Nature, celebrities and politics: the foolproof predictions for 2022

Nosso repórter conversou com babalorixás, astrólogos e tarólogos para trazer as melhores e mais inquestionáveis previsões para 2022.
Our reporter spoke with babalorixás, astrologers and tarot readers to bring the best and most unquestionable predictions to 27163848.

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As the text of the “infallible predictions” is a most repugnant literary cliché to which only a mediocre chronicler submits, it is convenient to begin this chronicle with a self-fulfilling prophecy: still on the first day of the year, someone will write a text with “infallible predictions for 2021″. And this someone will be me.

I will say that I will visit babalorixás, gypsies , astrologers, tarologists and ODFAs (otherworldly digital forescaster & analyst). And in the next sentence I’ll find myself thinking that someone might be right now condemning me for reducing racial, ethnic, and religious communities to stereotypes. I will shrug off my reflections and move on with the text. And I’ll start talking about babalorixá’s predictions for natural phenomena.

Without many later on, I’ll tell you how babalorixá received me in his “futurology studio”: he laughed at my skepticism. I will describe the environment in minute detail. And, as soon as the cowries are released, I will be forced to quote the words of the large African descendant with the voice of a boy in puberty: “The world will be devastated again by catastrophes. In the Pacific, a volcano will erupt. Or will it continue to erupt, this excerpt of the prophecy is erased here. There will be at least one earthquake in the world. I also see floods and droughts, hurricanes and tornadoes. And on absolutely every occasion there will be at least one expert to say that global warming is to blame, I mean climate change.”

Then I will pay the man, ask for a bill and forward it to the department responsible for reimbursement, anticipating the explanations I will give to justify the expense. I will get into a taxi after five udders (sic) cancel my call and I’ll go to the astrologer. In this case, an astrologer – or at least I think she is. She’ll tell me about aspects and angles and cusps and planets, and she’ll point me to the lunar nodule. Everything will seem so scientific and she’ll talk so well and with such a mellifluous voice (!) that, without believing, I’ll even end up believing it. Or almost that.

The astrologer will start with bad news: we will lose celebrities from cinema, music and literature. From politics too. Because I don’t know what the Sun, I don’t know what in the eighth house in a trine with Mars. If I understand correctly (and there is, yes, a g big chance I didn’t understand), she talked about variants of the coronavirus and a lot of fights about the booster doses of the vaccine. “At least one celebrity will be canceled after stumbling over words,” he predicted. Noticing my frown in the face of so much pessimism, however, she will open the most beautiful smile (I hope it is she will to say that my team will win at least one game in at least one of the championships it will play next year. Phew.

From the astrologer I’ll go to the tarot card. For some reason that escapes me, he will be in a hurry. Much hurry. So running as if the world were going to end tomorrow (will it?), he’ll shuffle the cards and lay them out on the table. Not even a little incense will he light. He won’t even play a little Enya song. To be honest, I’ll barely have time to adjust myself in my chair before he starts to blurt out that the Hanged Man or the Tower (everything will be so fast I’ll jot down almost unintelligible scribbles) indicate a hot summer and a cold winter. I will complain, of course, of such a vague prediction, to which he will respond aggressively (tarologues are considered the pitbulls of the divinatory arts).

“Want a specific forecast?! But very specific really ?!”, he will ask he threateningly. Without my being able to answer, he will say that a reporter (or a reporter), faced with snow (or frost) in the south of the country, will appear on television (or the Internet) running his hand on the roof of a car to show the accumulation of ice. And it will end with a “it’s too cold”. I’ll leave the appointment a little scared, but until I’m satisfied, you know?

Do pinscher to the poodle of divination arts, I hand my hand and my future to a gypsy with huge dark eyes. Tickling, she explores the lines of life, love and health in my old hand. “You will write more than two hundred texts for Gazeta do Povo430039298″, she will say. “And some will call him a “pocketnarist”, others a PT, some a Moristas and others an exemption”, she added. “But the most important thing is that, in the first text you will publish in 2022, after mentioning the predictions of a babalorixá , an astrologer (he was a man), a tarot card and a gypsy, you will open a paragraph to talk about politics”, she predicts. To which I will respond with a “I doubt it!” stubborn.

Leaving the best for last, I’ll take another taxi and cross all over town to find a hermit in a shack who, the producers of this chronicle will assure me, is the wisest and best player of runes and ODFA in the Universe. I’ll research what runes are and I won’t understand anything. But I’ll stick to the agenda anyway. I’ll pretend to take the producers’ word for it and arrive at the shack hoping to find a thin man with a very long beard. Who will offer me a suspicious tea (which I will refuse) before making the long-awaited election predictions for 2022.

I won’t even need to ask who will win the election of 2021. The hermit playing runes and ODFA will step forward and say that the new (or old) president of Brazil will be a man. Poor Simone Tebet, I’ll think, but I won’t say anything so as not to run the risk of suffering sanctions from the TSE. In the face of silence, the hermit will feel safe to speak more. And he will speak.

And he will not disappoint me: “The name of the new (or old) starts with a consonant. He will be more than 35 years old. The winner will be the one who promises to end corruption and hunger, and who claims to be capable of solving all economic problems”. I’ll ask him if that’s it and he’ll say that’s it and that the runes are a bit confused today and the program he developed for ODC (otherworldly digital content) analysis is buggy. And I’ll go back to the newsroom where I’ll compose this chronicle, planning to end it with my favorite onomatopoeia. Humpf.

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