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...