Tuesday, December 31, 2013

- Esquece isso
e julgava esquecido, apareceu-me sem querer, a quantidade de tralha, sepultada na gente, que ressuscita afirmando
- Eis-nos cá
trazendo pegada a ela mais ruínas consigo

António Lobo Antunes, Não é Meia Noite Quem Quer
quanto mais se bate no fundo mais ele baixa, mamã, baixa tão fundo o fundo que não o enxergamos como não nos enxergamos a nós

António Lobo Antunes, Não é Meia Noite Quem Quer
I lost my faith in the kindness of angels

a Jigsaw (*)

Saturday, December 21, 2013

And it hurts, man it really hurts
To know you’re a crow
when you should have been a hummingbird

a Jigsaw

Saturday, December 14, 2013

My heart has turned to stone
What if my heart has gone
The world is weary, tired enough
I need help to hold this love

Polly Jean Harvey (*)

Friday, December 13, 2013

tongue tied

Why don't you ask me
How long I've been waiting
Set down on the road
With the gunshots exploding
I'm waiting for you
In the gloom and the blazing
I'm waiting for you

I sing like a slave I know
I should know better
I've learned all my lessons
Right down to the letter
And still I go on like this
Year after year
Waiting for miracles
And shaking with fear

Why don't you answer
Why don't you come save me
Show me how to use
All these things
That you gave me
Turn me inside out
So my bones can save me
Turn me inside out

You've come this close
You can come even closer
The gunshots get louder
And the world spins faster
And things just get further
And further apart
The head from the hands
And the hands from the heart

One thing that's true
Is the way that I love him
The earth down below
And the sky up above him
And still I go on like this
Day after day
Still I go on like this

Now I've said this
I already feel stronger
I can't keep waiting for you
Any longer
I need you now
Not someday
When I'm ready
Come down on the road
Come down on the road

My name, my name
Nothing is the same
I won't go back
The way I came

Lhasa de Sela

Thursday, December 05, 2013

Werner's last blues to blockbuster

In the palm of my hand
An empire summoned
And as it was born
All the substance crumbled
It was a vain attempt
At the meaning of life
And I should have better ways
Of spending my time

Tuesday, December 03, 2013

stories we tell

When you are in the middle of a story it isn't a story at all, but only a confusion; a dark roaring, a blindness, a wreckage of shattered glass and splintered wood; like a house in a whirlwind, or else a boat crushed by the icebergs or swept over the rapids, and all aboard powerless to stop it. It's only afterwards that it becomes anything like a story at all. When you are telling it, to yourself or to someone else.

Margaret Atwood, Alias Grace

trailer Stories We Tell

"my anger is a storm with no rain"*

* David Eugene Edwards (?)