I turned the lights off in the greenhouse; turned the plants into picturesque silhouettes. Their artificially sharp edges cut through the blurry gray asphalt. And I know the gray is an illusion of grains, black and white pebbles packed together, refusing to melt and form a stable ground. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
The sky turns blue, purple, and dark. On the window-panes steam drops glimmer like little diamondsThe streetlights are soft and warm like the lights in – estado de ouro. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I forgot how to say silver in my father\u2019s mother\u2019s tongue. In my new home, the streetlights shine sharp like the midday sun. And the lamps here are efficient. We can afford to let them shine at every moment, everywhere. We illuminate the city. We are truly enlightened. We know how to work for time. We beat the lamps\u2019 efficiency. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
We are light racing against time, driven by an optic illusion.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And we are oblivious.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cO tempo linear \u00e9 uma inven\u00e7\u00e3o do Ocidente, o tempo n\u00e3o \u00e9 linear, \u00e9 um maravilhoso emaranhado onde, a qualquer instante, podem ser escolhidos pontos e inventadas solu\u00e7\u00f5es, sem come\u00e7o nem fim.\u201d — Lina Bo Bardi<\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n