I’m sick of mediocre people who have audacity. Sick of the average creative who isn’t afraid to reach out, try things, put themselves out there. Which then makes me feel filthy, for both the hatred that brews in me and my stagnation. What’s worse is that I allow myself to wallow and lay in my own shit until there’s so much shit underneath my nails, in between my teeth, crevices of my ears that I can’t help but smear shit in all I touch. And particularly spread the filthy stench surrounding those I most love. How unfair.

One thing that I despise about mediocre people is when, according to them, they “feel inspired” and make that be known. All they’ve done is consume the labor of someone else — someone who has risked something. Someone who has gone through the birthing pains of bringing an abstract idea into the world, only to face the grief of postpartum — that painful recognition that what was born does not match the conception once held in mind.

And then, who must learn to let it go, understanding they have less control over it than they think. The medium they chose asserts messages never intended or thought of — and perhaps that isn’t a flaw, but a strange and beautiful outcome. The process is madness: it’s motherhood through something inanimate. And even then, the artist often returns to stillness, to paralysis. The restlessness builds. Until, unwillingly, another child is born.

And then enters the mediocre creator — dragging their lazy little body like a leech, siphoning what they did not birth, what they did not suffer to make. At best, they have good taste. They see a framework — a way of seeing, a system of thought — and copy it. They steal the structure, hoping to replicate its success, with none of the soul.

Of course, I know that all creation is interdependent. No one is immune to influence. No work exists in a vacuum. It is beautiful — even miraculous — how ideas pass through us, how inspiration travels across time, linking thought to thought, creator to creator. The chain of influence is a gift.

But still. I hate you, lazy mediocre. I hate you. I hate it even more when you’re seen. Do others not realize you’re just projecting a self-image — not truly observing, not truly gestating or birthing something real? Is there no hope? Is the audience just cattle?

Should I just become an accountant? An English teacher?

I hate that you produce. I hate that you release. I hate that you share your work.

Mostly, I hate that I’m jealous of you.

I hate that you’re willing to be a bad artist. I want to be a bad artist too. I hate that you have what I lack: shamelessness, apparent thoughtlessness, the courage to look stupid. I hate your confidence, your belief that your voice deserves space. That you’re worth listening to.

Dear mediocre creator,
I envy you.
Dear mediocre creator,
You’ve got something. Something I’m still trying to find in myself.

I will be addressing the works of Claude Cahun and Frida Kahlo within the framework of Deleuze and Guattari’s concept of “Lines of Flight” from their work A Thousand Plateaus. Both Cahun and Kahlo place the concept of “being” at the center of their artistic exploration, meticulously delving into the intricacies of experience and subjectivity. While “being” is a central theme for both artists, they approach it differently: Cahun illustrates the multiplicity of being, exploring the fluidity and resistance to categorization, whereas Kahlo depicts the pain of being, grounding her work in the suffering — both physical and emotional — that she endures. Despite the expectations placed on women artists to address “being” through the constricted lens of gender, both Cahun and Kahlo transcend these norms. Their work is not primarily about “being women” but rather about the broader, more universal experience of “being.”

The concept of the “Line of Flight” can lead to death and demolition, as it challenges our conventional perceptions of self. Both artists, therefore, invite the audience to experience a form of death. Cahun’s work utilizes the nature of death and demolition to deconstruct the image of the self within the framework of gender-imposed norms. In contrast, Kahlo explores the death and destruction of the emotional and physical self through vivid depictions of pain and turmoil.

The book A Thousand Plateaus by Deleuze and Guattari is intentionally structured in a non-linear way, composed of a series of wide-ranging essays or “plateaus” that resist forming a unified narrative. Instead of presenting a cohesive argument, the authors offer a blend of ideas that are sometimes explicitly connected and articulated, while at other times, they remain distinct and separate. The essays are often organized in layers or strata, with general discussions leading into specific examples. The authors’ goal is to deterritorialize — challenging the boundaries and internal organization of both physical and metaphysical territories, and exploring how these territories are constructed and maintained. Throughout the book, Deleuze and Guattari guide readers to follow thoughts across the conventional boundaries of academic disciplines, touching on topics as diverse as politics, linguistics, music, literature, and even animal communication.

The term “Line of Flight” is a key concept in A Thousand Plateaus, representing a form of movement characterized by deterritorialization and de-stratification. These lines of flight are not merely symbolic or imaginary; they require action, as “lines of flight are immanent to the social field. That is, they exist as potentials in the social field” (227). Deleuze and Guattari aren’t simply advocating for escape from the world; rather, they describe lines of flight as mechanisms “causing runoffs.” A “Line of Flight” can be “imbued with such singular despair in spite of its message of joy” (228) that it may lead to death and destruction, as it challenges our conventional self-perceptions. This becomes particularly dangerous when the “Line of Flight” becomes fixated on personal subjectivity, disconnected from other lines. In such cases, it can turn toward “destruction, abolition pure and simple, passion of abolition” — a descent into a “black hole” of subjectivity where everything is interpreted through a personal lens. This intense inward focus can lead to outcomes like depression or paranoia.

In A Thousand Plateaus we are told that:

“the girl is defined by relations of movement and rest, speed and slowness, by a combination of atoms, emission of particles haecceity. She never ceases to roam upon a body without organs. […] Girls slip everywhere between orders, acts ages, sexes, they produce molecular sexes on the line of flight in relation to the dualism machines they cross right through, the only way to get outside the dualism is to: be between, to pass between” (305)

Maintaining a sexual identity often involves resisting the constraints of dualisms and the pressure to conform to rigid categories like male or female. There comes a point where these binaries can be challenged. Escaping the limits of dualism requires staying on a “Line of Flight”, moving fluidly between conventional identities and binaries. To do this, we must rethink our understanding of ourselves — not as fixed, conventionally sexed subjects with male or female identities, but as processes of becoming, as beings in flux. This way of being is not confined by large-scale, molar definitions of the body. By following a “Line of Flight”, we move away from conventional identities, embracing a state of constant becoming and dwelling in the “in between.”

Frida Kahlo’s works often revolve around the concept of a broken body, with her relationship to “being” deeply intertwined with pain. From a young age, Kahlo was forced to confront the fragility and suffering inherent in existence. At six, she was diagnosed with polio, and later, a car accident left her with severe injuries, including an impaled pelvis, fractured legs, ribs, and collarbone. These physical traumas continuously reminded her of her body, making pain a central part of her subjectivity. This heightened awareness inevitably turned her focus inward, isolating her from others and fostering a deep sense of self-observation and the observable gap between self and other. As Kahlo herself said, “I paint self-portraits because I am so often alone, because I am the person I know best.” Her self-portraits began during a three-month period of immobilization following her accident. Kahlo’s intense inward focus seems to echo the “black hole” described by Deleuze and Guattari, where obsession with subjectivity leads to the drive for self-abolition. This is evident in Kahlo’s struggles with major depressive episodes and her suicide attempts — literal expressions of her desire to destroy the self.

The painting The Two Fridas vividly captures Kahlo’s relationship with pain and loneliness. It depicts two versions of Frida sitting side by side, with their hearts exposed. One Frida is dressed in a traditional white Tehuana costume, which appears to have a constricting collar, and her heart is bleeding, cut open, and exposed. The other Frida is more colorfully dressed, and her heart remains intact. The heart of the traditional Frida is torn open, with its main artery severed by surgical pincers she holds in her lap. This imagery suggests that just as the destruction of her heart was self-inflicted, the suffering must also be borne by her alone, symbolized by the two Fridas holding hands, emphasizing her isolation.

Claude Cahun’s art explores the hidden dimensions of existence, particularly the complex nature of the self. She proposed that within each individual, there are numerous masked identities, presenting the self as a fluid, ever-changing blend of fragments and collages — an idea that can be described as proliferous and mercurial. Cahun intentionally avoided fixed interpretations, recognition, and imitation in her work, allowing it to move beyond traditional meanings and moral judgments. This approach offers a radically different view of existence and being. Her aesthetic challenges conventional ideas of selfhood by dismantling standardized systems of representation. In a world where conforming to rigid identities is often essential, Cahun resists such categorization, highlighting her belief that the self is shaped by perception and sensation — fleeting, intangible, and unique to each moment.

In the collage Disavowals or Canceled Confessions, Cahun explores the contrast between interiority and exteriority. Scattered X-rays of lungs, representing the innermost parts of the body, are featured prominently — highlighting that lungs, which are not gendered, look and function the same regardless of gender. Just as lungs exist independently of categorization, so too does the self, simply being without fitting into fixed categories. Multiple faces of Cahun appear throughout the collage, rejecting the notion of a singular, fixed identity. A pair of scissors, visible in the collage, symbolizes the potential to sever any part of the self that one wishes to abandon. At the bottom center, a face of a man made only of tissue — lacking the skin that typically encloses and defines him — wears a suit, presenting a stark contrast between the extreme physical interiority (beneath the skin) and the extreme exteriority (formal, performative clothing). This contrast underscores the fragile nature of being, revealing that it cannot be confined to a single layer or identity, but rather exists in multiple layers, each equally valid.

In exploring the works of Claude Cahun and Frida Kahlo through the lens of Deleuze and Guattari’s concept of “Lines of Flight,” we uncover profound insights into the artists perceptions of the nature of “being” which is very personal. Kahlo’s art, deeply rooted in the experience of pain, exposes the fragility and isolation inherent in her subjectivity, while her works like The Two Fridas poignantly illustrate the struggle between personal suffering and self-preservation. Cahun, on the other hand, employs a fluid and fragmented aesthetic to question the fixed nature of identity, presenting a vision of the self as an ever-shifting amalgamation of parts. Her collages, such as Disavowals or Canceled Confessions, further deconstruct conventional notions by juxtaposing internal and external realities, emphasizing the multiplicity and impermanence of identity. Both artists, by transcending fixed categories offer a radical reimagining of existence. Their work underscores the potential of the “Line of Flight” not just as a theoretical concept but as a transformative force that encourages us to continually redefine and understand the self in a state of constant becoming.

Bibliography

Cahun, Claude, and Marcel Moore. HUM. 1930, photomontage in Disavowals; or, Cancelled Confessions, Éditions du Carrefour, 1930.

Kahlo, Frida. The Two Fridas. 1939, Museo de Arte Moderno, Mexico City.

Deleuze, Gilles, and Félix Guattari. A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Translated by Brian Massumi, University of Minnesota Press, 1987.

According to Pines, Maimonides confronts Aristotle’s idea that human ken is capable of grasping all metaphysical knowledge, both the knowledge of God and of the separate intellects. To Maimonides, Aristotle’s concept of the Prime Mover is an essential pillar within the foundations of Judaism, however, there “is not a valid demonstration” of the proof, for what “Aristotle said about the celestial spheres is analogous to guessing and conjecturing” (Harvey, 220). Maimonides as a doctor who bases proofs strictly on empirical knowledge, cannot accept Aristotle’s proof as true, but can accept it as possible. By saying this, he personifies the idea that Faith and doubt are intertwined, that one will only have a true conception of God to the highest degree available to human cognition by lingering with and tolerating the incomprehensible and unreachable.

Maimonides states examples where, according to Harvey, he deliberately contradicts himself not only to hint towards the “limitations of the knowledge of a corporeal being” (Harvey, 216), but to conceal his critical epistemology, for one must have mastered the theory before trying to understand the critique of the theory. In 1:54 he mentions Exodus 33:18–23 where Moses achieved knowledge of all things except for the “face” or “glory”, explicitly defined as God’s essence. However, in 1:37 he mentions Onquelos’ translation where “face” and “glory” are interpreted as the separate intellects. Maimonides explicitly affirms the view to which Moses knew the separate intellects, his exoteric view, while Onquelos’ view that is presented, to which Moses did not know them is his esoteric view. Harvey believes that this choice was made strictly for pedagogical reasons.

Harvey states that Guide 2:24 is presumably the most important chapter in the book regarding critical epistemology of the heavens. Maimonides interprets Psalms 115:16 explaining that because the heavens are too high in place and rank they are inaccessible and that what can be inferred from the heavens is that their Mover cannot be reached by human intellect. Although Maimonides had previously concurred that the Prime Mover was incomprehensible to the consciousness, this passage remained problematic in the debate of Maimonides’ readers. Harvey mentioned Ibn Tibon’s marginal note regarding the heavens, one of the first known readers to have trouble with this passage. Ibn Tibbon as a confident rationalist, could not fathom that Maimonides, who wrote so often about the eternal motion of the heavens, was now writing that it is a thing in which human intellect does not reach. To him, the text must have been corrupted and should be revisited as he could not entertain the idea that doubt could be lurking in the foundations of the Torah. In the printed version of his translation “But everything else regarding them” is used instead of “The Mover is indeed a thing whose knowledge human intellect does not reach”. Ibn Tibbon’s interpretation of Maimonides aims to downplay or reduce the extent of his criticism towards Aristotelian celestial physics. Yehudah Even-Shmuel discovered a manuscript which demonstrates that Ibn Tibbon’s note was corrupt, and for that reason the addition was philosophical rather than textual. “In all likelihood, Ibn Tibbon… did not himself incorporate it into his translation, and it was added later by scribes on the basis of Ibn Tibon’s gloss” (Harvey, 230).

The Guide of the Perplexed is found to be divided into three parts. The first part, metaphysics, God and the separate intellects, where one cannot know God but can the separate intellects or one can’t know the separate intellects but can know celestial spheres. The second part, celestial physics, the celestial spheres, where one cannot know the celestial spheres but can know the world of four elements. And part three regarding terrestrial physics, the world of four elements where critical epistemology is extended to the physical realm of human beings. “Maimonides’ epistemology obtains not only in physics as well as in metaphysics, but also on earth as well as in the heavens” (Harvey, 235).

Bibliography

Harvey, Warren Zev. “Maimonides’ Critical Epistemology and Guide 2:24.” Aleph, vol. 8, no. 1, 2008, pp. 213–235. Indiana University Press.

1. Questão escolhida: Poder e Privilégio — “Como e por que um grupo social é representado de determinada maneira?”
2. Titulo do Texto analizado: “Triste, Louca ou Má” — Francisco, el Hombre
3. Pontos do ensaio:

• Introdução ao grupo social em questão, contexto cultural, ótica da banda.
• Representação de figura feminina na primeira metade do texto como presa a paradigmas e expectativas de uma sociedade patriarcal.
• Representação de figura feminina na segunda metade do texto como liberta dos mesmos paradigmas e expectativas.

4. Conclusão

Tarefa Escrita:

“Triste, Louca ou Má”, música lançada em 2016 pela banda Francisco, El Hombre, manifesta a ideia de que quando mulheres se opõem à opinião masculina imposta sobre elas, são taxadas de tristes, loucas ou más. Se se encontra sozinha é triste, se dissentir é louca, se responde à dominação é má. A banda Francisco, El Hombre é um grupo que canta a diversidade, tem o repertório de denúncia social, e explora a pluralidade e a intensidade da sociedade no contexto atual. Suas músicas não necessariamente se fixam em temas atemporais; ao invés disso, decidem encarar problemas contemporâneos. A música “Triste, Louca ou Má” traz como base do texto uma crítica ao modo de como a mulher é julgada, vista e representada dentro de uma sociedade patriarcal.

Apesar da inclinação a músicas com temáticas contemporâneas, pode-se ver que nessa música é retratado um tópico universal: a não submissão dos papéis de gênero, tema inicialmente surgido no século XIX, durante a primeira onda do movimento feminista, mas abordado na música com a perspectiva do século XXI. O tema, portanto, tem extrema relevância no mundo contemporâneo devido ao questionamento do papel da mulher na sociedade, especialmente no feminismo no século atual. Apesar de aparentemente termos evoluído como sociedade, existem ainda expectativas sociais e morais que uma mulher é esperada seguir. Ainda existe a expectativa de que uma mulher se case, tenha filhos, mantenha uma família, cuide de casa e se mantenha dentro dos padrões estéticos, principalmente atualmente, com a influência das mídias digitais. A música, evidência da relação entre um discurso e as características da época em que foi produzida, utiliza temas feministas como influência para o direcionamento da letra.

A composição é inteiramente relatada por uma intérprete onisciente que se apresenta no início da música como apenas uma observadora em terceira pessoa. Porém, a partir da segunda metade do texto, integra-se na realidade da história e assume a posição de protagonista, narrando em primeira pessoa. Durante a primeira metade, a intérprete descreve o conceito de uma mulher. Na sua descrição, a figura permanece sem nome, sem identificação, sem qualquer descrição pessoal ou singularidade na presença da personagem. A individualidade é comprometida na exposição da mulher com o propósito de universalizar, pluralizar a subjetividade da personagem e estender a consternação pessoal para que possa ser aplicada à realidade de outras mulheres. “Triste louca ou má/ Será qualificada/ Ela quem recusar”. A personagem não identificada serve como representação de mulheres que se encontram no mesmo contexto de repressão. A permanência anônima também auxilia a simbolização da falta de individualidade da mulher causada pela sua constrangida dependência a uma figura masculina, sendo qualificada como ‘mais uma mulher’ com a exigência de seguir um padrão.

Na primeira metade da canção o tema de submissão e aprisionamento é explorado, particularmente assinalado no campo semântico com palavras que representam reclusão, clausura: “rotina”, “cuida”, “triste”, “louca”, “má”, “receita”, “cultural”, “dores”. A intérprete descreve o contexto por meio de uma perspectiva de observadora em terceira pessoa, não há interação com o texto, apenas serve o papel de espectadora. Na primeira estrofe da música, “Triste louca ou má/ Será qualificada/ Ela quem recusar/ Seguir receita tal/ A receita cultural/ Do marido, da família/ Cuida, cuida da rotina”, a terminologia “triste, louca ou má” utilizada é uma tradução da expressão originada nos Estados Unidos da América “sad, mad or bad”, um ditado depreciativo a mulheres que escolhem ficar solteiras e não constituir uma família. Na primeira estrofe é possível identificar a maneira como uma mulher é vista aos olhos da figura masculina ao não se submeter a padrões sociais de comportamento. No enunciado “receita cultural” há a associação da ideia de formação (receita), que no contexto simboliza constituir uma família, ter marido e filhos, atender a eles e encarregar-se da rotina doméstica.

A transição entre a primeira metade do texto e a segunda metade é segmentada pela estrofe “Ela desatinou/ Desatou nós/ Vai viver só”. Esse trecho representa a quebra do paradigma previamente estabelecido à personagem, anuncia o momento de eureka no qual a mulher irá apoderar-se da posição social tão desejada. No dizer “Desatou nós” se encontra uma metáfora, em que se representa o rompimento da sua prisão, o papel de gênero. No trecho, a intérprete toma a perspectiva julgadora do corpo social que é contra a individualização da figura da mulher. Esse posicionamento pode ser visto em “Ela desatinou” quando a sua atitude é vista como loucura aos olhos da sociedade.

Na segunda parte da canção o tema liberdade é explorado, particularmente assinalado no campo semântico com palavras que representam independência, libertamento e autonomia: “queimar”, “traçar”, “novo”, “reinventar”, “próprio”, “desatou”. Pode-se notar também que a intérprete alterou sua presença no texto, não descreve mais o contexto por meio de uma perspectiva observadora; agora interage com o texto, torna-se a protagonista. Com essa escolha linguística, o compartilhamento da subjetividade e repressão, que são finalmente manifestadas, indica a intensidade das expectativas sociais e morais que uma mulher nesse contexto é esperada seguir. “Eu não me vejo na palavra/ Fêmea: Alvo de caça/ Conformada vítima”. A palavra no trecho, por influência da perspectiva de uma sociedade patriarcal, é denominada por ser alvo de caça; com isso, ocorre uma certa animalização e objetificação da mulher, pois se classificada como fêmea, será uma presa, alvo de caça, conformada vítima.

A música de Francisco, El Hombre “Triste, Louca ou Má” manifesta uma crítica ao modo como a mulher é julgada, vista e representada dentro de uma sociedade patriarcal. A figura da mulher é representada de maneira em que, se por acaso se opõe à opinião masculina imposta sobre ela, é taxada de triste, louca ou má. Se não seguir a expectativa de constituir uma família é categorizada como desvairada. Na música, é representada a exigência de seguir as expectativas sociais e morais as quais são impostas.

Bibliografia:

Francisco, el Hombre. “Triste, Louca ou Má.”. youtube.com/watch?v=lKmYTHgBNoE

Strassacapa, Juliana. “A Música Libertária De Francisco, El Hombre”. 2017.

I later noticed, the same technique a kid could employ to deconstruct the meaning of words was being purposely applied to soften the power of hatred just by making a malicious discourse appear to be normal, or justified, or tolerable. Vulgarized hate speech becomes banal by its relativization and repetition. The gravity of definition becomes lightweight, whilst at the same time having damaging malicious intention. May it be a matter of negligence and carelessness, or of deliberate policy-oriented speech technique, an inconsequential use of hate concepts and stereotypes has the power to deconstruct the essence of respect and civilized coexistence. The first minutes of any visit to the Yad Vashem clearly portrays how culture bashing paved the way to unfathomable violence.

Those who defend microaggression denominate it to be the manner in which one expresses personal opinion, and that those who are against it utilize it as a tactic to stifle differences in a marketplace of ideas. But is hate speech even really an opinion? And might I add, a valid one? I never thought of denigration directed to culturally marginalized social groups through hostile and prejudicial slights as much of an opinion. Instead, I found it as the inability to cohabit with diversity and heterogeneity within society. Heartbreaking, really.

Among so many millions throughout history, death was caused a couple of years ago by this same discourse. Marielle Franco, one of the many victims of hatred in Brazil, was assassinated after her election as a city councilor. A working-class, single mother, black woman, and LGBT representative from the favelas (shanty towns). The epitome of what hate discourse extremists bashed. A hate crime preceded by hate speech, where words used for vilification took the form of a bullet. It reached the extent of performing a crime against humanity. The assassination of Marielle is proof that hate speech is rapidly infiltrating Brazil’s national mentality, in a country traditionally renowned by its cordiality and tolerance.

Hate speech thrives on a cultural and political environment that tolerates violence and evil as normal. Hannah Arendt had already warned against the banality of evil that emerges from supposed normal personalities and attitudes. The power of words should never be deconstructed by attitudes that alleviate their meaning. Hate speech cannot be tolerated on behalf of tolerance itself, for it carries in it the seeds of destruction of any free and human society.

To be seen by you was humiliation,
your eyes meeting mine, obscene.
To be gutted up alive, to be picked at,
for all my carnal ways to be excavated and exposed in the museum of heinous desires.

Yet, I myself do not know what I desire.
The goals I pursue are always veiled.
Truth and meaning linger in the unknown.
What am I?

I am the swift flow of a riverbank,
my form and course, an heirloom.
If not an inheritance, an instinctive response.
What am I?

I am a gush of wind sweeping by,
I won’t stay here for long.
Just long enough to brush up against your surface.
Just long enough to remind you that you are made of skin and bones.
And though all of you can’t be contained,
all of you can be held.
What am I?

To believe me is to be ludicrous.
I can’t write my truths on paper.
I can’t seem to keep track of all my scraps.
Scattered through corners, stuck under bar tables,
unobtrusively placed in your back pocket,
only to later be found while you’re doing laundry, as an afterthought, an impression, a receipt you forgot to throw away.

If I were to collect all of these scraps and paper mâché the cracks in this body shut,
maybe then I could step out of myself for the first time
and see me as a whole.
For once,
would it bridge the gap between who I think I am and who I truly am?

Can essence be captured in representation?

And this wavering guilt?
I don’t know who I seek absolution from.
Why, in the enigma of my being, have I sought comfort in you?

Oh perception, you a formidable fear, you a fervent desire.

Anticipation for solstice had already been composed
A ridged alteration of fifth and third notes
Had become too familiar
The repetition once melodic, had now become daunting, bleak

Motherly divination advises against all that does not come around naturally
Yet I was yearning for tonal diversity
All these songs
The same customary rhythm, It all felt so empty

Contingency urged me to give you a listen
And without any predisposition
Carelessly plopped on the floor, I let you play

Your harmony took my hand for a dance

Each note gracefully tumbling over another
Racing each other
To see who would reach my ears first

I noticed it mimicked my heartbeat
The way it tripped over its own palpitations
Hurdling, in search for the next time we would meet

As you reverberated throughout the atmosphere
My mind envisioned how meticulously you had been put together
You were the melody I’ve always wanted to hear

The more I listened to you
The more you grew in ambiguity
The more I had the clarity
That I wanted to say those three words

You played inside the car
The rich bass now demanded to be heard
I pictured the confident bassist whacking it out in one go
Then leaving it be, raw, untouched, beautifully unrefined
Narrating your story

Perfectly imperfect, just the way it had been intended.
I ask myself
Why would there be a need to recapture the joy of listening to you for the first time?
When the continuous journey is the best part of it

No I don’t believe I’ve got the talent for love
But you seem to make it easy to love
And you seem to make it easy to be loved

I wish to remember
The minuscule moment where a new soul has the purest connection with the divine
Where life is not perceived through man-made constricted categorization
Its systematization framed by language
The realm of ideas had not a shape or predisposition, and the world had not its strict natural laws, but rather life, as it is, seemed miraculous enough
A time when an impressionable mind would have classified the fertility of soil to be as magical as a flying unicorn
It was all staggering

Conception’s edges became softened through my mother’s tongue
She caressed me through her lullabies
Senses had not their strict classification yet
So my frivolous palate relished the sweetness of the timbre of her voice

The biggest souvenir my mother gave me from life’s corner gift shop was the shape of my consciousness, through the tongue she lent me
To be returned as words clothed with the blankets of metamorphosis
Where they became unbound by their restrictive meaning

Through her, language became deliberate
Oh and my mother knows her way through its dangerous curves
“They carry weight, you speak into existence”, she would say
From this, she extracts the humanity of people who have, through the tribulations of life, had their essence become rancid

I digress.
It is impossible to remember the minuscule moment when I was unrestrained from the human condition of chronic categorization.

But
When my mother sings to me
With words that once tasted so sweet
It is the closest I reach to that of the divine

I thank my mother for the holiest gift of them all. Her tongue.

As this flows out of me through English, I realize, it’s time to come home
And it’s time to speak to my mother, with my mother tongue

Fundamentação

A crônica é documentada na perspectiva do papagaio do livro Vidas Secas de Graciliano Ramos. Nesse sentido, o texto relata a percepção subjetiva da ave na hora em que será sacrificada. A crônica compõe-se inteiramente de um fluxo de consciência, com o propósito de traduzir os pensamentos, expor as grandes esperanças e desejos profundos do animal.

Despedida não dita

Relato minha despedida apenas em minha mente, pois dentro desta gaiola não me foi oferecido caneta e papel. Não guardo rancor porque não se pode cobrar de alguém algo que não possui. Queria, porém, de alguma maneira, ter a possibilidade de me despedir. De algum modo, dar-lhes a certeza de que iriam escapar da seca e da mediocridade. Eu creio que será possível. Não sei se nesta vida. Porém, quem sabe em outra… Haverá outro Fabiano e outra Sinha Vitória que conseguirá, pela grandiosidade de sua força de vontade, escapar desta miserável realidade em que estamos presos.

Era notável, Fabiano, a seca parecia-lhe como um fato necessário, era visível que em sua mente nasceste nesta realidade, e por isso não havia nada que podia ser feito para escapar. Era extremamente notável a sua falta de esperança. Porém, em seu subconsciente, era perceptível que quisesse responsabilizar alguém pela sua desgraça. Mas não sabia quem. Pena que também não tenho resposta pra isso. Queria… mas não tenho. Apenas sei que não é sua culpa de ter nascido preso a essa realidade, mas também não sei de quem será.

Sinha Vitória, percebo sua amarga angústia e o bloqueio de comunicação corrosivo. Sinto sua dor, sua vontade de dizer algo. Porém sem saber o quê e como. Percebo seu sentimento de perdição, de não saber o porquê, e o que fez para ficar acorrentada, presa. Retida pelos rótulos sociais, que contra sua vontade foram impostos. Vejo seu ódio brotando internamente e seu desespero de procurar alguma forma de descontar sua raiva, sem saber como. Corrosivo, tudo isso é corrosivo, destrutivo. O ódio, a raiva, a confusão, o medo, a tristeza, a seca, triste realidade, que em seus olhos não pode ser escapada. Apesar de ser um animal inútil, um ser desprezível que não tem consciência, constato o mesmo: o vazio e a barreira de não poder dizer o que sinto. Simpatizo com a senhora, estamos infelizmente ambos destinados ao silêncio.

Eu era apenas um perturbador da família. Apenas aboiava, apenas tangia um gado inexistente. E somente imitava os latidos vindos da participante mais eloquente e discursista da família: Baleia. Neste corpo amaldiçoado, repito apenas o que ouço. Fabiano, Sinha Vitória e seus dois filhos viviam todos calados, inundados no desastre do dia a dia, raramente soltavam palavras curtas. Queria ter havido a oportunidade de ter assimilado um pouco de suas personalidades. Me perguntava às vezes se tinham a mesma maldição que a minha, que só podiam repetir o que lhes foi dito, limitados ao que ouviam. Mas não ouviam nada, portanto não falavam nada. Presos, monótonos, sem sentimentos. Assim como eu. Eu que não sirvo para nada, agora servirei de alimento. Me sinto aprisionado. Porém me contento que a minha despedida trará sustento a eles. Finalmente encontrarei meu destino, minha utilidade. O inquieto papagaio agora não perturbará mais. Conseguiu ser calado pelo grandioso e devorador mal: o silêncio. Dissipou relações, felicidades, e agora terminará com minha existência.

Eu só tenho um arrependimento: queria ter experienciado minha curta vida pelo outro lado das barras da gaiola. Ver a realidade por outra perspectiva, sem ser aprisionado. Creio que minha vontade de escapar às grades físicas é compatível com a grande vontade subjetiva e inconsciente de Fabiano de escapar de suas prisões mentais. Das barreiras de minha gaiola às barreiras sociais de Fabiano, percebi com meu tempo de aprisionamento que prisões são invisíveis a quem está preso. Da mesma maneira que um ser só sabe o que é noite quando é apresentado ao dia, um ser não sabe o que é estar preso até ser solto. Com os anos que passei aprisionado em minha gaiola, esqueci o que era ser livre, o que era voar, debruçar minhas asas e pegar voo. Um dia em que consegui escapar, não cheguei longe por falta de energia. Não havia comido há dias, mas experimentei algo que não sabia que existia, a liberdade. Da mesma maneira penso que Fabiano e Sinha Vitória estão presos, mas não têm consciência disso, nunca tiveram a oportunidade de abrir suas asas, e alçar voo. Portanto, não sabem o que é sentir o vento frio, nem as borboletas no estômago quando se percebe o mundo debaixo de si, o conhecimento ganho após voar na lucidez.

Diferente de Baleia, não fui dado nome nem identidade. Permaneci como a figura que perturba, que late, que perturba, que abóia, que perturba. Dias e noites passavam, e não achava minha utilidade. Eu, a figura que apenas sabe repetir sons, agora serei sacrificada. Não os culpo, pelo contrário, os entendo, vocês apenas farão comigo o que a sociedade fez com vocês, te aprisionam em uma realidade falsa, sem a opção de escapar. E agora eu serei devorado pelo bem maior. Enfrento minha realidade, aceito. Da mesma maneira que tu Fabiano, aceitou a sua.