Category Archives: rants

Worries of the world: globalized or localized?

What are the worries of the world? I’m not trying to make a thesis out of it, but a Portuguese author once analyzed the concept of micro and macro in a way that made a lot of sense to me. We tend to make small things very big and bigger things very small. Is that me criticizing TikTok? No, calm down, Chinese investors. I know the biggest bank in the world is Chinese, so why would I even pick up a fight? And it’s not about the economy. Or is it?

Most of what we’ve faced in recent years, to be honest, I can barely remember. I was in college, I made friends online, then came Instagram and everything faded away. My relationship didn’t mean the same. The opportunities were all “out there”. And if you fast forward, it seems like people agreed they pushed this a little too far, but you know, for the kids. Not for my generation, who suffers with discrimination in the workplace and family, not to mention neighborhoods.

We might have contacts from far away. That doesn’t mean they live in a different country. And if we look at the stuff that happened globally speaking, we might need to sort of dumb it down. People don’t care so much. And if they do, they wanna talk about it as humans, not professionals of etiquette in front of a camera. Obviously, because people can do many things in front of a camera. But that’s a topic I address too often, excuse me.

So what are the worries of the world as of 2023? Historically, what have they been in the last decade?

1) Wars and military spending

You’ll hear Americans defend that the trillions spent in defense should go somewhere else, and the more you talk, the more they’ll label you. It feels like people think you’re siding with criminals, or maybe you’re just an idiot. Knowing the dangers we have to avoid is essential for Americans, but it’s not just them. I’m sure Eastern Europe has a solid infrastructure that they’re fighting to preserve, with the Russian invasion of Ukraine. The fact that they call it a “special operation” is nuts. They’re using kamikaze drones in freaking hospitals. What kind of world do we live in where international agencies are incapable of labelling this a terrorism?

But then comes a crucial point: precisely because of military power, the answers are only diplomatic. And now we call diplomacy the funding of war tanks. We could be talking about hot girls, you know. But they really like their equipment. It’s such a small dick analogy. But you can’t say that either. You gotta say “Slava Ukraini”. Curiously, on Linktree, a website I use for my portfolios (that gave me a phenomenal rate of 23 clicks maximum on my Bandcamp), you choose between that and BLM. Maybe living in a majorly Black neighborhood in the periphery would make you feel like you need protection. Maybe you wouldn’t have so much media exposure, because you’re afraid people will find out. And so technology is dropped. There needs to be a study of where technology is not used and why. “Excuse me sir, you say you have two rifles, three handguns, a shipment of 30 tons every year, but your home doesn’t have a flat screen TV?” — and the guy would say: “It is what it is”.

2) Foreign media

Nothing is more annoying than watching an American try to speak Spanish (and how proud they feel because they could accurately make a different than usual sound with their vocal tracts). Across the world, it’s not really like that, we’d like to think. But yes, of course it is. People with heavy accents are cut off from high profile jobs. Period. But when there’s nobody else who would represent that stretch of the economy, they’ll call on them to report findings, speak the jargon and make everyone uncomfortable because they’re not supposed to judge — they judge everything.

Yes, of course I’m speaking of Bloomberg, and I’ll never drop my criticism. Bloomberg has merits, but to have the audacity to ask me to stop what I’m doing and tune in to see what billionaires are deciding to do with my life is absolutely fucking ridiculous. Yet, they’re 24/7. Except on Sundays. Then, we have interviews. And lots of ads. Actually, the ads never stop either. Speaking of which: “you will make aging optional, because when you subscribe to Bloomberg you will have access to limitless possibilities”. I think SBF might have a better pitch.

But it’s far from that. I don’t see people speaking of any foreign media at all if not the American, and from my experience, you just need to switch to the BBC to notice the severe difference. But that might not be in the way you think. Literacy, this word few people know how to use, is about noticing things and making sense of them — knowing what they are, and how to make use of your knowledge. Foreign media in America has a long debate that starts with college applications and is best portrayed, unfortunately, by Hollywood and, today, Netflix. They’re not worried about misrepresentation, sorry. They’re worried about the change in their own industry and how to make maximum profit. And that profit stays in the United States of America.

3) Our kids

Gender identity, sex education, critical race theory, gun control, biology, ethics, literature, performative arts… none of that matters to the right side of the aisle. Unless it’s cheerleaders and basketball. Yeah! Spread those legs wide! Dunk! Let’s get hammered, then I’ll hammer you! That matters. A lot. And yet, they pretend it’s not there at all. Because they’re raised to pretend. The right wing as a whole, and that means on the planet, is worried about profits because they want to raise people like they’re raising puppies. You tell them to sit, they sit. If someone wants to break into your house, they bark.

People are afraid of you as you grow older. Nobody admires you, they fear you instead. That’s Machiavelli, by the way. But it’s way more subtle. Living in this context for so long now, I’ve noticed that no matter what I do, they’ll refuse to admit they’ve made mistakes, even when the mistake was, you know, paying attention to you. It’s their way or the highway (quoting from Limp Bizkit, that band who got famous in the early 2000s for some fucking reason).

It’s funny because I’ve been homeless, and today there’s one fucking pack of pasta to cook and nothing else. No money for cigarettes — don’t smoke, kids! — or anything else. I can’t have a beer. And while I try to understand the economy, all these cars keep passing by, with people on them who could afford them, can you imagine? I’m 33 and I’m still doing the walking. I’m well aware the very least I deserve is a personal Uber and a limitless credit card. Because the rest is pussy. You know how hard it is to get pussy, kid? No? Yeah, that’s because you learned stuff the wrong way. We used to actually get it, not fucking steal it. Prick.

Sustainable economy and lifestyle

The phrase is difficult, but everyone’s talking about the concept of sustainable economy: to preserve is to take care of something. You might want to preserve your kids from frenetic scrolling. Maybe you think they’re supposed to play board games. From a different perspective, sometimes you find yourself in the supermarket. You don’t have children, so you observe this little guy asking for chocolate. The mother explains: “no, we’re taking your cereal, which already has chocolate in it, so that’s it.” And of course we all love chocolate. But will everyone start going to Google to see who the main producers are? Maybe someone wants to find the place of manufacture and investigate working conditions. That’s what they did with Mondeléz.

For a company who has around 29 billion dollars in revenue every year, the stakes are high; but besides the African story linked above, they’ve suffered a loss with the Ukrainian conflict. It seems they have plenty to worry about: reports of working conditions have led to unionizing in the US, and the response from the company was to fire the organizer — which was reported by Reuters as illegal. Just when you thought you knew enough about cookies. I don’t know about you, but I think 30B is a lot of money for snacks.

Mondeléz is most famous in Brazil as the maker of cookies like Trakinas.

The mother in the supermarket wouldn’t teach her son or daughter about the economy, but maybe later in school, they’d have to look at sustainability in the environment. They’d have to analyze a global picture, and maybe names like Greta Thunberg would come up in the debate. A social media icon with appearances on television and many events devoted to climate change debate, she’s gained popularity — and so has the cause. A sustainable economy, however, will drive the conversation back to how dependent we are on fossil fuel.

You can pick any topic: crypto, fintech, phone manufacturing, programming languages, remote learning, dating apps, AI. All of these things seem very up-to-date, but maybe they don’t reflect our reality. Brazilians need to learn how to discuss a new economy. First, it seems logical, they would need to learn about the global economy; then, look at strengths and weaknesses, and follow their passion. That can be a beautiful story, and maybe that’s how Facebook came to life, with Eduardo Saverin as co-founder.

It seems we need to be looking at the future with less distractions and a more sharp focus. Even if that means a drop in our quality of life, we’re going for bigger issues. People talk about freedom of speech, but look at what these kids in Ghana do for a living. Shouldn’t it concern us, as human beings who love comfort and safety? We can talk about sustainable economy, sure. But if economic models include exploitative conditions, we should prepare for a fight. And a lot of people are looking at tech this way.

But it’s not just the tech. This blog has talked about the frustrations of being an English teacher in a country where 5% are fluent. If Brazil wants to present solutions to the world, it’s not just a biodiversity question, or solar energy; in terms of culture, the language alone plays an immense role. Our music, literature and urban language have peculiar characteristics that people need to know about. And so everyone thinks about tourism. I’d love to talk about my latest trip to cities nobody’s heard about, like Brno in the Czech Republic, Wrexham in Wales, Lelystad in the Netherlands or Bethel Park in the United States. I can’t. Can you guess why? Because my lifestyle is not sustainable.

Maybe we should think about what’s compatible, instead of sustainable. The lemonade thing. Squeeze me and I’ll say good things about my country. I do have an interest in finance, but not to the point where I can’t miss a fresh analysis of whatever the basis points mean. The idea of investment is more related to my time than my money, for very obvious reasons. And so we should all normalize that: stop thinking everything’s a big deal. In the end, you got bills to pay, and you feel a certain way.

But when we’re thinking about the context of work, I’ll give you my version: I’m currently not on Facebook. I do use Instagram, and also WhatsApp; just not the blue thing where my family posts regularly. I’ve decided not to participate in the family group on WhatsApp — I thought that was the ultimate, most blatant invasion of my privacy. And so I’m looking for alternatives. When there’s nothing else to eat but chicken, I like to make some risotto with vegetables I can find. I always put too much salt, and feel like a useless human being. Then I remember I can just buy some cookies.

The problem is that I buy cookies with change. I’m unemployed right now, just posting blogs because I want to reach people — so badly. But my reality is: this company makes 30 billion dollars selling cookies. I collect coins to buy a pack, the cheapest one, for 2 real. Not two billion, obviously, not two million, not two thousand. 2 real. Cents that circulate among beggars in the street, addicts and so on. Just to remind you, 30 billion dollars is 150 billion real as of December 2022. And isn’t it crazy how these numbers are always changing?

I think I’ve focused so much on this task of educating people with media that I sort of became an edible chocolate bar. Not healthy, doesn’t actually feed you, but feels so good to get out of your routine. Unless you think this is all crap. Maybe I should stop talking about rich people. But you see: we’re supposed to care about how sustainable the economy is… for whom? We’re supposed to take care of ourselves! And the tech issues I mentioned are just an example. Think about relationships. Trust, affection, true love, care, bonding, getting to know each other, small acts of kindness. Then you have distrust, talking behind one’s back, lying, cheating, abuse, aggressiveness, games. Cookies aren’t gonna help. Your relationships should be sustainable, healthy, beneficial. And then I think to myself that it’s nice to eat at a restaurant with your significant other.

When we have new media, we have new powers. Just don’t ask for whom.

I grew up in a time where my grandpa had this sort of safe, a triangular wooden thing with a layer of fabric on top and this upward opening door that produced a particularly memorable high pitched noise. It was brown, maybe pastel, but some people would say it had shades of green; this piece of furniture went well with the beige wall, which is absolutely nothing special, but it was, has always been, will always be my grandparents’ home. The floor is what the architects, designers or whatever call “demolition floor”, consisting of tiles of brownish, reddish rectangles all stacking up and this natural aspect of random patterns of saturation, if you look at it from a more modern perspective. But the rest of the furniture doesn’t matter. The Cross at the wall, the sculpture of Virgin Mary, the big mirror that came later. The border ceiling styled cast. The fact that one day we had a cleaning lady, and decades later, everyone became too pissed off to do a single thing, ending up not doing anything at all. The floor stays dirty, the bathroom is a disgusting mess, with a toilet which used to be perfectly clean, now having these stains at the bottom that we took too long to take out and now look like this crusty dirt patch, but of course it’s not dirt; the objects near the kitchen window, where the washing tank is, next to the gas cylinder and the cleaning products. Ok, nobody needs to know. This isn’t The Sims and I’m pretty sure this home isn’t going to have a user of Oculus Rift. What I wanted to tell you about was that little pastel safe. The newspapers from the entire year were stored there. Grandpa John (his actual name being João, in Portuguese) didn’t buy newspapers every day, but he maybe my dad was the one buying. I honestly don’t remember. I do have some flashes of grandpa trying to hold onto the large pieces and them falling off, because he was not a very delicate man, thick hands worn out and wrinkled, and he was getting even older. He could peel some potatoes, slowly, patiently, singing a song, after going to buy them himself, all that nearing his 80th birthday. He used to work at the port. It was carrying stuff on his back, as we’ve seen on the historical pictures, but also stuff that we don’t really know about. Just that it was at the port. I don’t think anyone would understand that when you fast forward 20 years, or not even that, we have not just all the markets and live analysis of supply and demand, but all media vehicles in the world at the palm of our hand, along with pictures of other people’s homes from different angles, in all kinds of situations, except they’re the protagonists, the main elements in photographic framing. At some point, my dad would buy a subscription of a magazine, and I’d read it carefully. I was actually more interested in reading the gaming reviews, and they had specialized magazines for that. I got every issue. Every time we crossed the newsstand, it was worse than peanut candy at the bakery or popcorn at the movie theater. To be fair, we still share a love of peanuts until this day, and if you make a joke about that I’ll probably giggle and we’ll get along. But have you seen an 8 year old reading magazine reviews and interested in the journalism? Well, because that happened, maybe that’s where we are.

I’m not sure what the 8 year olds are doing. I guess gaming is a phenomenon that we have to approach more seriously, because as an industry it drives billions. I guess we have to talk about children’s shows. I guess we have to talk about the diets. The moderation in language. Someone could probably make up a meme with this or that politician speaking, a child watching them on a flat screen connected to the internet, big Dolby speakers on, and the kid is dressed as a monkey; then the concerned, vigilant mom gently puts the monkey hands over the kid’s ears, so they wouldn’t hear that kind of tone. A wrap up would be the monkey again, this time with emoji-likeness. This would incentivize the use of deaf monkey emojis. Maybe with some brainstorming, you could get the team to work on the mute monkey, this time a lonely boy or girl — and then the team would split in the creative room — sitting in the corner of a couch while a bunch of friends were having drinks, dancing, posing for pictures, talking about people in school. Lonely teen sitting at the corner of the couch. Deaf emoji. “This time we could have something provocative”, the marketing strategist would propose. “Maybe we should explore the positives on this one. We all have people we think are annoying. It’s not about the loneliness, it’s about the choice of being alone. Can you work on that? I’ll leave you to it then.” And so the team would be slightly confused, slightly pressured. The conversation at break would be about how to apply the concept of the monkey with his hands on his mouth to the concept of silencing, but the word was actually “muting”. The feature, soon to be rolled out by the app and website, would allow people to personalize their experience online while still looking as if they were giving each of their follows the same kind of attention. “But then, you’d need to unmute, right? I mean, it’s probably gonna be hard to measure, but if you’re on it; then you wanna focus on something for a while, maybe that could be an entire week. I’ll go newsless for an entire week, focus on my friends, you know? Then you got a tab showing who you’ve muted and you can just unmute when you wanna catch up, maybe show what you’ve missed”. But what about the emoji? This isn’t about the news. This is, indeed, about loneliness. And while some people smoke discussing the features that would be rolled out and how to please consumers and partners, the socially awkward guy is thinking about something else: duct tape, not emoji. If you put duct tape on your mouth, that’s a powerful symbolic concept. But can you imagine people associating it to other related uses? Suddenly, mouth gags, nipple clamps, cock rings. “No, it’s really about the monkey. You can show a kid throwing a banana at the monkey in the zoo, and then the monkey throwing the banana back, and hitting the kid’s eye. The kid starts crying, and the mom is like… it’s okay honey. It’s just a stupid monkey”. Wrapping this up as anecdotal and fictional, not much of a cautionary tale that people seem to think Mad Men was, or The Office was: not everyone is being heard in the media, the social media, and it’s definitely not the case that we’re still reading about what’s happening in the world whenever we read the newspaper. Grandpa wouldn’t be able to handle this; he’s gone, but he has a legacy.

Some people are more focused on visuals than others. Despite the fact, unknown the many, that reading can foster a creative mind that allows you to “see the world” when you’re reading a text, that spanning to decades before, and experiencing it through image, whether it’s an art installation or a painting (unless they’re splattered with tomato sauce, but I’m sure you could get a copy in the public domain), the consumption of video has made all of us expect something else from our internet experience. TV didn’t wanna die. And so it strived but it didn’t, but their influence is even bigger than you’d imagine. Think for a second: you want to go live on Instagram, but you realize you only have your microphone from the earbud set. When you went on Twitter, you had a highlighted trend which was the presidential debate being exhibited live. They weren’t doing it from their phones. They had professional cameras, audio quality and everything just as if they were on TV, but even better. A better signal, a better coverage, since their time wasn’t restricted to the schedule of the network, but the topic instead, which could in turn be explored in the conversations people were having about it as of right now; a better view on the themes for anyone who was interested. But then you look at independent journalism. They’ve learned to Zoom, and to broadcast showing diverse sets of media pieces, which in fact meant not a lot more than displaying different tabs on the screen. It seems very simple, until you realize maybe it’s not — and until you try to do it yourself, especially if you’re thinking, like me, that Substack will be your source of income. Will you keep doing it, after the bad reviews? This is one aspect, for every writer. Another is the undeniable appeal that certain hosts of images and videos have. Instagram is sexy, but nobody’s supposed to talk about it — and in fact, that came with time, and personally, I’m convinced that was a particularly tense atmosphere for the people who wanted to be viewed as ethical rocks, and who would always have the data to show that they’re the ones who invested the most in research, and that their research was the most relevant, given the userbase and what they knew about them. But that, in itself, is an ethical problem, and of course we’ve heard the nutrition whistle and we’re all still acting like the big dogs do. Putting this one platform aside, and taking a step back before approaching the new trend of algorithm-fed quick videos on demand from multiple people who you’re dying to meet and we’re going to introduce to you (an offer you can’t refuse), we have the word sexy. Nobody starts a conversation with “hey, sexy”. They should go to prison if they do. Well, of course not, but they might wanna know that’s pretty lame. I just think there’s a weird fluctuation, or rather, a volatile environment of digital trade, when it comes to the sexy categories. Because if you cut the “why”, you’re left with raw material. Some people have no idea what to do with it. You could tell someone that everything you need to know about any given subject is on Wikipedia; they might get lazy, and close their eyes on it. You might tell someone at school: “guess what, I found her OF”. The monkey emoji, closing his eyes, would slightly move its fingers to the sides in order to see, but pretend not to care — or in fact, to pretend that not to be looking. But we know that the “raw material” can be a lot different than what the emoji represents.

We’re not thinking about marketing for kids. Some “kids” are actually doing the thinking for us. Whenever a conversation ends too suddenly, we’re faced with the question: “what did I say?” — but that comes after a number of interactions, and you’re still trying to get it right. Practice makes perfect. But don’t you wanna focus on something else? And who said that this perfect model would be scaled up, and applied to everyone, involving masses of people in contact with your displays of emotion? In contact with your rawness, which includes a spectrum of things which you can’t label or categorize, describe, begin to talk about. But since practice makes perfect, they’re quick to say: “you look like an actor from Stranger Things”. And so we start to think: how big is streaming for younger audiences? But we’re suddenly stopped on our tracks, inevitably, out of someone else’s greed, out of someone else’s desire to know everything about anything, and win the argument at all times: “What do you mean with ‘younger audiences’? I’m old enough”. Labelling is interesting because it involves a lot of linguistic knowledge, when it’s done properly. For example, a fruit like a banana, before it’s ready to be consumed, is called “green”; when it’s already easy to peel, not yet smelling, which should mean you’re supposed to eat them before they rot, and just good to put in your mouth, you call it “mature”. Now consider the difference between “mature content” and “adult content”. For example, this blog contains mature content, but not adult content — despite some slight references to this world, which is not represented here at all, and that’s obvious to anyone who knows what adult content looks like, sounds like, and what it feels like to watch it one time, then lose count — and also lose touch with yourself, sometimes. Once, I was around 10 and I was playing a videogame where the narrative is some really fucked up dystopia or futuristic, while being mixed up with a tribal, origin of civilization period, and you have to save the world, basically. It’s called Turok. I didn’t play the first game, which is all about a Native-American hunting dinosaurs; I played the second one, which had this weird, kind of terrifying iguana’s red eye staring at you at the cover, with the tagline: “seeds of evil”. You’d get lost in some kind of narrative where these organized groups of other species were taking control of everything good, putting kids in cages and all. Dystopian narratives tend to get something right, but I could totally be talking about Star Fox and my comments would all be about how sexual the conversation between pilots are. “Incoming enemy from the rear. Drop altitude”: of course the horny rabbit is telling you to bend over cause there’s a machine behind you (and what do you know, people take it literally these days! “Your father helped me like that too”: like what? Did you guys, uh… But back to Turok, one of your final missions would be to “purify the river of souls”, all the while shooting plasma bullets at the center of some alien’s big belly, and it was particularly explicit — but there was, in their defense, an option to make the red blood look green. But there’s an interesting part of the story I don’t wanna miss. Back here, over 20 years ago, I was very entertained and actually thrilled to be figuring out what I had to do in the game all by myself, without the help of the magazine “walkthrough” — but it was time for lunch. My grandpa called me once, twice, and then I went to the living room, slightly pissed off, I suppose, and said I was playing a game and it was important, but they were bothering me with something less worthy of attention, absolutely meaningless. “I’m here trying to save the world from all these scary monsters and you want me to go eat spaghetti, are you out of your minds?” I’m not sure what words I said, and this was obviously not the actual conversation, but when I refused to obey and come to the lunch table at the time I was called, my grandpa reacted grabbing me by the neck, looking straight at me and I think he slightly pressed it even though I was just a 10 year old. My grandma told him to stop. I think I went back to the game, but cried about it.

Now, back to the real world of right now, always and forever: the metaverse is a billionaire investment. So is Twitter, though it’s a little less. Nobody will stop talking about Twitter, and I’m trying to figure out why, exactly. The new policy is “freedom of speech, not freedom of reach”. That means, as briefly explained by the buyer, that you can write what you want, but that will always go through moderation, and they’ll keep track of everything and rank your participation. That means to say we can totally start a conspiracy theory that the Japanese are all shamelessly horny, and another person will suggest they’re horny, yeah, but always filled with shame (I personally believe this profoundly, but in the one opportunity I had to say this to my American coworker who’s not here anymore, I kept my mouth shut). We can show an image and put a hashtag on it, but how much do you think people search for hashtags? You can try to make a new hashtag on your own. But do you even have a following? That won’t work. You can try to say what’s on your mind (see what Mastodon did?) and have people react to it, but will they, ever? You can build on and on, and it’ll be torn down. You don’t know the right words, you don’t have the right tone, you don’t even know what the fuck you’re talking about, and you’re ugly, and you’re lame, and you smell. Look at where you live. It’s a fucking demolition floor, filled with crusts of dirt in the living room. And I’ll never go into that bathroom, I’m pretty sure that’s where the pandemic started. You’ll have to do something about the drains, all that spit that somehow goes brown on the sink won’t be cleaning itself and you have to take out the hairs. I won’t touch it. Look at your ridiculous beige wall. At least if you had a black wall, you’d be cool. Then you could take pictures in front of the mirror, but not showing your hideous face. From the rear, babe. At least the bedroom’s fine. But you know we could cut the electricity any time, right? One neighbor monitors for the Church, another monitors trade, this guy monitors the power, this other one monitors the drugs. It’s a beautiful community effort. You see… that’s what’s up, and you’re all thinking “oh no, icons are disappearing from my favorite social media platform! It’s the end of the world!” Nobody talks about fireworks resembling gun shots. Nobody talks about sex workers being invisible to society, but the most sought for at a specific time of someone’s day — and man, there’s always someone. They can’t talk about work, and they can’t talk about sex — imagine sex work? Actually, Twitter and Meta became exactly that: places where you can’t talk about sex and you can’t talk about work. People are dead because of shit policy. Twitter wants you to believe your ideas are brilliant, while they exploit you in real time. Meta wants you to see everyone’s brilliance, while they all want to see you get abused, which is in their power to do and to organize for. Maybe it’s all the same. Maybe it’s not the sex. Maybe it’s not the emoji. Maybe we’re supposed to sleep: not to see, not to hear, not to speak. No freedom of reach, except for my big dick built by Space X. “Sorry, wrong name. You’re not supposed to talk about your dick on Spaces? Okay, my bad”. And we believe in the free market…

The evolution of media is hard to track. Video on demand? YouTube “pivoted”, but so did Netflix, and then Amazon, Disney, Apple, among cable and services like Hulu. Then, maybe after observing engagement with video consumption on Twitter and Tumblr, the latter more spicy then the former (which everyone thought was a problem, until they realized they pretty much broke the internet), TikTok came to be the equivalent of McDonalds for media, expect coming from China. The real story is we have Critical Literacy goals to be met in the Educational Common Core established across countries, and while these involve creation of relevant media themes, they’re failing to show how that’s really done, and so the arbiters live in one bubble while the creators, or aspiring creators, live in another. That last point alone could lead to intense debate: “why is that content getting attention while mine is not?” Money, silly. And now think about the policy again. The platform is definitely not a source for good; it’s a source for income through the exploration of your personal information, which you chose to disclose and, believe it or not, their legal argument is a tick box that you clicked on. So much for Semiotics. A click is not approval; it can mean many things. And now we’re facing a “depolarization effort”. This will ultimately result in user growth, but another round of public scrutiny that will most likely exhaust the already exhausted, who will in turn show scorn and bitterness, along with a complete (but carefully veiled) disregard for your social condition and your efforts, let alone empathy transformed in support that is concrete. we’ll hear the talk, but never see a path to be walked, only tall buildings where things are happening and cars going somewhere we’re fucking not. It’s not about video, and it’s not about Discourse Analysis: it’s about human relationships, Social Work and Psychology. Education plays a role, but the educator who doesn’t even talk to his or her students to learn what they’re dealing with is never going to even scratch the surface of their many layers of protection against invasion of privacy. But we shouldn’t be paranoid and assume they know everything — they do not. There needs to be guidance, and the role of the current media is absolutely bridging generational gaps; but when you’re getting an opinion from 70 year olds about how the world should work, maybe it’s time you realize you don’t like your grandpa’s opinions — let alone being grabbed in the throat because you wanted to enjoy yourself. Politicians need to stop playing with personal narratives immediately. They say they represent us, but they don’t even talk to us. They can’t possibly be the solution for media policy when they’re not choosing personal storytelling in order to reach those people who are desperate to see that these people running for office are maybe just like us, but they happen to have a plan to fix stuff. And if you choose to go along the way, you’ll meet the media industry: profiting from falsehoods, producing to preserve their reach and relevance, and seldom hinting at something good happening in the sphere of public debate, but never mentioning names except of those who are controlling the whole process. That needs to change. Musk is a fraction of so called internet debate. Zuckerberg is a lunatic — nobody can ever explain how investing in augmented reality with billions of dollars was the chosen path when you had a row of social initiatives to fund, about the real world and real struggles. Not even a feature. And the people who actually run things, the investors and venture capitalists, along with institutions and universities, will ask for better performance while stopping you at your tiniest attempt to think for yourself, then later making a sarcastic comment that they think you won’t be able to respond — and if you are, they’ll hunt you down and crush you with a story about something completely irrelevant that they’ll try to convince you is the new thing, without a fucking apology, let alone a payment for moral damage — while they retain the data now and in the future. It’s time to defund big tech. The knowledge is built with existing tools. If you want better wages, you’ll have to be content with working less hours while they hire more people, because that’s what diversification means. And when people think together about how to fund the creators, it’s gonna be too late: financial markets will dominate discussions, just because we inputted our information, again — this time, our banking, not our contact. And who says we even got a call in the first place?

Aim high, but drop your weapons: the counter-billionaire mindset

Murky grounds on social media: that’s what happens when you let people talk shit for as long as they want. Not a lot of people agree. But at the same time, a lot of people agree — read the news. “Television has no credibility anymore, bro”, says a right-winger from Brazil. “You’re fake news!”, says the biggest IQ American president to Jim Acosta, a refugee from Cuba working for CNN. And let’s not even debate over doctors. PhD Twitter is the real House of Cards; we just didn’t realize it. And now, it seems, things are becoming clearer — but more pressing than ever. Suppose your problem is with education today: how are you supposed to preserve family values with all this crazy flow of naked disrespect contrasting with a man in a suit telling you there’s a lot of volatility predicted for the S&P? Reality check, ladies and gentlemen: nobody even knows what the fuck that is, and your actual complaint is that the author is saying a dirty word. How did you pay for your Starbucks this morning, with Apple Watch? Excuse me, I’m a bit skeptical. Sometimes a tiny bit, sometimes a whole lot. You could ship my skepticism across countries, but the Navy would have to track it down. And hey, listen, I’m serious about this shit. Don’t believe me? Just watch.

To clarify: I live in the city that hosts the biggest port in South America. Sorry for the videogame references, I genuinely don’t wanna confuse people. It’s just that copywriting is demanding these days. We rant, and suddenly someone takes a close up picture of an actual ant — and it’s terrifying. Which is why PhD Twitter is winning: anti-imperialism, critical race theory, worker’s rights, digital policy, women’s protection, no-code tools, productivity coaches… and then, suddenly: “why did Bill Gates buy a buttplug?” That’s pretty much what Jeff Bezos has in mind: give me your address, your email, and your bank information. Let the great world spin (except the guy doesn’t write fiction, although there’s a scene in the book by Colum McCann where a sex worker is desperate to use the bathroom). I bet that’s not good enough for you. Let’s go with revisionist history? How about a leak that “My IQ guy” knows everything about missiles already, but wants to learn more? You start to be thankful for Business Insider: they show you the process of making a drumkit in the oldest drum manufacturing company of the United States. And then your thumb, that lazy slut thumb, makes you scroll down. Cats, rabbits and goats get along. The more you know. But how dare you? Immigration laws expressly prohibit illegal aliens from demonstrating, by speech, text or odd noises over electronic communication, an expression of love or even a slight resemblance to parenting without proper documentation! Oops.

The internet is worried about relevant stuff. But who told you that? Didn’t you spend 2 hours catching up on memes, smartass? “What, are you saying that memes aren’t relevant?”, argues Kyle, 13, a steakhouse manager, raising his tone. The parents didn’t have the time. The internet didn’t either: nobody responded. So he decided to make a meme out of himself: dressed as a gladiator, he picked up a musical instrument taller than himself and played a beautiful piece by Sebastian Bach. The crowd cheered. The vest weighed upon him. He carries wounds. But it was all worth it, because the people who listened to his musical performance were pleased enough to be brought to tears. Meanwhile, Beto O’Rourke goes from Texas to Florida to meet with David Hogg, one of the most prominent figures in the movement March for Our Lives. It might have been the other way around — but mind you, that’s not so relevant. The young politician stands with the young people’s movement. But there are older people occupying power positions that vote on issues like gun safety. In their minds, confrontations between international powers need to be carefully looked at. But refugee crises do not.

I’m joking about Bill Gates. He’s responsible for the biggest technological revolutions we’ve witnessed in the past decades, and has devoted his life to philanthropy (a complicated word for kids and teens). I’m not joking about Jeff Bezos, I just don’t get it. But when it comes to the man everyone’s talking about, his educational background is physics and economics. The people who learn this about him should be able to conclude: “oh, so he decided to fight for the environment”. They just might be wrong. Who’s heard of the philosophy of materials? My references are Marilene Chauí, Brazilian scholar, who has published two volumes on an “Introduction to Philosophy”, a thorough review which is off the shelves. My contact was through public libraries, and prominent blogger, author and mastermind of foreign language public speaking agrees, as you can see from her posts under Brain Pickings. But what Musk is trying to say, at first (and we’re all getting impatient), is that payments are the best way to verify identity.

Let’s debate that for a moment. A lot of people will miss this post. If you clicked, thank you. But profits are under the radar. It’s kind of debatable that a user of Twitter should have to pay $8 a month to have “improved experiences”, because what I’m trying to suggest here is that this isn’t the time to think about profits, but instead, helping people. Of course, and very sadly, that’s not the case for, uh, the richest man in the world. And it takes a man who eats cream crackers late at night because there’s no bread to make people see this? No, impossible. You know that sometimes there’s no cream crackers, right? You just fill your stomach with water. But whatever he has planned is an already existing business model, which he collected from here, there and elsewhere throughout his life and is trying to push towards one of the most relevant communications platform on the planet.

The themes I mentioned, as well as others, and a whole list of PhDs who decided to share knowledge out of social awareness, kindness and compassion (which is often seen as a big reason to show off), are all over social media. But people don’t even know that media is the plural of medium! His plan, instead of explaining (or even understanding) what the medium he bought is, is to make it profitable media, which includes the infamous “everything app”. If our collective role turns into calling on bullshit from people who wanna buy golden pendants and trucks of peanut butter just to say they’re verifiably hungry for trends, then what is the role of the journalist? Twitter and journalism have a very close relationship, and if that wasn’t the case, this blog would be censored. But what you’re actually witnessing is a plan to do exactly that. Or do you see participation on Twitter as an optional, non-essential and potentially bad choice? Everyone reasonable would agree that policy debates are urgent, because the debates are started on platforms like Twitter, but the actual changes happen in legislation and in the democratic process. And the guy crisscrosses elections promising free speech in exchange for your money and the silencing of dissenting voices?

If Twitter is a “town square”, it matters to say which town. We live in a world where megalopoles exist. The attempt to simplify an undoubtedly complex communications phenomenon is not just incompetence: it’s downright authoritarian. I think my answer to Elon Musk would be that my currency isn’t the dollar: it’s real. And watch him get pissed. On, off, who cares? But no, let’s wait and see. Sure, it’s a town square, because the teens are hanging out drinking and smoking weed. Excuse me, I meant to say that the town square is where people go to listen to jazz music. Musk might have learned some music theory during his Physics studies. But what about his Economy studies? What did he learn, specifically, about music? I think he just wanted to fuck a musician, probably. Oh wait, that’s exactly what he did, wasn’t it?

One thing is clear, despite what rumors have been spreading: finance matters. And that’s what people are missing on this story. Elon Musk may not be the smartest guy in the world, who knows everything about anything; but he does have wit and brilliant ideas. In the end, we care more about how ideas contribute to society than who even brought them up. This is not an attack: creativity can’t be cultivated in a black hole, as far as I know. And whatever concept we’re scared of; whatever personality we’re trying to roast; whatever story we’re trying to break; whatever project we’re trying to realize; whatever means we have to make lunch to our families, we need someone who grants us help. Money doesn’t grow on trees, but Elon Musk is the guy who proposed we shift to electric vehicles so we could stop further extraction from our planet’s resources, and we talk a lot about renewable energy, but maybe not enough. Brazilian society couldn’t adapt to big recycled bags that supermarket chains offered to their clients because they were used to plastic: they didn’t wanna change. Twitter is not a plastic bag. But we should be aware that we’re bringing home stuff that we don’t even need, and if common sense still matters, nobody wants to raise a spoiled child.

Almost 15 years later, what have I learned as an English teacher?

Sometimes I wake up from a weird dream and I have to sort things out. I’ll spare you from hearing about my medical condition, and in fact spare me from the backlash; but teachers are not doing well. In my head, we’ve been outsourced by Google, but the thing is I never go out the street with a phone connected to the internet. Not even when I worked 3 periods did I have that kind of privilege. I downloaded music from The Pirate Bay, and put it on my phone. Made my playlists. It was enough for 20 songs, more or less. And I can’t believe people use their data for that. It’s too consuming. I did want to stay connected with my contacts, but mostly, with people from abroad, and I was so incredibly dumb about going out with my throwaway accounts open in a big city. Today, I would never. I’m the kind of person that uses Google Authenticator for most things. I delete SMS because I think they’re spying on me. I know I just let my phone drop and the screen cracked, but I’m convinced someone hacked my frontal camera. But we learned, as teachers, that we can’t go anywhere if we don’t look around. We’re not paraphrasing textbooks, and to be honest, a lot of them suck, don’t they? And so does our technology. Talk to anyone from the US and you’ll notice an obvious synchronization problem. Which in turn, makes it a trust problem. And live your adventures, believe it’s true love. Get wrecked, again and again.

Our profession requires us to approach things nice and slow. Not to touch. Ask people to look at our mouth when we utter a sound. To pay attention to our intonation. Don’t we know people make judgments in real life based on intonation? How can you possibly teach that? But we do. Rising and falling. The British examples. Linguistics made us drive meaning into that. But it’s more than intonation or connected speech — which, by the way, is not taught anywhere. It’s just luck. A student might pay attention to pronunciation or not; be a good reader or not at all. And when they’re not, you see the value of the textbook. They can feel like they’re making progress, but you have to reassure them. The most tired teacher won’t forget to say that their student had a great participation in the class, and came up with very interesting and surprising answers. That it was good hearing them talk about issues. We’re lying. It’s a bunch of shitty opinions articulated in the worst possible way, and when they laugh, it’s because they think they’ve established common ground. Of course they haven’t. They’re laughing about the subtleties of language. And of context. Humor in the classroom is deemed essential. But willingness isn’t. Sometimes, you know you have to go further, but you won’t, because of time restraints. And so the purpose is defeated. You’re not helping, you’re tasked with a pre-made solution to be effected. Maybe it’s writing mispronounced words on the board. Do we still use those? What about the slides? What about streaming? And most importantly, what about policy? Whose email account do you use when watching YouTube? Not yours, I hope? If you do, you’re clearly not paying attention.

We live in a world where companies dream of having everyone collectively agree on the top decisions they make. To go test in droves their newest innovations, to listen to their most well-paid artists in record numbers, to talk about the topics everyone’s talking about. Nothing authentic. The desire to feel seen is one thing, the need to crack down the code of popularity on Twitter is another. But what’s happening on there anyway? We may feel inclined to try Snapchat, and find out people have infantilized language, for real. But when they wanna be serious, they use all the words in their vocabulary to insult you. This generation learned to insult faster than to compliment. Of course, because the boys wanted tiddies, please. Remember Tumblr? We’ve seen it all, haven’t we? But now we’re supposed to understand the tech. We’re supposed to have opinions on crypto, and the entire economy, when the person speaking to you is skipping classes to play a football game — hey, at least you made 50 bucks an hour! And what do you need to feel valued at work? What is it about your job that makes you feel like you’re doing more than enough, and that’s okay? Isn’t it more or less like posting on social media? They’re all richer than you, and their experiences are not relatable. If they have a funny story, good for them. Most of them suck. But you listen patiently. Smirk and nod. Say “alright”.

And we’re being presented with a new teaching landscape where we have to know streaming channels, a different one for every class, and never repeat our models. If you do a slide, you can’t just do another slide. It’s just gonna be, you know, another slide. You need to bring music. And if you bring music, make sure you pick the right one. And if you don’t, try a game. And if that’s not your thing, have them write together. But if they don’t enjoy that, well, too bad. If they can’t read, too bad. If they can’t find purpose on a listening exercise, too bad. But most of them can barely form complete sentences. They’ll scratch the surface, barely, and you’re tuning in on freaking Bloomberg. You have an actual opinion about power relations; they have a shitty parroting of their bosses. They’re not your friends. They won’t complain about the job. And the thing is, if they do, that’s good; if you do, you might get a warning.

Try complaining about the pay, the commute, the materials, the lack of engagement. Try to say something about the air conditioner. Forget your umbrella to see how they react. Start a sentence with “I was on the bus the other day”. The people who are going to have advanced conversations with you won’t have many bus experiences to share, you see? Try talking about leadership. Everybody’s watching, silly. Don’t you think that’s lack of character? Do you feel any satisfaction? Can you bring it up in a meeting? And if you can’t, is it okay to talk about it informally? Because, if it’s online, there’s always a sense that someone’s watching. Which means we’re fucked. If the English teacher is a spy, a perv or a dummy, we’ll never know. But we don’t have a right to enjoy the things we do, we don’t have a right not to enjoy the things we don’t, and we are supposed to be always on time. Why did you choose this job?

Nota de esclarecimento: a quem incomoda o projeto Fluência Participativa?

Muitos sabem que me formei na Universidade de São Paulo, mas poucos têm a referência da Escola Estadual Olga Cury, onde estudei da quarta à oitava série. Antes disso, tive uma infância onde enfrentei a separação dos meus pais, aos 9 anos de idade; a perda do meu avô Paulo para um câncer e muitos conflitos familiares. Meu pai tentava dar rumo à vida dele, mas minha mãe não se dava bem com a família Escobar. Nessa época, 1999, ele tinha 37 anos. Ou seja: se eu tivesse seguido o caminho dele, teria sido pai aos 27 anos de idade, considerando que tenho um irmão um ano e meio mais velho. Mas não é exatamente assim não: eu tenho uma meia-irmã mais velha. Se não me falha a memória, ele foi pai aos 18. Essa foi a idade em que ingressei no trabalho como professor de inglês, em 2010, num programa de monitoria pela FFLCH/USP. Perdi contato com a minha mãe, a ponto de passar vinte anos sem saber se ela tinha trocado de nome, e com isso, não conseguir dar prosseguimento à minha pesquisa acadêmica, por falhas nos dados enviados e verificados junto à Receita Federal (o CNPq é coisa séria, e quem corta verbas é o governo Bolsonaro). Mas quando segui, com 3 projetos consecutivos de mestrado pelo Departamento de Letras Modernas, uma levou à minha desistência — e em seguida uma crise de saúde mental e falta de moradia, num período onde passei fome e não tinha comunicação com ninguém, inclusive dormindo na rua e pedindo por dinheiro e cigarro no bairro pobre do Santo Antônio, no Guarujá. Tinha assistido o movimento estudantil fazer barulho, mas as causas eram verba para reforma do prédio de Letras e horários do ônibus circular no campus, nada a respeito do CRUSP, onde morava, e preços de passagens para estudantes de outras cidades. Pagava, na época, cerca de 20 a 25 reais pela passagem de ida mais a de volta, e estava junto com a minha namorada, Olívia. Eram 100 reais só de ônibus intermunicipal, toda semana. Enquanto se fala do perdão da dívida estudantil nos Estados Unidos (já mostrei dados de como uma universidade americana chega a custar mais de 300 mil reais), a bolsa que recebi tinha o valor de 250 reais ao mês. Como não tinha dinheiro para as passagens, ficava em São Paulo. A grande estratégia (e o grande crime) foi trazer marmitas para o restaurante universitário (que não pagávamos, pois tínhamos auxílio alimentação), pedir mais para quem estava de servente, exatamente como uma pessoa de rua, e depois usar o adicional como refeição no fim de semana — mas às vezes se recusavam a dar o adicional, e tínhamos que comer o pouco que éramos forçados a dividir para sobreviver no final de semana. Assim, economizávamos 100 reais nos fins de semana. Perdíamos as xerox de materiais essenciais, e ficávamos só com a audição das aulas. Não tínhamos os textos, que todos os alunos acompanhavam, numa sala com mais de 100; mas anotávamos tudo e conseguimos passar de ano, com notas abaixo da média, mas suficientes.

Já em 2007, minha namorada começou a trabalhar numa escola da Barra Funda. Eu fiz um processo para professor, onde trabalhava uma monitora do programa da FFLCH, mas fui recusado. Ela continuou, e depois foi para a monitoria. O trabalho dela nos garantiu alguma estabilidade, com a ajuda do meu pai. Não tínhamos um relacionamento muito bom. Quando eu tinha 14 anos de idade, saí de casa e fui morar com ela. Briguei com a família inteira, e nunca mais os vi. Só voltava, de vez em quando, para a ocasião do aniversário dos meus avós ou o nascimento das minhas primas, Mariana e Marcela. Meu pai ganhou o benefício de aposentadoria por invalidez, mas na verdade não ganhou foi nada. Passou uma década inteira com dores permanentes nas hérnias que o impediam de ter uma boa noite de sono ou se movimentar com qualquer facilidade. Acordava sempre com dores que o faziam lutar para chegar até o banheiro, e após muito anos narrou, humilhado, que não conseguia se limpar porque não alcançava e doía demais tentar. E eu passei por situações não equivalentes, mas parecidas: faltava papel higiênico no dormitório, peguei piolho, não tinha roupas de frio (e chegava a fazer 6 graus Celsius em São Paulo), e ainda, em 2011, quando já deveríamos ter alguma liberdade, a Olívia teve um aborto. Na verdade, decidimos por fazê-lo, mas foi um acidente: a camisinha estourou, e ainda nos precavemos com a pílula do dia seguinte, mas ela não funcionou. Ela comprou comprimidos na clandestinidade, ingeriu um e colocou outro dentro dela. Continuamos trabalhando. Também já narrei isso, mas o departamento comercial queria nos demitir, por alguma razão (e depois soube que a franqueadora era associada ao movimento pró-vida, e contratou um missionário americano para dar aulas junto com a minha namorada). Um dia, estávamos em Santos, e ela acordou com dor. Eu estava ansioso e muito confuso (tínhamos brigado sério pela primeira vez, talvez, em 7 anos de relacionamento, por causa de uma menina que eu conheci na internet, a Suzan). Estava pouco consciente. Ouvi ela chorar no banheiro de casa, que ainda era a nossa casa — e hoje sou forçado a ver todos os dias o estado em que ela se encontra, o lugar onde cresci. Quando entrei, vi ela segurando um feto em suas mãos. Ela chorava, tremia, e dizia: “ele tem olhinhos”. Pegamos uma toalha, eu peguei uma pá, e o enterramos no quintal. Foi ainda mais pesado: ela teve sequelas psicológicas muito graves, incluindo espasmos involuntários e camadas da placenta sendo evacuados durante o que acho que foi um mês inteiro. Um dia, isso aconteceu enquanto ela dava uma apresentação sobre literatura, numa universidade em Osasco. Éramos muito capazes, mas poucos sabiam o que tivemos de aguentar. Isso fora os conflitos de ensino fundamental e médio, que incluem tentativas de agressão em bando, além do bullying constante comigo, pelo fato de ter cabelos compridos mas também pelas performances musicais, que incluíam maquiagem e roupas exóticas, com os covers de música japonesa (que aliás, nunca ninguém deu valor), e ela por conta do que nem chegava a ser obesidade, só umas gordurinhas, que eu sempre gostei e digo isso até hoje. Nos amamos demais. E é tortuoso lembrar disso tudo, e pensar no quanto avanço e volto no tempo, pulando capítulos inteiros, inclusive o do suicídio do vocalista da minha banda, o Fábio da Plaise, e depois, a morte da Karen, uma amiga com quem me relacionei em 2016, depois da minha desgraça familiar e profissional, que sofreu um acidente de moto e depois não quis contato comigo, mesmo após eu insistir.

Tive um período até longo de atividade profissional intensa. Ninguém fala que tinham festas com drogas e todo mundo queria sexo, mas não é pra falar mesmo. Ninguém quer saber que a minha coordenadora passou mal no mesmo colchão onde eu dormia no CRUSP, e eu limpei a sujeira, bêbado mas ainda obedecendo às ordens. Gostava dela. Pessoa muito competente, mas infelizmente foi uma das influências para que eu me apegasse ao tabagismo. Como sofri com bronquite e pneumonia dupla na infância, precisando de inalação diária com medicações que me faziam tremer aos 9 anos de idade, e sangramentos nasais constantes, que precisaram ser remediados com suplementos de cálcio, minha saúde não era boa já naquela época, mas pelo menos me alimentava bem. E é aí que eu quero chegar. A minha vida em São Paulo, a partir do momento em que comecei a ganhar bem (o que, pra nós, era pouco mais de um salário mínimo), comecei a comer fora e frequentar lugares, com o perdão do lulismo, que o pobre não tinha condições de frequentar. Mas não viajei de avião, e bem que queria. Quando fui demitido, desisti do mestrado, mas ganhei a rescisão. A mãe do meu melhor amigo na época, um rapaz que se tornou o marido da Olívia (que apesar das mágoas, não é qualquer um, e o nome dele é Daniel), pediu um dinheiro emprestado por algum motivo, e eu simplesmente transferi cerca de 5 mil reais. Ela devolveu. Em seguida, comprei cerveja cara, maconha de 50 reais, besteiras, mas também quis limpar a casa inteira, cuidar dos pets e renovas todo o vestuário e os eletrônicos. Comprei livros, me preparando para os estudos. Comprei acessórios e instrumentos musicais. Mas me esqueci que poderia ter viajado para ver a pessoa que decidiu o fim do meu relacionamento, a Julianna.

Hoje, a história é muito diferente. Desde então, vivo com a minha família, apesar do hiato de 2015, quando confiei em uma pessoa, a Paula, que não me levava muito a sério, e o desastre de 2014, quando comecei tratamento psiquiátrico. Já em 2016, conheci a Emma, com quem falo até hoje, mas as expectativas não são as mesmas. Durante nosso relacionamento, procurei muitas pessoas que poderiam me fazer companhia, e num dado momento, não foi o suficiente estar com ela. Não tínhamos assunto, e ela provavelmente só sabia que eu procurava meninas, todas elas mais novas, além de assistir pornografia demais para alguém que se pretendia um acadêmico de uma universidade pública. Apesar de tudo, montei meu projeto, todos os conteúdos de blogs e postagens, e construí minha presença. Mas minhas dores foram ignoradas, inclusive pela última pessoa com quem me relacionei presencialmente, a Iasmin. E foi um bom relacionamento, mas veio a morte do ex-namorado dela para nos separar, e algumas experiências pouco unificadoras.

Resumir minha história é complicado. Perdi meu avô em 2011. Perdi minha avó Zilma em 2018, se não me engano, e minha avó Áurea em 2021. Com isso, minha família ficou sem auxílio financeiro (e escrevo isso enquanto passa um helicóptero), e o projeto Fluência Participativa é o que sustentaria a mim, meu pai e meu irmão. Há histórias que não conto, de violência doméstica, mau-atendimento hospitalar, ameaças, roubo, golpes cibernéticos volumosos, e muito dor no coração. Mas acreditava que poderia oferecer algo de significativo para a educação brasileira, e talvez para o mundo. Hoje, minha arte é renegada, censurada, caçoada e denunciada, ao mesmo tempo. Meus blogs levam a medidas corporativas, e sou banido de plataformas. Ninguém do passado se habilita a comentar os acontecimentos.

O meu único desejo é que, numa economia da interação, as pessoas sejam capazes de conhecer melhor o outro pela conversa, e não pela análise de dados. Essa é a missão do projeto: não conectar o mundo para roubar informações sobre usuários e vendê-las para anunciantes, mas sim proporcionar condições de estabelecer laços de afeto entre pessoas de todo o mundo. Uma pessoa que sofreu o que eu sofri poderia simplesmente pedir dinheiro. O que eu peço, no entanto, é que não tratem os outros como me tratam. E é isso que incomoda tanto.