You run to the gate but you'll be marked late it's for your own good it's for your own good You're likely to make the grandest mistakes you suffer alone in the skin and the bones Let's sharpen those new sets of arrows for the next generation of playground martyrs And joining the game of intolerable shame 'cause everyone shares innocence of their fathers School bell rings single file in trade you my unhappily ever after So bring out those things to hammer the wings of the next generation David Sylvian (See more at: http://www.davidsylvian.net/releases/tracks-poems/63-tracks-live/1139-playground-martyrs-live-occurrence-of-slope.html#sthash.mZGOcbF7.dpuf)
It's the wrong time and the wrong place Though your face is charming, it's the wrong face It's not her face, but such a charming face That it's all right with me It's the wrong song in the wrong style Though your smile is lovely, it's the wrong smile It's not her smile, but a lovely smile And it's all right with me You can not know how happy I am we met I'm strangely attracted to you There's someone I'm trying so hard to forget Don't you want to forget someone too? And it's the wrong game and the wrong chips Though your lips are tempting, it's the wrong lips They're not her lips, but such tempting lips That it's all right with me (...) Cole Porter
The kiss don't know What the lips will say (...) Time is just memory mixed in with Desire That's not the road it is Only the map...I say gone just like matches Tom Waits(*)
Saturday, November 02, 2013
What if I had stood there at the end (...) Would that have been a suitable goodbye? Bill Callahan(*)
I loved you in the morning Our kisses deep and warm Your head upon the pillow Like a sleepy golden storm. Yes, many loved before us I know that we are not new, In city and in forest They smiled like me and you, But now it's come to distances And both of us must try, Your eyes are soft with sorrow, Hey, that's no way to say goodbye. Leonard Cohen(*)
And each day I looked out on the land And I wondered what all was gone Until I saw it was lucky old me How could I run without losing anything? How could I run without becoming lean? (...) And now I know you must reap what you sow Or sing. Bill Callahan
With trembling hand I turned toward her And pushed the hair out of her eyes The kitten jumped back to her lap As I sat sadly by her side Then she drew the curtains down And said, "When will you ever learn That what happens there beyond the glass Is simply none of your concern? God has given you but one heart You are not a home for the hearts of your brothers And God does not care for your benevolence Anymore than he cares for the lack of it in others Nor does he care for you to sit At windows in judgement of the world He created While sorrows pile up around you Ugly, useless and over-inflated" Nick Cave (*)
Here come the darkest birds To burst the bubble End of a perfect day Head full of trouble Here come the darkest birds All tar and feathers Why did none of them dream of trying To make things better? Those are the mimicking kind They are, they are I number myself among them The furthest star And this is the road I walked on When I shot you down All words of forgiveness useless They won't help me now And I should've been there for you When you called my name I promise to tread more lightly Though what's gone is gone It's such a shame Here come the darkest birds They've got their reasons All their pretty colours are gone Washed out of season Those are the soaring kind They are, they are I number yourself among them The brightest star And this is the road I walked on When I shot you down All words of forgiveness useless They won't serve me now And I should've been there for you When you called my name I promise to tread more lightly Though what's done is done It's such a shame The Banality Of Evil I've got me a badge A bright shiny badge I'm painting the crest in yellow and blue I've got me a club An exclusive club It doesn't include a place for you Hey?..hello neighbour Hey?..hello neighbour, right you are It's in the way that you walk All of the changes, all the mistakes In the demands you constantly make It's in the way that you grieve All of the loss You don't know when you're better off Or at what cost You've got it good David Sylvian
(...) I'm never going to dig out your picture I'm never going to look you up someday Life is very short You don't love me anymore So I'm never going to see you again I'm never going to write you a letter Never going to call you on the phone I'm never going to drive by your house I'm never going to catch you coming outside Never going to walk up your walk And ring your bell And feel you fall into my arms (...) Mark Sandman
custa-me tocar nas pessoas (...) não é que não me apeteça, há alturas em que me apetece mas se tocasse dissolvia-me nelas e não tornava a ser eu
António Lobo Antunes, Não é Meia Noite Quem Quer
S.
(...) há pessoas que demoram tanto tempo a deixar-nos, o corpo vai-se mas os olhos permanecem ali, iguais aos cachorros largados longe que regressam sempre, não zangados, humildes, abre-se a porta e não se atrevem a entrar, molhados de chuva (...)
Foi emocionalmente brutal. Não houve célula neste corpo que saísse incólume.
No silêncio interior - que mantenho circunscrito - basta o múrmurio do teu nome para que a reacção seja imediata, visceral, carregada de lágrimas.
Your confusion My illusion Worn like a mask of self-hate Confronts and then dies Don't walk away People like you find it easy Naked to see Walking on air Hunting by the rivers Through the streets Every corner abandoned too soon Set down with due care Don't walk away in silence Ian Curtis
[...] You cried wolf I tracked one down And let it in There were lambs Sure, there was blood There were psalms to sing You could just see the bone jut out Penetrate the skin Did it dispel beyond all doubt The mess we’re in? You raised your head I stared you down You still don’t know how And if you think you knew me then You don’t know me now I was happy Satiated I was satisfied David Sylvian
De qualquer maneira, a arte da espera não é uma brincadeira. É assunto bem sério, caro mortal.
Gonçalo M. Tavares, Visão nº 1073
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Apago os nove dígitos? Rasgo os despojos? Mudo o pretérito para perfeito? Faço de conta que nada se passou? A distância «aumenta as grandes paixões e cura as pequenas», mas eu já nem sei se quero sossego, esperança ou desastre.
Pedro Mexia,Lei Seca
[regressaste com o Outono e tens ocupado mais espaço do que aquele que seria razoável.]
É a visão do terrível da beleza. A beleza está lá toda mas não nos devemos enganar com a sua opulência: a Islândia é um lugar atacante, toda ela se propõe a revolver-se, a regenerar-se, aniquilando. A maneira como congela, como degela, como arde, como entra em erupção, como inunda... Toda a calma é aparente e a iminência da catástrofe é absoluta. A perigosidade da Islândia é honesta. Nós é que somos tolos por acharmos que ela está ali a gostar de nós: somos só nós a gostar dela.
valter hugo mãe, Visão nº 1072
[seria capaz de jurar que tu foste um lugar assim... terrivelmente belo, intocável e devastador.]
Well, I can hold a woman down on a hardwood floor Well, I can hold a woman down on a hardwood floor And your teeth can gnash right through me Looking for a soft place And of this you won't soon forget I had no soft place for you to rest And this was your, your cold discovery Your cold discovery Well, I can hold a woman down on a hardwood floor Well, I can hold a woman down on a hardwood floor This was my, my cold discovery My cold discovery If you saw it for what it really was My cold discovery My cold discovery My cold discovery Bill Callahan (* &*)
(unfortunately, took you far too long to realize it.)
Às vezes somos nós que partimos entregando-nos aos desafios, aos outros, aos sítios... como quem procura amenizar o peso da escolha. Outras, vemo-los partir e, impotentes, resignamo-nos à ausência e ao entusiasmo em segunda mão.