Ideological coherence is a virtue, but a man’s head is sometimes insurmountable; read the chronicle of Voltaire de Souza

Sheikhs. Mosques. Minarets.

The Islamic world demands our attention.

After all, between one prayer and another, World War 3 could break out.

Elpídio was an old left-wing activist.

–It’s Israel’s fault, man.

He sipped a glass of brandy.

–And international imperialist capitalism.

How, then, can we guarantee peace?

–Only with revolution, animal. Only with revolution.

On the wall, the portrait of Che Guevara seemed to agree.

–Without ever losing tenderness.

Not everything was politics in the ex-unionist’s life.

An old romantic interest was reborn from the ashes.

–Remember, Soraya?

The relationship had been brief.

-Clear. There in the union pool.

Differences arose at that time of struggle.

–You were from PCOR.

–And you from PCRO.



–Fucking crazy.


–Irresponsible radicalism.

–Petit-bourgeois illusion.

Times have changed for everyone.

Soraya now defended a more ecological line.

–The cause of all this, Elpídio, is neither religion nor capitalism.

-What is it then?

–Oil, dear. Petroleum.

The conversation took place over Zoom.

Elpídio chuckled.

–It was never my favorite substance.

On Elpídio’s small table, empty bottles were lined up like anti-aircraft defense cannons.

–Look, Elpídio. Look. Call Globo.

It was an Iranian bombing.

–I don’t watch anything on this reactionary channel.

–But, Elpídio… then try Al Jazeera.

–Is it here on the computer?

He was still trying to adapt to modern technology.

–I always used tube television.

The old Colorado RQ television seemed to be jealous in a corner of the living room.

–Call then, Elpídio. It’s playing everywhere.

The computer. The television. The old Ventisilva fan.

Dangerous sparks began to appear in all three sockets.

–Elpídio? Are you listening to me? The signal is down here…

It was the blackout.

After a few minutes, the light returned normally.

But darkness still reigned in Elpídio’s unconscious brain.

–He fell drunk, poor guy…

The following day, the dialogue resumed.

–It’s capitalist imperialism, Soraya.

–Petroleum, Elpídio. The fossil fuel runs out and everything is fine.

–Petit-bourgeois illusion.

–Unrealistic radicalism.

–Reconciliation with capital.

–Fucking crazy.

Ideological coherence is an admirable virtue.

But sometimes a man’s head is like Israeli airspace.

When they activate the iron dome, nothing else comes in.


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