In the neighborhood of Liberdade (São Paulo), an old man of countless years old [and pushing on with Japan itself] taking a bite of a fried turnover and a sip of a sugar cane juice, looking at my slippers, tells me: “those sandals were made based on models of current and ancient Japan, zori and geta, so that you know. Many people don’t know what they have on their feet!” - Havaianas remind me of this Asian territory annexed to the United States of America and placed so far from Abya Yala, this continent later named after Amerigo Vespucci — and then, in Hawaii, these “almond-like” eyed people [just like NAZARETH DE JESUS, mother of my mother ANA GONÇALVES] suffer from similar damage as we do here, turning us into a Brotherhood in Genocide.

I, PAULO DA SILVA, for so long an ART OF PRECEPT, have only flip-flops on my feet, having the grime of the world stick to the skin. And Africa was to be added to the brotherhood = on the rubber sole I cut the silhouette of each continent’s map pulled up by the Rio Atlantica: on one side, Africa, and on the other, America. So by walking, at every step I stamp on the ground the contour of those lands alongside.