How Gudrun cast herself into the Sea, but was brought ashore again.
Gudrun had a daughter by Sigurd hight Swanhild; she was the fairest of
all women, eager-eyed as her father, so that few durst look under the
brows of her; and as far did she excel other woman-kind as the sun excels the
other lights of heaven.

But on a day went Gudrun down to the sea, and caught up stones in her
arms, and went out into the sea, for she had will to end her life. But
mighty billows drave her forth along the sea, and by means of their upholding
was she borne along till she came at the last to the burg of King
Jonakr, a mighty king, and lord of many folk. And he took Gudrun to wife, and
their children were Hamdir, and Sorli, and Erp; and there was Swanhild
nourished withal.

On entering the House of Dust,
everywhere I looked there were royal crowns gathered in heaps,
everywhere I listened, it was the bearers of crowns,
who, in the past, had ruled the land,
but who now served Anu and Enlil cooked meats,
served confections, and poured cool water from waterskins.
In the house of Dust that I entered
there sat the high priest and acolyte,
there sat the purification priest and ecstatic,
there sat the anointed priests of the Great Gods.
There sat Etana, there sat Sumukan,
there sat Ereshkigal, the Queen of the Netherworld.
Beletseri, the Scribe of the Netherworld, knelt before her,
she was holding the tablet and was reading it out to her Ereshkigal.
She raised her head when she saw me----
'Who has taken this man?'

A vida não é estúpida, Alda, somos nós que somos estúpidos.

Todos os erros e maleficios da vida derivam de uma forma ou
de outra da maneira como optamos por viver os nossos dias e
fazer as nossas opções -

ou da nossa incapacidade em dominarmo-nos antes de as fazermos.

Racionalizar e tentar dar sentido a tudo, para que as gerações
que nos seguem possam ter uma base de partida melhor que a nossa,
é o que julgo que se pode fazer,no limite.

(Bento) Benedict XVI. Benedictines. Olive.
´
Heh.

ehhh

.
.
Ariel
.
Stasis in darkness.
Then the substanceless blue
Pour of tor and distances.
.
God's lioness,
How one we grow,
Pivot of heels and knees! ---The furrow
.
Splits and passes, sister to
The brown arc
Of the neck I cannot catch,
.
Nigger-eye
Berries cast dark
Hooks ---
.
Black sweet blood mouthfuls,
Shadows.
Something else
.
Hauls me through air ---
Thighs, hair;
Flakes from my heels.
.
White
Godiva, I unpeel ---
Dead hands, dead stringencies.
.
And now I
Foam to wheat, a glitter of seas.
The child's cry
.
Melts in the wall.
And I
Am the arrow,
.
The dew that flies,
Suicidal, at one with the drive
Into the red
.
Eye, the cauldron of morning.
.
-Sylvia Plath
.
.

19 DE OUTUBRO DE 1827



Amigos meus, que Deus vos guarde,

No serviço do czar, no labor,

Nas orgias da amizade,

Nos mistérios doces do amor!



Amigos meus, Deus vos ampare,

Nas agras da vida, na procela,

Na terra alheia, no ermo do mar

E nos fundos negros da terra!

- A.S. Pushkin

Quizzes. Deu-me para aqui.

http://www.sheppardsoftware.com/

Navigate The Seas Of The Sun

Distant earthrise long ago
lingers at the borders of our minds
mysteries spinning in the dark
in the frozen emptiness of time
we were lost and we never knew
who we were or what we left behind
living half-lives we were blind
to the new frontiers that opened up our eyes
to find our minds were spinning
souls entwined in a spiral dance
the ancient ways have found us
again to give us one last chaaaaaaance

living in this place
staring into space we find
we might share the corners of our lives
infinity runs deep
eternity that we can keep
melting through the frozen wastes of time

so we go and we'll not return
to navigate the seas of the sun
our children will go on and on
to navigate the seas of the sun
so we go and we'll not return
we'll navigate the seas of the sun
our children will go on and on
to navigate the seas of the sun

we can go on tomorrow
living death by gravity
couldn't stand it anymore
we'll sail our ships to distant shores

purple gold and blue
living colors every hue
flowers in the garden of the gods
no one can ever know
if you never saw them grow
but this darkness is really full of light

[solos]

now beyond the earth
beyond all things that gave us birth
we'll navigate...
if god is throwing dice
and einstein doesn't mind the chance
we'll navigate...
infinity runs deep
eternity that we can keep
we'll navigate...
flowers of our souls
purple blue and gold we'll find
to navigate...
so we know who we are
even in this frozen waste
we'll navigate...
living in this place
staring into space we'll find
we'll navigate...
well beyond the earth
beyond all things that gave us birth
we'll...
if einstein's throwing dice
and god he doesn't mind the chance
we'll navigate...
flowers of the soul
purple blue and gold
and who we were before
eternity...
we'll navigate...
flowers of the soul

O país perdeu a inteligência e a consciência moral.
Os costumes estão dissolvidos, as consciências em debandada, os caracteres corrompidos.
A prática da vida tem por única direcção a conveniência.
Não há princípio que não seja desmentido.
Não há instituição que não seja escarnecida.
Ninguém se respeita.
Não há nenhuma solidariedade entre os cidadãos.
Ninguém crê na honestidade dos homens públicos.
Alguns agiotas felizes exploram.
A classe média abate-se progressivamente na imbecilidade e na inércia.
O povo está na miséria.
Os serviços públicos são abandonados a uma rotina dormente.
O Estado é considerado na sua acção fiscal como um ladrão e tratado como um inimigo.
A certeza deste rebaixamento invadiu todas as consciências.
Diz-se por toda a parte: o país está perdido!

-Eça de Queirós , 1871.


(o que muda quanto a mim é que o conceito de nação naquela altura fazia algum sentido)

E renegar, sempre renegar quem pregue que é errado estimar o indivíduo. Quando morre o indivíduo, morre uma forma única de amar o Universo.

Como é que eu dei comigo a ver isto hoje? :)



Light e superficial qb para um domingo cinzento em que o tinto escorre bem.

ELEVEN YEARS
(Sullivan/Heaton) 1991

Stevie said now don't look round they're watching us
Two girls in the corner of that dodgy club
And the grey eyes, the storm that I've come to know and wish for
Before I caught a breath, well, she was standing there.
We walked the streets of our town just talking
And the dawn broke grey and freezing through the deserted blocks
Just when your life is stale and there's reason there for everything
Something comes to kick you up inside
Eleven sweet years and no nearer home
A hundred thousands miles through this battle zone
Still high on the wire above the hollow darkness
Trying not to look down

No Rest for the wicked is still how it goes
Twisted up and turning in my bed alone
And separation pains like a blunted amputation
Pushing endless coins in the telephone
Eleven sweet years and no nearer home
A hundred thousands miles through this battle zone
Still high on the wire above the hollow darkness
Trying not to look down

So rest in these open arms and lie until they come for you
And tell me everything you've ever felt, tell me everything you want to see . . .

Forever running even when we are standing still
Driven on and fired up as the whirlwinds blow
And shouting out inside "I'm proud of you, I'm proud of you"
Ten thousand footsteps echo down the Brixton Road
Eleven sweet years and no nearer home
A hundred thousands miles through this battle zone
Still high on the wire above the hollow darkness
Trying not to look down

.
.
13. Here and there
.
Here is the same as there, my friend,
All places in this world are like.
If doomed thy life in grief to spend,
What change can then thy fate amend,
What from thy sou! the pain can strike?
.
When pain doth wound the tired heart
And grief doth tire the fevered eye,
Some joy indeed the world's great art
May to thy pained soul impart-
What's this if joy in thee not lie?
.
When on my restless couch I lie
And count the throbbing of my breath,
I see the joy of earth and sky
Yet hate it alI; why should not I
So keep my coward mind from death?
.
True joy comes not from outward show
But in our deepest soul doth rest.
What matter if the sun can glow
And stars at night look sweetly so
When hearts are by their grief opprest?
.
For when the darkness weighs thy thought,
And night doth fall upon thy soul,
Are not again thy sorrows brought?
Is not thy mind in shadows caught?
Do fears not back upon thee roll?
.
I cannot do but hope; as mine
Thy mind I see to hopes doth bend;
I in my land and thou in thine
We suffer both - our griefs entwine.
Here is the same as there, my friend.
.
-Alexander Search
.
.

Can you feel the wind blow, closer day by day
Blowing with a motion, for a brand new day
Demonchild, why have you been gone
Do you still miss, miss your family
Oh, I'll bet it hurts to lose so much
Can you feel the wind blow, closer day by day
Blowing with a motion, for a brand new day
Demonchild, what have you been through
I can still hear, hear you crying
So you better find a cure
Can you feel the wind blow, closer day by day
Blowing with a motion, for a brand new day

http://fooddownunder.com/cgi-bin/recipe.cgi?r=278752

Nham.

.
.
If We Must Die
.
IF we must die, let it not be like hogs
Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot,
While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs,
Making their mock at our accursed lot.
If we must die, O let us nobly die,
So that our precious blood may not be shed
In vain; then even the monsters we defy
Shall be constrained to honor us though dead!
O kinsmen! we must meet the common foe!
Though far outnumbered let us show us brave,
And for their thousand blows deal one death-blow!
What though before us lies the open grave?
Like men we'll face the murderous, cowardly pack,
Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!
.
- Claude McKay
.
.

when winter winds wane

when winter winds wane
laughs the barn yardbird boon
belly baby springtime loom
when dum deeds does the old man's cane

when winter winds wane
light ferry glimmer twirl
break?
a leaf for bridal girl
cups cut corn fields hay make
when dix knox roads trek the lane

when winter winds wane
when winter winds wane
when winter winds wane

.
.
You Are My Purest Comfort
.
You are my purest comfort,
my most steadfast shelter,
you are the best I have,
for nothing hurts as much as you.
.
No, nothing hurts as you.
You ache like ice and fire,
you cut like steel my soul -
you are the best I have.
.
Karin Boye
.
.

.
.
SOMETIMES THE SKY'S TOO BRIGHT
.
Sometimes the sky's too bright,
Or has too many clouds or birds,
And far away's too sharp a sun
To nourish thinking of him.
Why is my hand too blunt
To cut in front of me
My horrid images for me,
Of over-fruitful smiles,
The weightless touching of the lip
I wish to know
I cannot lift, but can,
The creature with the angel's face
Who tells me hurt,
And sees my body go
Down into misery?
No stopping. Put the smile
Where tears have come to dry.
The angel's hurt is left;
His telling burns.
.
Sometimes a woman's heart has salt,
Or too much blood;
I tear her breast,
And see the blood is mine,
Flowing from her, but mine,
And then I think
Perhaps the sky's too bright;
And watch my hand,
But do not follow it,
And feel the pain it gives,
But do not ache.
.
-Dylan Thomas
.
.

Cromos, v3

Carlos o Chacal. Ilich Ramírez Sánchez Nacionalidad: Venezuela Caracas 1949

Descendiente de una familia acomodada económicamente, desde su juventud está influido por las tendencias marxistas de su padre, que defiende la lucha armada. Si por parte de la familia paterna, Ilich y sus tres hermanos reciben enseñas revolucionarias, su madre luchó por ejercer en ellos una influencia contraria. Trató de inmiscuirles modos conservadores y que abrazaran el catolicismo. Finalmente logró que se trasladaran a Londres. Estando en la capital británica Ilich se dejó cautivar por la vida superficial de la alta sociedad, llegándose incluso a convertir en un playboy. Sin embargo, los estudios resultaban un fracaso para él, por lo que su padre encontró la excusa perfecta para enviarle a estudiar a Moscú. En este ambiente, entra en contacto con estudiantes palestinos relacionados con la lucha armada. Sin embargo, la buena vida que había llevado en Gran Bretaña sigue dominando sus actos. Esta situación provoca que le expulsen en 1970 de la Universidad. Parece ser que entonces ya mantenía relaciones con la KGB. A comienzos de esta década ingresa en el Frente Popular de Liberación de Palestina. En estos años participa en la guerrilla con el ejército del Rey Hussein de Jordania, donde desarrolla su actividad como estratega. Vuelve a Londres como agente secreto. En esta ciudad regresa a sus costumbres de antaño, aunque en esta ocasión compagina la lucha con la vida social. Su primeros actos terroristas resultan fallidos. En consecuencia abandona la cuidad, perseguido por los servicios secretos que le apodan "Chacal". Para encubrir su verdadera identidad emplea distintos nombres. Uno de ellos y por el que sería mundialmente conocido es el de Carlos. En 1973 se instala en París y se le hace responsable del estallido de varios coches-bomba que se activan en las sedes de algunos diarios. Poco después se traslada a Holanda, donde colabora con el Ejército Rojo Japonés en el secuestro de la embajada francesa. Todo se complica y termina con un resultado trágico. Su conocimiento exhaustivo de seis lenguas le permite viajar por todo el mundo y pasar inadvertido. Comienza a ser considerado como el enemigo número uno del capitalismo occidental. Los actos sangrientos se van acumulando en su trayectoria personal. En 1975, cumpliendo los planes trazados por un grupo alemán y árabe, secuestra a once ministros de la OPEP en Viena, que traslada a Argel en un avión. A cambió de dinero perdona la vida a dos de éstos. A partir de la segunda mitad de la década de los setenta se pierde su rastro. Este, junto con sus secuaces, se esconde en Hungría., donde acumula explosivos. La policía también barajó la posibilidad de que estuviera refugiado en Rumanía. En 1982, uno de sus más estrechos colaboradores y su novia son localizados y detenidos en Francia. Carlos amenaza a las autoridades galas con una acción armada. Poco después explota una bomba en un tren galo, donde estaba previsto que viajara Jacques Chirac, atentado en el que mueren cinco personas y resultan heridas casi otras treinta. Los atentados prosiguen con cruentos resultados. Uno de los más atroces sucedió el 31 de diciembre de 1983 cuando realiza dos atentados en la línea ferroviaria de alta velocidad París-Marsella y en la estación de Saint-Charles, situada en esta última localidad. Finalmente la autoridades francesas optan por poner en libertad a su compañera Magdalena Knopp. Tras la caída del muro de Berlín se desconoce su paradero. Se sospecha que puede estar en Siria. En este momento su lucha ideológica pierde consistencia, aunque Carlos no deja de ser un terrorista y se vende al mejor postor. En la década de los noventa Siria le manda a Libia, pero en este país le rechazan. Finalmente se traslada a Sudán, donde abraza la religión islámica. Aunque colabora con la policía de este país, en 1994 es entregado a Francia. Tras ser procesado en París por algunos de los atentados cometidos, es encerrado en la cárcel. En 1997 se celebra un juicio por otros atentados y se le condena a cadena perpetua. Por otra parte le esperan otros muchos juicios por un gran número de delitos. Además es reclamado por otros países como Libia o Austria, que le acusan de haber asesinado a compatriotas suyos. En lo que respecta a España parece ser que entre los años setenta y ochenta mantuvo contactos con ETA.

absurda lucidez
é factor preferencial
cor, tamanho e idade
quaisquer, não faz mal
nas questões essenciais,
duas centelhas maleficas
que não sosseguem um instante
rebeldia na ordem do dia
diz-me que te sentes mutante
asfixiada por gentes banais
falta apenas uma parte, a pior
encontra-me tu, disfarçada de amor.