Everyone already knows the results of the elections.

Lula will be in the first round. That nothing, Bolsonaro will be in the first round. You are two idiots, we’re going to have a second round and Lula beats Bolsonaro. Stop talking nonsense! Bolsonaro will be in the second round. I bet Lula will win in the second round, tight margin, social upheaval, the whole combo. Everyone is wrong and the Third Way will surprise you. I heard that, in the event of a tie, it is the president of the Superior Electoral Court who decides. Is it true?

These days everyone camouflages doubts under a shiny layer of certainties based on delusions and conspiracies. The reasons are many and varied. For some, Lula will win because the people are taking revenge. For others, Lula’s victory represents the elite’s revenge against the same people. On the other hand, those who are absolutely sure of Bolsonaro’s victory speak of an embarrassed vote and of Datapovo.

Only the Third Way is really no one talking anymore. Nobody believes. Unless a little ant decides to roam dangerously through the TSE’s systems, short-circuit the infallible gear, become a fried insect and, thus, sacrifice his little life in the name of democracy. And an outcome as unlikely as Alexandre de Moraes’ regret.

I’m not complaining. No way. I have a genuine admiration for those who have the certainties that I lack. Here, from where I contemplate humanity, or rather, Brazilianness, or better still, Curitiba in all its cold and damp splendor, I see with special interest how everyone is able to unite points that simply escape my hands. People exchange data and told-me-said and esoteric signs and mismatched information they have just received and meaningless narratives and, with these things, they cook the soup that feeds their certainties.

How not to admire that?! And then they still tell me that contemporary man faces a crisis of the imaginary. What nothing! Imagination has never been so important for Brazilians, who resort to it after every poll, every candidate’s statement, every TSE decision and every debate. It’s a shame that all this imagination can’t come out in the form of masterful books or films because, first, artists who have access to money lack talent and, second, the TSE is capable of having everyone arrested for fake news.

Me, knowing only that I know nothing, I keep watching and gathering a lot of wormy opinions in the hope of finding the Perfect Argument that gives me peace of mind or that makes me apprehensive about once for all. If they tell me to keep an eye on the dollar, for example, I do. If they advise me to listen to my intuition, it is more than given. If they suggest that I apply for political asylum at the Italian Embassy, ​​I’ll go right away looking for the address. If they tell me to pray, I pray, hey.

It reassures me to know that everyone is exercising their fantasy and projecting happiness for the already mythical Next Day. It is a sign that we still maintain something that makes us essentially human: the dream. On the other hand, what bothers me is the possibility that certainty as to the outcome of the elections of 2022 exists for a single person. Yes, itself: the authority that should guarantee that the healthy doubt, typical of the democratic process, hovers over the whole society.

Monday (3) will be the day of “I told you! ”, from “I told you so!” from “I already knew!” and, because we live in a somewhat perverse time, of “only you who are an idiot didn’t realize that!”. Analysts will say that victory or defeat is explained by the stars or the newest mass communication theory or the latest political science thesis. I will write something myself, in the hope that I will never embarrass the Paulo of the future. Which, let’s face it, is an almost impossible mission.

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