Horácio Guimarães
Protagonist of the next book by Paulo Drama, coming soon.
Seventy years old, a dog, and an enter key
Vision
Operated myopia, tired eyes, and a tendency toward glaucoma, kept in check for ten years
by a drop of eye medication in each eye.
Mission
To write profiles of famous people those on the verge of fame or enslaved by it. Short, sharp texts, as light as a brick and as affectionate as a kick to the shins. Here, myths fall, hypocrisies stink, and I have a good time.
Values
Honesty with bad breath, well-brushed sarcasm, and lucidity with dark circles under the eyes. We abhor gurus, clichés, and so-called truths sold in installments. We despise hypocrisy disguised as elegance, sanctified fake news, and any guru claiming to have answers, especially if they charge for them.
This blog is not a temple; it’s a grimy wall where a grumpy 7.0 old man leaves his marks with rough words.
I write about others, starting with myself, like every moralist old man in disguise. I’m a widower, a writer, a former editor, and a survivor of post-chloroquine Brazil.
I live in Pinheiros, neighborhood of São Paulo with my dog, Botox, whose white fur is better kept than mine. I used to be young, handsome, and full of myself; now I’m just full of myself. I like Russian literature, Greek philosophy, and stupid memes.
I have two kids and an old platonic crush on the wrong Clarice. There’s no self-help or motivational quotes here, just living people and those who’ve already gone.
I don’t want likes; I want to provoke to itch, to irritate, to make people think. My mission is to scratch the varnish, scrape off the poses, and poke at the wounds, even with arthritis. If that bothers you, good. You’re on the right track.
