But you can rest assured. Between me and Madá there is no quarrel in that sense. Nor in any other sense. Not that I know. I remain optimistic because that’s how I learned to survive. And sometimes I can, yes, temporarily become a slave to a sentence.
By the way, the Pyromaniac confided in me the discomfort she feels when holding public debates with her colleagues. Although our texts, read one after the other, do not exactly configure a debate. If there was disagreement, it was my mistake. It’s just that, drunk on pathetic Polzonoffian poetics (alliteration and all!), I couldn’t make clear my concern about two specific names involved in last week’s cancellation campaign – the one you’ve probably forgotten about.
Madá only bothered me a little, almost nothing, a little tic in the corner of my eye, a drool dripping from the corner of my mouth, just for nothing, when I accuse
to write well. As if my pathetic claim to permanence (another alliteration!) was a crime. Well, if it really is a crime, it’s good to show me the way to the scaffold.
18090911Innocent rhetorical punches
Still on public debates, I do not share the same discomfort as my colleague. Quite the opposite. If something bothers me, it’s precisely the lack of more intelligent and, with any luck, aesthetically appealing public debates. Elegant debates, no nicknames to dehumanize or blows below the belt. Humorous debates, those that alternate laughter, facts, laughter, quotes, laughter, laughter, laughter.
And I’ve tried, but it didn’t work. I mean, I’ve tried to look for
a constant opponent to exchange innocent rhetorical punches, to no avail. Assailed by dialectical solitude, I even thought about inviting friends to fake debates, but there was always some obstacle. The main one, of course, is that an exchange of barbs between friends could sound like the falsehood that it actually is. And a false debate, however instructive and amusing, will always be false. I’m glad to know (!) that my friends and colleagues wouldn’t want to get involved in this kind of intellectual swindle. Good. I would have left (second mesoclisis of the week. when it’s time to see a doctor! What’s happening to me? Help!) the honest option of frank debate with real opponents, for which I, according to the booklet, would have obvious but respectful disagreements. I have no lack of intellectual enemies, it’s true. But there the problem is of another order. I have the impression that for many of my sparrings potentially, it’s easier and more comfortable to stay in your little box, talking to the bubble, without the hassle of a really thought-provoking quarrel. But I could be wrong. It’s rare, but I can. In addition, the fact that the Brazil does not exactly have a tradition of written debates. As I went there for a Toddynho, I tried to remember something like that and the only thing that came to my mind was a brief argument between Ferreira Gullar and the Campos brothers. But who cares about literary politics these days? Anyway, the memory gave me an idea that, obviously, will not be carried out, but that is nice to cherish: metric debates. I doubt your round will beat my Alexandrian! I miss a true journalistic-literary adversary. Someone I could use in the name of a play, plagiarizing Nelson Rodrigues. “Cute But Ordinary, or: INSERT YOUR NAME HERE”. Oh, how nice it would be to open the newspaper and be startled by reading things like “This Paul would be a Shakespeare if Shakespeare had slipped and violently hit his head on the floor at the age of 2, losing part of his brain and the movement of his hands”. And knowing that the insult, as perverse as it may seem, is nothing more than the product of a creative mind that disagrees with you (in this case, with me), but damn, how well you write! But look how things are. I opened the computer here to write this text and, still in the second paragraph, my The intention was to talk about the gossip of journalism. After all, people love to know who was hired or fired and why. It’s as if the fact that the person lost their job because of a bad idea (but not necessarily cursed) provokes like this a wave of mass pleasure. People love a playground fire – and even more so if the playground is in the middle. that of a newsroom. Reader/viewer/listener also likes to know clearly which journalist hates which journalist, so that they can choose a side. Do you support Guga EC or CR Constantino? And, as I write these things here, I get the feeling that I’m describing a kind of magazine With you!
from the press. Always remembering that I increase, but I don’t invent. As I was saying before of being interrupted by myself, my initial intention was to talk about the gossip of journalism, and not about the almost barren terrain of a public debate that, irrigated by ignorance, only gives some really ugly cactus, with thorns like that, oh . But now time, space and patience are over and, in addition, I’m going to take advantage of Madá not being around to go there in her most recent text to leave a comment with the smell of rotten eggs.Rotten egg