O Guião

- Não me estás a perceber. O que eu estou a querer dizer é que o facto de a tua vida, até agora, te encaminhar para uma situação razoavelmente semelhante à minha, nada te pode garantir que assim continue. Embora talvez possa, por vezes, não parecer assim, a tua vida não é um guião pré-escrito por nenhuma entidade divina e superior. É uma sequência caótica de acontecimentos que moldam as tuas escolhas. Eu sei que é mais fácil viver a vida numa eterna birra adolescente e queixares-te de como nada te corre bem – acusou , sabendo muito do que estava a falar – Mas é o que tu fazes em resposta às adversidades que molda a pessoa que és. Não os acontecimentos em si.

Vícios

Mesmo os homens mais racionais e obsessivos não conseguem escapar ao vício. Algumas das mentes mais estruturadas e fundamentadas na razão de sempre viram a sua vida minada pela incapacidade de conseguir resistir aos seus impulsos. Fossem os seus vícios tabaco, álcool, drogas, doces ou mulheres. Matar não é mais do que outro impulso a tentar desencaminhar o trilho do bom senso. O facto de ele conseguir conter esse impulso aos seus limites auto-impostos, não o tornava menos irredutível. O que eu quero dizer com isto é que é perfeitamente possível duas pessoas terem personalidades e mesmo experiências partilhadas sem necessariamente partilharem os mesmos vícios. A existência de um vício e a expressão desse mesmo vício não têm necessariamente de se equivaler.

The Raven Lunatics

Este vídeo é dedicado a todos os que adoram o poema "The Raven", de Edgar Allan Poe, tanto como eu. Bem, isso e pessoas que consideram a religião algo de estranho e fanáticos religiosos à nossa porta algo de impossivelmente irritante.



The Raven Lunatics

Once upon a weekend morning, woken by a sound and yawning
Feeling queasy and faint I pulled my undies from behind the door
While I poked my sagging belly, sniffing at my socks so smelly
Beer-stained jeans strewn on the telly, someone rapping at the door
"Who the fuck is that?" I grunted, "tapping on my bloody door
Must be Mormons. This means war."

Yes I vaguely now remember plans to murder and dismember
Stuff those Mormons in a blender, that will grind them up for sure
Wishing I'd had chance to borrow instruments of pain and sorrow
They won't smile as much tomorrow, with no teeth they'll have to tour
Fucking up my early mornings, every week I must endure
This disease I will now cure

With my inner thoughts came flirting torture plans for brutal hurting
Kill them, drill them! Such a drastic remedy you never saw
Thoughts of giving them a beating, while they gave their sickly greeting
"How's your day sir, we are meeting all your neighbours at their door
We have words of Jesus, greeting all who open up their door
We have been eight times before."

Thus I dreamed as I descended; down the stairs my journey ended
"Who the fuck is that?" I shouted through my anti-God Squad door
And the voices, as expected, came from those I craved dissected
"Jesus Christ of Latter-Day, we're Mormons and we're at your door
Though we came last Saturday we'd like to talk a little more"
Knife in hand, twas time for gore

Out into the daylight leering, I saw Mormons disappearing
Dashing, leaping steps, no Mormon ever ran so fast before
O'er the garden fence they vaulted, like two frightened sheep they bolted
Knowing that if they but halted from their veins much blood would pour
Turning back inside I almost managed to re-close the door
When I gave a mighty roar

Up my garden path approaching, in my private space encroaching
Jovo's Witnesses were broaching subjects I had heard before
"Surely friend you see the power, of our Lord, this is the hour
Would you like to read Watchtower? Let us now your faith explore"
They saw not the knife I carried, knew not what I had in store
This chance I could not ignore

"Step inside, ignore the clutter." Beckoning, I hid the cutter
In they stepped so eagerly I felt it right I should implore,
"Please don't think me too untidy, I've been partying since Friday
Though it looks like someone died he hasn't, that you can be sure
Though this may not be a palace, on my wages it's a chore
I can pay for nothing more

Though religion started piling, thinking "Bullshit" I kept smiling
Digging graves inside my mind I found God easily ignored
Thinking of my daily shaving, would a razor blade engraving
Stop these fuckers and their raving. I was getting very bored
When they stop I'll cut them all to pieces with my Ninja sword
Quoth the Witness, "Praise the Lord"

As they spoke I tried, though vainly, not to laugh at them but mainly
Thought of ways to shut them up - I couldn't bear to hear much more
All at once I mentioned seeing floods of white - the Supreme being?
No, that's right, I fell down skiing. Go on, as you were before
And they didn't take the hint. They droned on, dreary as before
They knew not what was in store

All their ravings seemed psychotic, sounded like something hypnotic
Turned their minds as if they left their sense of reason at the door
Once they almost heard me mutter, "Fuck off back to God you nutter"
Pausing, one of them did utter, "Share your thoughts, let's pray we four"
Counting round the room I saw that yes indeed we now were four
My mate Dave was on the floor

Dave blew off, the fart was broken, stood up and his zip was open
But that didn't matter cos a watch was all that David wore
"Shit, that party rocked - I'm blasted. Never been so fucking plastered
Wait a minute, who's this bastard? Who's that woman? What's the score?
Love those jugs, so tell me darling - you the stripper or the whore?"
This was what Dave called rapport

Now she'd lost her constant smiling, Witness two had started dialing
Seems we were about to greet police aplenty through our door
Quickly Dave sprang into action; though still naked got some traction
And to my great satisfaction took the phone she held before
Panic-stricken, Jovo's finest dropped their Bibles, stormed the door
They had God and he's hardcore

Never mind their sins confessing, these two fought like dogs, no messing
Both the male and female Witness pushed us back against the door
Brawling like a supernova, pretty soon the fight was over
Victory was won, Jehovah kicked our asses round the floor
"Seventh verse, Ezekiel eight reads 'and he brought me to the door'"
With that said they preached no more.

As they left I had a notion that outside I heard commotion
Voices raised and punches swinging, jack boots marching on the floor
Surely not? They knock on Mondays. But it was - a gang of fundies!
See them fight and hear their guns blaze! No-one hates the Jovos more
Redneck fundamentalists - short, bald and stupid at our door
Quoth the fundie, "Holy War!"

Prophesying doom and evil, rapture-ready, God's retrieval
Of the fundie Christians is what they think they have in store
Till you're born again you're taunted, knowledge of the scripture flaunted
No escape - by fundies haunted. They find sinners, they want more
"Hear the word of Jeeesus sinners, beg forgiveness on the floor!"
Now those goons were at my door

Dave, now dressed, and I were rising, fearful of proselytising
By the band of Heaven huggers warning us of Satan's horde
"Sell your souls to God you sinners, atheists are never winners
You'll end up as Satan's dinners, skewered, barbecued and gored
If you're gay the Devil's gonna cut your dick off with his sword
But no pressure, Praise the Lord!"

Now the fundies were departing but, before they could, was starting
Something worse than Jesus cos Al-Qaeda joined, without remorse
Chants of 'God is great' were spoken, fundie bodies dead and broken
All the neighbourhood was woken by extremist jihad force
Death toll rising by the minute - does religion this endorse?
Quoth the Muslims, "Yes, of course"

And religion, never flitting, still on all our lives is shitting
In our schools and in our streets the faith heads speak out more and more
But we'll fight against their scheming, atheists will keep on dreaming
Maybe one day we'll be beaming news that faith has hit the floor
And we'll get some sleep at weekends with no God Squad at our door
Make it soon and evermore!

Escolhas

Nunca imaginou alguma vez vir a sentir aquilo. Na verdade, nunca imaginou alguma vez vir a sentir. Sentia-se, pela primeira vez na sua vida, verdadeiramente livre. Livre de pressões, de depressões, de juízos e auto-repressões. Livre de si mesmo. A felicidade, um conceito no qual já havia perdido a esperança, inundava o seu ressequido coração com uma alegria impossível de descrever e, até há poucos momentos atrás, impossível de sentir.

Havia passado grande parte da última hora a tentar-se convencer que se estava a iludir, que era impossível uma mulher tão gira e inteligente estar sequer remotamente interessada num tipo como ele, que era a bebida a falar. Era um debate interior que se originava na sua cabeça desde que tinha descoberto a irresistível sedução do outro sexo. E de todas as vezes que tal acontecia, o seu coração era brutalmente derrotado pela sua racionalidade.

Por isso estranhou tanto quando deu por si a considerar sequer a hipótese de correr um risco para ser feliz. Tinha passado tantos anos a controlar-se que o ténue vislumbre de uma vida espontânea o inebriava, de uma forma muito mais intensa que qualquer copo que alguma vez tivesse bebido.

Sabia que tinha muitos esqueletos no seu armário, muitos segredos que nunca poderia vir a partilhar. Mas o amor não é um sentimento de pequenas mentiras, mas de grandes verdades. A vida era uma sucessão de escolhas e, por uma vez na vida, escolheu ser feliz.

Quando ela voltou a olhar para ele, deixou o seu mais puro sorriso falar:

- Tenho uma coisa a dizer-te.
- Ok... mas agora espera só um bocadinho – respondeu, levantando-se – Vem aí o meu namorado...