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.