Upresident, memoirs of a fascism patient

Image: Varvara Stepanova
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By PEDRO PAULO ROCHA*

Fictional letter about audios of a supposed president who pretends to go crazy during the elections of a real country called Brazil

What Day is Today? Is it still today? How long have I been in prison? Day…

The smell of National Chorume enters my nostrils and ears ringing. I'm in the Holes in the walls.

The stench burns the skin, exhaling from the suits of the motherland's neo-fascists; the cross shines, capital shines. The skin burns of those who look at me: I see from afar very close the landscape of a gunpowder sewer in pools of mansions; my body is paralyzed until everything happens suddenly! I hear the sound of gunshots coming from the street. Inhuman screams and people running. Blacks being beaten and whites consuming. And rebel. Quilombos, favelas. Underground. Sound bodies. I know very well that it is not a dream. Militiamen swim in the favelas and live in Torres.

Torture never ended. Pastors rain money. You pray. Piss. Investors Wheel. Viagra barracks and burnt rubber stick. Red Torture Room. Street, hill. I die and escape. I live and I don't die, I jump down to a lit constellation. They kill, they keep killing. Churches and businesses. The terreiros in the forests, where they hide.

Life in the alley. Now tenderness, now terror. Love, living memories, buried and unearthed memories. Exploitation, commercialized sexes. Forbiden love. Indigenous, black, women and children trafficked. Outcasts. Blood flow and fiction. In the mouth of war. Cross and gun. It never ends. Banks on ships with sharks behind the trail of blood in the sea. Cry and slurp. Sewage Bath. Holy Water. Animal. Earth Bread. Blue blood. Body oils. Virus.

It's a storm of iron and stone from a stolen island. Crammed together. Prisons. Mall. The pool overflows. Many cannot swim. Indigenous people reflect on the cracked glass of the central plateau. River name. Fish face. Fire border. The photo of an arrow shot out of time hits today. Our eyes are invented.

I'm going to report here almost real facts about a president who went crazy. Has he gone mad? In reality he pretends he's crazy. And this president we all know who he is and what he did. I didn't see it with my own eyes, but I can say that I heard it with my own ears... How much disgrace for free? Has the mind lost control or has control taken over the mind?

The sentences surpassed what happened, then I need to go back to the beginning that I imagined…

It all happened this morning. I found out early in the morning that the President went crazy…

I already notice that he doesn't have just one name anymore. He has become so much himself that his self has lost its split with himself. Many heads are being born from his voice – metamorphosis. The monster he was lives a mutation. This happened exactly at the moment when I am writing this sentence with no future, a message from a stolen letter with no sender. I hope the letter arrives...

If I also seem crazy, it's because of the emotion that what I'm writing to you causes me. It is the reality that is unbearable. I knew it all started this morning as soon as I received some audio messages from the UPresident from an unknown number. I was startled and am still distressed by what I heard from the Capetão da Nação.

I would like, I can't, I'd like to run away from what I heard, I can't! If I write now what happened, it is because it is urgent to say in some way what the illness of the Messiah is.

The fact that it gets confused with what is said to be normal is the scariest and strangest thing – how is it possible to mix two things thought of as opposites – normal and madness?

It was this morning around 6 am when I was on the street walking towards the divided center of the necrocity – and suddenly – the sound of the cell phone started ringing indicating the name “the armed homeland”: I looked without eyes and gave a muffled laugh and I turned it off right away after spitting on the screen. After I spat. I felt a pain in my stomach, I think. I spat once more on the screen.

The sun burned my irises when I saw a person on the street with a raw wound. She noticed that I saw her cry a dry tear and got angry with me. I had to disappear quickly so I wouldn't die from seeing the pain of someone burning the air under my skin.

In that time, at the same time, a series of messages with meaningless codes arrived on my WhatsApp for more than a minute without ceasing.

Soon after, there was an audio of about 10 minutes, 10 minutes and 37 seconds to be more precise (it doesn't matter) with this message: “Upresident has gone completely crazy. Please do not send the audios to anyone, it is still possible to save the country! His advisors are urgently looking for someone who can cure him. It's very dangerous what can happen. If they find out it will be too late. We no longer know how to control it from now on. Entrepreneurs are still supporting us. We have a lot of money, a lot, a lot. In addition to weapons, many… boxes of heavy weaponry.”

After reading this I started listening to the audios. Her voice was shaky and low in an animalistic way. For minutes I felt short of breath remembering that image of him imitating someone almost dying of the lungs. When I looked at the floor of the city full of garbage and for seconds I forgot, for seconds I almost forgot, what I had thought to happen. Finished, I mean, that it had just happened. It could be that sometimes I change the words unintentionally... intentionally, I meant to say... this will happen again... words have no control... It happened before, it happened after, I was hit by a memory without a very heavy image that evaporated in the phantom curve. I tried on the descent to suffocate the momentary oblivion, it didn’t work – the thing came back – I vomited the now with a live goo on the floor of hunger, a white goo with some burned money notes, real, dollar, and a cross wrapped in a chain rusty. Rock cracks, I thought, rivers – what do you mean? ? I thought I saw some spent 38 rounds as well.

That would be too real to be so unreal. I dragged myself to the first bar at the Brasília crossroads and asked for a glass of live water with roots. I drank, I was drunk. I thought I was water. My organism even absorbed the steam. I pulled over to return to myself somewhere on the holed wall and as soon as I regained my senses a little, I continued walking on the empty street, until a new curve revived me.

I went back to normal and I remembered without a shadow of a doubt that the President fell into such an absurd delirium that nothing could be more normal than his madness; I had to listen carefully again to believe that irrevocable message out loud!

He believes he is turning into a super-me. He reported that he didn't sleep today and that from 3 am he gained new powers – “God's rays are bullets from now on! I'll give my nerves for you. I am stronger than the American superman, stronger than God's superman. There are many ways to convert electoral defeat into an opportunity to seize power, and demonstrate once and for all that voting is useless. Elections only from century to century. Change the ministries, but the president is divine. We never stop showing what we are and what we seek. We don't deceive anyone. We always speak out loud our plans. Amen? Amen… take the 09 gun… call the barracks… ok? In the name of the law! Returning to the subject of elections… imagine a simple thing… always one bid ahead… assuming that if this happens, we can do that… the question is: who has more bids to make? What are you going to do?? what are you going to do now?? If I'm arrested as a hero! I want the crown of injustice! Taking the game to the limit until the enemy loses the possibility of reacting... the seizure of territories through the deadly subjectivities of a permanent civil war, the model is the militia itself! What's the problem?… Rio-Haiti is here – Amazon Forest Brazil favela do rio… kkkkkkkkkkkk …I am the new king of the empire, but I am not a thief… kkkkkkkk”.

He is threatening to send a Civil War commando to his entire network of over 20 million people, or even more, I don't know how many more...

Very quickly I felt that the asphalt was hot, very hot, people were sleeping on the ground hungry. Me melting every second. The sun was falling, the sky was falling, the clouds were burning forests, he could hear the screams of burning animals. Peoples burning inside the night of the massacres. I ran… I fell and I ran… you were with me inside a screen, inside a bottomless screen that emerged.

I still won't be able to directly transcribe everything I heard stunned by the paranoia of the hero of national fascism, the Fas Star. I will at least try to transpose pieces into a kind of meeting zone between fiction and reality.

I believe that these audios are revealing of what has been happening in our country, because the President was really already pretending to be crazy before these audios; therefore, the veracity of his recent delusions raises the question: if these delusions are simply nothing more than our redundant normality?

A strange madness hidden in normality, when made explicit through violent absurdity, legitimizes itself as a new normal that can be accepted and symbolized. What I heard in these audios of the president are delusions of pure reality, it is the most absurd truth!

I swear it can be a very terrible thing to imagine and tell. The strange thing is that he doesn't seem so crazy after so many ways of normalizing his fascist power madness.

However, I can assume that he crossed a theatrical boundary in what he is talking about now. Fear made him release his fascistoid unconscious like never before. They are running after the so-called cure because his current state of delirium would make his death wish for power even more explicit. He has lost all self-censorship because the super-ego and the unconscious have become the very fissure that gives life to the desire for revenge.

His delirium now has a lot of theatricality, if before he quoted his heroes, now he embodies them. In the audios, the President says he is no longer himself! I don't know if he ever stopped talking like he was his father Ustra the torturer.

From now on everyone can be him, his name is from a God called Commander Ustra (who is in love with the super-ego of the Messiah). He said that he is going to a secret room in the center of the city to find the Upresident; want to love it! He does not want to interrupt his work as a torturer – he is very afraid, it is clear, he is afraid of spoiling everything with his beloved presence.

You know that I will have to tell you what I heard in cuts mixed with realities that are confused with a fiction that is almost becoming another reality.

I can say little at the moment – ​​for that very reason I must also say things that cannot be kept silent because saying everything is practically impossible.

I will use a communication strategy with fragments to assemble almost an endless story, this fascist delirium knows where it will end….

Going back, I remember again that it is sinister that what has just been revealed in the most naked way, the most normal madness of fascism, in the president's mind, makes normality the madness of God for violence.

In the very first second of these audios, with these words, he opens the most real speech he has ever made: “I am no longer a myth, I am no longer human, now I am God, I am the big U, I want to find the Messiah to penetrate him with my pipe 38 in the STF tower. I told you, lightning is a bullet! The Captain is King, I am President Ustra. I am the son of the father who became a father. They can arrest me. Take me, I'm a hero!

It's all here in these audios that I'm going to reveal in letters. The fascist paranoia that was already born from the first sign. Now we have it in precise, almost literary detail, from someone who made faith the reason for truth in order to save a nation from its invented devil.

Much of what I've heard, despite its new degree of normality achieved from boundless fascism, has all been said before. When they said he's crazy – when he was so normal that today his so-called madness is nothing more than the strictest new normality imposing itself as the law of a symbolic reality. The imaginary dissolved into the real.

The symbolic does not exist (wouldn't it be the real?) except at that moment of its abusive use, which can change according to the operator's interest. It is notable that what he says in delirium now sounds like what he said normally; every day without stopping he explained the normal – and we were all amazed – “wow, he is a…” meaning he is normal and normal is just that, and now what are we going to do?

It is after listening to these audios, I believe that we lost the frontier of madness and reality, when violence mediated. From day to day wounding in torture. This state of affairs has always been an absurdly faithful portrayal of the paranoia of violence experienced as a natural law. Empire of violence. This has always been the disease of colonial violence transformed into progress, which imposed itself against the majority of the blooded, exploited people.

The violent reality forged as hey of the world.

I can't help but end up without these phrases I heard: “I won't lose! I will not lose!” she screamed almost at the end of the audios…

The real seems unbearable for the savior, the Messiah, hallucinated by his super truth, is wounded, bleeding! Incredibly, he is happy with his martyrdom! “I will make the country pieces torn from myself U! My name is U! I pulled the knife out of my stomach. I survived, it was a miracle, I survived! I will never… die! God died over me with a gun in his hand, above all more than 740 thousand dead, I was reborn. I am reborn. I'm going to kill those ghosts in my dreams that invade my day. Communists! My heritage, my family, my business. I swear, I swear I saw inside the bags of money, I saw, I saw that there are serpents, many serpents of God… the minister of economy in paradise sent me pictures of them; he's going to take me to the investor's garden. If I had to leave politics, I would be a big gun businessman. Obviously, you know this, my passion for weaponry. I'm for the family. I'm for the business. Amen! Bone crack. Who didn't? I'm not different from anyone else. Pastors love you, entrepreneurs love you! For that, and for much more, which I won't be able to explain myself, I'll say, whatever happens, neither I nor my family will abandon the mission in the name of Brazil. I need you! Because it's for the people. For the people I fight to the death. For the people I kill the people! Death leads me. Death is our glory. And if Jesus came back armed, it is to show us the importance of fighting for our freedom. I'll tell you everything... you'll call me crazy... but you can curse..."

Cut… I'll have to stop here, I've already written too much for today… maybe tomorrow new audios will arrive…

This is the first of many letters that I send and will send; yesterday I don't know what day it was, tomorrow he gave up and for today only one day is enough... the second, the third, the fourth letter with more details I've already started... soon enough, tomorrow until midnight or day... that never stops not to write…

Signed X

* Pedro Paulo Rocha is a poet, philosopher, filmmaker, transmedia artist and schizo-analyst.

 

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