You do not need be extreme perspicacious to realize; english is not my language. However, I do not feel comfortable to open my heart in another language, specially in portuguese, so write in english will be a kind of exile for me, a way to inhabit another space, see my own situation with some distance and protect myself from the people around me. It will be like a message in a bottle, trowed into the cyberspace. If you can hear me, you are my confidant.
After months of reflection I just figure out how strange are my days in Brazil. Since june 2013, when the demonstrations rise and a chaotic composition of ideals flood the streets, I feel like losing the interest in every thing around me, the people, the city, the politics even art do not taste like before. I have been in my home for entire year, spending day by day abed, 10 pounds more fat and 10 times more slow. Maybe I am depressed. Is funny because I aways thought in depression like something who can afflict others, something silly, easy to fix with some physical activity and sun light, but not, I was thrown into a void of languor and became indifferent to any great event around me. My medialab is full equipped now, with all audiovisual resources I need. Was a long trip until here and I have no choice, I need move on. I don’t want spend my youth lying down watching sun rise and fall the same, felling the same. I need find some beauty in this city. Something who I can really love.
São Paulo is a whore, every corner is inviting you to fill your desire, does not matter what kind of perversion you hide in the basement, you just need pay enough. Is one of the biggest city in the world, cruelly organized to exclude and hide poor people in black holes around the city. I come from a family very poor but for luck – yes, luck. I have enough experience to not fall in illusions of meritocracy, self made man or any other kind of liberal myth – I live a middle class life in a safe neighborhood. Is a true privilege in my country. I should be happy with my life but I don’t. Maybe because the obligation to live in happiness is a illusion by itself; maybe because I do not trust in the treasure who my social place offer me: desire. Monetized and packaged desire in all colors, sizes and shapes, ready for consumption.