my father died
i have insane dreams, and i love them. i also love telling people about them, in great detail, which most people hate. and my father really hated it. every time i said "i had this crazy dream last night" he would roll his eyes and say "oh no, here we go...". so in his honour, i will not tell my whole dream from the other night, only the part that matters: my father was alive, but he never appeared. i wanted to talk to him so i would walk into different rooms looking for him, and he was never there. when i woke up, i realised that this is now what my life is. my day is filled with things i would like to say, share, send or show my dad. stupid shit, like that picture of bob dylan with the pope. he would love that and we would laugh about it together.
we used to share a lot of music. after his funeral, some of my cousins sent me messages telling me that my father was one of the main reasons they went into music. that he took them to their first concert and introduced them to different bands and musicians. my childhood friends said something similar, that they cherish memories of the many rides he gave us listening to great music in the car. i also have and cherish these memories.
my father introduced me to many of my favourite artists, like tom waits and iggy pop. he also introduced me to monty python and mr. bean. to robert crumb. to wim wanders and jim jarmusch. in return, i introduced him to charlotte gainsbourg and breaking bad, and he was obsessed with both. i thought it was kinda funny and adorable, a 73-year-old brazilian man listening to charlotte gainsbourg.
i will never stop missing sharing stuff with him.
or don't.