Better asterism than hypocritical populism or the grossness of utility

 

The divine and the bestial inhabit creatures. It has always been this way. Sitting at the foot of Dante's Mouth, at the gates of paradise, I feel the same as the rabbit, bewitched by the serpent's hiss, this eternal fascination with the indomitable suppressor. The immense waves, like the mouths of a giant orca, open, devouring the clumps of rocks and, upon submerging, tearing their garments, which act as fortresses defending the tongue of sand, pouring instincts and strength into their tails, whipping the waters, nothing more than foam, their wrath, spreading over the feet of the vacationers, who tremble for nature, fear them, and flee from them every seven waves, retreating back to a safe distance. This rhythm is never interrupted, not even when the tide goes out. In the sky, cylinders resembling bales of straw, like skeins of lamb, sometimes pile up, sometimes vanish, depending on the mood and the lateral wind currents, in descending and ascending movements. The nearest ships cast shadows on the sea, joining sailboats and crude oil tankers, cargoes in upright containers that make a bed for the waves that grow angrier in the intervals.

I thought I heard shouts of warning to the freighter's driver, who was waiting for the guide boat to take him to the port, bringing with him the proper authorization to anchor.

The shipping business is suffering stagnation, not because war seems imminent, but because of its effects. I've heard talk of kidnappings on the high seas, as if to say that pirates have returned from previous centuries to cast a shadow over the oceans, their contemporary traders and fishermen. That it's all business. Pirates have always existed. What has changed is their presentation. Who now wear collars, ties, redundant social status, pompous briefcases with compressed pedigree, a password-protected zip code they carry on their smartwatches and laptops, closed VPN codes where their names can be read, whether obsequious, illustrious, or faded and diffuse so as not to arouse suspicion. Their business cards carry fabricated resumes of fictitious companies, efficient laundries, with multiple distracting posters, vast offshore companies, entrepreneurs and refracted, cordial simulations, leaving actors and actresses, directors and directors attentive, with traces of abundant drool, such great, fertile and delirious actors, without any prior experience. Newcomers to the spotlight. It is the Company equipped with artificial intelligence, the companies of the world composing their characters, producing abundant makeup for them, with the help of the media. The auxiliary boat arrives, dictating maneuvers and the sailors' ears listen, mechanically obeying the circle of operations, repeated, since forever.

And I watch the news, with the sea lapping at my feet, without warning, as the Loures municipality opposes the court-ordered suspension of the eviction. After quickly getting up, removing my belongings from the oceanic predator, placing everything inside the towel, already full of sea and sand, and striding toward the upper part of the sand, I find myself wishing less good things for that municipality, for its figures who list the lack of empathy for the Talude neighborhood. Yes, of course they do, but how bad and wrong it is to provide shelter and take it away from those who have no alternative. Charity is beautiful, perhaps in churches, perhaps when they allow themselves to be filmed in an opportunistic marketing ploy for elections and vote-seeking, but it's all just aggression, all the shacks. Maybe that's where the world's violence and poverty emerge, my ass! I remembered the day I saw the then-president being confronted and booed on two different occasions, and by two different women, but who meant the same thing: the minimum wage problem, the housing and rent problem, the war that only matters when it's economic and benefits their portfolio, that the only refreshing thing in other people's asses is pepper, and if the city council, just for the sake of experimentation, like this, voluntarily, wanted to exchange its privileges, its lofts that were once municipal dumps but became luxuries accumulated in capitalist accounts, its comfortable homes, its apartments in Nações for Talude, it would be like sticking Barbie and Ken in a place I won't mention now, because I'm a lady, and I respect, I feel for everyone who sleeps rough, without having magic solutions for dire and extreme situations, which none of those who oppose the so-called suspension of evictions (re)cognize, because their life is, in some way, honorable, a mother and not a stepmother.

And I sit back down on the towel, already wet, with eyes brimming with indignation. This refreshment is taking a long time to be served, as karma dictates, to those who deserve it, and what belongs to Caesar will be lavishly delivered. But the more second-class citizens we feed, nurture, and defend, the more segmentation and marginalization we allow in the social fabric, the more crime, the more hunger, the more hostility will be served at the bedside tables of those who dare not sow, plant, and water empathy. And we will all reap the result of what you have chosen, in exchange for what we all are. People!

I go to the beginning of the world, where we were all born the same way, half man and half god fucked a half human and half goddess, and here we are, arrogant and sovereign, overbearing and full of fat tires, as if we were the last biscuit in the package, so broken and molested, and still giving ourselves to the finesses and oddities, and thinking that nothing touches us and I, there at the beginning of the world, ask the gods to play you a sinfonetta, a march to begin to chill the paths of those who "do not touch themselves", an agony to awaken in you the ignorance of that abundant selfishness, that protuberance that was born in you for lack of humanity, at the point of the bayonet of your opulence, poorly disguised petulance, be aware, of those who wear their comfortable shoes and do not know what it is to have bare feet, and that defines whether we are criminals or hypocrites. Just objectifying our growing, megalomaniacal stupidity. I was going to talk about Kiron, but I'll stop. With all this nonsense, my fuses have blown. I'm irritated by your corruption, your cronyism, your bullshit, your prerogatives, the stone that hides your hand, and even the sheer uselessness you indulge in, your dinners and assembly and municipal meetings. But above all, what irritates me most is your lack of civility and humanity. Does who gave birth to you know about your degeneration? That you've suppressed the word empathy for a handful of hollow blasphemies and extremely useful populism?

What is necessary is to get out of those chairs, which fatten your behinds, which postpone your wisdom, which increase your ignorance, the discrepancy between being and having, to the place of shortcuts to power, and reinvent social alternatives for the collective. It is not about removing shelter and leaving children and adults in need to stare up at the starry sky. What becomes urgent is to get out of the way, if you do not know how to answer such complicated questions. May you relinquish power or use it for what was proposed to you: to enhance society with your commitment and empathy. As for the media, keep on debiting false housing fires for the most false shares of popularity, for light is born in the intervals of darkness and your false truth, which give voice to those who pay your abundant salary. May rebels be born in the media, which few thrive on independence and clandestinity.

Without extreme unction, I take my leave. I pray that you may be enlightened by the spirit of humanity. For now, go suck on the third paw of the devil that feeds your fantasy. And I add this line to lift the last veil of illusion. You do not represent us; you are mere jackals, for our souls will not sell themselves to your insignificant powers, for these will eventually come to an end. For many of us will reverse the values, distorted today. Refine yourselves for Gaia's ceremony. Father, forgive them, for they never knew what they did. Favors will always be repaid in a convenient ad eternum, that is, forever. Here's my middle finger. And now, like a baby who has eaten too much, I regurgitate until I vomit the agony of my afflicted peers. What we need, my children, from left to right, is not your grossness, favors, or politics, but ideals. And I, who came from the time of the minstrels, go to Fradique's Schemes, by Fernando Venâncio and from there, I take this exposed diggladiation: "Those who see death before their eyes have no time for jokes."