terça-feira, junho 26, 2007
Que raio, vou admitir a verdade, acho que o Johnny morreu porque não sabia mesmo viver sem a sua June. O que é hei eu de fazer, gosto de finais felizes... mesmo quando no final morrem todos.
domingo, junho 24, 2007
And it finally hit me has I was reading something about Inuit legends and how they have roamed the white covered ice plains of the high artic.
Time. Even more tragic then money, time was the most awful creation of our modern western society. Time is the prison in which we chose to lock our selves.
An Inuit said that the difference between their original way of life and the newly acquired western like living that the modern world brought into the Artic was this new concept of time. The idea that time spent waiting is time of your life that goes to waste. The concept that when you are not doing something "usefull", you are wasting your life. The Inuit believe that things happen in their own course, time is of no importance. If you must wait for two days until the seal you are trying to hunt shows her self over the hole in the ice, those two days were not wasted, and it was just the way the world is.
This simple concept, this apparently easy way of accepting the world has it is without imposing our own logic, without expecting things to follow our ever-tighter schedules is, in my opinion, the main reason for the downfall of our way of living.
Or do people still think that everything around us is still OK, that we are evolving towards the perfect society (and I don't mean this in a socialistic framework)?
Read the statistics, look around you... People are unhappy, depression plagues western countries like the dark cloud of the bubonic plague of the Middle Ages. Stress related diseases, heart conditions, anorexia burns like fire within our youth, psychiatric disorders are at an all time high, suicide rates reach absurd levels in countries were life quality is believed to be the best in the world. A greyish gloom hovers over our fast paced lives. People can't leave without consuming absurd amounts of caffeine, anseolithics, anti-depressives. Why not make marijuana legal everywhere? It would be just another quick solution to a far more overwhelming problem.
The problem is easy to pin-point, but extremely hard to solve: we were made believe that every second of our lives not spent doing something useful is time when we are wasting our life, the only one we have. This means that even in does few moments of rest we still have, we must try to keep ourselves busy, if we are not working we are studying, hobbying, filling our time in any way possible to avoid the emptiness of wasted time. We drain our selves to a ragged piece of tiered human cells and organs, too drained to go on without chemical or psychiatric comfort.
Throw your clocks away. Tell your employers to screw themselves when they ask you absurd deadlines, cherish the time you have for doing absolutely nothing. Go to nearest and beach and spend a few hours staring at the never-ending beauty of the see, visit the closest forest and let your self be comforted by the sights and sounds that surround you. Take the one you love in your harms and hold them regardless of the time that passes, of the many things you "must be doing" elsewhere. Forget about time, forget that it ever existed. Maybe there is still hope for us, if we can ever forget this dreadful idea that time is our enemy...
quarta-feira, junho 20, 2007
The grim reaper lurked behind the shadows, his scythe standing motionless just inches away from the darkened window of the room. His black empty eyes stared at the scene that went on inside, in the dark, in the deadly silence that shouted out the terror within.
Inside the room a young girls looked at her self in the mirror. She was pretty. Long brown hair, sweet round face with a perky little nose, big green eyes, and a mouth that could open up into a smile able to melt the coldest ice.
Over the table a 13 page long letter explaining the world why the thing she wanted the most in this world was to die, in her end a pair of scissors ready to cut through her perfectly shaped white wrists. Ready to carve deeply into her flesh, ready to open up veins and arteries, ready to spread all across the floor the fluid of her life.
Death waited silently for the play to continue its tragic course. That was her true purpose, to wait for as long as necessary for human lives to come to her and join her in their last journey.
The letter talked about a great many things, about beauty, about affection, about ugliness and rejection. Mostly it talked about loneliness. The girl was lonely. Despite the daily presence of her family, the conversations with her school friends, during the dark watches of the night she felt the solemn despair of the lonely. Loneliness and the feeling of being unwanted is the most terrible poverty that can afflict man, for it is not good for man to be alone. She ached for a soul mate with whom to share her gloom, for a pair of ears to listen to her pains, for some words to ease her sorrow.
Slowly, yet purposely, her hand grasped the handles of the scissors and started to cut her own flesh. Without a single murmur, without a single tear, the red line of blood started to drip into the floor of the room. She went without a sound, her life slowly dripping away from her like the blood that now soaked the carpets.
The grim reaper held out its hand towards her and as she took its bony fingers in hers, they both started a journey to a place from where no man as ever returned.