quarta-feira, 5 de agosto de 2009

I looked.

But before that, i heard. The cliching of that blue transparent marinex plate falling to the ironish, cold, brick-colored ground. It spinned a couple of times, swirling from horizontal to vertical. Scratching the floor until it stopped. How it didn't break, I had no clue. After the hollow noise of it's landing, the only sound was the echo of the silence, while in the dark my head still reproduces part of the noise. usually, when you do something idiotic, your mind tends to grab her claws in your scalp's walls. Like when say do something stupid in a louder tone than you planned and everybody listens. Stupid-upid-upid. Stupid!

Sleeping, to me, wasn't an easy task. I've had forbideen myself to listen to music after 10 pm. Otherwise, my brain cells kind of entered a combustion process... And my ideas rushed further than i tought. And, of course, inscomnia was only a colateral damage. But tonight, musicless, it was almost 2 am and nothing. No sleep, no heavy eyes. Just that annoying feeling of botherness, the feeling that something was really really wrong, and I didn't know what it was. And the silence after I bumped into that plate was solid, you could cut it like butter. Indeed, more than butter; It was almost a glass wall isolating me from the world, and I was so annoyed for a second that if there were true glass walls i'd punch them until they break. that probably would hurt my hands, cut them. But I didn't care... Somehow that didn't bother me; at least I'd feel something.

What to do when you feel nothing? When everything you have is a kind of inside numbness that just makes you float through the hours and not care about them? A wiseman once said: Killing time is suicide.

A lot of will is needed, and courage as well, to open the window and remember the sun. It might seem ridiculous, lame. But many of us go through it. The reason? We are used to things. We watch the shiny red number change minute to minute on the digital clock. We get used. The worst shame that we should have is to get used. We get used to the routines that we used to be afraid of, grossed about. We are here, simply...imply...imply...

We all have an inspired spirit. The one that already architetures thousands of way to runaway from home. The one that looked at the world and said: I DONT UNDERSTAND YOU, BUT I WILL TRY TO, TO CHANGE YOU! The scream in the shores of Ipiranga river dies inside of us - forgetting about the monarchic-hipocrite context, of course. Dies between the minutes, milisseconds and secons. At every hour that we unplug our minds. Dies in us, the revolutions. But it's the revolutions that have shaped the world.

We need to summon the dryads, the silfides and muses. We need to boil our blood. We need to be annoyed, get sad. 'Who says that never been happy, lies. Because if you're unhappy, you've been to both sides, and can tell the difference'. Because after anger, after tears and revolutions, come the smiles, the care, the conquer. We have to stop watching the ends and see the way. Get out of the background, get out of those plissé courtains and get on the stage. Nothing is predictable. But each choice we make, changes our entire future. Or will you let Destiny choose for you?

So. Remember what you fight for. Choose, or make a flag. Build your army. You can even listen to "American Idiot". As long as it awakens something in your mind. Stop facing the dark ceiling at 3 am, get your mp3, jump in the bed, get lost, dublate, play some 'air guitar'. Choose your weapons. Swords, laughter, anger or words. The world isn't just mine. Or theirs. It's ours. And we all should opinate. If they don't listen to us... Just comeback to the 4th paragraph.

Plem... Blem Blem Blem. CRASH.


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