quinta-feira, 15 de agosto de 2013
boas férias!
Erlend Øye * - La Prima Estate
* In 2012 Erlend Øye moved from Norway to Italy. It didn't take him long to discover the goldmine of Italian music of the 60s and 70s and start taking inspiration from its arrangements and style of melodies. Neither did it take him long to take inspiration from the lives of the people around him in the Sicilian town of Siracusa, his new home, and learn enough of the language to write this song, La Prima Estate, his first song in Italian, which centers around his friend Lucia and her day of graduation.
amor & coisas simples
Other Lives and Dimensions and Finally a Love Poem
Here when I say “I never want to be without you,”
somewhere else I am saying
“I never want to be without you again.” And when I touch you
in each of the places we meet
in all of the lives we are, it’s with hands that are dying
and resurrected.
When I don’t touch you it’s a mistake in any life,
in each place and forever.
Bob Hicok
Here when I say “I never want to be without you,”
somewhere else I am saying
“I never want to be without you again.” And when I touch you
in each of the places we meet
in all of the lives we are, it’s with hands that are dying
and resurrected.
When I don’t touch you it’s a mistake in any life,
in each place and forever.
Bob Hicok
terça-feira, 13 de agosto de 2013
amor & coisas simples
Melvin Udall: I might be the only person on the face of the earth that knows you're the greatest woman on earth. I might be the only one who appreciates how amazing you are in every single thing that you do, and how you are with Spencer, "Spence," and in every single thought that you have, and how you say what you mean, and how you almost always mean something that's all about being straight and good. I think most people miss that about you, and I watch them, wondering how they can watch you bring their food, and clear their tables and never get that they just met the greatest woman alive. And the fact that I get it makes me feel good, about me.
As Good as It Gets
As Good as It Gets
segunda-feira, 12 de agosto de 2013
amor & coisas (literalmente) simples
You have
my heart.
And I could
analyze
that —
but I
won’t.
For it
stands
so
unbearably
complete
on
its own.
Frida Kahlo, from The Diary Of Frida Kahlo: An Intimate Self-Portrait
my heart.
And I could
analyze
that —
but I
won’t.
For it
stands
so
unbearably
complete
on
its own.
Frida Kahlo, from The Diary Of Frida Kahlo: An Intimate Self-Portrait
sexta-feira, 9 de agosto de 2013
coisas simples
A mim ensinou-me tudo.
Ensinou-me a olhar para as coisas.
Aponta-me todas as coisas que há nas flores.
Mostra-me como as pedras são engraçadas
Quando a gente as tem na mão
E olha devagar para elas
Alberto Caeiro
Ensinou-me a olhar para as coisas.
Aponta-me todas as coisas que há nas flores.
Mostra-me como as pedras são engraçadas
Quando a gente as tem na mão
E olha devagar para elas
Alberto Caeiro
quinta-feira, 8 de agosto de 2013
amor & coisas simples
Joe Fox: You know, sometimes I wonder...
Kathleen Kelly: What?
Joe Fox: Well... if I hadn't been Fox Books and you hadn't been The Shop Around the Corner, and you and I had just, well, met...
Kathleen Kelly: I know.
Joe Fox: Yeah. I would have asked for your number, and I wouldn't have been able to wait twenty-four hours before calling you and saying, "Hey, how about... oh, how about some coffee or, you know, drinks or dinner or a movie... for as long as we both shall live?"
Kathleen Kelly: Joe...
Joe Fox: And you and I would have never been at war. And the only thing we'd fight about would be which video to rent on a Saturday night.
Kathleen Kelly: Well, who fights about that?
Joe Fox: Well, some people. Not us.
Kathleen Kelly: We would never.
You've Got Mail (1998)
quarta-feira, 7 de agosto de 2013
terça-feira, 6 de agosto de 2013
coisas simples
Parry: There's three things in this world that you need: respect for all kinds of life, a nice bowel movement on a regular basis, and a navy blazer.
The Fisher King
The Fisher King
segunda-feira, 5 de agosto de 2013
até já
Avi: Yes, London. You know: fish, chips, cup'o tea, bad food, worse weather, Mary fucking Poppins... LONDON!
lambarices
Today I receive a postcard of
a blue guitar. Here snow falls with wings,
tumbling in its feathered body, melting
on the window glass. How each evening becomes
another beautiful woman holding
the color of expensive sapphires
against her throat, I’ll never know.
It is an ordinary clarity.
So then was it music?
Something like love or
words, a sentimental moment once
years ago, that blue sky?
How soon the sky and I have grown apart.
On the postcard, an old man hangs
half-dead, strung over his instrument, and what
I have imagined is half-dead, too. Our bones
end hollow, sky blue; the flute comes untuned.
Erin Belieu, All Distance
a blue guitar. Here snow falls with wings,
tumbling in its feathered body, melting
on the window glass. How each evening becomes
another beautiful woman holding
the color of expensive sapphires
against her throat, I’ll never know.
It is an ordinary clarity.
So then was it music?
Something like love or
words, a sentimental moment once
years ago, that blue sky?
How soon the sky and I have grown apart.
On the postcard, an old man hangs
half-dead, strung over his instrument, and what
I have imagined is half-dead, too. Our bones
end hollow, sky blue; the flute comes untuned.
Erin Belieu, All Distance
sexta-feira, 2 de agosto de 2013
lambarices
Imagine a room,
a sudden glow. Here is my hand, my heart,
my throat, my wrist. Here are the illuminated
cities at the center of me, and here is the center
of me, which is a lake, which is a well that we
can drink from, but I can’t go through with it.
I just don’t want to die anymore.
Richard Siken, Saying Your Names
a sudden glow. Here is my hand, my heart,
my throat, my wrist. Here are the illuminated
cities at the center of me, and here is the center
of me, which is a lake, which is a well that we
can drink from, but I can’t go through with it.
I just don’t want to die anymore.
Richard Siken, Saying Your Names
quinta-feira, 1 de agosto de 2013
coisas simples
Here’s What Our Parents Never Taught Us
Here’s what our parents never taught us:
You will stay up on your rooftop until sunlight peels away the husk of the moon,
chainsmoking cigarettes and reading Baudelaire, and
you will learn that you only ever want to fall in love with someone
who will stay up to watch the sun rise with you.
You will fall in love with train rides, and sooner or later you will
realize that nowhere seems like home anymore.
A woman will kiss you and you’ll think her lips are two petals
rubbing against your mouth.
You will not tell anyone that you liked it.
It’s okay.
It is beautiful to love humans in a world where love is a metaphor for lust.
You can leave if you want, with only your skin as a carry-on.
All you need is a twenty in your pocket and a bus ticket.
All you need is someone on the other end of the map, thinking about the supple
curves of your body, to guide you to a home that stretches out for miles
and miles on end.
You will lie to everyone you love.
They will love you anyways.
One day you’ll wake up and realize that you are too big for your own skin.
Molt.
Don’t be afraid.
Your body is a house where the shutters blow in and out
against the windowpane.
You are a hurricane-prone area.
The glass will break through often.
But it’s okay. I promise.
Remember,
a stranger once told you that the breeze
here is something worth writing poems about.
Shinji Moon
Here’s what our parents never taught us:
You will stay up on your rooftop until sunlight peels away the husk of the moon,
chainsmoking cigarettes and reading Baudelaire, and
you will learn that you only ever want to fall in love with someone
who will stay up to watch the sun rise with you.
You will fall in love with train rides, and sooner or later you will
realize that nowhere seems like home anymore.
A woman will kiss you and you’ll think her lips are two petals
rubbing against your mouth.
You will not tell anyone that you liked it.
It’s okay.
It is beautiful to love humans in a world where love is a metaphor for lust.
You can leave if you want, with only your skin as a carry-on.
All you need is a twenty in your pocket and a bus ticket.
All you need is someone on the other end of the map, thinking about the supple
curves of your body, to guide you to a home that stretches out for miles
and miles on end.
You will lie to everyone you love.
They will love you anyways.
One day you’ll wake up and realize that you are too big for your own skin.
Molt.
Don’t be afraid.
Your body is a house where the shutters blow in and out
against the windowpane.
You are a hurricane-prone area.
The glass will break through often.
But it’s okay. I promise.
Remember,
a stranger once told you that the breeze
here is something worth writing poems about.
Shinji Moon
ainda a propósito daqueles Senhores Amorosos
Finalmente, alguém que me compreende de um ponto de vista "jurídico-matinal":
"Não há nenhuma exigência especial que faça com que o trabalho não possa ser realizado com o trabalhador a pensar no que quiser, com ar mais satisfeito ou carrancudo, mais lúcido ou, pelo contrário, um pouco tonto."
Tribunal da Relação do Porto, aqui
"Não há nenhuma exigência especial que faça com que o trabalho não possa ser realizado com o trabalhador a pensar no que quiser, com ar mais satisfeito ou carrancudo, mais lúcido ou, pelo contrário, um pouco tonto."
Tribunal da Relação do Porto, aqui
dedicada aos Senhores Amorosos Juízes Desembargadores do Tribunal da Relação do Porto
Stevie Wonder - My Cherry Amour
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