ANIMAL PLASMA

 Morrer, viver, morrer. Acho que viemos da morte. Leía Bons livros, perguntado, aconselhou Borges. Então comecei a ler. E no fim da carreira do tempo, a matéria persistiu. Imagino o paraíso celestial, ao invés de viver feito fantasma, atravessando páginas sem nunca move-las, andar voando. Ter o ignóbil serviço de sair desapaventado q vaiar vida. E não ler, não ler, senão o comum grandiloquente dos jargonautas. Morrer mil vezes no descalabro dos eletrônicos. Subir ao inferno onde queimam, chegar ao céu profundo e encontrar velhas nulidades a debater sobre a urgência de se construir loteamentos para pobres almas. Uma descida sem prateleiras, leitor de cell, que fosse possível. Deixar as coisas materiais, subir na nave da morte e viver a eternidade na ignorância. Morrer todos os dias mortos todos os dias. Não quero. Virar espírito para varrer condomínios dos que foram sensatos, bons. Não quero ser esse bom estupidificado, atontado para lidar com a amizade entre leões e lebres. Morrido...

  The more fantastic in Saint Exupery’s literature, the Little Prince lives alone in an extremely little world where he cultivates a rose. The red rose that is a love symbol, the beauty, the heart among other representations, the socialism. No one constructs the socialism for only one. But, the meaning jumps to another sense. We must plant the rose into ourselves, caring that it sprouts and grows up producing more. It would be the truly revolutionary attitude considering that the little prince of himself is the master of our existence, and it is the singular subject. However, the Petit Prince is more than that, a poem to humanity, beyond any adjustments between words and any representations. We told Robespierre about he who had head lost. Questioning revolutionary acts the counter-revolution took down him and depose out his mind. Therefore the just gone and the night is a time unknown, “Is it night or a demon?” Asks another Vvedensky, knowing without knowing, dying and reborn into ...

  How to read and why -It is a book for not-readers? If it was like it seems it would be for Harold Bloom. Why read if how is a minor intent or it is a greater aim? If it has toward for, and it is the why the author demonstrates to us (proto-readers) that he is a convincingly writer-reader, and proposes to us being like him.  If it is a greater aim, it is the author this proposition located in his own experience, and he is sharing to us, like a secret, a sphinx that waits an answer - it that the author, unfortunately do not will have. Nevertheless, it is greater like can be or could be (if we could infiltrate in his affective memory from his experience). What makes that purported experience magnify like to be greater? The author is showing a human sense pattern in that he makes part of that, participating in a humanity that does not exclude him, and in at same time does not operate with sincerely excluding us, the readers. How and why it interacts in our existential pride from...

  Now along, we are alone, our dreams will be forgotten, and our lives will be directed to the aims of production. We will talk about the world, the things, or what we have kept. Anymore we can jump on the lap of community; nevermore will we be thinking in a world of intertwined hands. By the shore the old man would seem wonder with stick rod stuck on the sand. He sat in a small chair, all his body dropped like a seal grin for nothing. Maybe he was waiting for that fall the rain promised for those days. I saw another man like him, he had, I think, something similar in age to him. I sounded when they started the conversation. This guy seeing the abrupt sea with sliding waves dancing with foam told him that he fished there some time back. Ongoing he asked him if does not would be he to change the baits. The old seal slipping out saying that does not have bound hooks on the line. I am only leaving for now or tomorrow. The man sadly answered: tomato! And just take a step back and say: ...

  The Question in USA is not the Presidency The politician’s speech in front of the camera while the chaos happens, the cruelty extends to extreme violence. Sometimes the talks are only compensated by emptying their rationalists and economic thoughts. In any one of them the quiet inscription is written: “L'État c'est moi", the speeches said all these words. The world is watching the convulsive horror that is happening. Apologize or impeachment is not a choice related to an unknown pride or honor. It is locked, the government structure need open the luggage showing the passport and holding an ethical decision that does not come through of void words. Clean the floor with embedded cloth is not solution does not solve the structural problem. It is not the decline of democracy there, but its lack showed in a public demonstration of absence of ethical values. A lack of faith in democracy on the organization of the State. The obedient apparatus of the State does not reinforce fo...

  We have dreams. When one has a dream, the realization is a constance searching. I know that everyone has been dreaming. She has dreams and fight to execute them. Dr. King told us: "I have a dream," and the subject of his dream follows being a reality still today. The structure of his dream doesn't have a spurious or ideological form, so the magnificent dreamer that was Dr. King shows us the dream as a metaphor from real practice, an ethical design in that we have of "dreaming"; this is, our duty to act. I have dreams that are not possible hand over, and dreams that are not dreams and don’t have materiality related from every day. They are thoughts of a singularity. You can know of your dreams in convolution move, putting them into practice. You have dreams and can understand the "dream" in the speech of Dr, King. We have dreams and can act. It is the truth of real dreams that the prejudice doesn’t see, but it is towards us to wake whole those that ar...