Identity toll:an experience at the street school
Auricélia Silva Monte
That was needed, it was late morning, and the identities paraded as they glided down the Zygmunt track. With each new approach a Baumantico boom was unveiled, and the liquidated fragmentation unfolded, and a new unstable formation was veiled. In these American lands of various beggars, we were some other ultra-inequalities contained in an unrecognized Bakhtinian publication. The different senses emerged in specific moments of conversations with others and in conversations without others, but with them. With this back and forth the heart yearned for answers and the brain without understanding transmitted emotion in nodal circles – the reason for the indifference of equals. A lot of Real Fiction circulated there, at the touch of the nail in the dark mirror of the car a sign appeared, a yes or a no and, yes and no. Many coins were served with a smile, but also a lot of swelling in the throat when the hand reached twenty, but the look had not been given.
The toll of identity experiences that reveal and transmute, and reveal and transform themselves, and reveal themselves and do not settle, look at each other, deny each other, frighten, silence … silence …
The vastness of desires that intersect and get in the way of that day’s race, did not allow the visualization of the real for everyone, in the strangled range to say: Research in Brazil is done like this: Asking!
That day we fly like birds sometimes static, but we change, because the vision of permanent rest scares us, so we prefer to be dynamic like the two reals thrown from the window of the gentle car, which flew … flew … flew among so many other cars in hurried movements, but it reached the destination of our pocket in shame.
It’s gone … there was the day and now we are no longer selves, we are others … we are others and selves. We are volatile subjects in the identity liquidity of the brutal real that we experience.
Tomorrow is another day. And now!?! We are more.