domingo, 28 de agosto de 2011

When you first start off trying to solve a problem, the first solutions you come up with are very complex, and most people stop there, but if you keep going, and live with the problem and peel more layers of the onion off, you can often times arrive at some very elegant and simple solutions.


Steve Jobs [1955-]

quarta-feira, 13 de julho de 2011

There's no Chaos, no Order. Just patterns of different levels of Complexity.

The Books of Magic - Neil Gaiman [1960-]

sexta-feira, 8 de julho de 2011

I can resist everything except temptation.

Oscar Wilde
[1854-1900]

sábado, 28 de maio de 2011

The Revolution will not be televised.



You will not be able to stay home, brother.
You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out.
You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and skip,
Skip out for beer during commercials,
Because the revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be brought to you by Xerox
In 4 parts without commercial interruptions.
The revolution will not show you pictures of Nixon
blowing a bugle and leading a charge by John
Mitchell, General Abrams and Spiro Agnew to eat
hog maws confiscated from a Harlem sanctuary.
The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be brought to you by the
Schaefer Award Theatre and will not star Natalie
Woods and Steve McQueen or Bullwinkle and Julia.
The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal.
The revolution will not get rid of the nubs.
The revolution will not make you look five pounds
thinner, because the revolution will not be televised, Brother.

There will be no pictures of you and Willie May
pushing that shopping cart down the block on the dead run,
or trying to slide that color television into a stolen ambulance.
NBC will not be able predict the winner at 8:32
or report from 29 districts.
The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
brothers in the instant replay.
There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
brothers in the instant replay.
There will be no pictures of Whitney Young being
run out of Harlem on a rail with a brand new process.
There will be no slow motion or still life of Roy
Wilkens strolling through Watts in a Red, Black and
Green liberation jumpsuit that he had been saving
For just the proper occasion.

Green Acres, The Beverly Hillbillies, and Hooterville
Junction will no longer be so damned relevant, and
women will not care if Dick finally gets down with
Jane on Search for Tomorrow because Black people
will be in the street looking for a brighter day.
The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no highlights on the eleven o'clock
news and no pictures of hairy armed women
liberationists and Jackie Onassis blowing her nose.
The theme song will not be written by Jim Webb,
Francis Scott Key, nor sung by Glen Campbell, Tom
Jones, Johnny Cash, Englebert Humperdink, or the Rare Earth.
The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be right back after a message
bbout a white tornado, white lightning, or white people.
You will not have to worry about a dove in your
bedroom, a tiger in your tank, or the giant in your toilet bowl.
The revolution will not go better with Coke.
The revolution will not fight the germs that may cause bad breath.
The revolution will put you in the driver's seat.

The revolution will not be televised, will not be televised,
will not be televised, will not be televised.
The revolution will be no re-run brothers;
The revolution will be live.

Gil Scott-Heron [1949-2011]

sábado, 22 de janeiro de 2011

Poema Pícaro

Pomposo,ponderado, primoroso,
Pacheco passeia pelo parque.
Pretende parecer paternal.
Procura, porém, prazeres proibidos,
possuído por propósitos pornográficos.
Persegue pequenas púberes
(possivelmente pianistas precoces?
professoras primárias potenciais?
provincianas pobres? plutocratas, porventura?
pulmonares predestinadas? princesas, por partida?
pragmatistas praticantes? protagonistas prévias?),
propiciando presentes pacholas,
Pretenso purista, pseudopuritano,
prodigaliza pirolitos, popcorn, pinhões;
perfidamente, provocante,
patenteia porcos postais parisienses.
Pestisca prazenteiro,
puxando pelas pratas,
pressurosamente pagando.
Propõe patinarem (pudera!).
Perturbado pelos pulos, pelo pagode,
Pacheco piora, perde placidez, prevarica:
precipita-se, pletórico, purpúreo, priápico
palpando pernas polpudas.
Pessoas presentes percebem perfeitamente
- pedem, pois, para prender Pacheco.
Perguntado por prestimosos populares,
por pais presumivelmente profanados,
por polícias prontificados,
por paisanas proficientes,
Pacheco protesta, prolixamente,
proclama protecções proeminentes
(permitindo pressupor privilégios),
promete peremptoriamente promoções.
Previdentemente, prova precedentes probos.
Populares, pais, polícias, paisanas
passam por parvos - porque pedem perdão,
Pacheco prossegue.
Protejamos, portanto, pueris primícias,
pessoalmente prevenindo:
Prudência, pais portugueses!
Pelos parques perpassa,
pomposo, ponderado, primoroso,
Pacheco - perigo público.

José Sesinando [1923-1995]

quinta-feira, 23 de dezembro de 2010

Happy Christmas - Feliz Natal



God rest ye merry, gentlemen
Let nothing you dismay
Remember, Christ, our Saviour
Was born on Christmas day
To save us all from Satan's power
When we were gone astray
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy

In Bethlehem, in Israel,
This blessed Babe was born
And laid within a manger
Upon this blessed morn
The which His Mother Mary
Did nothing take in scorn
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy

From God our Heavenly Father
A blessed Angel came;
And unto certain Shepherds
Brought tidings of the same:
How that in Bethlehem was born
The Son of God by Name.
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy

"Fear not then," said the Angel,
"Let nothing you affright,
This day is born a Saviour
Of a pure Virgin bright,
To free all those who trust in Him
From Satan's power and might."
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy

The shepherds at those tidings
Rejoiced much in mind,
And left their flocks a-feeding
In tempest, storm and wind:
And went to Bethlehem straightway
The Son of God to find.
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy

And when they came to Bethlehem
Where our dear Saviour lay,
They found Him in a manger,
Where oxen feed on hay;
His Mother Mary kneeling down,
Unto the Lord did pray.
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy

Now to the Lord sing praises,
All you within this place,
And with true love and brotherhood
Each other now embrace;
This holy tide of Christmas
All other doth deface.
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy

[Trad. Séc XVIII]

quinta-feira, 18 de novembro de 2010

We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.

[Oscar Wilde 1854–1900]

terça-feira, 21 de setembro de 2010

Banda Sonora XV



Dos estrellas le siguen
Morena, Morena
Y dan luz al sol:
Va de apuesta,
Senora morena, morena
Que esos ojos son

[Manuel Machado 1590-1646]

sexta-feira, 17 de setembro de 2010

Discworld Philosophy

Cohen, the Barbarian:
When I was a young man, carving my name on the world, I liked my women red-headed and fiery...
And then I grew a little older and looked at women with blond hair and the glint of the world in her eye...
But then I grew a little older again and I came to see the point of dark women of a sultry nature.
Rincewind:
Then what? What is it that you look for in a woman now?
Cohen, the Barbarian:
Patience.

[The Light Fantastic - Terry Pratchett 1948- ]

quarta-feira, 11 de agosto de 2010

The Lady of Shalott

PART I

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro’ the field the road runs by
To many-tower’d Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Thro’ the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four gray walls, and four gray towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow-veil’d,
Slide the heavy barges trail’d
By slow horses; and unhail’d
The shallop flitteth silken-sail’d
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early
In among the bearded barley,
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly,
Down to tower’d Camelot:
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers ‘’Tis the fairy
Lady of Shalott.’

PART II

There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.

And moving thro’ a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot:
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village-churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls,
Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad,
Or long-hair’d page in crimson clad,
Goes by to tower’d Camelot:
And sometimes thro’ the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two:
She hath no loyal knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror’s magic sights,
For often thro’ the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights,
And music, went to Camelot:
Or when the moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed;
‘I am half sick of shadows,’ said
The Lady of Shalott.

PART III

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley-sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro’ the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel’d
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter’d free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazon’d baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armour rung,
Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell’d shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn’d like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often thro’ the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, trailing light,
Moves over still Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow’d;
On burnish’d hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow’d
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flash’d into the crystal mirror,
‘Tirra lirra,’ by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces thro’ the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look’d down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack’d from side to side;
‘The curse is come upon me!’ cried
The Lady of Shalott.

PART IV

In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining,
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower’d Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And round about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.

And down the river’s dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right
The leaves upon her falling light
Thro’ the noises of the night
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darken’d wholly,
Turn’d to tower’d Camelot;
For ere she reach’d upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and burgher, lord and dame,
And round the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.

Who is this? and what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they cross’d themselves for fear,
All the knights at Camelot:
But Lancelot mused a little space;
He said, ‘She has a lovely face;
God in His mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott.’

[Alfred, Lord Tennyson 1809-1892]

terça-feira, 27 de julho de 2010

Moses supposes

Moses supposes his toeses are roses
But Moses supposes erroneously
for nobody's toeses are posies of roses
As Moses supposes his toeses to be.

[Traditional nursery rhyme]

domingo, 25 de julho de 2010

If

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

[Rudyard Kipling 1865-1936]

quinta-feira, 22 de julho de 2010

Déficit de atenção

Já estava há três dias pendurado na beira do telhado quando se lembrou que podia ter ido pelas escadas.

sexta-feira, 4 de junho de 2010

A dream within a dream

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep - while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

[Edgar Allan Poe 1809-1849]

quinta-feira, 18 de fevereiro de 2010

Solitude

Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow it's mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air.
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go.
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all.
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life's gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a long and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.

[Ella Wheeler Wilcox 1850-1919]

sábado, 2 de janeiro de 2010

Eu adoro todas as coisas
E o meu coração é um albergue aberto toda a noite.
Tenho pela vida um interesse ávido
Que busca compreendê-la sentindo-a muito.
Amo tudo, animo tudo, empresto humanidade a tudo,
Aos homens e às pedras, às almas e às máquinas,
Para aumentar com isso a minha personalidade.
Pertenço a tudo para pertencer cada vez mais a mim próprio
E a minha ambição era trazer o universo ao colo
Como uma criança a quem a ama beija.

[Álvaro de Campos]

segunda-feira, 28 de dezembro de 2009

"I like airplanes. I like anywhere that isn't a proper place. I like in-betweens."

[Delirium (in Sandman) - Neil Gaiman]

Banda Sonora XIV

O que será criar uma obra que fica para as próximas gerações? Aposto que, na maior parte das vezes, quem o faz nem sequer pensa nisso.



Out on the wiley, windy moors
We'd roll and fall in green
You had a temper, like my jealousy
Too hot, too greedy
How could you leave me?
When I needed to possess you?
I hated you, I loved you too

Bad dreams in the night
They told me I was going to lose the fight
Leave behind my wuthering, wuthering
Wuthering Heights

Heathcliff, its me, Cathy come home
I'm so cold, let me in-a-your window

Oh it gets dark, it gets lonely
On the other side from you
I pine alot, I find the lot
Falls through without you
I'm coming back love, cruel Heathcliff
My one dream, my only master

Too long I roam in the night
I'm coming back to his side to put it right
I'm coming home to wuthering, wuthering,
Wuthering Heights

Oh let me have it, let me grab your soul away
Oh let me have it, let me grab your soul away
You know it's me, Cathy

[Kate Bush - Wuthering Heights - 1978]

quinta-feira, 24 de dezembro de 2009

Natal Chique

Percorro o dia, que esmorece
Nas ruas cheias de rumor;
Minha alma vã desaparece
Na muita pressa e pouco amor.

Hoje é Natal. Comprei um anjo,
Dos que anunciam no jornal;
Mas houve um etéreo desarranjo
E o efeito em casa saiu mal.

Valeu-me um príncipe esfarrapado
A quem dão coroas no meio disto,
Um moço doente, desanimado…
Só esse pobre me pareceu Cristo.

[Vitorino Nemésio 1901-1978]

terça-feira, 3 de novembro de 2009

Banda Sonora XIII

Call me easy, say I'm strong, love me my way, it ain't wrong.
Katharina Franck com os Rainbirds. Uma das melhores escritoras de canções da Europa. Vale mesmo a pena acompanhar o seu trabalho.



You might be knocking
Knocking knocking at my door
Don`t you wonder, baby
You`ll find me
Rocking rocking
Back and forth on the floor

I hear a rocking song
It`ll take just as long
I need to enter the screen
To walk thru the mirror
Down thru that hallway
Within the walls, the lengh of my spine

I rock for my mama
Rock for my papa
Rock for my sister to get things right
I rock when i`m lonely
Rock for you only
Only you to hold me tight

This is a rocking song
It`ll take just as long
I need to enter the screen
To walk thru that mirror
Down thru that hallway
Within the walls, the lengh of my spine
I rock for my body
The feel for my body
I rock for a rhythm a reason a ryhme
Just sittin` there swaying
Pretending i`m trying
When i should be fighting for

Sea of time
Did you learn how to swim
Did you learn how to move
Sea of time
Did you learn how to swim
Did you learn how to move

You might be knocking
Knocking knocking at my door
Don`t you wonder, baby
You`ll find me
Rocking rocking
Back and forth on the floor

This is a rocking song
It`ll take just as long
I need to enter the screen
To walk thru that mirror
Down thru that hallway
Within the walls, the lengh of my spine
I rock for my body
The feel for my body
I rock for a rhythm a reason a ryhme
I rock for my freedom the feel of my freedom
I rock for a passion a party a thrill
Now there`s someone pointing at me
With a finger
`cause i should be fighting for

Sea of time
Did you learn how to swim
Did you learn how to move
Sea of time
Did you learn how to swim
Did you learn how to move
If you don`t want to drown in this muddy water
You will have to move
You must learn how to swim
You have to have a plan
I follow my own little plan
And it`s right here
And when i looked
I saw
That somebody had erased my video scrapbook
And i said: shit!
Is there nothing sacred anymore?
Mmmmmmh
Did you learn how to swim
Did you learn how to move
Yeah, did you learn how to move
And you gotta watch out for what they say
`cause they...sometimes they say:
Take it easy
Take it easy, now
But i know that
Waking up ain't easy, no
When you`re lonely
Sea of time
Did you
Did you learn
Now, did you learn how to swim
Now, did you learn how to move
Did you?
You wanna, you wanna drown in this muddy water
Muddy water here i come, huh!
I wanna drown
Sea of time
Call me easy
Say i`m strong
Love me my way
It ain`t wrong
Ooh yeah
Time
Sea of time
Oooh
Did you learn
Call me easy
Say i`m strong
Love me my way
It ain`t wrong

[Rainbirds - Sea of Time]

sexta-feira, 30 de outubro de 2009

Aplica-se a tanta gente...

"I like hearing myself talk. Is one of my greatest pleasures. I often have long conversations all by myself, and I am so clever that sometimes I don't understand a single word of what I am saying."

[The Remarkable Rocket - Oscar Wilde 1854–1900]

quarta-feira, 28 de outubro de 2009

Pequeño Vals Vienés

E de Cohen a Ana Belén...



En Viena hay diez muchachas,
un hombro donde solloza la muerte
y un bosque de palomas disecadas.
Hay un fragmento de la mañana
en el museo de la escarcha.
Hay un salón con mil ventanas.

¡Ay, ay, ay, ay!
Toma este vals con la boca cerrada.

Este vals, este vals, este vals, este vals,
de sí, de muerte y de coñac
que moja su cola en el mar.

Te quiero, te quiero, te quiero,
con la butaca y el libro muerto,
por el melancólico pasillo,
en el oscuro desván del lirio,
en nuestra cama de la luna
y en la danza que sueña la tortuga.

¡Ay, ay, ay, ay!
Toma este vals de quebrada cintura.

En Viena hay cuatro espejos
donde juegan tu boca y los ecos.
Hay una muerte para piano
que pinta de azul a los muchachos.
Hay mendigos por los tejados,
hay frescas guirnaldas de llanto.

¡Ay, ay, ay, ay!
Toma este vals que se muere en mis brazos.

Porque te quiero, te quiero, amor mío,
en el desván donde juegan los niños,
soñando viejas luces de Hungría
por los rumores de la tarde tibia,
viendo ovejas y lirios de nieve
por el silencio oscuro de tu frente.

¡Ay, ay, ay, ay!
Toma este vals, este vals del "Te quiero siempre".

En Viena bailaré contigo
con un disfraz que tenga
cabeza de río.
¡Mira qué orillas tengo de jacintos!
Dejaré mi boca entre tus piernas,
mi alma en fotografías y azucenas,
y en las ondas oscuras de tu andar
quiero, amor mío, amor mío, dejar,
violín y sepulcro, las cintas del vals.

[Federico García Lorca 1898-1936]

Banda Sonora XII

Uma valsa amordaçada. De Lorca a Cohen.



Now in Vienna there's ten pretty women
There's a shoulder where death comes to cry
There's a lobby with nine hundred windows
There's a tree where the doves go to die
There's a piece that was torn from the morning
And it hangs in theGallery of Frost

Aey, aey, aey, aey
Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take this waltz with the clamp on its jaws

Oh I want you, I want you, I want you
On a chair with a dead magazine
In the cave at the tip of the lily
In some hallway where love's never been
On a bed where the moon has been sweating
In a cry filled with footsteps and sand

Aey, aey, aey, aey
Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take its broken waist in your hand
This waltz, this waltz, this waltz, this waltz
With its very own breath of brandy and death
Dragging its tail in the sea

There's a concert hall in Vienna
Where your mouth had a thousand reviews
There's a bar where the boys have stopped talking
They've been sentenced to death by the blues
But who is it climbs to your picture
With a garland of freshly cut tears?

Aey, aey, aey, aey
Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take this waltz it's been dying for years

There's an attic where children are playing
Where I've got to lie down with you soon
In a dream of Hungarian lanterns
In the mist of some sweet afternoon
And I'll see what you've chained to your sorrow
All your sheep and your lilies of snow

Aey, aey, aey, aey
Take this waltz, take this waltz
With its, I'll never forget you, you know
This waltz, this waltz, this waltz, this waltz
With its very own breath of brandy and death
Dragging its tail in the sea

And I'll dance with you in Vienna
I'll be wearing a river's disguise
The hyacinth wild on my shoulder
My mouth on the dew of your thighs
And I'll bury my soul in a scrapbook
With the photographs there, and the moss

And I'll yield to the flood of your beauty
My cheap violin and my cross
And you'll carry me down on your dancing
To the pools that you lift on your wrist
Oh my love, oh my love
Take this waltz, take this waltz
It's yours now, it's all that there is

[Leonard Cohen - Take this Waltz]

quinta-feira, 22 de outubro de 2009

"Which one of you is the last rubber duck in the tub of mediocrity?"

[The Weakest Link - BBC]

segunda-feira, 19 de outubro de 2009

De regresso... mais uma vez.

Cansado e pouco inspirado para escrever, limito-me a ouvir. Uma vez e outra.



Load up on guns
Bring your friends
Its fun to lose
And to pretend
Shes overboard
Myself assured
I know I know
A dirty word

Hello

With the lights out its less dangerous
Here we are now
Entertain us
I feel stupid and contagious
Here we are now
Entertain us
A mulatto
An albino
A mosquito
My libido
Yea

Im worse at what I do best
And for this gift I feel blessed
Our little group has always been
And always will until the end

Hello

With the lights out its less dangerous
Here we are now
Entertain us
I feel stupid and contagious
Here we are now
Entertain us
A mulatto
An albino
A mosquito
My libido
Yea

And I forget
Just what it takes
And yet I guess it makes me smile
I found it hard
Its hard to find
Oh well, whatever, nevermind

Hello

With the lights out its less dangerous
Here we are now
Entertain us
I feel stupid and contagious
Here we are now
Entertain us
A mulatto
An albino
A mosquito
My libido
Yea

[Tori Amos - Smells like teen spirit]