quarta-feira, janeiro 31, 2007
Not that people wouldn't talk brightly about the future, but those were far from their main concerns, which were football, novels, end-of-the-month payback and post-modernist "fracturing" political thematics. Abortion, Euthanasia, Gay marriage and Drug liberalization. It was what big media called "audience politics"- War was a special segment of this phenomenon, completely reduced to premier entertainment, a whooping market of computer games, tv shows, movies and political boxing, An interesting side note that involved all these problems was the almost pragmatic irrelevance of them to the medium class. Wars were fought by the poor, abortions were a problem mostly for the poor, drug addicts and homosexual tendencies were hidden minorities, and euthanasia was rarely discussed by the elders. Rather, the wide debate was played for and from the majority of the people, who discussed the problems of these minorities. While heated debates were frequent, concerned with the "future of civilization" and "values", one has to remember that those people discussing it were not really personally inflicted with those problems. Indignation was the key word to understand the deep psychology behind the hot political discussions between the people, not as a true feeling, but as a technique of argument dismissal. Usually and recurrently, after a heated debate about the future of civilization regarding these fracturing subjects, the tv would shut up about it and a football game started.
The Post-Abundance Era, Kenneth Khan, 2451 a.d.
terça-feira, janeiro 30, 2007
"Green people" were named those who spent more time concerning whales than price stocks. They preached about the cost of unbalancing an ecosystem so precious because unique as the Earth's; "Peak Oilers" were the group of people who looked upon the demise of global economy; "Jihadists" were the fundamentalist religious who proclaimed that the war to end all wars was about to come; "Warmers" were the ones who predicted the melting of the ice caps and subsequent rise of the oceans. Interestingly enough, every nightmare Man has passed through in the decisive century was well theorized or else rigorously romanticized in dystopian science-fictions. But no science document or dystopia could ever grasp the scope and diversity of situations and lessons Man had to go through. The 21st century poem became a worldwide anthem:
Acid waters to drink,
Hurricanes to breathe,
Hordes to die
Waves to lay,
Hell on earth,
Purgatory on the seas
Even the atheists pray.
Small glimpses for you
Confined is even love.
Threaded we have
On our dreams
But not softly.
In Creative Economics 101, chapter two.
So, where was it? Were we doomed from the start, or was it a 50-50 chance, a coin play among gods of fortune, a mis-chanced arrow inside a vortex of space-time continuum? Have we bet in the losing side of the coin?
If so, Life on Earth is then but a final breath of a dying organism, who failed to give birth, forever dismissed in the course of Natural Selection. Earth is but a bankrupted player of poker who stubbornly insists on doubling bets, a spiral of death, lights and smoke breathe above the table. The barrel poker players listen to the sentenced planet, but still only aiming.
Yes, life is short, we all hope but to die, which is precisely what defines time for us, the unrelenting passing of life against the never-stopping hope for eternity in all life forms. That is why we keep on doubling bets, that is why we try to cheat death until the very end. Fat lady is still silent, like the barrels.
But we see the signs. The sentence was long ago whispered among the barreled guns. Only pure curiosity keeps them from firing. Curious as a biologist with a handicapped insect, "Why does it keep on it? Why doesn't it quit living?" Hope. The quintessential characteristic of all life forms. And I could say "how pathetic of it", and would be only voicing the internal hope of a better result, of a better outcome. A superior choice. A hope, nonetheless.
The far cry of Rapturists and end-of-world religious zealots is instantly recognized. They are gathering now. The sounds of chanting. The bell of rings. Hope? When all else failed, man always turned to God for an answer to death. Without a doubt, the sounds of pure despair.
- That's just cynical, man, what's wrong with having a religion, if one finds peace on it?
- And what peace is that, can I ask you? What good that peace creates? The peace of sheep? The peace of the lamb promised to the wolf? How can anyone sleep while the lions daunt us?
-Oh shut up, we DO need to sleep, if we have to have energy saved for tomorrow, you know? What is life but a hope in the future? What is rest but a trust in time? Do you really consider yourself to be a prophet of mankind's future? Ah! You're so full of yourself! And if you buy what you say, why even bother to breathe, may I ask You?
- Oh, come on, I'm just gloomy today. Didn't mean to...
- You're always gloomy! Have you perchance forgotten the history books? They are full of tragedies and end-of-the-world sets. It is really not the end of the world.
- Fine, I'm gloomy, but with good reason. We have exploited all of the world natural resources, so we are headed towards cavemen again. The wolves will hunt us down again. How's that for a future sight?
- We have to have hope, man. Eating yourself up is not going to better things, you know that.
- I'm trying to find it. I'm searching for it. Probably, it is the last thing that keeps my heart beating. And I couldn't care less of myself. Mankind is in the verge of annihilating this planet's chance of blossoming for perhaps a billion years. Do you reckon the irresponsibility of what we are about to have done to the world?
"One of the mankind's greatest errors of character was always to misinterpret personal subjective perception of reality with the real itself. The inner workings of space-time entropy were yet to be discovered and theorized, its elements still rendered as separate speculations or misguided generalisms. Man could only grasp reality in ephemerous moments, and reported efforts to verbalize them were obviously and quickly dismissed as truisms or tautologisms, self-referenced superstitions. We have to realize that man was only beginning to grasp the barriers of common language for describing chaotic and non-deterministic space-time occurrences.
Concurrently, scalable events were completely misunderstood, and individual interests alarmingly superseded political sight, without the clear restraint of awareness. A self-created tail-eater tapeworm was the only mathematical solution possible for such a system.
This is the precise essence of why ancient history is so focused in individuality myths and messianic heroic hopes, ultimately leading to the astonishingly tragic events of what was later called the Great Singularity."
From the prelude to the Zhun-Betis Earth History Book.
Educational notes for the teachers, Al-Jefferson, 2670 a.d.
segunda-feira, janeiro 22, 2007
Joe Hallenbeck: Now what are you doing?
Jimmy Dix: I'm drawing them a picture.
Joe Hallenbeck: What's that?
Jimmy Dix: It's a bomb.
Joe Hallenbeck: It doesn't look like a bomb, it looks like an apple with lines coming out of it. What are they gonna say, "don't open the briefcase, it's full of fresh fruit"?
Jimmy Dix: Do you want to draw the damn thing?
[Dix shows Hallenbeck the draw of a bomb with "bom" written below]
Jimmy Dix: Happy?
Joe Hallenbeck: Are you kidding me?
Jimmy Dix: [shows the drawing to the bodyguards] Always criticizing my shit. I can't do nothing right.
Jimmy Dix: [the bodyguards shoot at them] Oh, shit!
Joe Hallenbeck: I forgot to tell you. "Bom" means "fuck you" in Polish.
Jimmy Dix: Hey, that's not funny, man. I almost bought it there!
Joe Hallenbeck: Tragic loss to the art world, let me tell ya.
Joe Hallenbeck: The sky is blue, water is wet, women have secrets. Who gives a fuck?
Alley Thug: Wrong place, wrong time. Nothing personal.
Joe Hallenbeck: That's what you think. Last night I fucked your wife.
Alley Thug: Oh you did, hah? How'd you know it was my wife?
Joe Hallenbeck: She said her husband was a big pimp lookin' motherfucker with a hat.
Alley Thug: Oh, you're real cool for somebody who's about to take a bullet.
Joe Hallenbeck: After fucking your wife I'll take two.
Jules version of Ezekiel 25:17 in Pulp Fiction
terça-feira, janeiro 16, 2007
who've ever lived. I see all this potential, and I see squandering.
God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables;
slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and
clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need.
We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place.
We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a
spiritual war... our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been
raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be
millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And
we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off.”
Tyler Durden – “Fight Club”
segunda-feira, janeiro 15, 2007
“Ensinai aos vossos filhos o trabalho, ensinai ás vossas filhas a modéstia, ensinai a todos a virtude da economia. E se não poderdes fazer deles santos, fazei ao menos deles cristãos”
quinta-feira, janeiro 11, 2007
Ando ausente, as minhas apologias aos presentes... a guerra tem sido intensa.. e a oferta de programas demasiado extensa e variada. Não percebo de onde vem esta contracção do tempo… sinto q o espaço se expandiu até dimensões assustadoras… o tempo livre ñ se conseguiu manter actualizado…não acompanhou; perdeu a carruagem…
Acho q finalmente resolvi alguns dos meus problemas existenciais, foi fácil… fui á loja do “mestre André”, comprei uma machadinha e troquei de problemas… tudo mudou desde q postei a minha ultima posta de pescada, mudei de feira, sou uma fartura nova.. com patrocino (ou não... :( ) de uma marca de óleo nova, sinto-me diferente, leio e recordo a fartura que escrevia em postas anteriores mas ñ me sinto… a filosofia tem-se alterado.. Sinto-me bem mais maduro, e no entanto ainda tão infantil. Descobri novos horizontes espaciais pra explorar… a vida está mesmo á nossa beira… as vezes temos q molhar a meia e o pé.. para perceber a humidade do local... coisas q no fundo sempre soubemos... mas nunca quisemos saber... Obrigado amigos pelo apoio e paciência nestes momentos de luta. Acabou o tempo da escola e do cheiro a leite… ñ podemos ignorar os desafios q todos os dias nos entram pelas portas a dentro… ainda é a tesão do mijo? Não sei…ainda estou no principio... mas sinto-me a avançãr a adivinhar um caminho de cabras á noite com um camião tir… sinto-me orgulhoso de abrir o meu próprio caminho… mas assustado com a dimensão das coisas que tenho que partir…deixar amigos velhos... conhecer alguns novos ( nunca são tão bons como os velhos...) é uma coisa mesmo grande abrir os olhos… opto por os manter tapados qdo voo entre os trapézios pra não me aperceber que a rede já não está fixada. Arrebenta-me pelas veias o sangue que gritava por prisão,( sim prisão... uma prisão serena) mas sentiu a necessidade de se chegar á frente… as coisas q têm q ser têm muita força… estou a ser violado.. forçado a ser eu próprio… é tão mais fácil ser fingido, sonolento, deprimido e oprimido…rasga-me a alma esta auto reflexão constante, esta consequência imediata, q envergonha estas parcas palavras e as reduz á sua verdadeira dimensão. Pó branco (pouco importa o preciosismo da cor). Esta urgência permanente, questão de comida e morte…alguns dias assusta... noutros diverte e embala… mas entranha-se e cria automatismos, manhas, saídas de emergência, redes de trapézio tecidas com fios roubados em qualquer teia de aranha. O homem ñ é um ser cruel com necessidades motivado pelo exibicionismo, esse homem brota dos sonhos que vivem nos olhos fechados do observador que não sabe o q se passa por detrás das cortinas bonitas da casa dos outros.