Descendentes

A cada vez que Lula, Mangabeira Unger, Minc & Cia abrem a boca, fica mais difícil para o macaco médio acreditar que somos descentes dele.

Zen Calvino

Abaixo um texto curto do Calvino, fantástico como sempre na percepção e síntese. Um sartori urbano, por assim dizer... não deu tempo traduzir ainda, estava escutando as conferências do "Celebrating Italo Calvino", organizadas por sua filha - tenho somente o áudio em inglês, não sei se chegaram a ser publicadas. O tecido da organização social se esgarça e um vislumbre vem ao protagonista, vejam:

The Flash

It happened one day, at a crossroads, in the middle of a crowd, people coming and going.
I stopped, blinked: suddently I understood nothing. Nothing, nothing about anything: I did not understand the reasons for things or for people, it was all senseless, absurd. I laughed.
What I found strange at the time was that I had never realized before; that up until then I had accepted everything: traffic lights, cars, posters, uniforms, monuments, things completely detached from any sense of the world, accepted them as if there were some necessity, some chain of cause and effect that bound them together.
Then my laugh died. I blushed, ashamed. I waved to get people's attention. "Stop a moment!" I shouted, "there is something wrong! Everything is wrong! We are doing the absurdest things. This cannot be the right way. Where can it end?"
People stopped around me, sized me up, curious. I stood there in the middle of them, waving my arms, desparate to explain myself, to have them share the flash of insight that had suddenly enlightened me: and I said nothing. I said nothing because the moment I had raised my arms and opened my mouth, my great revelation had been as it were swallowed up again and the words had come out any old how, on impulse.
"So?" people asked, "what do you mean? Everything is in its place. All is as it should be. Everything is a result of something else. Everything fits in with everything else. We cannot see anything wrong or absurd."
I stood there, lost, because as I saw it now everything had fallen into place again and everything seemed normal, traffic lights, monuments, uniforms, towerblocks, tramlines, begggards, processions; yet this did not calm me, it tormented me.
"I am sorry," I said. "Perhaps it was I who was wrong. It seemd that way then. But everything is fine now. I am sorry." And I made off amid their angry glares.
Yet, even now, every time (and it is often) that I find I do not understand something, then, instincitively, I am filled with the hope that perhaps this will be my moment again, perhaps once again I shall understand nothing, I shall grasp the other knowledge, found and lost in an instant.

Italo Calvino, from Numbers in the Dark

Asas do Desejo - Wim Wenders - Anjos, Berlim, Pensamentos

"When the child was a child, he just walked balancing his arms.
He left the stream become a river and the river become the stream,or even the sea.
Everything was full of life.
and life was only one.
When the child was a child, he didn't have opinions or habits,he use to just sit with croseed legs or he just runned away.
He had a twist in his hair and didn't make poses for the pictures"

3,14159265

Nelson Rodrigues quando queria exprimir solidão dizia: "mais sozinho que Robson Crusoé sem radinho de pilha"; será sempre assim quando uma alma irmã se ausenta? Alma irmã - anmchara, um termo celta para o que nós chamamos de alma gêmea. A distinção é que a nossa "alma gêmea" é identica, especular, enquanto anmchara seria mais atração, parceria, identidade - semelhantes dessemelhantes que se escolhem. O poeta provençal Arnaut Daniel, diante das dificuldades do amor, fez o belíssimo poema-trova:
Eu sou Arnaut
que amasso o ar (amo laura)
caço lebre com boi
e luto contra a maré
em luta eterna.
- a polifonia provençal permitia o jogo sonoro com "amasso o ar" e "amo laura", fazendo-os soar da mesma maneira. Nesses momentos, a vontade é invocar a força dos antigos leões de minha raça e conquistar a Ásia, conquistar reinos, rios, montanhas - o despotismo, o exagero, para mostrar o que não há como ser dito, para fazer metáforas e hipérboles do que já não consigo calar nem falar; entretanto, fico aqui como a pantera de Rilke, a imagem dela como um retrato pregado às retinas.
Mas com um sorriso nos lábios...