I once created a fake of myself . This is normal , some friends asked me, do not know, not even really know what can be considered normal . After all, people have different standards of behavior conceived as within normal and everything seems extraordinary, elegant, avant-garde , even postmodern (if it exists ) . Anyway , it all depends on the context in which it appears the situation or behavior . Anyway , for a while , I was very happy with my fake , or rather , I was awarded some benefits . My fake participated in many social networks . It was smart, intelligent , appropriate to the new technological and artistic trends , besides being politically positioned , and ultimately , a great philosopher . But it was a fake , a figure created to protect me as a walking stick to support me , a character to share with me the most estrambólicas information , to discuss social problems , to share the existential questions, to make objective attitudes toward more different points of view . Yes , because he had a point of view . She had well -argued assertions , knew expose their ideas with unparalleled mastery . He was a true genius in the art of vetting, abalizar , confronting situations , finding the most diverse outputs and intervene shamelessly the findings of others , showing other ways , other ways of looking at the world. Different looks not lacked . Joy and good humor too . It was perfect. Educated . Patient paciencioso , thrifty , temporizing , elegant . A gentleman . For a while , I accompanied him in his musings , their diverse ideas , their unique points of view, fleeing the common sense and desacomodam things . After all , the top of his extensive knowledge , his experiences and his troubled mundane trajectory espraiava the rough neighborhoods of social networks , the larger doses of new discoveries , new ways of situating the gaps , filling them with experience , content and action. I got used to it. I got used to her way of giving back what I thought of sharing with me the findings of the same signaling pathways , to broaden horizons at the same time seemed so near us , so attainable that it was sufficient esticássemos hand , one finger , one who judges , pointing to get closer and closer , the vaunted goal, who knows the truth . That was how we behaved almost arrogant . A delivering to another for granted , the precise contribution at the right time . As a double game , where one depends on the other . Tennis game , precise, taut, focused , quiet . Only the sound of the racquet , the sigh of the crowd , the shout of victory . One thing that gleamed in the dusty and cloudy sky facebook or any other social network . Anything we said was worth millions of hits , for us , of course , we were not interested in sentences Arnaldo Jabor [ sic ] , in comments about drinking , cooking , that intimate barbecue , washed the caipirinha and red and squinty eyes who abused joy, things that only pertain to those who put on the network , or used bike , the dog peeing on the couch , in stretched mother in the network , showing misshapen thighs , or the sugary messages , prompting fears and guilts , and searches responses of endless chains . There was nothing that we were looking for . That was something the deceased Orkut . But suddenly , the fake was being connected by other friends , was being discussed in order of friendship , sharing , and increasingly harassed by their ideas and manifestations unpunished . Everyone wanted to know it , learn from your profile , browse your pictures , your wall . Wanted to accompany them , follow it , find the path that it seemed to open so many doors , so many ways and so many ways to find the truth . Not everyone, of course . Not those of the caipirinha , personal photos, daily show about their business , from the food from noon until stomachache afternoon . These do not . They were interested in enjoying anything and share with the sameness of everyday life . That was news to few . But these few were multiplying, which gave me some fear . Fear of being overtaken by fake . My friends have not heard anymore nor shared what I posted , although they agreed with me , ah, just because I shared with the fake , agreed with the fake , the fake fed me . They wanted to do the same . It was a time of great suffering. Some said , because he only shares with you? Why just agree with you? Because it describes in detail, with many more arguments , based on articles from experts in appropriate readings in scientific knowledge or their own livings what you declare you ? Why does not cooperate with us, do not share with us. So I had to split the fake . Or rather , I had to write for it to friends too. Then started raining requests to add them to your social networks . They wanted him , they loved him . Was not me who followed , was not what I thought it was worth , was what he claimed were their attitudes that mattered . He was the king of the party . I became just an accomplice. Then I had an idea . I decided to delete the fake . I decided to put a stop to those arrogant attitudes , that thinking avant-garde , postmodern , and if there is such a thing ( as I thought before) , those points of view advanced , that bold way to escape the ordinary sense . I needed to eliminate fake . Away with him, away with her ​​fame , her uninhibited way of being , their intimacy increasingly exacerbated together with my friends, who were now more his than mine. There was no escape . The only way out was to end it. So I did . I deleted the fake . Back to being myself. The discuss the same issues , politics, society, social movements , the beauty of nature and the struggle for its preservation the quest for racial equality, the fight to end prejudice, philosophy in its various aspects , classical music , good music , theater, literature , cultural life ... Also ran the common sense values ​​seen and reviewed , evaluated other ways ... Friends moved away, who Postava one another "like" or share a photo or want a good night , a good day, a good day , a good weekend ... And all returned to show their beautiful houses , newly acquired , their latest model cars , their bikes , their leather coats , their kebabs weekend ... Anyway , the mediocrity that is part of their lives . I think I'll create fake.
Fonte da ilustração: geralt Gerd Altmann de Freiburg, Deutschland (domínio público)
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