Phoenix in the water...

"I’m a phoenix in the water A fish that’s learnt to fly And I’ve always been a daughter But feathers are meant for the sky So I’m wishing, wishing further For the excitement to arrive It’s just I’d rather be causing the chaos Than laying at the sharp end of this knife With every small disaster I’ll let the waters still Take me away to some place real 'Cause they say home is where your heart is set in stone where you go when you’re alone Is where you go to rest your bones It’s not just where you lay your head It's not just where you make your bed As long as we’re together, does it matter where we go? Home Home So when I’m ready to be bolder, And my cuts have healed with time Comfort will rest on my shoulder And I’ll bury my future behind I’ll always keep you with me You’ll be always on my mind But there’s a shining in the shadows I’ll never know unless I try With every small disaster I’ll let the waters still Take me away to some place real 'Cause they say home is where your heart is set in stone where you go when you’re alone Is where you go to rest your bones It’s not just where you lay your head It's not just where you make your bed As long as we’re together, does it matter where we go? Home, Home".

Self preservation

How are you to imagine anything if the images are always provided for you? Doublethink. To deliberately believe in lies while knowing they’re false. Examples of this in every day life: Oh, I need to be pretty to be happy. I need surgery to be pretty. I - I need to be thin. Famous. Fashionable. Our young men today are being told that women are whores. Bitches. Things to be screwed. Beaten. Shit on. And shamed. This is a marketing holocaust. Twenty four hours a day, for the rest of our lives, the powers at be are hard at work dumbing us to death. So, to defend ourselves, and fight against assimilating this dullness into our thought processes, we must learn to read. To stimulate our own imagination. To cultivate our own consciousness. Our own belief systems. We all need these skills to defend, to preserve, our own minds." in Detachment.

Pessoal e intramissível...

(...) E do que eu gosto mais em ti é dos teus defeitos, dos teus pecados, da tua mentira que odeias. Para se gostar mesmo, como eu gosto de ti, é preciso dar atenção ao de que não se gosta nada das outras vezes, mesmo nada, isso é que é gostar como eu gosto de ti, é isso, só isso, que me faz gostar de ti. (...) os teus feitos são mortais, mas os pecados, esses são só teus. E meus, se tu quiseres. Pedro Paixão in, "Muito,meu amor "

Petal by petal...

"your slightest look easily will unclose me though I have closed myself as fingers, you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens (touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose (I do not know what it is about you that closes and opens; only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands". E.E. Cummings

Come in...

Liquid...

If language were liquid It would be rushing in Instead here we are In a silence more eloquent Than any word could ever be These words are too solid They don't move fast enough To catch the blur in the brain That flies by and is gone Gone Gone Gone I'd like to meet you In a timeless, placeless place Somewhere out of context And beyond all consequences Let's go back to the building (Words are too solid) On Little West Twelfth It is not far away (They don't move fast enough) And the river is there And the sun and the spaces Are all laying low (To catch the blur in the brain) And we'll sit in the silence (That flies by and is) That comes rushing in and is Gone (Gone) I won't use words again They don't mean what I meant They don't say what I said They're just the crust of the meaning With realms underneath Never touched Never stirred Never even moved through If language were liquid It would be rushing in Instead here we are In a silence more eloquent Than any word could ever be And is gone Gone Gone And is gone".

On Slavery...

Santa Claus...

500 days of Summer

Pele...

Muholland drive, de David Lynch, 2001.

"Como ela..somos livres...somos livres...somos livres...de dizer.."

Escolhi esta canção para lembrar Abril porque tem sabor a infância, cheio a meninice. Escolhi esta "gaivota" porque o passáro da memória devolve-me ao tempo em que tu, A., eras livre...eras livre...de Dizer. Porque foi contigo que aprendi Abril. E através desta memória alada, a tua voz irá sobreviver. Feliz 25 de Abril...sempre.

If the shoe fits...

Misfit fits me (us)like a glove...

Geografia...

Porque a felicidade é quimera,
fogo preso, fogo fátuo.
alento bebido aos tragos
nas frestas solares que a manhã pare.

Porque a ingratidão é substantivo
que se tornou comum,
osso mordido no ranger
das sílabas.

Porque momentos de felicidade
são sonho possível,
recta tangível
na geometria do amor
na geografia dos cansaços

Porque é nos rostos cor de conforto
que sorvo a verve que as tardes regam
e os lábios da ternura
perdem-se no escarlate
das esplanadas da cidade,

Porque o peito pede
porque a escrita dá:

Obrigada.

Laisse tomber...

"Bruno : Mais... On s'connait d'où exactement ? Parce que, excusez-moi, mais je...
Manie : Ça n'a aucune importance. On a juste couché ensemble.
Bruno : On a couché ensemble ?
Manie : Ouais, mais y'a longtemps. J'me suis coupée les cheveux depuis. Et puis, on était bourrés tous les deux, certainement...
Bruno : Nan, mais euh.. C'est quand même incroyable que je m'en souvienne pas, nan ?
Manie : C'est pas grave. Ça arrive. Plus souvent aux garçons, mais ça arrive. C'est normal, on n'est pas constitués physiquement pareil. C'est pas la même action, c'est pas la même implication. Bon, laisse tomber."

(Foto e texto retirado de: http://www.replikultes.net/films/fiches/661/le_gout_des_autres/repliks/ )


Le goût de autres, de Agnès Jaoui, 1999.

Da humildade...

"There are worse things in life than death"...

How true, Woody, how true...

"(...) a ponta de uma pétala"...ou do dia Mundial da Poesia

Mistérios da escrita

Escrevi a palavra flor.
Um girassol nasceu
no deserto de papel.
Era um girassol
como é um girassol.
Endireitou o caule,
sacudiu as pétalas
e perfumou o ar.
Voltou a cabeça
à procura do sol
e deixou cair dois grãos de pólen
sobre a mesa.
Depois cresceu até ficar
com a ponta de uma pétala
fora da Natureza.

in "O Limpa-palavras e outros poemas" de Álvaro Magalhães

The point is...

"Come and take a walk on the wild side"...

Do casamento...

(Obrigada querida F. pela partilha. Porque rir não é o melhor remédio, é o único.)

The water...

These city walls...

Mapping stereotypes

E por falar em coisas boas...

Não tão cáustico como no ano passado but he still has it.

"O meu barco vazio na madrugada"..

Dia de reis...ou como começar bem o ano...