Today I will convince you never, ever, under any circumstances to use mesoclisis

In this text, I will remind you of its existence, the mesoclisis. This pernostic and tacky structure, which sounds like a poorly made graft on the verb, but which many doctors insist on displaying with the same pride as diplomas in rococo frames. My friend Denise, president of the Mesoclises Fan Club, I will irritate you with my gratuitous teasing. And this strange syntax, I will repeat it until the final paragraph, in the hope that the exaggeration will lead the reader to develop the same repulsion that I have for mesoclises.

The story, begin it- here for the beginning, that is, for the day I met the mesoclisis and for her I cultivated a slight affection. I will convince you, now, that the first mesoclisis I read was cute, in one of those cold but incredibly cozy rooms at Madalena Sofia school. I will lead you very quickly through the labyrinths of memory, until we come across former president Jânio Quadros, a confirmed drunk, saying “’I drink because it’s liquid. If it were solid, I would eat it”. And Professor Olinda forced us to syntactically analyze the drunken notary’s joke.

The syntactic analysis didn’t bother me. On the contrary, I saw it as a fun little game. What really bothered me was the voice of Jânio Quadros echoing the “I would eat it” like a fly that decided to nest in my ears. Time passed and the mesoclisis became precocious. From cute and ordinary, she became…unpleasant. Years later, I learned to see in this specific mesoclisis a sonorous camel that was going I don’t know where or why. And here, reader, I would be delighted if you repeated the famous mesoclisis ten times in the voice that originally emitted it. Ready. Now I will urge you not for the last time: isn’t the verb abjectly abject as if impaled by the bold pronoun?

Time has passed – as it always does. And, over the years, I came across many mesoclises that, not infrequently, aroused in me an unfair dislike for certain authors. Even some friends. I will give you my hand here. The paddle, you will use it if you consider it convenient – ​​in addition to being pleasurable. And I’ll join you in a self-reproach: it’s too much obsession for a little word whose only sin is to be ugly and always, always, always, always speaking with the cracked bamboo voice of the prankster that illustrates this chronicle.

And perhaps the aversion would have freed me, had it not been for the unfortunate encounters with doctors always ready to wield mesoclisis as a sign of their incontestable knowledge. Notaries and bureaucrats of all sorts will also force me to remember the unwanted symphony of stamps, always interspersed with an unintelligible sheet that invariably carried it, the mesoclisis, the greatest mark of bachelor’s tackiness (greater even than the thin mustache and the prosody of pacheco).

Here, I would apologize if I thought I was to blame. I would bathe in penitent lava, even. But when it comes to mesoclises, I recognize the obsession, but never the guilt or victim of my lack of love. And it’s a shame that the chronicle is coming to an end. Otherwise, I would convince him with my best Latin to abstain from mesoclisis. Or rather, I would persuade you to see it for what it is: a banner of anti-colloquialism, insignia of the amanuensis-in-spirit who does not miss the opportunity to say himself better than others.

I hope you understand why I want distance from mesoclises. One day, who knows, I will also present to you the reasons that led me to abandon enclisis – a parasite stealing the spotlight from the action. And, if you have a little time, I will explain why in this chronicle I mix the second people (you and you) at my pleasure. With no more to say or greater deferrals to ask, I will say goodbye now.

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