These days we are in full brainstorming with two colleagues with whom I will share a communication project shortly. We know what we want to do and we hope to know how … but it is being unexpectedly difficult and also challenging search for a name, a title. We must mix the words with listening and truth, and the titles, target the concepts. The calendar accompanies us. We are in a time of reflection. It is inevitable to reach the end of the year and feel the weight of 365 days to do … what?
How many absurd polemics per minute can we endure? Of uncle to tiona and from the cane to the sticks. It’s hard not to get sucked into smokescreen conspiracy theories to distract us from the big or serious things that we can’t or don’t want us to intervene in.
I’m tired. Tired of not having enough oxygen to apnea underwater and emerge a few meters further, out of the enclosure of the nets in which we are allowed to move.
I am fed up with increasingly exclusive dialectical traps.
I am disappointed in myself, in my silences.
I am missing a time to do nothing. When do we think?
I look for words and I can’t find them and it makes me desperate because if we can’t praise the world we can’t understand it.
I’m sick of willful confusion, infantilization and idiocy, often mixed, of communication, of publicity, in the construction of the story in community.
I’m tired of sleight of hand, of word games.
I am scandalized with what we are capable of doing and making it seem that we do not see. Can there be other borders than those that separate life and death? Life worthy of exploitation?
I would like to be hopeful, because without hope we cannot look forward.
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I would like to find the courage to say yes when it is yes and no when it is no. And whoever has ears, let him listen.
When will the true solstice arrive, the new birth that we await? The name determines the thing, and the thing is only ours.
Reference-www.elperiodico.com