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Eu, eu mesmo e eu de novo: Cap. 1 - Longa jornada Novo Rio - Tiete

Aqui segue o primeiro capítulo de amostra do livro Eu, eu mesmo e eu de novo , a direta continuação do Meu ano sem ela . Para quem ...

quarta-feira, outubro 17, 2018

Mantenha a calma, não há rinocerontes neste livro! (2017)

(200 págs. com 34 contos: Livro dos Unicórnios: A Criação; Estefânio depois da vagina; A verdade sobre os suicídios na UERJ; Do amor, da Morte; Uma história de três menininhas na Lapa; Cabeça de Baratas; Procurado No-El; Ô Floris, Florisbela; As três irmãs; Longa jornada estrada afora; Welcume à Yěshēng yīndào; O baile da menina triste; Admirável mundo velho; O julgamento; Lobo Mau; Novela mexicana; Ônibus vermelho de Marte; Ex-cadas de degraus; Deutschland Dancefloor Klub; Livro dos Unicórnios: do homem e da mulher; Naquele degrau, pisei nas costelas; Ninho da guerra; Cabaret Extraordinaire; Gigi Stradivarius contra o Salmonela; Nova Zelândia; Ela matou…; João e Maria; O traficante de Zô; Um homem chamado Jacó; Nunca aposte sua cabeça com a turca; O religioso; Tornei-me Shiva, destruidor de mundos; We’ll meet again some sunny day; Um dia ordinário na vida de Serginho Calabresa)
R$- Impresso no Clube dos Autores
R$5,00 E-book na Amazon Kindle 

domingo, julho 15, 2018

Life Report of the Terrible Creature, who lives in a Dark Cave, called Loid: Chapter 1

The Life report of the terrible creature, who lives in a dark cave, called Loid is a book, or a post on a blog, or a follow-up of 0s and 1s in the hologram of reality, an endless story that goes nowhere and is all, following the day, or night, or nothing, of a being who is also none, or all, or a man, or a reptile, or a bird, or simply a monster. A day in which he walks through a dark cave, or a forest, or an old house, and finds in his way characters like Alice from Wonderland, Adolf Hitler and a door.

1. Blood ...

            - Blood ...

            Blood is all that sees in its hands the terrible creature, who lives in a dark cave, and is known by the people of a nearby village as the "Terrible Creature that lives in a Dark Cave." But, however, it has no name, for being completely nameless, although in fact, it really likes to call itself "Loid". And that’s how it will be named in this account of its life, that in its publication - if this has not already occurred, or rather, if it ever really does occur - it will be - or is or will never be - Life report of the Terrible Creature, who lives in a Dark Cave, called Loid".

            Let us return to this important account. So, who is Loid? What it’s like? Why is it so feared by the people of the nearby village? I believe I had not previously mentioned the fear of the people of the nearby village, but that is not important now. These are questions to be answered in the near future, or perhaps never, or perhaps have already been answered, and you reader simply forgot them. But what is important now is the blood that is in the hands of our dear Loid. Why dear? You will get this answer by reading this report, or maybe not! Maybe you'll learn to call it the terrible Loid. Who can really say what kind of judgment will you draw from this fateful, perhaps joyful, perhaps tedious account? Certainly not me. Probably not at all you.

I see that it already took me too long to start this story, so let's get back to the starting point. Where is our dear Loid? In its dark cave, which it does not own, since Loid does not belong and nothing can belong. Loid sees his hands, or paws, or claws, or hooks, or wings, or fins, or simultaneously all, or none at all, covered with blood, which comes from its skin, which is equal to that of a mammal, or bird, or reptile, or insect, or fish, or constantly all, or simultaneously none. Loid murmurs a single word in the immensity of the dark cave and the sound is repeated:

- Blood ... Blood ... Blood ...

Sentenced, executed, catch me if you can

"Someone should have slandered Josef K., for without him doing any harm he was arrested one morning."
Franz Kafka

The guilty wakes up one morning. Big, fake, questioning. Born into a world he did not create. Responsibility for a life which he does not have. Condemned by a hand he does not see. Do you want freedom? Lie, lie, lie. Wake up to be stopped, wake up to fall, wake up to follow. He agrees to do little, to respond little, to blame and accept everything. Guilty sincerely! Are you here because you decided to be here? Or are you here, because another decided that here you should decide to be? Do you want freedom? Be ready to fight, be ready to go, be ready to make the decisions obvious! "Yes! Point to me the guilty one and I will fight against him!" So I point him out, do you see, and how does it feel? “It cannot be! Point me to another, please!" There's only one. There is only one and deceived he cannot be, only deceived by himself. Born into a world he has created. Responsible for the life he has. Condemned by the hand he does not want to see. "But nobody gave me the answers!" No one asked the questions! The role of a servant is easier than that of a master. Easier to obey than to make decisions. Easier to say free when another has defined this freedom. The guilty one dies at the gates of the law. Big, fake, exclamation. Try to get out, not get in. Try to run away, not to find. Try to surrender, not to take. Truth, truth, truth. The guard looks with shame on the one who wants to escape. The guilty not even wants to take the decision on his own desertion. The law is aborted, hoped to be constituted, not denied by another. "But I make decisions!" Of course, of course! For you do not sleep as they lay you down, you sleep as you can stand on yourself. For you do not eat as they try to fill you, you eat what they offer you. For you do not breathe what they send to intoxicate you, you breathe as you need to do what you are told to do. For you do not procreate as you are told, but as they make sure not to tell you, in order to produce more others guilty ones just like you. For you do not understand how they command you, you understand what is necessary to speak, just like those who do not tell you the truth. Guess you're not guilty! "Exactly!" Imagine, you're free! Free as the multitude multiply. Free as multiplication to differentiate. Free as differentiation to annihilation. Free as a bird that has fled in its own cage dwell. Fat bird, whose wings lost the ability to fly. Never has so fat and relaxed an animal appeared to be so skinny and miserable. A wretch to die from the decision not to constitute his own law, to beg the guard of his own dignity to let him go, desperate to hand over all responsibility to anyone other than himself.

Divine Disneyland

I wanted to reach the top, I had to reach the top, I could see the sun coming up there, when a wild Pluto appeared in front of me, blocking my way. That was when behind a tree Dante appeared and said "Come, come, young artist, that way there is no way, so come with me so I can teach you another way to reach the top." And so I followed, and soon we were entering the gates of Disneyland. "Through here we have to go, crossing those many theme parks so you can reach your goal, but before I have a very important question to ask you." "Ask it" I said to Dante. "So, okay, I understand that reading the whole Divine Comedy is a hard work, but at least my whole page on wikipedia you could have taken the trouble to end, right?" "Yeah ... I planned to, but did not found it necessary, because I intend to finish writing this text in less than an hour." "So, not even a citation in italian will I speak throughout our journey? "" Wait ..." "Una bellissima ragazza è il sole, una creatura straordinaria, one che fa l'galoppare immaginazione." "Satisfied?" "A quote from me, no from Marcello Mastroianni." "Yeah ... ok, let’s continue on my journey!" " But not even Disneyland you know how it is" " ... "

segunda-feira, julho 09, 2018

My Year Without Her (2014, novel, english translation)

(Preface + chapters 1 and 2)


    "It's terrible!" This was my first exclamation when I finished reading this book. Honestly, I started reading expecting a typical sentimental romance cliché, kind of good for the interior of a fireplace, but soon - and from NOTHING, I must exalt - it became a good experience, how can I put it, it was strange, I made a "hum" inwardly, followed shortly after by an "ah", then I coughed, then coughed a little more, "what is this? why is this here? does not make any sense", as I began to slowly see myself losing my sanity - I was sure to be watched in the corner of my eye by an alligator in a cigar-smoking suit, but I refused to look in his direction - I considered suicide obviously, going to McDonalds, to have a milkshake, then suddenly I saw myself reading the same thing from the beginning, I remembered my youth before the war, I remembered my loves, their breasts, I felt myself slightly being deceived by the author, I also felt cheated by my dog.

            I believe the first impression one can have about the author as he begins to read this book is that he is a pervert - which I doubt not - followed by the feeling that he is a five year old child - a perverted child - then to conclude that he is absolutely an insane, demented, perverted child. The premise of this novel: a young man dates a girl, has problems, cant take anymore, ends the relationship, soon after discovers himself mentally ill, goes back, she does not want him anymore, he does not know what to do, begins to question his life and decisions, begins to go out wildly to parties behind oblivion, whether in a substitute, in drink, in "new experiences", yada, yada, yada, the usual Disney movies, Hollywood movies bullshit. But then out of nowhere, sidereal space, the Earth spinning around the sun, and then cutias appear from nowhere - some kind of Brazilian crazy rodent -, or you find yourself reading an article about social behavior at university parties in Rio de Janeiro, or a treatise on gothics and hair, or the demented math of football fans, and there is rhinos - my god! -. You soon notice, this title "My year without her" is very misleading. Other than that I also must notice, that I have done the research, and there are none of those cutias with fancy hair styles, they never even existed. Also notice that this is not a healthy book - it should be burned, in fact - not that this is a problem for me, I have experienced a lot of crazy in life, I can hardly sleep at night with all the memories, but one of mine granddaughters, Penelope, 22, I do not remember from which mother or grandmother, there are so many, she stole the manuscript, read it in one night and dawned me crying. Ah ... these post-nuclear young people are sensitized by anything, they are also demented and perverted children equal to the author. Next day, it was her cousin Tatiana, who after reading the first chapter, cursed the first and then the author, only to later also finish the book the same day, and ask me to contact him. She was very sad when I told her that he was already dead, crushed by a piano. Honestly, their reaction to this book was very unpleasant. I suppose these traumatized young people today can find something in the situations of the protagonist they can relate to, something in his mistakes and right answers, more mistakes than right answers, in fact. However, I do still think they should have been reading a Hesse, or Kafka, or Dostoyevsky, or Schopenhauer, not this disheveled author.

Salazar "Sal" Mummramad
(Winner of the Nobel, in 1984, in category: others.)

Book of Unicorns: Creation

In the beginning there was nothing. And then there was the potato. And there were those who were eternal: the unicorns. And there were five unicorns. And they were called Arakolyts, Jajatops, Hopuiyu, Gatueus and Raul-Chico. And the unicorns loved the potato. And then in their worship they created the earth so that the potato would settle there. And the earth was created and on it the potato settle. And there in their worship they saw that the potato needed light to be seen. And the sky was created and lit the potato. And many potatoes scattered across the land. And the unicorns found their adoration about so many potatoes small and decided that new beings should worship the potatoes. And Jajatops sodomized Arakolyts. And from Arakolyts came many new beings in the likeness of the five unicorns. And these new beings walked the earth and worshiped the potatoes. And for a long time there was peace and prosperity in the world, but then one of the unicorns in the likeness of the five stepped on a potato. And outrage was made. And division over the fate of this unicorn in the likeness arose among the five unicorns. And Arakolyts, Jajatops and Hopuiyu were in favor of forgiveness and that one could also worship the potato by stepping on it. And Gatueus and Raul-Chico were against, stipulating that one could not step on the potato, at most only chew it, and that all unicorns in likeness of the five should be punished by the actions of one. And won the majority and distance was made among the five unicorns. And Gatueus and Raul-Chico hated the unicorns in their likeness and decided to give life to new beings. And so they caught one of the unicorns in their likeness and distorted it, pulled their front paws off the ground and made it erect, pinched their snout into their faces and placed fingers on their paws. And to this new being they gave the name of man. And the man soon after being raised stepped on the potato. And in disgust, Gatueus and Raul-Chico stomped on him. And Gatueus and Raul-Chico made a new man exactly as before, but they deprived him of his wings and his horn. And the new man loved the potato and chewed it. And soon, like the unicorns, there were many men on the earth. And there was peace and prosperity, but then a man ate a unicorn in the likeness. And Arakolyts, Jajatops and Hopuiyu, who until then accepted the creation of their brothers, revolted and desired the destruction of man. And Gatueus and Raul-Chico refused to destroy their creation. And the majority won, men were destroyed and Gatueus and Raul-Chico were banished from living with the beings of the earth. And a lot of time passed. And Arakolyts, Jajatops and Hopuiyu were appeased in their fury for the death of the unicorn in their likeness. And Gatueus and Raul-Chico were once again accepted into living with their brothers. And after much time isolated in the darkness, Gatueus and Raul-Chico once again among their brothers met, but returned with rancor. And Gatueus thrust his horn through Jachatops's eye when he was alone. And Jajatops's brain gushed out of his eye hole. And then there were only four unicorns. And Raul-Chico created a new man, equal to those who had been destroyed, but four times bigger in size than the previous one. And Raul-Chico called him Gogaron and ordered him to eat Hopuiyu. And Gogaron ate Hopuiyu. And then there were only three unicorns. And Arakolyts fled into darkness before he could be executed by his brothers. And Gatueus and Raul-Chico recreated their original man and scattered it throughout the land. And Gatueus and Raul-Chico deprived the unicorns of their likeness, of their wings and their horn, and called them horses. And the horses were given to men as slaves. And there was peace and prosperity for a long time, but then Gogaron, the greatest man of all, felt alone and blamed the unicorns for his solitude. And Gogaron, the man greater than all, revolted and ate Gatueus. And Raul-Chico fled desperately from his own creation, now made so powerful with two of his brothers in the stomach. And Arakolyts returned and promised to end the loneliness of Gogaron. And Arakolyts took a man, gave him tits and a hole, and called him a woman. And many women were offered to Gogaron. And Gogaron calmed down and became the leader of men. And Arakolyts, satisfied with his work, also made women of the horses and called them mares. And Raul-Chico returned and, to establish his power, created other types of beings from the horses and the men. And Arakolyts did the same. And there was peace and prosperity in this land full of different beings, but then Liliana, one of Gogaron's lovers, whispered in his ear. And Gogaron listening to the whisper decided that it was too little to be the leader of men in a world full of so many beings, decided that he should be a leader of more. And Gogaron ate Arakolyts and Raul-Chico. And Gogaron became the only supreme being of all that is. And Gogaron chewed the potato. And Gogaron loved the potato.

Stephan through the Delta Waves (2011, psychedelic short film, with english subtitles)

sexta-feira, abril 14, 2017

Amor à flor da pele de Wong Kar-Wai

Texto retirado do meu livro Turbilhão de lembranças em neon: Amor, desejo e memória no cinema de Wong Kar-Wai. R$5 na Amazon.

Amor à flor da pele é um filme sobre a criação de momentos, de lembranças, de movimentos na realidade, de como esses podem culminar num amor, e como este amor pode ser interrompido por pressões externas que se tornam internas.

Somos apresentados a dois casais que se mudam para quartos em apartamentos vizinhos. O marido do apartamento da esquerda, Chow Mo-wan (Tony Leung), conhece a esposa do apartamento da direita, Su Li-zhen (Maggie Cheung). Sim, a mesma Su Li-zhen de Dias Selvagens, casada e já distante da lembrança do pássaro que não podia pousar, o fei. Durante todo filme a câmera nos oferecerá a imagem-percepção de suas vidas, e a imagem-afetação de seus sentimentos. A esposa do primeiro e o marido da segunda habitaram um mundo fora de câmera, quase em off. Ou, quando aparecerem na frente desta, estarão de costas ou embaçados, longes da nossa visão - e nós, longe de seus sentimentos. Kar-Wai concentra toda a realidade que vemos na tela nos dois protagonistas. Ou seja, não necessariamente neles, mas nos sentimentos que desenvolvem um pelo outro.

sábado, maio 21, 2016

O desastre de X-Men Apocalipse Sem Spoilers

X-Men Apocalipse é um desastre, e eu já sabia que ia ser assim. Mais um episódio da saga, por favor Fox contrate outra pessoa para fazer esses filmes ou dívida as tarefas com a Marvel. Eu sugiro o diretor do Deadpool. Esse comentário não trará spoilers que já não possam ser vistos nos trailers, que sinceramente já tem o filme inteiro. 

Eu aprendi a ler com os quadrinhos de X-Men e sou um fã dos personagens. Quando foi lançado o primeiro filme, do mesmo diretor do atual, Bryan Singer, foi emocionante ver pela primeira vez esses personagens no cinema. Alguns anos depois, eu já não estava mais tão impressionado assim. Mas eu continuei assistindo, e continuei vendo os mesmo problemas sendo repetidos. Eu aprendi todos os cacoetes do diretor. Então, vamos lá, começando com o vilão, o Ivan Ooze, já que sim, todos os temores que os fãs tinham vendo as fotos do personagem se concretizaram. O Apocalipse desse filme está mais para um vilão dos Powers Rangers que qualquer outra coisa. Ele é um cara baixinho, usando uma roupa de vilão de borracha, de programa infantil, com os poderes infinitos de um deus, porém incrivelmente incompetente usando eles nos seus objetivos. Em falar em poderes, acho que a maioria dos mutantes nesses filmes são poderosos de mais e sem fazer nenhum esforço para isso. Só raras vezes os X-Men dos quadrinhos chegaram a ter poderes quase divinos e quase sempre com graves consequências. É incrível como com tantos poderes o povo desses filmes pode ser tão incompetente e nunca conseguir o que quer. 

terça-feira, maio 10, 2016

Eu, eu mesmo e eu de novo: Cap. 1 - Longa jornada Novo Rio - Tiete

Aqui segue o primeiro capítulo de amostra do livro Eu, eu mesmo e eu de novo, a direta continuação do Meu ano sem ela.

1. Longa jornada Novo Rio – Tiete

“Give me the child.
Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered,
I have fought my way here
To the castle beyond the goblin city
To take back the child that you have stolen,
For my will is as strong as yours,
And my kingdom is great.
I can never remember that line.”

Labyrinth, 1986

            Longa jornada para São Paulo. Seis horas dentro de um ônibus, rodoviária Novo Rio, para a Tiete, minha mente no centro de um tornado. “Eu te amo, eu te amo, eu te amo.” Na cadeira ao lado, um buque de flores improvisado numa corrida pela manhã no camelódromo da Uruguaiana. De plástico, pois as vivas nunca vivem, e essas tem de viver. Vermelhas, não pretas, ela já tem um buque de flores pretas sobre a sua tv, foi o primeiro que lhe dei, ela gosta. Mas hoje quero ser clichê, o máximo de clichê do mundo, pois estou sendo tragado de novo para ele, para aquilo que os outros fazem e eu pensei não fazer mais parte. Ontem estava mudo, um muro estático de concreto a beira de um abismo, com as vigas do esqueleto a ranger, hoje tenho tudo a dizer, tenho tudo a consertar, tudo a conectar. “Eu posso fazer isso certo. Eu entendo o significado daquele abraço forte que você me deu do nada. Eu entendo que foi minha culpa. Minha culpa e eu posso consertar tudo. É isso que eu sou bom de fazer, entender e consertar. Entender e consertar.” Longa, longa jornada para São Paulo.
            - Essa é uma história que nunca venderia um livro. - disse uma vez para ela. - Uma história para ser interessante precisa de tragédia, precisa de confusão, por isso nunca vou escrever sobre a gente, nós não temos um pingo disso. - E tudo se despedaçou.