Weaving an open redistribution research journal

Research
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5

## of april, 2024

The thing is that it is hard to be a human.

Wake up every day, show up at the table again and again and again. It’s heavy for me.

Now I’m starting to think that maybe it is not that my back hurts. Maybe, this is how it feels to be human. And maybe, I was so distracted before that I didn’t know how to feel.

One day I fell on the grass, and I couldn’t wake up any more. Every time I tried to be in my body, I could seat, I could kneel, and I would fall again. Every time the ground would receive me with a lot of care, so I stopped trying.

I started to caress the grass, and the grass started to caress my hair. The ants were passing over me to go wherever it is that they were going. The fairies came close with curiosity, and when they saw that nothing weird was going on they went back to dance with the trees.

I melted. Humus in the forest. Friends, family, little buddies from the kindergarten, mates and cryptobros, leave me here. You go, I’m good here. I feel a lot. I feel everything.

It is getting dark. I feel the forest, it is hurt. The ants put on a brave face, get up, everything will be ok they say. The fairies are making a ritual to remember all those who are no longer here. They help me remember my ancestors. They tell me the story about the day they met for the first time here in this forest. That was a weird day. They ask me if I know what’s going on.

We go to the whiteboard and I draw a cartesian plane and an exponential growth graph. I explain to them that if in the x axis we have time, in the y axis we have at the same time the economic progress based on accumulation and the insatiable consumption of everything and everyone around us. The graph is growing too fast out of the whiteboard. The problem, I think aloud, is that humans are eating the cows. The problem, I conclude, is that instead of seeing the problem, humans are trying very hard to increase speed and productivity so they can kill more cows.

But cows are sacred, they are our friends.

Now we are all crying. We don’t know if everything will be ok. I cannot breathe. My older brother comes close. He is 8 years old, and he has this mix on his face that shows a lot of love and no patience at the same time, because he will have to take me back to our grandma’s house, crying again. She will hold him responsible for everything and she won’t let him go back to play with the fairies.

I know this is heavy for you, he says to me. And he makes me see my hands and my arms. I see how weird they are, with veins and bones, scratches, moles, hairs and wrinkles. We are little monsters, he says. Strong and fearless. We will wake up and explore the dark forest.

Open threads

:cow::hugs:.