On our times the meaningfull action is absolutely dismissed on a constant fog of way-to-many small, unfulfilled and unimportant moments. We are never concentrated on actually progressing, instead, we simply slides through time while our sense of fulfillment gets emptier moment after moment, and we get drowned on this sea of ephemeral sensations. Just so when we open our eyes, we may realize the righteous path is no longer under our feet, but we have brought ourselves to the twilight zone of a hideous dream, Where “me” is no longer “me”, but a ghost of myself.
One must question to himself:
“if a man lives through things he have done for others and whose impressions endure more than he’s lifetime — such as an act of love — what am I if the only things i’ve done so far are those which, one minute later, I feel like nothing is left on my heart ?
What will be “me” if only hendonism and then desperation are the feelings and actions which my biography has been wrote of so far? What would be a life made of things not whort living for?”
“Mad are those who set fire to a fortune”, some may think, but richness is disposable and reatainable, any material good can be attained either through hard work or luck. The time, however, can’t. Nonetheless, with the false sense of wealth, love and power that social media and pornography have instilled on us, so many have been losing their time — their life — for the sake of a fake smile, a fogy sense of social acceptance or for an ever-fading feeling of an empty orgasm.
I can only say to myself and to contemporaries:
God forbid an entire generation from living an entire life made of these moments. It Would be a Generation of ghosts.
– Marcelo Jatobá de Araújo Jr.
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