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I confess the crime: I can't stop thinking about the coup

I committed the crime of thinking about “coup”. Yeah, hit. Or gopi, as someone said during the impeachment of Dilma Rousseff. Coup d’etat, to be more specific. Also known as revolution, usurpation of power or rupture. Calm! It’s not desire or anything. Away from me! I confess, however, that I have thought about the matter – which for certain authorities is a crime. In my reflections, I analyze scenarios that range from catastrophic to good. Or at least acceptable. And, prankster that I am, I imagine the coup mainly in its most bizarre and nonsense forms.

I can’t help it. And it’s not for lack of trying, Alexandre. At night, before bed, I try to read silly detective novels and poetry by tubercular romantics. It’s no use. Before falling asleep, I forget about detective plots and the rich rhymes give way to the rhythm of military marches. Yeah, I know that not every coup is military. In fact, I’ve heard that there’s a blow that comes from the almost inaudible sound of pens on paper or the rustle of black robes against the marble pillars of palaces I don’t know.

But my imagination It seems to be too contaminated. Hence the olive-green metronome of the boots against the asphalt. The good news, I think, is that in my fantasies there is no chaos or carnage. To be honest, even the clicking of the boots sounds softly, drowned out by a heavy silence. As if everyone was very quiet. Thinking a lot. Very concentrated between the “I told you so!” and the “I knew it!” and the “what now?”.

Eyewitness of the story

In my coup fantasies, I am neither hero nor villain. I’m more of an “eyewitness of history”, to use a disused cliché. And I take the opportunity to ask: does a cliché stop being a cliché after some time in disuse?

Armed with only the courage and desire to imagine the coup, I go out to enjoy the invented environment. The beggars, I mean, your lordships, the homeless people keep lining up to have the nuns’ breakfast. The grocery store owner insists on opening it. The taxi driver ignores the historic headline and follows the team’s likely lineup for Sunday’s game. By the way, Coxa lost another one.

Inside the house, everything remains the same. Oblivious to politics, in my imagined coup Catota plays with a ball made of aluminum foil. And home life takes its natural course, with the usual demands and… I took out the trash yesterday, love. Today is your day. Yeah, I know the dishes are already overflowing in the sink. Give me just one more minute as I’m finishing my text for the Gazeta. Are you leaving yet? See you later. I love you.

In men, what changes is fear: greater when I imagine a toga and/or communist coup, smaller when the coup looks more like a countercoup. Moreover, on that historic day I agree with the same everyday concerns with the accounts, not to mention the metaphysical dilemmas. Speaking of toga and/or communist coups, here’s another confession: I enjoy imagining the most unlikely bloodthirsty leftist dictators, from Jean Wyllys to Anitta. Each one imposing the most improbable nonsense just because they don’t understand the meaning of “utopia”.

If it’s any consolation, Alexandre, in these coup delusions, but not coup plotters, after some time the democracy is always restored. Sometimes it takes years. Sometimes, I won’t lie, decades. Most of the time, however, it is on the same day, even before Os Pingos nos Is. But I’m talking about democracy. Capitalized democracy and all worked in gothic. Not this democracy that arrests deputy with parliamentary immunity or that seizes businessmen’s cell phones because of a small talk.

It’s no use. The coup is in the air. Or, at least, it’s in my poor politically polluted mind. I did not want. I don’t want! I swear that, instead of imagining ruptures, I would rather recite here the beautiful poem by João Filho that I read yesterday (“Teach me, Lord, to be nobody. May my smallness not even be mine”). However hard I try, however, the sometimes macabre, sometimes comic, fantasy imposes itself. I see blows from all sides.

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