(Tenho estado atenta à discussão do aborto)
Lá largámos a Lapa e seguimos pela estrada em direcção à Quinta do Borel (Amadora Quite City). Um frio...a conversa sobre o aborto lá disparou na boca sábia e vivida do Filipe. O meu precioso Filipe. O João acrescentou mais umas observações, as me. Conclusão: chegados ao destino, a equação do parlatório mantém-se uma incógnita....
Para mim, todos ralham e ninguém tem razão...conhecem o provérbio por inteiro?
quarta-feira, janeiro 31, 2007
"Já estou naquela fase em que quanto mais oiço, mais gosto."
Pois, acho que é uma das frases mais ouvidas do ano....acho que este reparo aplica-se a quem prova pela primeira vez ostras. Talvez? Claro, uns ficam-se pelo caminho. Outros, viciam-se descaradamente e dispostos a pagar o necessário.
Pela arte, sempre estive disposta a pagar o necessário. A única droga à qual me sujeito. Os efeitos valem cada cêntimo.
Downloads: já dizia na Underground (2006) que apoio o mercado da pirataria ao jeito de uma Robina dos bosques. Lamento chocar. Mas quem não tem, não pode ser privado. Permintam que a malta se injecte de cultura. Um mal necessário perante o abuso das margens de exploração, crime esse de origem.
Tenho esta visão utópica e amaldiçoada.
Pois, acho que é uma das frases mais ouvidas do ano....acho que este reparo aplica-se a quem prova pela primeira vez ostras. Talvez? Claro, uns ficam-se pelo caminho. Outros, viciam-se descaradamente e dispostos a pagar o necessário.
Pela arte, sempre estive disposta a pagar o necessário. A única droga à qual me sujeito. Os efeitos valem cada cêntimo.
Downloads: já dizia na Underground (2006) que apoio o mercado da pirataria ao jeito de uma Robina dos bosques. Lamento chocar. Mas quem não tem, não pode ser privado. Permintam que a malta se injecte de cultura. Um mal necessário perante o abuso das margens de exploração, crime esse de origem.
Tenho esta visão utópica e amaldiçoada.
segunda-feira, janeiro 29, 2007
Nick Cave
For you S. É plágio blogista...mas é linda. Obrigada por te teres atravessado no meu caminho com estes "Braços". Lembrei-me que em 1991, fui chamada à Direcção de programas por ter posto Nick Cave no ar num Domingo às 8.00 am...unbelievable...nessa altura pensei : esquece o ar. Mergulha no vinil. Um dia, contar-vos-ei.
Amargoso sangue
Photo by R. Bernardo 2006
Traçei um caminho distante. Demais. São pedras que piso na strada: o meu coração, gelo cúbico,que, de capítulo em capítulo, esmago. Escrevo-te, amargoso sangue. Coagula, abraça-me esse derradeiro capítulo. Coa a gula.
Voice & Silence
E. E.Cummings' poems are filled with references to silence and voice. In is 5, section Four (1926), the poet, interestingly enough, gives an account of his poetic activity in these words:
some ask praise of their fellows
but i being otherwise
made compose curves
and yellows,angles or silences
to a less erring end)
myself is sculptor of
your body’s idiom:
the musician of your wrists;
the poet who is afraid
only to mistranslate
a rhythm in your hair,
(your fingertips
the way you move)
the painter of your voice—
beyond these elements
remarkably nothing is.…
(CP 292)
http://www.gvsu.edu/english/cummings/issue9/Alfand9.htm
Silence is experience.
Silence is a quality, or even more, emotion itself. It may either qualify a noun ("silent shoulders"), be a qualified substantive ("nervous and accurate silence" [CP 114]),or be presented as a quality in itself ("she smelled of silence" [CP 208]). Of course, silence is a quality the senses perceive even if we cannot properly name it. And indeed, the poet hardly ever uses the word "silence" alone. But silence is not completely unknown to us even though it remains almost unnamed. How would we be able otherwise to understand the phrase "she smelled of silence" without having at least once felt it? Unspeakable, silence is not imperceptible but can only be attained by indirect means. One of them is synesthesia. Silence is more than just an idea or a thing, it is a phenemenon, a form for emotion to occur. Being an abstraction, as is always the case with abstraction in Cummings’ poetry, does not prevent it from being [end page 37] essentially tactile. The abstraction of silence is more than perceptible —it is purely sensuous.
some ask praise of their fellows
but i being otherwise
made compose curves
and yellows,angles or silences
to a less erring end)
myself is sculptor of
your body’s idiom:
the musician of your wrists;
the poet who is afraid
only to mistranslate
a rhythm in your hair,
(your fingertips
the way you move)
the painter of your voice—
beyond these elements
remarkably nothing is.…
(CP 292)
http://www.gvsu.edu/english/cummings/issue9/Alfand9.htm
Silence is experience.
Silence is a quality, or even more, emotion itself. It may either qualify a noun ("silent shoulders"), be a qualified substantive ("nervous and accurate silence" [CP 114]),or be presented as a quality in itself ("she smelled of silence" [CP 208]). Of course, silence is a quality the senses perceive even if we cannot properly name it. And indeed, the poet hardly ever uses the word "silence" alone. But silence is not completely unknown to us even though it remains almost unnamed. How would we be able otherwise to understand the phrase "she smelled of silence" without having at least once felt it? Unspeakable, silence is not imperceptible but can only be attained by indirect means. One of them is synesthesia. Silence is more than just an idea or a thing, it is a phenemenon, a form for emotion to occur. Being an abstraction, as is always the case with abstraction in Cummings’ poetry, does not prevent it from being [end page 37] essentially tactile. The abstraction of silence is more than perceptible —it is purely sensuous.
Silence
THERE are some qualities -- some incorporate things,
That have a double life, which thus is made
A type of that twin entity which springs
From matter and light, evinced in solid and shade.
There is a two-fold _Silence_ -- sea and shore --
Body and soul. One dwells in lonely places,
Newly with grass o'ergrown; some solemn graces,
Some human memories and tearful lore,
Render him terrorless: his name's "No More."
He is the corporate Silence: dread him not!
No power hath he of evil in himself;
But should some urgent fate (untimely lot!)
Bring thee to meet his shadow (nameless elf,
That haunteth the lone regions where hath trod
No foot of man,) commend thyself to God!
1840.
_________
-THE END-
Edgar Allan Poe's poem: Silence (from the collection of Poems of Manhood)
That have a double life, which thus is made
A type of that twin entity which springs
From matter and light, evinced in solid and shade.
There is a two-fold _Silence_ -- sea and shore --
Body and soul. One dwells in lonely places,
Newly with grass o'ergrown; some solemn graces,
Some human memories and tearful lore,
Render him terrorless: his name's "No More."
He is the corporate Silence: dread him not!
No power hath he of evil in himself;
But should some urgent fate (untimely lot!)
Bring thee to meet his shadow (nameless elf,
That haunteth the lone regions where hath trod
No foot of man,) commend thyself to God!
1840.
_________
-THE END-
Edgar Allan Poe's poem: Silence (from the collection of Poems of Manhood)
Crazed Fans
Tribute to Dimebag Darrell of PANTERA. Guitar painted by Diaz.
Dimebag Darrell (born Darrell Lance Abbott August 20, 1966 – December 8, 2004), also known as Diamond Darrell until mid 1992, was the lead guitarist for the heavy metal band(s) Pantera, Damageplan and Rebel Meets Rebel. He played right up until his murder on stage in 2004 by Nathan Gale.
The shootings had occurred on the 24th anniversary of the murder of John Lennon (who himself was murdered by a crazed fan), but there is no indication that this was a factor in Gale's actions.
domingo, janeiro 28, 2007
Fazes
http://fotografia.5.forumer.com/index.php?s=f08dd65db5a3a54c472dd7e106f9b8e6&showtopic=28798&st=0&#entry222691
Parabéns Carla. Pelos vistos, há mais quem te reconheça o mérito. Fazes-me feliz.
Parabéns Carla. Pelos vistos, há mais quem te reconheça o mérito. Fazes-me feliz.
Portrait
Portrait by Paula Nunes of Sophia @Fnac Chiado 2007 Jan 23
Obrigada Paula. Pintar-me é descobrir uma parte de mim. É teres acesso a algo dificilmente acessível, embora aparenta o contrário.
Um Beijo nesse ser que te abraça.
sábado, janeiro 27, 2007
"Moon River"
Music by Henry Mancini, lyrics by Johnny Mercer
Perfomed by Audrey Hepburn
Moon River, wider than a mile,
I'm crossing you in style some day.
Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker,
wherever you're going I'm going your way.
Two drifters off to see the world.
There's such a lot of world to see.
We're after the same rainbow's end--
waiting 'round the bend,
my huckleberry friend,
Moon River and me.
© 1961 Paramount Music Corporation, ASCAP
This is a letter that Audrey Hepburn sent to Henry Mancini after his score was added to the film.
It reads:
Dear Henry,
I have just seen our picture - BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY'S - this time with your score. A movie without music is a little bit like an aeroplane without fuel. However beautifully the job is done, we are still on the ground and in a world of reality. Your music has lifted us all up and sent us soaring. Everything we cannot say with words or show with action you have expressed for us. You have done this with so much imagination, fun and beauty.
You are the hippest of cats - and the most sensitive of composers!
Thank you, dear Hank.
Lots of love, Audrey
sexta-feira, janeiro 26, 2007
Semi cerrada
It's a boy!
Esperámos por ti 9 meses, talvez até mais, atendendo ao nosso escasso entendimento da vida.
Acordaste hoje pelas 06 da manhã. Avisaste-nos à 1 da manhã, e claro deitei-me e passei a noite a vista semi cerrada. Disse-te? Sonhei contigo: nasceste de cabelo comprido, belo, como se o vento te amasse.E hoje, dizem-me, pois ainda não te vi com estes olhos crús, que tens uma madeixa de cabelo branco:) Incrível, assim como a vida que te espera.
Esperámos por ti 9 meses, talvez até mais, atendendo ao nosso escasso entendimento da vida.
Acordaste hoje pelas 06 da manhã. Avisaste-nos à 1 da manhã, e claro deitei-me e passei a noite a vista semi cerrada. Disse-te? Sonhei contigo: nasceste de cabelo comprido, belo, como se o vento te amasse.E hoje, dizem-me, pois ainda não te vi com estes olhos crús, que tens uma madeixa de cabelo branco:) Incrível, assim como a vida que te espera.
quinta-feira, janeiro 25, 2007
Génios entre amadores
A Foto está excelente. A Carla diz-se não profissional. Curioso, encontro sempre os maiores génios entre amadores.
Não param de me espantar...
P.S.: Desculpem o abuso dos três pontos em fim de frase, mas fico sempre com a sensação de que algo fica sempre por acrescentar. Nunca quero dar nada por terminado. É francamente patológico.
Não param de me espantar...
P.S.: Desculpem o abuso dos três pontos em fim de frase, mas fico sempre com a sensação de que algo fica sempre por acrescentar. Nunca quero dar nada por terminado. É francamente patológico.
quarta-feira, janeiro 24, 2007
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