כל יום הוא יום אחר, כשאני פותחת את החלון של החדר שלי, זה כאילו לפתוח את אותו הספר אבל בעמו

ANDARA

2008-03-25T09:32:00.000-07:00

Águeda é um nome de mulher, mas poderia ser o nome de uma guerra – daquelas remotas que pouca coisa conseguimos guardar no fundo de nossos arquivos memoriais. Nome de mulher. Águeda me habitou por tempo indefinido. Não ousaria dizer as datas, não ousaria dizer as senhas... que tivemos? Eu e ela. Ou apenas eu em meio à solidão que não se desfaz. Era branca a pele. Branca como algo que tu pensas que é puro, que tu pensas que é intocado. Branca a tez. A de Águeda era branca. De um branco de se pensar que faltaram as cores, que faltaram as tintas, que faltou o painel, que faltou o retoque, que abundou a febre terçã, que restou o fechado da casa, as janelas fechadas e o corpo sempre nu. As portas trancadas de São Paulo, o trancafiado da vida - sempre a minha? Então, Águeda, ou esta coisa que não se dá, ou essa coisa de nunca se deixar ao vento de que pode uma tarde, e então, Águeda nessa sua brancura a tecer jogos de recusa quem se lhe oferta de passagem. Os outros. Todos os outros. Os homens da cidade. Os não-eu. De uma brancura, a pele. A tez de Águeda era como que esta coisa que se admira de longe, e que se leva consigo na esperança de investir num jogo de toques e de ansiedade. Porque eu queria Águeda. Talvez como quisesse o infinito. Talvez porque ela fosse esse impossível de carne, de ossos e de placenta. Esse impossível, compacto, à minha frente. Bem maior do que o imponderável dos dias, do somatório de que fosse capaz este imponderável dos dias. Os desejos todos, todos os desejos, um a um, recolhidos do campo, recolhidos da cama onde ela fica ‘horas’ em formato de sonhos, todos os desejos recolhidos, enfiados no dentro sem fundo de um saco, todos, embolados como se dissessem respeito a um único tema, como se dissessem respeito a uma única vontade expressa numa determinada hora da tarde, todos os desejos, o impossível de sua composição, o inquieto que eles parecem trazer consigo se vistos assim de uma só vez, se pensados de sopetão e de forma apressada, todos os desejos, e esta inquietude de irrealização que paira quando se nos vemos em face de tudo o que poderíamos ter sido e não fomos, e que não demos conta. Porque era impossível que assim se desse. Um dia pensei ouvi-la como um chamamento de mim. Um chamamento. Como se houvesse na curva de sua voz essa pessoa, que eu era, em atenção àquela sonoridade. Bernardo! Bernardo! – esta a voz em chamada de mim. E eu a olhar em desespero de causa para os lados, e eu a olhar, por trás da palavra sem carne de lábios e de língua, na expectativa de mirá-la, na expectativa de encontrar apenas a ela, senhora interdita de meu desejo, o articular daquele fonema que de mim dizia. Bernardo... Bernardo – mas era apenas o espectro e o fantasma. Por trás da palavra, o sopro de meu desejo, como se fora eu o articulador daquele falado que nem havia. Águeda era esse silêncio. Era essa ausência de procura.

2008-02-07T12:57:00.000-08:00

Igo through all thisBefore you wake upSo I can feel happierTo be safe uphere with you
Igo through all thisBefore you wake upSo I can feel happierTo be safe uphere with you
Igo through all thisBefore you wake upSo I can feel happierTo be safe uphere with you
Igo through all thisBefore you wake upSo I can feel happierTo be safe uphere with you

and so could be this: you stand up.

or could be this other this: i stand down.

either falling or flying, there will be always a way to reach over fates tale and catch all of it in my own hands, give myself a better paper. or just only, as the other you said, theyre gonna make a fallen star of me, and all ive got to do is act fakely.

which way you take its safier up here, through and through.

i told you mummy, ive always wanted to be Sylar.

sorry, no Super-Hiro available for supper.

2007-04-02T06:08:00.000-07:00

So my too stormy passions work me wrong,And for excess of Love my Love is dumb.

My Life Is An Endless Succession Of People Saying Goodbye

And

Either drinking coffee or waiting impatiently for the next cup, fits of insomnia and still like to wake up early and go to bed late, according to a former roommate I have the most obnoxious way of opening the door to my house, can´t get rid of the habit of crossing the Atlantic Ocean, find people who read in bed the most charming little creatures, along with those gifted and sexy beings who wear glasses and play guitar at the same time, and as everyone mentions it, I do cut my own hair

§§§

"We will make her one of us! Gobble, gobble, one of us! One of us! One of us!" - Freaks 1932, Tod Browning,and The Ramones went "Gabba gabba hey!"when years later Hedwig and The Angry Inch shouted out loud: "We are freaks! We follow the code of freaks! One of us, one of us, one of us, she is the queen, she is the king..."

§§§

Call me. But I am probably dancing somewhere.

§§§

"I don´t want to talk about China", says Sophie Calle.

§§§

Heaven or Las Vegas?

§§§

question: "Have I possibly seen you at the gym?" my answer: "Gym-tonic, maybe..."

§§§

Which I wish to say is this: There is no beginning to an end
But there is a beginning and an end To beginning
Why yes of course
Any one can learn that north of course Is not only north but north as north
Why were they worried
What I wish to say is this. Yes of course. Gertrude Stein

§§§

Are you tired of all the 1968 endless naive praising? Did you also find the younger characters of "Les Invasions Barbaires" much more mature and honest to themselves and others than the jerking-off intelectuals? Did you want to vomit after Bertolucci´s "The Dreamers"? The 1968 jerks should just shut up and go on with their academic and burocratic lives. Someone should put an end to their misery.(irritated, after spending 3 euros on Bertolucci´s latest mistake: "The Dreamers")

§§§"Ladies and gentlemen, do you like the pelt? I want you to be honest, because some BITCH stopped me on the way in and asked WHAT POOR UNFORTUNATE ANIMAL HAD TO DIE FOR YOU TO WEAR THAT? My aunt Trudy, I replied, and just walked away, just walked away..."
Hedwig Robinson, the faggie formerly known as Hansel Schmidt.

§§§

VOTE FOR:BUSH, Kate

§§§

"Don´t get stuck on some glamour puss" with the possible gay version of "Don`t get stuck on some glamour cock" "The terms are too high, unconditional surrender""Perfectly innocent?! Men have been hanged for less!""For being a peeping tom? No, i just need a shrink" "That I should want you at all suddenly strikes me as the height of improbability... you're an improbable person, Eve, but so am I. We have that in common. Also a contempt for humanity, an inability to love or be loved, insatiable ambition - and talent. We deserve each other.""If you believe in love at first sight, you never stop looking""Please accept my resignation. I don't want to belong to any club that will accept me as a member""The man who said "I'd rather be lucky than good" saw deeply into life. People are afraid to face how great a part of life is dependent on luck. It's scary to think so much is out of one's control. There are moments in a match when the ball hits the top of the net, and for a split second, it can either go forward or fall back. With a little luck, it goes forward, and you win. Or maybe it doesn't, and you lose.""I am nothing but a body with a voice."""A situation pregnant with possibilities and all you can think of is everyone go to sleep..." "I´ll admit I may have seen better days, but I am still not to be had for the price of a cocktail... like a salted peanut...""Fasten your seat belts. It´s gonna be a bumpy night""How nice for you. How nice for him. How nice for everybody" "I am so happy you are happy.""And we who are about to die salute you."Bette Davis has an answer for everything, boys.§§§Margarita Tekherova / Isabelle Huppert / Yoko Ono / Bette Davis / Eva Hesse / Gertrude Stein / Hilda Hilst / Patti Smith / Alejandra Pizarnik / Clarice Lispector / Polly Jean Harvey / Lyn Hejinian / Diane Arbus /Darlene Gl?ria / Kate Bush / Agnieska Holland / Kim Gordon / Lygia Clark / Geena Rowlands / Pina Bausch Marina Zwetajewa / Lina Bo Bardi / Elizabeth Fraser / Nan Goldin / Friederike Mayr?cker / Kim Deal / Barbara K?hler§§§Frank O´Hara / Edmond Jab?s / Jean-Luc Godard / Murilo Mendes / Andrei Tarkovski / Robert Creeley / Krzystof Kieslowski / Miguel de Cervantes / H?lio Oiticica / Pedro Almod?var / Roland Barthes / e.e. cummings / Jos? Leonilson / Jack Spicer / Ezra Pound / Machado de Assis / Thomas Brasch / Won Kar Wai / Ludwig Wittgenstein / George Oppen / Tom Jobim

Silentium Amoris

2006-03-11T07:59:00.000-08:00

AS often times the too resplendent sun

Hurries the pallid and reluctant moon
Back to her sombre cave, ere she hath won
A single ballad from the nightingale,
So doth thy Beauty make my lips to fail,And all my sweetest singing out of tune.
And as at dawn across the level meadOn wings impetuous some wind will come,
And with its too harsh kisses break the reed
Which was its only instrument of song,
So my too stormy passions work me wrong,
And for excess of Love my Love is dumb.

But surely unto Thee mine eyes did show
Why I am silent, and my lute unstrung;
Else it were better we should part, and go, 15
Thou to some lips of sweeter melody,
And I to nurse the barren memory
Of unkissed kisses, and songs never sung.

the story of Ysaac

2006-03-07T19:12:00.001-08:00

The door it opened slowly,
My father he came in,was nine years old.
And he stood so tall above me,
His blue eyes they were shining
And his voice was very cold.
He said, Iג€™ve had a vision
And you know Iג€™m strong and holy,
I must do what Iג€™ve been told.
So he started up the mountain,
I was running, he was walking,
And his axe was made of gold.

Well, the trees they got much smaller,
The lake a ladyג€™s mirror,
We stopped to drink some wine.
Then he threw the bottle over.
Broke a minute later
And he put his hand on mine.
Thought I saw an eagle
But it might have been a vulture,
I never could decide.
Then my father built an altar,
He looked once behind his shoulder,
He knew I would not hide.

You who build these altars now
To sacrifice these children,
You must not do it anymore.
A scheme is not a vision
And you never have been tempted
By a demon or a god.
You who stand above them now,
Your hatchets blunt and bloody,
You were not there before,
When I lay upon a mountain
And my fatherג€™s hand was trembling
With the beauty of the word.

And if you call me brother now,
Forgive me if I inquire,
Just according to whose plan?
When it all comes down to dust
I will kill you if I must,
I will help you if I can.
When it all comes down to dust
I will help you if I must,
I will kill you if I can.
And mercy on our uniform,
Man of peace or man of war,
The peacock spreads his fan.

from a friend

2006-03-07T19:12:00.000-08:00

QUANTO MAIS EU SINTA, quanto mais eu sinta como vֳ¡rias pessoas,
Quanto mais personalidades eu tiver,
Quanto mais intensamente, estridentemente as tiver,
Quanto mais simultaneamente sentir com todas elas,
Quanto mais unificadamente diverso, dispersadamente atento,
Estiver, sentir, viver, for,
Mais possuirei a existֳ×ncia total do universo,
Mais completo serei pelo espaֳ§o inteiro fora."

ֳ�lvaro de Campos, um bem mais atribulado que eu

Blog do desassossego

2006-03-07T18:54:00.000-08:00

Gosto de dizer. Direi melhor: gosto de palavrar. As palavras sֳ£o para mim corpos tocֳ¡veis, sereias visֳveis, sensualidades incorporadas.Estremeֳ§o se dizem bem. Tal pֳ¡gina de Fialho, tal pֳ¡gina de Chateaubriand, fazem formigar toda a minha vida em todas as veias, fazem-me raivar tremulamente quieto de um prazer inatingֳvel que estou tendo. Tal pֳ¡gina, atֳ©, de Vieira, na sua fria perfeiֳ§ֳ£o de engenharia sintֳ¡ctica, me faz tremer como um ramo ao vento, num delֳrio passivo de coisa movida.
Como todos os grandes apaixonados, gosto da delֳcia da perda de mim, em que o gozo da entrega se sofre inteiramente. E, assim, muitas vezes, escrevo sem querer pensar, num devaneio externo, deixando que as palavras me faֳ§am festas, crianֳ§a menina ao colo delas. Sֳ£o frases sem sentido, decorrendo mֳ³rbidas, numa fluidez de ֳ¡gua sentida, esquecer-se de ribeiro em que as ondas se misturam e indefinem, tornando-se sempre outras, sucedendo a si mesmas. Assim as ideias, as imagens, trֳ©mulas de expressֳ£o, passam por mim em cortejos sonoros de sedas esbatidas, onde um luar de ideia bruxuleia, malhado e confuso.
Nֳ£o choro por nada que a vida traga ou leve. Hֳ¡ porֳ©m pֳ¡ginas de prosa que me tֳ×m feito chorar. Lembro-me, como do que estou vendo, da noite em que, ainda crianֳ§a, li pela primeira vez numa selecta o passo cֳ©lebre de Vieira sobre o Rei Salomֳ£o. "Fabricou Salomֳ£o um palֳ¡cio..." E fui lendo, atֳ© ao fim, trֳ©mulo, confuso; depois rompi em lֳ¡grimas, felizes, como nenhuma felicidade real me farֳ¡ chorar, como nenhuma tristeza da vida me farֳ¡ imitar. Aquele movimento hierֳ¡tico da nossa clara lֳngua majestosa, aquele exprimir das ideias nas palavras inevitֳ¡veis, correr de ֳ¡gua porque hֳ¡ declive,aquele assombro vocֳ¡lico em que os sons sֳ£o cores ideais - tudo isso me toldou de instinto como uma grande emoֳ§ֳ£o polֳtica. E, disse, chorei; hoje, relembrando, ainda choro.Nֳ£o ֳ© - nֳ£o - a saudade da infֳ¢ncia de que nֳ£o tenho saudades: ֳ© a saudade da emoֳ§ֳ£o daquele momento, a mֳ¡goa de nֳ£o poder jֳ¡ ler pela primeira vez aquela grande certeza sinfonica