It feels so great to wake up and sleeply drag yourself to the dinning table and open up the newspaper. Of course being a saturday morning I'll be spared from all the killing, raping, and robbing and guilt-free-ly go through the Vitrine section. Shallow as it may, reading about how green fingernails are the new thing and how to pick the appropriate trench coat (eventhough Brazilian winter will never be cold enough) is somewhat comforting. As long as you avoid the price tags, that is.
You know what I've been thinking about? Hopelessness. And not just the sort that keeps you from using your democratic rights and fight for free meds, but the sort that I feel. Not some kind of life depression either. It's the one that makes me look at cloning and healing, at politicians and journalists, at peace and justice, and say "It's not gonna work". It's not gonna happen. It's gonna stay as shitty as it always has been. And I was just wondering where the hell did that come from. Because honestly, we already live in a world built by people who saw past hopelessness and did something! We got democracy, they ruled out the kings and queens and right of birth given by God. Who ever saw that one coming?? We elect people. They may be shit, but we are the ones who chose them. I would think that was going to be enough to convince us that many, many things are indeed possible. But just for the sake of arguementation, in the social part: we don't have slavery! A minority got their earned freedom. Sure, they then suffered from lack of employment and persistent prejudice and are still fighting against the latter, but a minority did it! How's that for freaking hope? Then we've got again right of birth, you can be respected without being fortuned enough as to be borned a nobel, you can earn that by being filthy rich. Sure, now the battle is to be respected (out of the paper) plainly for being human, but that's progress. And then finally we've got Medicine. How can I not have hope in cancer research, in AIDS research, when - well, not so - long ago people died of sifilis? Flu? Cholera? When treatment was bleeding, piercing holes in your skull, or just plain praying? There was great improvement, which means there probably will be great improvement. So where the hell did all the hopelessness come from?
And somehow the whole internal monologue matches so nicely with green nail polish. I love Saturdays.
12 - Eu amo essa noites sem vento. Em que eu posso acender um cigarro, abrir a janeça e ver a fumaça indo embora por ela. Como se ela fosse bem devagar. Me dize...
Há 3 anos