domingo, fevereiro 28, 2010

Não vou

“Mas não queres mesmo ler?” E a cada insistência a minha determinação esvaía-se um pouco mais, empapada em suor e calcinada pela bola de fogo que me queimava o estômago, abrindo caminho até ao esófago e jorrando num largo, abundante e apoteótico vómito que se substituiu ao “não” definitivo que me preparava para suspirar. A contínua, a única que não tinha sido anestesiada pelos vapores da má literatura, apressou-se a limpar os restos do meu almoço e da pouca poesia que, desde aquele dia, me abandonou.

Circo da Lama, de Bruno Vieira Amaral, um dos 31 da Armada.



Remember Barbara
It was raining nonstop in Brest that day
and you walked smiling
artless delighted dripping wet
in the rain
Remember Barbara
It was raining nonstop in Brest
and I saw you on rue de Siam
You were smiling
and I smiled too
Remember Barbara
You whom I did not know
You who did not know me
Remember that day all the same
Don't forget
A man was sheltering under a porch
and he called your name
and you ran toward him in the rain
Dripping water delighted artless
and you threw yourself in his arms
Remember that Barbara
and don't be angry if I talk to you
I talk to all those I love
even if I've seen them only once
I talk to all those who love
even if I don't know them
Remember Barbara
Don't forget
that wise happy rain
on your happy face
in that happy town
That rain on the sea
on the arsenal
on the boat from Ouessant
Oh Barbara
What an idiot war
What has happened to you now
In this rain of iron
of fire of steel of blood
and the one who held you tight in his arms
is he dead vanished or maybe still alive
Oh Barbara
It is raining nonstop in Brest
as it rained before
But it's not the same and everything is ruined
It's a rain of mourning terrible and desolate
It's not even a storm any more
of iron of steel of blood
Just simply clouds
that die like dogs
Dogs that disappear
along the water in Brest
and are going to rot far away
far far away from Brest
where there is nothing left.

Jacques Prevert

via o sonho adolescente educado na rua que é VINYL IS HEAVY.

quinta-feira, fevereiro 25, 2010


Infelizmente não sei de quem é, mas foi aqui.

quarta-feira, fevereiro 24, 2010

Space and the Woods

The Late of the Pier, Fantasy Black Channel (WayOutWest, 2007).

But space and the woods still know who I am and I know they don't owe me anything not after what I've done.

quinta-feira, fevereiro 18, 2010


O Bradford Gregory tira fotografias de moda. E cortinas, mas nos tempos livres.

via Build


Mais fotografias com covinhas nos olhos.


I've got to tell you
how I love you always
I think of it on grey
mornings with death

in my mouth the tea
is never hot enough
then and the cigarette
dry the maroon robe

chills me I need you
and look out the window
at the noiseless snow

At night on the dock
the buses glow like
clouds and I am lonely
thinking of flutes

I miss you always
when I go to the beach
the sand is wet with
tears that seem mine

although I never weep
and hold you in my
heart with a very real
humor you'd be proud of

the parking lot is
crowded and I stand
rattling my keys the car
is empty as a bicycle

what are you doing now
where did you eat your
lunch and were there
lots of anchovies it

is difficult to think
of you without me in
the sentence you depress
me when you are alone

Last night the stars
were numerous and today
snow is their calling
card I'll not be cordial

there is nothing that
distracts me music is
only a crossword puzzle
do you know how it is

when you are the only
passenger if there is a
place further from me
I beg you do not go

Frank O'Hara

It may be that poetry makes life's nebulous events tangible to me and restores their detail; or conversely that poetry brings forth the intangible quality of incidents which are all too concrete and circumstantial. Or each on specific occasions, or both all the time.

sexta-feira, fevereiro 12, 2010


Nunca percebi quando se deixa de ser pequeno para se passar a ser crescido. Provavelmente quando a parente loira passa a ser referida, em português, como «a desavergonhada da Luísa». Provavelmente quando substituímos os guarda-chuvas de chocolate por bifes de tártaros. Provavelmente quando começamos a gostar de tomar duche. Provavelmente quando cessamos de ter medo do escuro. Provavelmente quando nos tornamos tristes. Mas não tenho a certeza: não sei se sou crescido.

António Lobo Antunes

The same guys

“We did it in the past — we will do it again,” Finance Minister Fernando Teixeira dos Santos said Tuesday in a telephone interview. “We are the same guys. We are committed to doing it.”

But this time the same guys lack a solid majority.

Estou farto de gente a perder a cabeça por causa de uma merda de umas escutas, por causa de uma merda de umas escutas, por causa de uma merda de umas escutas, por causa de uma merda de umas escutas, por causa de uma merda de umas escutas, por causa de uma merda de umas escutas e os seus partidos. Ninguém perde a cabeça pela merda da economia? Economistas?

quinta-feira, fevereiro 04, 2010

The Joke Isn't Funny Anymore

The Smiths, Meat Is Murder (Rough Trade, 1985).

I drove the point home.

quarta-feira, fevereiro 03, 2010

Estou sempre a voltar a isto

Termino. A voz que leu estas páginas quis ser o eco das vozes conjuntas das minhas personagens. Não tenho, a bem dizer, mais voz que a voz que elas tiverem. Perdoai-me se vos pareceu pouco isto que para mim é tudo.

O último parágrafo de De como a personagem foi mestre e o autor seu aprendiz.

Discurso proferido por José Saramago na cerimónia de entrega do Prémio Nobel da Literatura de 1998.

Perdoai-me se vos pareceu pouco isto que para mim é tudo.

terça-feira, fevereiro 02, 2010


The xx, xx (Young Turks, 2009).

Ao um minuto e cinquenta e nove segundos, o rapaz coloca entre ele e a rapariga uma luz. E tudo ganha cores. E lá se vai o medo. Literalmente.

(o vídeo acaba com ele a mexer-lhe na franja.)

The Inherent Beauty In A Failed Attempt To Reconstruct

Within the world of mathematics it is just as easy to go backwards as it is forward. It is only within human experience that going backwards poses such a problem. We and our perceived physical surroundings are locked into a series of moments where the future is possible and varied but the past is locked and cannot be revisited.

por Jonathan Schipper

Be Here Now

Ray LaMontagne, Till The Sun Turns Black (RCA, 2006).

Don't let your soul get lonely
Child, it's only time, it will go by

segunda-feira, fevereiro 01, 2010

Catholic Block

Sonic Youth, Sister (SST, 1987).