Nat

Yes, I wanted to tell stories like these too. No, this has nothing to do with the next 40min in that episode.

Geez… I feel like it ain’t possible to talk about this in a less morbid way!

There’s nothing pleasant to say about the podcast, can’t even write a poetic excerpt adorning the reason why this idea appeared in my head. I do have conscious that this is not even close of a pretty intro, a ‘preface’ someone would put on a bestseller, or whatever… but it was what and how truly happened.

Yeah… my head works pretty much like this: a flood of randomness in the most inopportune times.

(I feel like I’m talking too much) So, briefly, this post will end in one place only, the conclusion that if you like people who may talk your ear off about multiple unrelated topics, brave enough to quit a job, throw everything up in the air, and just leave to another country to live abroad, that also happens to likes pet’s memes and book’s quotes, you can hit the “follow” button. This is me and I think you may like what I have to say.

And when they read our names, handing out the medals, I felt the pain of the scars again. I was transported back to the nights of crying, standing outside the building.

My mind was full of memories that brought no feeling of honor, because what they saw as laurels were, in reality, a crown of thorns.

Lends me its soul,

When it whines in the field

Wakes up God from His nast

It sounds like a Criollo Horse violin

From Becho in the orchestra

And the soul of Dom Alfredo

In that ‘milonga’ master”

!!!! Child-youth is not my thing !!!!!! and I feel like I’m forcing it just because.

I’m describing myself. The drugs triangulated me, contrasting between wanting to get better and not caring anymore. I stopped feeling after a few doses of lithium and everything became cruelly silent. It was a poorly fitted puzzle piece that looked like naturally artificial.

The relationships were sterile. The emotions were dead. In that morbid climate, every day I buried things that I didn’t even remember what it was like when I felt them. I was an empty shell staring at a coffin going down, down and down, without shedding a tear.

And the whole time I thought, inert: who knew that one day I would miss that abandoned street that I no longer go down through?

Yes, I’ve longed it. My guess is that longing is not an emotion. Longing is the answer to the absence, and many things were missing in me at that moment.

It seems that, over the years, people have stoped seeing comedy as art and “making people laugh” has become the only goal of a comedian when elaborating its jokes.

There was a time when comedy was seen like this and made you uncomfortable while your belly hurt from laughing so much. It provoked through the trenches, sneakily.

When we analyze old works, we perceive the criticism according to the historical event of the time. I will never forget to watch Charlie Chaplin clenching screws wildly until he was swallowed by the gears.

I don’t know who said that, but it’s the purest truth: “If you had believed in my way of telling truths while joking, you would have heard truths that I insist in saying jokingly, I spoke many times like the clown, but I never disbelieved the seriousness of the audience that smiled”. And when watching Marcello’s comedy special, I not only saw the intelligence in the completely intentional jokes, but the harsh criticism that confront prejudices and call viewers to reflection.