Originally, you would post this text on Tumblr. But he was taking shape in such a way that I found most appropriate fit it here. Then maybe I'll make some corrections on it and you apply some addenda.
was reviewing an old comment on my blog and related books (ok, not that old), and came across a George Leberg which currently is another stylistic (not my style changed radically, of course, always been verbose and convoluted way, but if that coment was written today, there certainly would not be exactly the same words and expressions), while criticizing prohibitively something that neither gives much more ball (ie by change, even light, motion, there was one), by contrast, understands and tolerates up to the extent possible. Such comparisons also occur when, every now and then, revisit the excessive refinements and / or forced (sometimes well prepared to impress, I confess) and enrolations several of my old reviews; Current production appreciates my writing much more cautious and balanced by stoning by the polishing combined with pragmatism and endowed with a keener sense of sonority of words, the "functionality" and impact of the text rather than a boring and devoid of aestheticism real aesthetic sense, although I still fancy (thank goodness) and verbose. I still type writer anxious and insecure, afraid that his theoretical text, or article, review or critical commentary, does not contain everything you want to say about a particular subject at that particular moment, but at less already know how to do better than before.
have applauded, too often, works of art that today I did not cause the same impact, nor did they would raise me yet favorable reviews. Yes, there are some books and films (except those who, despite their dubious quality aesthetic and intellectually important to me are the deep affective value of which I am loyal trustee) who loved the past, child or adolescent, but for which today would make very little or nothing. The same applies to people who have been very dear to me, yet let me down so much that he gave up to forgiveness, friendship or whatever kind of relationship, it ended right there (what else hurts Do ; it is what you do properly, but when it comes to a person he trusted most, and here come into play fair on the other, the degree of trust you place in people, which gradually shrinks until you become a paranoid pessimist, and mainly your pride wounded because of the surprise caused by the fact just be someone you trust so far undisputed), the attitudes and positions in which both my often as others who have incurred defended tooth and nail, thinking himself the spokesman of truth or common sense, on which currently just got put away because of prejudice or laugh at the ridiculous size and immaturity. Autorreflexões and self-reproaches me that only now are possible due to a psychological maturity and intellectual and cultural (interconnected and interdependent) that I was gaining increasing over time and gave me the successive (re) taken conscia ; NCIA open mind.
Yeah, great to know that the experiments in which step literary works more or less provocative and subversive mark me and urge me to a vision more or less critical and upset the world (even extending to other artistic works, I situate the literature in the foreground because it is my passion, art and more significant part of my life) academic successes and failures, the surprising discoveries that are pleasing or not lay bare to my eyes quite often (my intuition only improved from there to here) and the contradiction , s of which I become aware and understand better as time goes on (and requires me changes in consciousness), combined, offer me indeed several readings of the world and possibilities of exercising and experiences that I experienced throughout life, hence my writing matured. Simply put, I'm not as stubborn as I know myself or how others think, everything that step really turns me and mold me, let me in his "indelible mark [but bypass ; level or assimilated], of course gradually, though I have suffered some growing pains and so striking (few so far, thankfully, and I've gotten used to certain conflicts and family problems before they took me more hours of sleep) I did change radically, tore me to consciousness, drawing me now a common term in Dostoevsky.
A great example is the teenager and Leberg Leberg today. Compare. Younger, in high school, I was practically a Protestant fundamentalist, Bible defending any attack or criticism, or even revision, of the more rational and well argued that they were (like I had great notions ; es that this then, blinded by faith immune to questioning); full of prejudice and only watched the Hollywood Commercial Cinema copy - in fact, found the infamous Brazilian cinema a stronghold of movies where you only see and hear, Most often, bitching and cussing, respectively; hated rock, among others "never drink this water." The modern Leberg is agnostic; gets to be boring so critical; also enjoys alternative cinema and through referrals from friends and new cultural opportunities in the city where he lives walks increasingly meet the European and Brazilian cinema; no moralist, and loves strands of rock, especially if it is eighties. One of the few aspects that have persisted in my ego was sarcasm, which only gradually tried to sharpen and become more ruthless, hehe. At least back then I loved literature and was a fan of Harry Potter, contradictions, experiences and literary works were the matrix in certain cases, the driving force in others, many of the questions that began to haunt me until then immature and inept little head, and now here I am, here I am .
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