Muito bom ;-)

Mencken, bom, barba, má. Pode fazer.

Os desenhos são seus? \o/

Pois, são, Gustavo, mas não que isso seja motivo de orgulho. ;>)

Quando acordei reparei que não era um professor, era um antigo apresentador do E! que no sonho eu talvez tenha confundido com Bryant Gumble, ou algo assim.

Desculpe, mas assim que bati o olho no primeiro desenho, o que veio à minha cabeça foi um monte de pêlos pubianos.

Se faltou sexo no seu sonho, não falta mais.

Isso me passou pela cabeça, mas só quando acordei. Não sei como interpretar uma vagina suicida, mas barba suicida também não é muito mais facil.

erm.
mas então ninguém fez a barba.
quer dizer.
ahn. deixa pra lá.

Alexandre, só por curiosidade, como você sabia que o cara dirigindo o carro era um professor? :)

Alexandre,

Transforma esse sonho num roteiro e manda pro David Lynch! Abraços!

Curioso... embora alguém vá dizer que há uma certa ironia neo-burguesa liberal antimarxista no contexto.

Barba vinda da direita do palco e depois raspada? Sinto desapontar os freudianos, mas o Alexandre sonhou foi com o Enéas.

A pior parte é que isso não fica assim tão distante do que boa parte do que se faz de teatro em São Paulo hoje... uma lástima. Mas sempre há o que se salve, ainda bem.

Raspar a barba pode ser considerado um ato subversivo. Os caras que saltaram devem ser militantes de esquerda ou fundamentalistas religiosos dispostos a tudo para impedir tamanho sacrilégio.

As pessoas correndo pra salvar estão muito boas, o carinha da direita todo NAAAAAAA... ^^

Muito bom, Alexandre.

Esse sonho é facilmente interpretado pelo método iungo-munguiano/fróido-petista. Revela q vc tem medo de se ver como lulista enrustido – portanto, diria Lacan, vc já se vê como um lulista enrustido. Pelo seguinte: toda pessoa q figura num sonho é um alter-ego do próprio sonhador; e, em sonhos, o teatro é um símbolo da psiquê (o consciente é onde as peças são apresentadas ao público, teu eu social; o sub- e o in-consciente são os bastidores, sub-solos, &c; vide "O Fantasma da Ópera"). No teu sonho, o ator é vc mesmo apresentando a si mesmo a própria lulidade e querendo, digamos, barbeá-la – isto é, mostrar q vc está por trás da barba lulista, revelar q vc está escondendo de si mesmo o fato de q uma parte de vc é lulista, embora vindo da direita (ou seja, indo prà esquerda). A lata na mão é uma cerveja q teu inconsciente matreiramente identificou como creme de barbear (= cerveja cremosa: coisa de Lula: coisa de homem). O fato de q o ator pretende usar o creme, indica q somente num estado de embriaguez vc se barbearia (ou seja, se desnudaria perante os outros) e admitiria q tem mais pontos de concordância com Lula do q admitiria abertamente estando sóbrio. Teu superego então procurou a todo custo impedir a revelação suicida ("adeus, mundo cruel"), e atacou o ator (ou fingidor) q quer revelar sua identidade oculta. Na verdade, o ataque do superego está fadado ao fracasso desde o início, pois o próprio sonho JÁ É a temida revelação. Pra se defender, o ator (tua persona pública) revela q o superego foi traído ("corno") – isto é, q teu conservadorismo está emasculado de alguma forma. Essas ameaças de revelações abalaram vc de tal forma q vc se sentiu mais lento (mais atrasado) q um professor mulato (ou seja – no teu universo simbólico – um professor brasileiro "de periferia"); então procurou compensar com o anúncio de um desejo de vingança desesperada por meio de uma tese professoral sobre um notório satirista sarcástico em quem o teu consciente se apóia pra satirizar e sarcasmizar a odiada imagem externa da tua vergonhosa verdade íntima: Lula (Soares) da Silva.

Simples, não? :•)

Alexandre e Bruno,
para um teste de Rorschach o estranho seria não pensar em uma vagina, acho eu.
Abraços,
Gabriel Filártiga.

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