Skip to main content

Avengers, Bad Guys, Hypocrites and Oscar Wilde

I got to the office and opened the Facebook page. "I'll just check out the news and move on to my reading. "Just a few minutes won't hurt!" That's what I told myself! An hour later, here I am dealing with the effects of it, pouring them into words so I'll be able to breathe a little better. "Who was I fooling?  Why do I tell myself such lies?"

 I read the news and made the repetitive mistake of reading the comments, the same obnoxious comments, many of them the acritical repetition of  the midia discourse, many ignorant, paranoid and delusional interpretations of history. "Man, life is hard!" One picture of a guy, in black, wearing a skeleton mask, on top of a motorcycle, a dead dark body, no shirt on,  covered in blood and the headlines explaining: "Skeleton masked man kills bandits in Teresina and gets popular support" "What a world!" The shock just grew bigger when I read the post that followed it: "I wish this guy would come to my hometown and get rid of the bad guys here!" Here was the place I live too. I thought of my kids walking down the street and witnessing the "justicing" of "bad guys" by the masked man.  I shivered. My stomach turned. "Horrible times!"

The bad guys... Who are the bad guys? How old is this person who talks about the bad guys? Four? Who does she think are the bad guys? The bad guys, for her, are the poor robbers, the petty drug dealers, the ones that stand on her way to her upscale fun parties. The ones with no education, no rights, cast aside since children and coopted by the gangs and their school of crimes. Interestingly, the bad guys do not include the Politician this person, who dreams of  cleaning her hometown of the bad guys, worked to elect for an important position in our Congress. A politician that with her aid has been trumping the democratic institutions, using questionable mechanisms to bend the country's constitution and putting our young democracy constantly at risk. A politician that has forgiven millions in taxes owed by fraudulent religious leaders, leaders belonging to the same religion as his.

"Well, money in the pocket, who gives a shit about democracy anyway? Right? Difficult times!" I wonder what is the scope of bad people of the man with the Skeleton mask, I wonder why she thinks it coincides with hers. I wonder how someone gets to be the kind of person that allies herself with a psychopath and is proud of it. I wonder if given information, he, the masked man, would still be aiming his weapons to the petty thieves and drug dealers.

I don't believe in shooting around people. "You may say I'm a dreamer", but it is against my nature. I'm no saint, of course, and my writer's mind takes my kind of revenge  on thinking of the surprise avengers and hypocrites will have when they walk down their basements, open their secret rooms and uncover their portraits. I imagine their shock when they finally see their souls, the deep marks on their faces, their evil gaze, their sordid expressions, the indelible records of their acts, their feelings. Will they scream when they find out who the real bad guys are?

Labels:

Comments

  1. Lady StarlightJuly 15, 2016 at 8:25 AM

    Gostei muito do texto. Tremo todas as vezes em que leio: "Fulano deveria estar morto!" Que energia é essa? E adorei o parágrafo final: o Retrato de Dorian Gray é um dos meus livros prediletos!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

I upset people (This may be the first of a series)

I feel I upset many people. Maybe it is something I do, but the feeling I get is that what upsets them is the way I live, the choices I make. People get upset with me when they hear I don't believe in God. If I tell them that I once did, but have lost my faith after I lost my first child, a premature baby, they fail to grasp the complexity of it. They look at me with irritating condescendent pityful eyes and they think I can be "fixed." To be fair, maybe I fail to help them understand that after what happened to me, God as I came to know it and most people of Christian beliefs do, is of no use to me.  God proved himself either nonexistent or useless to me when my first born died and when I almost followed him due to Eclampsia and Hellp Syndrome (Go ahead and google it! Unless you are doctor or had someone in the family who had this, you will never know it.) He did not save my baby and he did not spare me the excruciating suffering I had to endure. And if you think I...
4 comments
Read more

The child that did not stay

I remember expecting a child that never came, a child I never held in my arms. I remember expecting a child who would have his father's hair, his kind eyes.  He would be curious of the world and I would follow closely all the things he would see with enchanted eyes. Everything would be new for his new eyes. Those were the words of a song about someone else's child, a song I used to listen to while waiting for this child. I remember dreaming of his future, of his smiles. I remember my hopes for him. He did not want me, this child. He did not stay.  He was not interested in the playground in front of the building we live. He was not interested in having my hand holding his while he walked his first steps. He did not care about the flowers, leaves, little dry sticks that fall from the trees in our neighbourhood. He did not want to listen to the slightly out of tune lullabies I was going to sing or the stories I would read at bedtime. He did not even care for the milk, all th...
1 comment
Read more

No espelho

  Olhei hoje para o espelho e me vi mais serena, me enxerguei com mais leveza. Não que esteja de fato mais leve, eu acho. Ou será que estou? Tenho ainda infinitas incertezas e dúvidas aos milhares, mas a imagem que me olhou de volta do espelho, não me olha com tristeza, dor pânico.     A imagem que vejo nesse espelho é de     calma, no olhar certa paz, talvez de se entender humana, imperfeita e aceitar essa condição.     Aqui, deste lado que estou, me observando no espelho, sinto ainda o coração encolher como se uma mão o quisesse esmagar. Encolhe-se para sobreviver e expande-se em seguida. Ao encolher-se, a respiração dá uma pausa e uma bolha de cristal sobe em refluxo, pausando ali no meio da goela. Assim que pode, o coração retorna a seu pulsar, seu ir e vir. Permanecem ali as dúvidas, as exigências, as demandas, mas também os desejos de só ser, irresponsavelmente ser e atender a cada quimera. Porque a vida é curta! A vida é sopro!    E o ...
Post a Comment
Read more