< the skull

GOODBYE, EMMANUEL SANTIAGO
==========================
2026-04-24

I met Emmanuel when I was still a teenager — an awkward kid, full of acne, and
filled with a curiosity that never seemed to leave me. It must have been around
four in the afternoon, on some idle Tuesday in 2002. I remember the place
clearly: the old Cyber Café in São Lourenço.

Back then, internet access was still rare. Cyber cafés were everywhere — places
full of computers where you paid to spend a little time online and, almost
always, drink bad coffee. Between the machines, there were tables occupied by
people playing Magic: The Gathering, RPGs, and having long conversations about
imaginary worlds.

That was where I saw him for the first time.

There were three boys. One had long hair and looked like a rock guy. Another had
a strong presence. And then there was a third one — thin, strange, somehow out
of place, as if he did not quite fit with the other two.

That was Emmanuel.

Naturally, he was the one with the strongest voice, the sharpest criticism, and
the widest knowledge.

I approached them, and friendship came quickly, the way some friendships do when
we recognize something in another person before we even know how to name it.

For the next three years, Emmanuel and I were almost inseparable. I was
constantly impressed by how much he read, by how much he knew, and by the
passion with which he spoke about ideas, books, authors, symbols, and entire
worlds. Believe me: much of the voracious reading habit I still carry today was
born from that friendship.

Years later, Emmanuel would become a writer and a literature teacher. But before
that, he was my friend. And as my friend, he taught me things I still carry with
deep and immeasurable affection.

He taught me about theosophy, demonology, occultism, Brazilian literature,
classical literature, Russian literature, the Gothic movement, movements from
here, movements from there. And I remember very clearly how much I enjoyed
listening to him explain who the Marquis de Sade was.

Man, I learned so much.

But life does not stop. It follows its course, indifferent to our wish to remain
close to the people we love. And today I dedicate this text to a great friend
who has passed away. A friend I spoke to one day before his last surgery. A
friend who had made it clear on Facebook that he was not entirely confident he
would return.

Well, Emmanuel.

I remember.

I remember everything.

And today, especially today, I will remember you.

Emmanuel was a writer. He was a poet. And in some way, he left this world as
poets often do: leaving behind an absence full of words.

Goodbye, Emmanuel.

> _The more time slips away,
> the less there is to recall:_

> _the ember of that desire
> melted in the cold night air,
> not even ash remained at all_

> _(a thin rain was falling,
> made of bright, transparent sparks)._

> _When the sun chose to shine,
> night had returned once more,
> and lobotomized birds
> forgot what songs were for._

> _The names of flowers were lost,
> and Spring,
> impoverished,
> sells crepe-paper ornaments._

Goodbye...


< the skull