Quando apagam a luz do quarto a noite deita-se em cima do meu corpo, de mistura com os passos no corredor que se transforma num espaço infinito de ecos e, às vezes, dos pezinhos da tristeza que, não sei como, chegou ao pé da cama e pode ser que me lamba uma das mãos, cortando-me, como uma faca, o medo pelo meio, eu tão sozinho, tão indefeso, tão frágil. Serei merecedor, quando for grande, de ter comigo o sol da manhã, o cheiro do pão quente, as lagartixas no quintal? Esta tristeza, assim mansa, permanecerá comigo? Deus, faz com que eu não cresça, não tires as lagartixas nem o sol da minha vida.


António Lobo Antunes, Crónica escrita por mim hoje às onze horas quando tive 6 anos, Visão nº 1090

O passado tem caninos poderosos.

(*)

R.E.M. sleep

Começaram por ser violentíssimos. As minhas mãos na tua camisa verde, um verde velho, gasto. Sentia o tecido enraivecido a segurar o teu corpo enquanto as palavras de gelo se desfaziam no teu sorriso absolutamente irreal.
No verão, a luz suave através dos cortinados, numa sucessão pouco habitual de janelas. Ao cimo das escadas de madeira, relaxado, contavas na tua voz mansa, como tudo estava perfeito... não pude evitar que estas mãos te agredissem e empurrassem. Vi-te sobreviver à queda, sem um arranhão.
E agora voltas, improvável, doce, reclamando o cadáver.
A surpresa é absoluta, pelo menos a violência era compreensível.


(12/2013)

"so many lives to cross"*

*David Sylvian

Ruby

"what's so wrong with the light?"*

*Angel Olsen

Y.

Às vezes sentimo-nos desamparados sem saber que desamparados sempre

(...)

de que serve o passado, não temos certeza se existiu ou nos deram imagens que amontoamos na esperança de conseguir o que se chama vida



António Lobo Antunes, Não é meia noite quem quer

a culpa dos trapos

something like that...

"No! No sleep runs this deep"

- 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 (*)

Free EPK from ReverbNation.com

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


a Jigsaw

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 (*)

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

o mundo lá fora

B.

[e a sombra dentro]

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

"Can you feel my heartbeat?"

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 (?)

Stranger Than Kindness

You|me

Y.

Long Way To Go With No Punch

Extra Blues

Nobody Tries That Hard Anymore

oh, Jarvis...

like some small animal that only comes out at night


Pulp

So, for once

[Haven't had a dream in a long time

Morrissey]

Used It All

metal heart

How selfish of you
To believe in the meaning of all the bad dreaming

"um gato não se tem, aceita ser nosso contemporâneo e é tudo"*

B.

*António Lobo Antunes, Não é Meia Noite Quem Quer

da zanga

Sem máscara, de coração aberto, palavra atrás de palavra, as vezes que foram precisas... para chegar a entendimento nenhum.
Haverá, realmente, coisa mais difícil do que explicar o óbvio?

drop(s) of lazy rain

If someone offers you some sugar
You should eat it


Bill Callahan

And the darkness sleeps
Cushioning the heartbeat

David Sylvian

classificado

procura-se: reconhecimento do ser.

"trade you my unhappily ever after"

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)

reminder to self

Na palavra 'cantil' guardo a utopia, para que durante a vida eu possa não morrer de sede.


Ondjaki in Público, 05/11/2013 (*)

"My head is spinning round, my heart is in my shoes"*

*Tom Waits

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

[so fuckin' broken, I am.]

"you'll soon forget the tune that you play"

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 (*)

What if I had stood there at the end
(...)
Would that have been a suitable goodbye?



Bill Callahan (*)

Hey, that's no way to say goodbye

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 (*)

"Good plans are made by hand"

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

Medieval Romances

Note to self

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 (*)

"The gaunt fruit of passion dies in the light"*

*Anita Lane

What do you think I'd see
If I could walk away from me?

É angustiante saber-me tão incapaz de equilíbrio.