maria, mattienzo, and i watch farinelli in the evening. it's overdone and somehow enjoyable, but if you ased me on the street, it's not the word i'd use. tomorrow is the office cinema with manolo and chaco, and i wonder what we'll see. i've watched so many here, mostly american and french, with the exception of los olvidades and an ingrid bergman film.

after the credits roll, we go to los artistas for tacos and gringas. i had lengua and flore de calabeza, que ricos. hay salsas aqui como nunca...we laughed at dinner, about a lot of things. they promised to invite me to their wedding. "en diez años," says mattienzo. maria glares at him. "quatro," he says and smiles huge, all teeth. "si tu tardas, voy accelerar el proceso," maria says, making a pregnant belly with her arms, "de una manera"... and she dies laughing.

they're nice to be around, five years has built up a wall of comfort. this is the way we are, these are the questions we ask, these are the questions we don't ask, this is the way we exist together, preferable in its sacrifices to life apart. is there pride here, i wonder, is there shame? those things should not exist in this context, but do they? are they part of the unasked questions, are they part of the sacrifice?

in farinelli, the two brothers go without speaking for three years after carlo finds out that it was in fact his brother who castrated him for his voice, rather than to save his life after an accident on horseback. three years. a castration. i don't know. i don't know if there is anything that should keep you from being with those you love, even if you have to hate them too, for awhile. isn't that what it is, though, the good and the bad? should you have to have the unasked question, should you have to give constantly a silent pardon? can you voice those things, is it better?

in a battle of prides, i'd rather be smudged out than decide, but it's been the most shameful thing of all to learn that letting yourself be erased takes down the ones who love you best.