Tocam a repique os sinos da minha cozinha, tambores berecíncios, guarnições ausónias, temos fome!

Cão

Cão passageiro, cão estrito,
cão rasteiro cor de luva amarela,
apara-lápis, fraldiqueiro,
cão liquefeito, cão estafado,
cão de gravata pendente,
cão de orelhas engomadas,
de remexido rabo ausente,
cão ululante, cão coruscante,
cão magro, tétrico, maldito,
a desfazer-se num ganido,
a refazer-se num latido,
cão disparado: cão aqui,
cão além, e sempre cão.
Cão marrado, preso a um fio de cheiro,
cão a esburgar o osso
essencial do dia a dia,
cão estouvado de alegria,
cão formal da poesia,
cão-soneto de ão-ão bem martelado,
cão moído de pancada
e condoído do dono,
cão: esfera do sono,
cão de pura invenção, cão pré-fabricado,
cão-espelho, cão-cinzeiro, cão-botija,
cão de olhos que afligem,
cão-problema...

Sai depressa, ó cão, deste poema!

- Alexandre O'Neill

O Poeta em Lisboa

Quatro horas da tarde.
O poeta sai de casa com uma aranha nos cabelos.
Tem febre. Arde.
E a falta de cigarros faz-lhe os olhos mais belos.

Segue por esta, por aquela rua
sem pressa de chegar seja onde for.
Pára. Continua.
E olha a multidão, suavemente, com horror.

Entra no café.
Abre um livro fantástico, impossível.
Mas não lê.
Trabalha — numa música secreta, inaudível.

Pede um cigarro. fuma.
Labaredas loucas saem-lhe da garganta.
Da bruma
espreita-o uma mulher nua, branca, branca.

Fuma mais. Outra vez.
E atira um braço decepado para a mesa.
Não pensa no fim do mês.
A noite é a sua única certeza.

Sai de novo para o mundo.
Fechada à chave a humanidade janta.
Livre, vagabundo
dói-lhe um sorriso nos lábios. Canta.

Sonâmbulo, magnífico
segue de esquina em esquina com um fantasma ao lado.
Um luar terrífico
vela o seu passo transtornado.

Seis da madrugada.
A luz do dia tenta apunhalá-lo de surpresa.
Defende-se à dentada
da vida proletária, aristocrática, burguesa.

Febre alta, violenta
e dois olhos terríveis, extraordinários, belos.
Fiel, atenta
a aranha leva-o para a cama arrastado pelos cabelos.

- António José Forte

and she will be looking, there
for daily passion and someday maybe
some miracle,
and i'm gonna be looking here
for the opposite, daily miracles
and the unexpected passion
'k?

18. Between lands

And now
in silence
after the tower
i will carry the marks
branded
carved
from carbon eyes
with yours
knowing
forever
we sing


19. Home

tänään
minä olen suomalainen
hiljainen
rakastava
tuulessa
tänään
tänään
aina
hiljaa.



20. Everywhere


And back again


the sun came up on your golden face
your voice was loss
the wind blew mild
and took me on

you were staying
and we'd be still in the woods
like kids

and back again

but a dream within a dream

1.Saudade

The Portuguese word "saudade", loosely translated,denotes "longing", "melancholy", or "nostalgia." In the context of Portuguese, however, the term connotes a meaning that is irrevocably lost in translation. In his book In Portugal of 1912, A.F.G Bell makes a few disquisitional remarks on the meaning of "saudade" given its intended context:

"The famous saudade of the Portuguese is a vague and constant desire for something that does not and probably cannot exist, for something other than the present, a turning towards the past or towards the future; not an active discontent or poignant sadness but an indolent dreaming wistfulness."


2. LIS, 18.02.05

An airport is a harbour of the soul
Wards hold hearts like apples in time
A nursing takes place
Where the cradled child shines

We try not to think
of hospital beds
Lest life, saddened, forget
Our daily toil to reward it.


3. LIS, 18.02.05

Will you show me the ice
I said
the skin of reindeer
I said
the drum that sings your people
to peace
will there be laughter
and women and cups
I said
Thank you,
for a part of my healing.



4. AMS, 18.02.05

the rain outside these walls
might help our little farm
endure one
soft
day

night ere day ere smiles
cans, pup, equal hearts alive
thirty or less

five
ten beats
trust a small planet to kindle kindred eyes



5. HKI, 19.02.05

Respect

made in islands of the heart
to cross the roads,
self reflection

lakes and plains, skipped beats
the geography of your homeland
mirrors a greatness of the soul

and aside
solemn
my respectful stare?



6. HKI, 19.02.05

Lumi

not expressionless
i know
there you are,
like snowy roads
like the soft mounds
your faces are the sum
of all emotions.



7. HKI, 19.02.05

Rock it baby

Hoo blonde blonde!
Bar!
Hee-haa!
Printing complete,
hah!
get down here and have some wine,
or we're gonna have to find some

brunettes



8. 20.02.05 early dawn

"yesterday i met one of the most faithful and self-aware faces, her eyes so silent and yet love, here, can be said - i do not dare to show it for her name is light that burns the ailing traveller - in fifteen different ways. and then she turned, walking away, leaving my certainties frozen to the shaking ground. never have i tasted such form of passion."



9. HKI, 20.02.05

Tuuli

how lonely and aching
those lakes like turf
your perfect moon
your crying hands

sending maybe for help,
a winter garden of hope
my endless fire
my crystal faith

it stopped
did we make that happen?
did the stars blow in
the wind, for a while
as we kissed
the old man's riddle?



sinulle
(hiljaisuus)





10. HKI, 20.02.05

Liha

How my newfound brother
had me drunk
immersed in wild berries
then
from the hands of a tall
blonde
silent woman
sprang reindeer, some
but
not any specific one.




11. Midnight, somewhen

it was then that we
pierced with flames
for a moment could see
the true reason for names

and arms, coupled, broke fear




12. Puurijärvi, 21.02.05

tiny tracks on snow
and steep, enchanted pathways
how much my heart can ache
for knowing we must part.



13. Forssa, 21.02.05

kebab at araz

strange thing
i am not
by any standards
voracious
sheer joy to see
you
eating your choice
in all this light
this blinding light
where dark men came
to find themselves




14. Huittinen, 21.02.05

Tea Time

or how i met the image of harmony, simplicity and honesty, on two frail hands that signed a book, your mirror in the hall saying that our so much different hair and eyes were but separate instants in time, your gift an island of warmth.




15. Penttilänniemi, 21.02.05

Shapes

a vertical tale
for the perfect class
present in every move
you make
in every line
you create
not cold here
it lies outside
driven by your spark.



16. Huittinen, 22.02.05

Two stones

Erect as houses
straight
in the ruthless chill
firm
together
complete as halls
there i learned from you
how to drop words
forever




17. Vantaa, 22.02.05

Ulos

one beginning, south
and pine, and wind, and skin
one beginning, north
and love, and life, and voice
one of three, between
and trust, and tears and hands
on fragile space

Old timeless friend
they will grow in a small world
unlike you and I
where we blossomed, the limit
was the tallest tree
one sunset
or even nightfall
not for them
who will carry our blessings
and the weight of our hope
on their arms.

LIS, G16

-> nxa.

Giggle

Cute
On election eve
the bare lives
merry
darkened fingertips
clutching democracy
on the smile of an actor

LIS, 18.02.05

Uusia Kuvia, #1-3

Não posso pôr todas...

E que mais? Chego de um país onde as pessoas:

sao pagas para ficar em casa com os filhos
sao supridas de tudo quanto eh saude, educacao, etc
se sentem SERVIDAS pelo estado
podem dedicar-se a artes e trabalhos paralelos sem prejuizo do seu tempo livre e rendimentos
cumprimentam na rua e recebem em sua casa cada outra pessoa como se de um potencial irmao se tratasse

e aqui,

o meu carro chumba na inspecção, um carro ainda novo, perfeito, revisto, porque

os autocolantes "bebé a bordo" sao proibidos (nao regulamentares!)
a luzinha de dentro do botao dos 4piscas nao acende, atencao, a luz do botao em si!
a pála do pendura tem o fixador solto

e

os autocolantes sao uma "reincidencia" porque ja vinham referidos na folha de ha dois anos...

Alguem me explica porque é que a pequenez nao tem limites?

Vivi uma semana onde as pessoas só falam do que é importante, e onde a "nossa" vidinha aqui, na loucura casa-trabalho-obrigações, parece coisa de filme tailandês. É tão triste regressar e ver que as pessoas votaram, uma vez mais, em vez de terem feito algo para mudar este nojo de existência que nos condena a gastar anos em nada.

Já cá estou. É ao mesmo tempo uma sensação de clausura, perda, e carinho. E claro, o que está, está...

A parte textual ha-de sair toda junta.

Para já, tenho aprendo mais respeito, ainda mais empatia, a certeza de haver povos que como um tod andam pelas ruas como se encontrassem consigo proprios todos os dias, a cada porta de loja que se abre.

Kauppa Hallis, uma coisa a nao perder. E vinho da Tunisia com este pao.



Suomenlinna.

É sempre difícil partir, ainda que seja, à partida ;) para voltar. Possivelmente a próxima coisa que escrever será a lápis sobre moleskine, de mochila às costas, cantil de aguardente em riste. Não há limites para onde um homem o pode ser. Não há pedra que fique por virar quando se bebe da vida como se cada segundo fosse o primeiro.

Não há precendetes. Perdão, precedentes.

Não há sequelas.

Até já.

Sideways, a não perder.

L. Ron Hubbard

Não podia ir voar sem deixar aqui um cromo dos mais difíceis. Observai e tentai não cair em desespero pela Humanidade. Sort of.



Lafayette Ronald Hubbard (March 13, 1911–January 24, 1986), better known as L. Ron Hubbard, was a prolific and controversial American writer and the founder of the Church of Scientology. In addition to religious works, he authored fiction in many genres, educational and management texts, essays and poetry.

A controversial chapter in Hubbard's early life revolves around his association with Jack Parsons, a rocket propulsion researcher at Caltech and associate of the British occultist Aleister Crowley. It is alleged that during this period Hubbard and Parsons were engaged in the practice of ritual magick. A notable point of Hubbard and Parsons' collaboration was the Babalon Working, an extended set of sex magic rituals intended to summon a goddess.

In mid-1952, Hubbard expanded Dianetics into a secular philosophy which he called Scientology. The following December, he declared it to be a religion and founded the first Church of Scientology in Camden, New Jersey. He moved to England at about the same time and during the remainder of the 1950s he masterminded the worldwide development of Scientology from an office in London. In 1959, he bought Saint Hill Manor near the Sussex town of East Grinstead, a Georgian manor house formerly owned by the Maharajah of Jaipur. This became the worldwide headquarters of Scientology.

Hubbard convinced his supporters that he could give them access to their past lives, the traumas of which he said led to failures in the present unless they were audited, a process that proved very lucrative for his church, which paid emoluments directly to himself and his family. He claimed that a clear, like himself, would not suffer disease; his closest personal associates and doctors report that he went to great lengths to have evidence of his recourse to modern medicine suppressed, attributing the symptoms of disease to attacks by malicious forces.

Scientology became controversial across the English-speaking world during the mid-1960s, with Britain, New Zealand, South Africa, the Australian state of Victoria and the Canadian province of Ontario all holding public inquiries (http://whyaretheydead.net/Cowen/audit/ofpapers.html) into Scientology's activities. In 1967, Hubbard left the controversy behind by appointing himself "Commodore" of a small fleet of Scientologist-crewed ships which spent the next eight years cruising the Mediterranean Sea.

Hubbard died in 1986, in an expensive Bluebird motorhome on his ranch. He had not been seen in public since 1981. Several issues surrounding Hubbard's death are subjects of controversy — a swift cremation with no autopsy, the destruction of coroner's photographs, coroner's evidence of the psychiatric drug Vistaril present in Hubbard's blood, the whereabouts of Dr. Eugene Denk (Hubbard's physician) during Hubbard's death, and the changing of wills and trust documents the day before his death. The Church of Scientology announced his death in 1986, stating Hubbard had deliberately "dropped his body" to do "higher level spiritual research," unencumbered by mortal confines.

Baby, baby why can’t you sit still?
Who killed that bird out on you window sill?
Are you the reason that he broke his back?
Did I see you laugh about that?
If I come on like a dream?
Would you let me show you what I mean?
If you let me come on inside?
Will you let it glide?

Can I have some remedy?
Remedy for me please.
Cause if I had some remedy
I’d take enough to please me.

Baby, baby why did you dye your hair?
Why you always keeping with your mother’s dare?
Baby why’s who’s who, who know you too?
Did the other children scold on you?
If I come on like a dream?
Would you let me show you what I mean?
If you let me come on inside?
Will you let it slide?

Dias de setenta e duas horas a arfar como um meteoro no cio entre golfadas de café quente e coelhos de peluche.

Bem sei que não tenho escrito. Torna-se complexo. E sexta-feira vou voar. Calma. Muita calma.

(para ti, C, depois da conversa de sexta-feira)

The lie of the contemporary world is not a lie in the subjective sense, in the sense of the sin of the subject, this lie is the expression of a profound degeneration of the structure of consciousness. From the world ever moreso disappears the personal conscience and all the less is heard its voice. But this does not mean, that in general conscience vanishes, it but alters its character. The collective consciousness has crystallised with such power and in such proportions, that it completely smothers within man the personal conscience. Man is forced into the lie in the name of this or some other understanding of the collective welfare. The lie to a remarkable degree is the manifestation of the social order. Man lies primarily to an other and to others. And even when man lies to himself, then he does this, having others in view both consciously and unconsciously. Man plays out a role before himself, so as then later to play out this role before others. The dictator is always a man inwardly an incorrigible liar, but this lying defines his role afront the world.

The social attitudes of people are filled not only by the evil lie, begotten of the will to power, but also by the innocent conditional lie. The innocent conditional lie can be the condition for the possibility of human living-together. Thus, for example, a man might be polite with another man, whom he despises to the bottom of his soul. The lie is wrought by evil, when there is the will towards domination and might, not personal only, but collective also, in what it cannot realise of itself. The will to power can be particular to an individual, but it always bears a social character.

The “super man” of Nietsche unfailingly must find himself in social acts. But these social acts unfailingly demand the lie. The will to power cannot be realised otherwise, than with the assist of the lie. Christ spoke with power, and in Him only was the pure truth. Caesar, the dictator, can find power only with the help of the lie. Without the lie can be realised only the feeling of freedom. Freedom is a principle, contrary to lie. And the authentic liberation of man is a liberation from the domination of the lie. The extent of the lie in the world defines itself by the manifestation of a centralising collective consciousness, sustaining the will to power. To this ought to be opposed the heroic struggle for the freedom of the spirit, i.e. for the truth, the unmasked lie. Not at all does this mean individualism.

Man is a communitarian being. The struggle cannot be directed against the creation of a new society, of a new communality of people. But truth always means, that spirit defines society, whereas the lie signifies, that society defines spirit. The new society cannot be created by diplomacy, i.e. by adaption to the condition of the world. The world is so full of the lie, the lie is so corrosive to the supreme human ideas, that by the unique powers of the world, by which everything is relativised, it is impossible to conquer the lie. Faith in the victory over the lie presupposes faith in the existence of a power exalted above the world, of the power of a Truth over the world, i.e. God.

Even if all the world be infected by the lie, then all the same there is the Truth, pure from every blemish of lie, and in the struggle against the lie we ought to unite with this Truth. The personal conscience defines our relationship to this utmost Power -- the Truth, but this is not only a conscience, isolated from other people, this is a conscience, pervaded by the sense of the spiritual brotherhood of people, a brotherhood in the Truth, and not in the lie.

- Nikolai Berdyaev

Cromo Colectivo #1

Todos os empresários, "protagonistas", barões, pulhas, crápulas, energúmenos, "homens de sucesso", degenerados, geriatro-pseudo-oligarcas, pústulas da sociedade que não existe.

Gente que nasceu no mesmo dia que eu

1400-1899

* 1442 - King Edward IV of England (d. 1483)
* 1758 - James Monroe, 5th President of the United States (d. 1831)
* 1810 - Daniel Ullmann, general (d. 1892)
* 1819 - Ezra Abbot, American bible scholar (d. 1884)
* 1874 - Karl Kraus, journalist and author (d. 1936)
* 1878 - Lionel Barrymore, actor (d. 1954)
* 1886 - Ğabdulla Tuqay, poet (d. 1913)
* 1889 - António de Oliveira Salazar, dictator of Portugal (d. 1970)
* 1896 - Charlie Rivel, clown (d. 1983)



1900-1999

* 1900 - Bruno Apitz, author (d. 1979)
* 1906 - Kurt Gödel, mathematician (d. 1978)
* 1908 - Oskar Schindler, businessman (d. 1974)
* 1923 - Horst-Eberhard Richter, psychoanalyst
* 1928 - Yves Klein, painter (d. 1962)
* 1928 - Eugene M. Shoemaker, planetary scientist (d. 1997)
* 1930 - James Baker, politician
* 1937 - Saddam Hussein, former leader of Iraq
* 1941 - Ann-Margret, actress
* 1948 - Terry Pratchett, author
* 1950 - Jay Leno, comedian
* 1958 - Hal Sutton, American golfer
* 1966 - John Daly, American golfer
* 1974 - Penélope Cruz, actress
* 1981 - Jessica Alba, actress
* 1977 - Michael Reichel, Telepath