I am NOT dead:
The cosmos is like a theatre in which, once a play is performed, after the curtain falls, the theatre is left cold and empty until it sinks in ruins. Sinks like a skin in ruins. And ruins fall upon a theater. It all fails and falls and fails better and they stand up and applaud, while we go back alone and find ourselves thinking alone having pleased or annoyed thousands in the solitudes of our impersonal hotel rooms.
All that silence after all that applause.
“Stay with me a little longer, please!”
If I could let the audience in, I would. For sex, for company, for dinner or just for laughs.
I will be alone with the brightest stars sinking into a hole, a War Hole or a Warhol, as we all tend to do, as one and the same with the Universe.
The note: It has probably expired, just like all things expire, including the notion that we exist, since human existence itself is only a nasty and ironic passtime in the hands of some lunatic.
When I look across the river, onto 131 Kent Avenue and remember all of that, and then look at myself in the mirror, I can’t help but feel this irritable bowel syndrome and laugh, laugh, laugh hoping that the echoes of my laughter might be heard by someone, anyone, next to me or far away who understands my pain and the pain of living, of being alive and the frustration of not being able to solve the unsolvable sickness called “mankind.”
It’s late on this Sunday and my seventh day comes to an end while I cry and laugh, cry and laugh. I draw the blinds and the curtains.
It’s dark and cold in here. Just as it was on the day when I was born.
– Obrigado Arnaldo Jabor: trecho de O Globo de junho 16, 2015
“A cultura mudava qualitativamente e não era apenas esse labirinto de informações inúteis de hoje. Filmes como “Deus e o diabo na terra do Sol” ficaram e deram filhos como o tropicalismo, por exemplo, o teatro de Zé Celso, Gerald Thomas, a grande música das canções, hoje desprezadas. Nosso vocabulário visual foi aprofundado nessa época do cinema novo: a lama, a fome, a favela, os presépios de miséria, a estupidez da classe média. Tudo veio à tona.”
Tudo veio à tona. E vem mesmo!