By Rafael Acevedo / In Red
0 . On many occasions I have read or heard that someone celebrates an investment matter – capital or intellectual – because it is done with passion. I smile. It is to think that passion is a virtue.
I would not dare to say something without substantiating it in authorities. Then: "In short, the name of passion is given to a great and terrible misfortune." (Aristotle, Metaphysics, book V, 21). Who am I to contradict the philosopher?
If someone spoke passionately to me about the superiority of the Aryan race, I would interpret it as the staging of the ideology of an idiot. Idiot in the etymological sense. And that is not a small thing, because living absorbed in your own matter (business) prevents you from seeing the consequences of your actions and projects. And if you see them, the distortion of passion prevents you from understanding that you are building machines of exclusion and murder. It is just an example.
If someone spoke to me with passion about the benefits of nuclear energy, I would understand it as an honest exposition of dishonesty. The passion for money masquerades as a solution to a problem. For the well-paid salary of the nuclear power industry. Above rationality. So far above, that speeches are structured in which false content is logically proposed.
As the Greek said, passions can be good or bad depending on how they are felt, and according to what they apply. On the contrary, virtue is always and exclusively good; and vice is always and exclusively bad.
Are there virtuous passions and good vices? At the risk of contradicting myself, I would say yes. Loving passion is good even though it can harm because it begets life in life. On the other hand, there are pleasant vices for the one who carries them out. And they are good if they do not harm seconds. But is a passion for money at your service a great virtuous idea? Is the construction of a colossal plant generating narratives in a logical way and with false content -which does not resist empirical evidence or arbitration- a virtue? Neither being passionate nor being creative are conditions that guarantee truthfulness, much less virtue. Coffee, for example, is a vice that sharpens my creativity. Doing it for my beloved upon awakening is a virtuous idea because it pleases someone outside of me. And so on.
1. The partners of the ecologists are the left-wing groups. This is how it should be understood. A right-wing ecologist who assumes the "let go, let go" of economic liberalism is a quack on a vegetarian diet. It is like atheists who adore nuclear energy based on delusional reasoning about the capabilities of Science, in which there seems to be no ideological contamination.
As I am a leftist without a party, a carnivore, in favor of the production of clean and renewable energy, I believe in the Rose of Guadalupe, in the same way that I believe in the resurrection of Alexander Dubček, for that in 2028 he be named First Secretary of the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia (KSČ) and thus fulfill once and for all the program of reforms that will bring the Prague Spring to all corners of the world, or at least to Río Piedras. I am excited by the imagined. Is it true?
2. The machine to travel to the future is a bed with sheets scented with essential oils. You fall asleep and the aroma of sandalwood, to give an example, is turned by the amygdala into affection, or disgust. The hippocampus initiates the memory process.
A deep sleep with a deep aroma records, reproduces memory. However, being related to the limbic system, care must be taken not to awaken the traveler, who may be stranded in a timeless stage in which the motor area is affected, and then the inability to think about the future, make plans like getting married or shopping when you run out of meat in the refrigerator.
Sometimes one recovers from these interruptions listening to a certain song, a certain intensity of the downpour, the tide of the dead or the barking of a dog at the same time. away.
I traveled to 1969 smelling pine oil. The country was run by friendly bureaucrats who organized assassinations of union leaders without much fuss. The day I returned there, Calle Baleares was December 18. The tree already adorned the room. The trunk was cooled on a tripod containing distilled water and an aspirin.
It was hot in that public housing house. It was the time of the populist leader. We played in a basin where my mother washed the clothes.
Sometimes I come back here and feel nostalgic for my father, young man, and my older brothers who are younger than me in the traffic.
3. Remember, imagine, are they true ? What, in conclusion, is the truth? When the pandemic started and the state oiled its control mechanisms, I imagined the near, inevitable death. The reason was quite simple. If the colonial state responded negligently and criminally to a hurricane disaster, then the pandemic would be an additional opportunity for theft, fraud, and death. In those days of April I thought about that and wrote my will in the form of a story:
I cannot tell you that Elisa Blot was beautiful. Actually, what does it matter?
We were lying there on the sand at sunset. Looking at the clouds. Its variations.
-Like viruses- she said
-What do you mean by that?
-In a population of the same virus variants occur. For example, look at that elephant cloud that is actually a lot of water droplets. The wind moves it, scatters and messes it and there you have a camel.
(Did I already tell you that Elisa works in a laboratory?)
-I don't understand well, but it is a beautiful explanation.
(She smiles and he takes a sip of beer. His long, jet-black hair covers his face for a moment. He brushes it away with his hand.]
-All variants of a virus exist in the cloud. Normally, if the environment remains unchanged, nothing happens, "he explains to me.
" But if the environment changes, if the wind blows from below or from above, the camel appears, "I say, thinking I understand.
-Something So. But it's probably a bad metaphor for a good beer.
When night began to fall and the sky was a huge cup of black coffee with some foam, Elisa Blot said goodbye with a kiss on the cheek. They took off my respirator and, well, we had arranged to meet up there in that cloud.
5. The truth is there, somewhere between fact and imagination.