Parachutes

The dream was the fulfillment of a desire, not clearly exposed, but recognized and suppressed by your mind.

It is perfectly possible to save some money if you are open minded. Because when your mind is closed, either you go to a specialist in the issue or you rely on common sense believing that you know enough about yourself, and it is mainly a mistake and that fallacy easily noticeable. Dreams are a link between the known and the unknown, the key that opens the doors to the unconscious. If you are really open minded and humble to recognize to yourself your own weaknesses, it will be possible self-analyzing better and understand the reason of your attitudes, fears and desires.

The dream was the fulfillment of a desire, not clearly exposed, but recognized and suppressed by your mind. Some time ago it would be something you could believe as viable, even though it could require too much mental energy. Today it is acceptable its remote state. Chances exist, but it is accepted that it would be wise not to cross the borders. It sounds Greek, but it is just a reflexion, an echo.

The gates were supposed to be closed, but the carelessness was the opportunity the teenager needed to practice the larceny. They imploded the whole place because it is not wanted, it is not desired the rebuilding. It is only desired that the trucks take the mountain of waste to somewhere far away. But it is wished to connect and disconnect for some time and then untie right after.

It is easy to deal with it when character is something one does not have, when a selfish, cold and indifferent behavior are features of one's personality. Let's be sincere and let's admit that the hugeness of the coeur plus the goodness and naivety are a problem, even they are not something disapproving.

It would be preferable to be together for some time, using each other with the consent of both. No promise, no dissimulation, no lie, hypocrisy, cowardice. Let the time to bring the oblivion and converts the energy of a tsunami into a inoffensive and graceful ripple. And if there is the wish, play the tie-break. But is wanted that there will not be falls and the closure comparable to the mysterious Korea DPR.

The apple returns to the tree

And in this world of paranoiac and unbalanced people, I will see everything to fall down, indifferent, barefoot on the sand having my good drinks.

Perhaps the biggest balance of the things is on the unbalance. Seeking for it may be just a mere utopia, unreachable ideal that if it was possible, it would bring us the true chaos. We already know that there is not rich without poor, that a leader has no authority without followers, that the beautiful does not shine through if the ugly does not exist, what would it be of the protagonist without the bit players, what would it be of the red if everybody liked the blue? This is the balance of the things; we have already reached it but, due to our eternal stubbornness, our eternal focus to make things worse than they already are, we do not see it, we do not note it and then we ruin it at all.

And being part of a minority is not so bad as they say, people love to dramatize. There are times that it really exhausts us, we would like to be one in a million, deny ourselves, overturn ourselves, because sooner or later the crisis of being part of the minority comes, but it goes. In the world of the artificiality and superficiality, a short and restricted group set the trends, the fever that the alienated and obtuse mass will consume for them to feel part of the gloomy majority. Say minority is weird, at least they have a refined taste and a richer culture. People are too coward to enjoy the extremes of live justifying then, all their silly fears, their mediocrity and their need of self-affirmation in the I-am-awesome and fool without arguments behavior.

These are not worthwhile thoughts. If it was a speech, people would be unfamiliar to it, talking among them about trivialities: the weather, the soap-opera, the Avaí's last match..

Thinking is good. The balance is for some. And there be those who do not think, there are those who are just a body occupying a place in the space, there are those who are a paltry passenger in a train without destination, paltry part of a gear that moves all the systems ahead. Someone who plays a bit player in the piece of theater of life, someone who accepts the insignificance as their destiny. And there are those who think too much. A scary seek, almost schizophrenic, for love, happiness, wealth, whatever. It is pathetically obvious that who needs to scream for everything and everybody all the time, being proud of having something everybody seeks for, it is because he noticeable does not have, but he has this necessity of getting it and spread the illusion blinding himself.

And it might be empty being idolized for people you do not love, that never were and they will never be part of a supposed family. The mice put their idols on a pedestal. And it might be frustrating being admired and have your thoughts shared by people who did not understand what you meant, Clarice Lispector looked at them with a blasé look. And He might have gotten bothered of those who manipulate and are manipulated by words He might have never written because, if He is what they say He is, why would He have lost His time writing a dubious and controversial book speaking about love within a hate policy? Perhaps the Earth would like to eject everybody across the universe annulling the gravitational power, so it would get rid of these human bacterias that are making it sick.

Vast emotions

The annoying shrilling sound the alarm clock produces reached to my ears in a day that even the prettier sonata gave me a headache, no, it is not a hungover, reader, neither the end of semester syndrome that prevented me to write here for such a long time, but my traditional bad mood. Perhaps it would be less complicated to throw the alarm clock against the wall as I did, in a thought, instead of pressing the buttons to turn if off. 'The contemporaneity makes me angry', said the pseudocrap cult that lives in the last century. Sometimes I would rather live in the XIV Century, in Europe, with all my bad habits and beliefs in an Evil God and Revengeful Devil to explain the Black Death. Perhaps I would be happier.

The Reader allow me to say that the days no longer drawl as I already wandered about through these digital lines that worth anything. The days run more and more and take with them the vast emotions I have never had, neither you, the ultraromanticism is dead, only the emos did not realize yet. If the image of a colorful phallus disguised in a picture is able to touch this poor and rotten youth that have their natural imagetic determined by the TV alienation, I will paint it in t-shirts with very cheap prices.

'Being banal is natural', said the fashionista, and among the decorations that will build the allegory of the human misery, it is possible to foresee the unforeseeable, is it going to rain today? Good, not so good, more than good, it is perfectly clear allow yourself to be read in the between lines, but who likes them? I can note life has no sense anymore, neither in having, neither in undoing, generically perfect. It is me. Sure getting carried away is more than renting a brain because and empty mind flows upon the puddle of excrement that we call 'erudite culture', or would it be 'mass culture'? Never mind, the part that fits me stinks as much as. And then I hide myself in my room and sleep embraced with my pillow, that listens to my screams and scream deafly at my ears, for me to take a new breath, maybe to open the window. We are not the same we once were, and life goes on.

…

“Vast emotions” (Vastas Emoções) was a text written by Rubens Rosza Neto on July 10, 2010 on his blog, Borradela, and it was translated into English by Peterson Florindo for his blog, Thinkable.