastéis de Belém craving calling again, but the line in front of that place, the only original place where they have the secret recipe with the crispy thing -it was just bizarre. Hunderds of people it seemed were waiting to get sweet Belém pastry. Once something is know as "very special",
we are all going after it. We al want to be as very special as each other.

At night, we watched "little miss Sunshine". It's wonderful to see how an absolutely dysfunctional family finds together over a bizarre beauty contest for a seven year old. The homosexual acclaimed Proust scholar Frank, running energetically through the Rodondo Beach hotel corridors to make it in time for the subscription to that beauty contest as if everything depends on it - he is saving mankind.