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About fish

Fish are mysterious creatures. Fish are elegant like their natural enemy, cats. Cats sway sensually. Fish are cats' prey. Fish are beautiful things. You can see them in oriental paintings and porcelain. In Brazil, we say fish die for their mouths. We say one has eyes of a dead fish, big eyes, slow to follow whatever is going on. And what's going on? I'd say if anyone knows what 's going on is fish. One tried to tell me the truth behind the origin of the universe or the secret for being ever content with what you have. It tried to tell me the secret of happiness. 

I saw it, there, in a tank at the Indianapolis Botanical Gardens. You could almost see its brain underneath its thin skin. We looked at each other and it kept the fixed stare at me. It came closer to the surface. I took its picture and left. When I looked back, it looked at me yet, remaining close to the surface, the mouth outside the water like it still had hope to say what it meant to say. Had it legs it would have followed me, I'm sure. I did not look back again. I was afraid that the fish would talk to me. More than that, I was afraid of what it was going to say. To my companion, I said the Green house was too hot for me and I left. Fish are mysterious creatures and this one wanted to talk to me.  It had something important and urgent to tell me. It chose me and made an effort to let me know. It did it all and I left, a coward, and what it had to say I'll never know.





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