12232019

Hey,

I know these are lots of words, will you bear with me till the end?

Last year, I learned a hard-bitter truth. When I thought I was unsafe with one person, I realized that no matter how I had lived, the whole world was not able to help me.

Have you ever felt like a grain of sand in the whole beach?

A part so small, that no matter how big you were built and all of the things God’s given you, that nobody could understand you?

Hi, my name is Ana Clara Rios Gouveia. I don’t know why it is like that, but I believe that is some crazy story that only others can really tell you about it. I’m limited to what I remember.

For some reason, maybe my life work maybe will become the understanding of the human mind, where do we store pieces of information, such as the words we hear, recognizing in them the voices that spoke them, much as the lucid images we record while living an experience?

As far as I know, I had been raised by a family in Brazil. I grew up with my maternal grandparents, and then was raised by my aunt, all whilst my mother had been around me. She married, and then had a child.

My father on the other hand, was always somewhat absent. All I know is for many years, I tried reaching out to him, but come father’s day, go father’s day, and I didn’t really have a family life as I’d wished for. He was around though, with my step mom and three other siblings.

In the middle of a small town that is always summery, I became what I call ‘a street dawg,’ I loved being outside, and animals, and people. With my mom, I remember seeing so much poverty at times, that I believe led me to think about the world, about how I could change it.

I didn’t stop to think selfies, video surveillance, or that violence lived and existed so close to me.

I lived preaching for freedom, for a just world, for the rights of all.

I believed in Woodstock, free the titties, in John Lennon’s words.

So my pre-teens were really rough. I now believe I was drugged, abused and rapped before the age of 10. My first kiss is a joke told throughout the world. The way my body grew was an absolute ridicularization throughout my ‘becoming of an adult.’

I had ons-and-off periods of being overweight, but never to the ridiculous extent that it has happened in 2018.

Kids would diss, and disrespect, so I told them to fuck off and made my own friends outside my private school. They were the outcasts, the stray dawgs, the ‘so called’ losers, ‘pot-heads’, ‘metalheads’…

In my town, so bored with all the crap they played, I never fit in. Somewhere inside of me, something bigger than me lived, the beast that is now being blocked because it uses of the only place it can go to scream and get out of itself (a must, should she confess).

There’s no better rage than real rage, the rage of feeling betrayed by literally everyone. There’s much good I learned to take from the ‘downfall,’ that I will save to the end of this letter. Before I tell you about how I feel now, I need to tell you about how I felt back then.

I didn’t understand why people would reject me. These days I thought, could I be autistic? Live like Sam from Atypical (on Netflix)? It couldn’t just be that people were awful to me because one man chose me to be his little lamb & sacrifice, could it?

Could a person have so much power, to inspire fear, that literally every person, felt like they needed to release all the shit they have inside of themselves onto me?

Yes. I saw my loving family bending over to them.

People don’t want trouble.

Even when it means the cost of somebody.

The question is, who, is really, that somebody? (and why are we so hung up on him?)

Why should Sam from Atypical, or me be picked for being disabled or not? Who are you to say that my doctors are right or wrong, and that this or that is better for me?

Because you’ve seen a behavior that you are not used to?

Hell, everybody notices that about me.

I speak louder than I would like to,

I move around faster, trying to get in contact with as many people as I can.

I have a mind that beats as fast as the beats in my heart, and is crowded with what other people think or even say about me, that I can recognize as my own words and acts, or not. I’m not perfect. However, I tend to stick out like a sore thumb.

Do I like it that way? No, not really. It is the way it is though.

So whilst people rejected me, and made me feel like I was a piece of shit compared to every other kid, or girl around me, as a child, the only thing I could think of, was how I’d dedicate myself to the things I thought, so I couldn’t live stuck on that shitty reality that people try to paint for me.

I didn’t have a lot of opportunities. There were nobody in my hometown that could teach me how to play an electric guitar. Nobody to give me voice lessons. There were some people that knew how to play some music, but how I know everything I knew and still do about it, is a mystery, I can’t say to you exactly, what do I mean by ‘Say A.’ (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q_9mfr-Ck6I)

Why I think people don’t like me these days?

Coz I’m scary AF, and my family is scarier.

Not because are they even family? Mostly because the people that have stayed, and even the ones that act as if they are not, in fact, are my family. Because they see, and know much of what I told you.

It often feels that the only reason why people have been able to open up and tell me the truth about themselves, is for the fact, that they have learned to love me, and in fact feel remorseful for what they have done.

Least that’s how I prefer to read it, otherwise, I feel really (like really) bad for all these folks that are so caught up in whatever about somebody, and instead of enjoying the presence of each other, must then be sharing an actual sucky life experience.

So I’m not worried about love, money, and all that stuff that psychics could read me on cards, the words of a friend, with intent of making me cry, and suffering, are only a nick, that say, you must disconnect from reality, you’re time haunting this place is done, your spirit shall no longer linger, you must become one with the universe.

I’m sorry for all the footage I’ve corrupted with my screams, this is all editable, if I die tomorrow, sad, would be some of the memories we shared, for they are petty.

Next time, if I blank out and walk out with a beer, please be nice to your regular, just ask them to go inside. Lots of folks, don’t live in the hypocrisy that America has about outside drinking.

If I’m falling, and actually (video recorded) being problematic because ¾ of a bottle of whiskey is a bit much, please make sure that I get my coat, and have all my belongings, and that I can safely make it home. That’s what friends and family do.

Always been and gone to the Middle East, because it always felt like the volks that came through were more of a family than others. Sorry, I will be coming back, you can’t take it from me.

And while you think is a bad decision on my part, because you will be poisoning my Kafka, you bettah give me a better place to go for that, and remembering, U’m not Jesus Christ, cut me some slack, alright?

Also, the backhand slap, that’s just shitty. If any person sits at your bar and says its hungry and has no money, give them a little ear, its nice to be able to talk to a person, when sometimes you don’t really know what’s happening on that person’s life. I’m not sure on the numbers of your business, but I will expect you generate in a month a certain amount of income, and you may contribute to some of the homeless and hungry of Massachusetts.

I’m also pretty sure that for a group of amazing folks (that I met personally, even if momentarily), that the fact that many come up to me after the screams, that they most likely enjoyed the collaboratively fan-band cheer than are pettily annoyed about crap.

Don’t want to hear your fans contributions? Go back to your boring school recitals. Are you trying to mingle with a group of people that enjoy loud music alongside different kinds of screams? Your loss for thinking you shouldn’t be hearing me out. There’s so much we could be doing together, so what are you REALLY hung up on about me?

Please – what I saw last time I was there, was beyond pathetic. You’ve kicked a guy that has been working his way up to going out and being more sociable because of him opening up about the fact he needed a job and was hungry, and when he finally decided he’d pay $12 to go into a show, a thing that he doesn’t often do, you asked him to leave your venue?

How are you discouraging the segment of public you should be taking in?

If I were you – I wouldn’t be saying ‘Don’t come back. You are not welcome.’ Unless you want to end up without a job. I’d offer these very same people an apology alongside something nice, to say, ‘Sorry we deal with a lot of crap, sometimes we misjudge people.’

Quit being shitty. Don’t just give them ‘your food’ and then spit on them as if people are shit, because without each other, we’d truly be in real shit brother.

Also, just a side note, that if you are unhappy for some reason, you have a voice, talk it out, and PLEASE QUIT WITH your unreasonable and derogatory actions.

Nobody likes that. If there’s one place… (you know where it is) that I’ve seen all kinds of people come thru, and was still able to carry on a conversation, a fact that clearly states that these folks, all of them, are in there, and therefore deserve the respect that any individual deserves.

I am only telling you about the things you are doing wrong because you are my favorite in the whole world. I do not want you to get fucked up for stupid shit.

When I die, thanks for having those recordings. You will be one of the few that will be able to respond to what’s that with a sigh…

Ahhhh.

There isn’t many people around the world that can do these things I can do, that’s why I do them.

I also have magnificent thoughts about all these things and must science with it.

Maybe someday, I will build the software that will go from taking those orthogonal coordinates into polar, to building a dynamic plot of how your music sounds. Why is that we love that riff, why is this song more fun than the other, how much energy is it that it takes for a person to scream over a fucking metal band (remember no mic)…

It’s a power plot, a time-frequency, an audio file, something you can edit, and you can remove all theses As, and all that rage that comes from finding out that you may have been raped ever since you were a kid, and that you could take yourself as far as I did, but in the end, it didn’t really matter.

Why?

I don’t know. What else would you be doing if you had the entire world to look upon, and when nobody seem to care about the other real talents you have? (http://6177805911.blogspot.com)

Writing cover letters to try to get a fucking engineering job, when all you have to say is already on your resume? (Go find out: www.github.com/anagouveia1/resume)

Figuring, that the few people that you have, that you will be with, may never truly be with you. And that your life, no matter who you are, and who you were intended to be in this world, is just a waste, because its easier to blame someone, and to block someone, than it is to actually get to know someone.

While I have such power to be able to overtake an entire company in less than two years, I need to teach others, only when, more people can have some of the knowledge I have, we will be able to generate more jobs, and to keep up with all the stuff we build so we can build a better world.

To teach, I need to understand. How is it that a recording of a sound happen within different environments, what qualities of it do we lose from an open area (such as the Harvard Stadium) to a closed room as Upstairs?

Why would we measure power, could this be correlated to a pressure, and could that indicate how much force your bands put on the walls around you? Sure,  you have had them there for years, over 30, and with shows happening at likely the same frequency, so I guess all that power, couldn’t break a wall.

Or wouldn’t break a wall within the perhaps 60 years that rock n’ roll has passed us. But could they slowly break away properties of the walls and adjacent structures? Could they be like water on rocks, and overtime do the same to it?

How would I know? Why should I know. That is definitely not a problem for the next 20 years, or is it? There could be materials that are better, that would behave differently. How would the quality of what you hear change then?

You’ve heard me. I’m sure. There’s no better place to haunt. Or there may be, but I fell in love with it, and after I went back home, all I could hear from far away, were voices that brought me back to here.

Memories. These things we don’t forget about a moment, even when we are not completely aware. The voices speaking, the laughs you let out, the stupid stuff you says.

I guess all that stuff I think don’t matter, because its just a mechanical wave converted from an electrical source. The world remains with thousands of other problems.

Feels as if we are fighting over bones, instead of working together to grow our herd.

The worse part about it, is that we are limiting ourselves, not because we don’t need change, or couldn’t use of some change, but mostly because we are hung up on our most pathetic feelings of hate, jealousy and anger.

So it’s almost Xmas, have yourself a joyful one.
Free your mind.

Ana