A LIMER FARIA (female)

(Just a few small shadows cast on the haunted perception of countries, huh? It won't stop any high-class parties elsewhere, even here. Nor the maneuvers to gain political advantage, over which we will have little or no influence. The furiously ambitious substance of the world heated by the endless movement of capital over the sea of people's confused hopes and anxieties. I think that's why I still love reading fashion magazines. I'm addicted to expressions of discouragement, I love covering my face with images of legs, butts, breasts better than mine, and faces undone and remade in a hail of dresses and glittery features, with the best of the non-fat of social self-realization advertisements. I often notice a tension in my voice, or in my body, when I've finished absorbing my daily ration of ostentatious delirium; a state of alertness to everything superfluous in life becomes my intoxicated advertising condition. Terribly alert, no doubt, within my apparent drowsiness, tedious in front of the TV or cell phone. Just like the time before a detonation, the time after it also continued to miserably pass, as if nothing ever happened beyond life's virtual announcements, even when they materialized in reality. And along with them, time, alarming resurgences of re-chewed desire. Sourly, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that my friend's breath, there with me, still smelled of those martinis from before lunch, with the purchasing delegation from who knows where. Her breasts hanging loose inside that expensive blouse formed in my mind a mental picture of her being passed from hand to hand, despite the suspicious lobbyists who would loom large in the festive bestiary of the advertising campaign. It was every brainless cause they embraced there, striving for appearances, that my guess was they were acting under instructions from the American imperialist government twenty-four hours a day. With all the honesty of their bad thoughts, they poisoned themselves, slipping into the "what now?!" of every man for himself. Any valiant hunger for questions was avoided, inquiring was suspended so as not to rush into evil (up until now, by the way, very calm and deserving of respect). A sad immediate future seemed to be a plotted situation, a certain immobile fear spread throughout the idea that what was there was still not enough, and regarding the not-so-immediate future, pressed by the unexpected, they guarded themselves in a confident whisper of news, duty-bound not to go from the frying pan to the coals without first gradually increasing in seriousness. What they did was not say much, out of fear; they waited only for what suited them, picking at crumbs of nods. Was it necessary to reschedule the conversation to return stronger? --- "Come another time, and indeed..." , this was not how they would take advantage of the state in which they were embattled. If they decided to respect all of each other's bad moments, there wouldn't be much opportunity left for anyone, advancing toward the poisons of a painful "going piecemeal" that in moments of public trance they called "de-escalation." The truth is that when they were silent, it was completely; when they spoke, it was little --- just that grimace of ill will regarding the Americans storing embers in a pot)