pedaço do gato

Once upon a time there was a village called MarshVille, where a very special kind of frogs lived a very happy life, eating baby cats and singing Gadu Mariah while driving trucks and playing with scissors. One day, a baby frog was born but everyone knew that something was wrong with that baby. She wouldn't stop crying until someone gave her a lollipop, that she would suck on for hours. The people of the village called a doctor to find out what was wrong with the baby. Bad news. The doctor said that the baby frog had a fucked up chromosome (actually, it was half-chromosome) that made her different. She would grow old to fancy grown-up chickens instead of baby cats. She would end up saying words such as “top”, “miga” and “piroca”. The people of MarshVille couldn’t accept that among them. They kicked her out of the village, left her to die in front of a volleyball court.  Years passed and MarshVille was still a very peaceful place, although all the citizens would kiss each other e

Uma coisinha acontece, uma sementinha é plantada. O solo é fértil porque já foi adubado com muita bosta. Muita. Há quem diga que isso é bom, aí a semente cresce pra encher a mente de barulho, uma falação interminável que se eu não respondo, se eu não falo junto com elas, o barulho me enlouquece. Então eu respondo, nem perco mais meu tempo tentando ignorar. Pior, eu adoro. Adoro minha loucura, adoro os filmes imaginários, as cenas e os diálogos, os plot twists.  Às vezes - sempre - o filme passa tantas vezes que eu enjôo. Chega desse filme. Me dou conta que eu tô knee deep in shit, que o imaginário tá vazando pra fora. Aí eu paro. Me certifico que está tudo bem. Tudo volta ao silêncio.  Mas aí outra coisinha acontece.