The Zombies That are Not in the Crack House

The expansion of the Internet, by providing new mechanisms of access to information, should lead to the circulation of more well-constructed and grounded ideas. In practice, your neighbor’s conversation ends up on your screen and everyone loves Jack Kerouac. Before, all you had to do was to sabotage all the university parties, pubs that broadcast football, the misogynists, women who call to each other “Hi, girl”, that is, environments that must have some kind of pheromone of imbecility, that the bullshit would keep at a distance.

It was also possible to have more friends. Today, that person who used to be your video-game buddy, and hilarious for that purpose, is now in your timeline “liking” dubious political remarks made by dubious people. The group of friends with which you used to love to travel, camp, and hike trails, is now sharing absurdly wrong information about social benefits to prisoners and they believe they are super in-touch with politics — they even attended the “I’m Done” protest organized by the São Paulo Bar Association. Your old booze buddies are the ones who haven’t changed, which is not necessarily good.

Even the sexual-affective life has been compromised. You don’t expect for that cute boy from the gym to know of Fernando Pessoa, but to call you to go out on comic sans still is an unexpected blow. A friend of mine was once invited to drink a “Diet Cock”. I even forgot what I was going to write. I remembered. I was going to tell you that in the time of Orkut it was common to stalk the profile of the interesting hot guys in search of compromising communities, after all, no one says: “Hey sexy, I sunbathe on the roof ” I hope. Today, however, you don’t need to have the work of searching for compromising things, since we are speaking of social networks in which people express what they think. It is an orthographic-loving disillusion adorned with hate speeches. One more day without sex on the staircases

In a place where everyone wants to have an opinion about everything, you breathe deeply at each tweet, crossing your fingers so that your childhood friends don’t comment on Lula’s cancer. The feeling is equal to the classic moment in the zombie horror film: you are surrounded and have a gun with a few bullets. Kill as many of the zombies as possible before being caught or shot in your own head?

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