AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!

After

Take the cloak from his face, and at first
Let the corpse do its worst!

How he lies in his rights of a man!
Death has done all death can.
And, absorbed in the new life he leads,
He recks not, he heeds
Nor his wrong nor my vengeance; both strike
On his senses alike,
And are lost in the solemn and strange
Surprise of the change.
Ha, what avails death to erase
His offence, my disgrace?
I would we were boys as of old
In the field, by the fold:
His outrage, God's patience, man's scorn
Were so easily borne!

I stand here now, he lies in his place:
Cover the face!

Robert Browning

Eyes fastened with pins
.
.
How much death works,
No one knows what a long
Day he puts in. The little
Wife always alone
Ironing death's laundry.
The beautiful daughters
Setting death's supper table.
The neighbors playing
Pinochle in the backyard
Or just sitting on the steps
Drinking beer. Death,
Meanwhile, in a strange
Part of town looking for
Someone with a bad cough,
But the address somehow wrong,
Even death can't figure it out
Among all the locked doors...
And the rain beginning to fall.
Long windy night ahead.
Death with not even a newspaper
To cover his head, not even
A dime to call the one pining away,
Undressing slowly, sleepily,
And stretching naked
On death's side of the bed.
.
- Charles Simic
.
.

"Since Roman times the cultivation of olive trees and the production of olive oil in Liguria became one of the most important sources of wealth in this area. Through the centuries the demand of olive oil increased steadily and Ligurian people had to rely on the capability of the Benedictine monks who lived in Taggia. Since 1050 the Benedictine monks had organised the cultivation of olive trees in Ligurian valleys following two routes: turning the steeps sides of the hills into terraced plots and creating the famous Taggiasca olives after a long work of selecting and grafting."

(from "Ligurian Cuisine")

I would reject it as the most contemptible evil, I would fight it with
every power I possess, I would fight the whole of mankind, if one
minute were all I could last before I were murdered, I would fight in the full
confidence of the justice of my battle and of a living being's right to
exist. Let there be no misunderstanding about me. If it is now the belief
of my fellow men, who call themselves the public, that their good requires
victims, then I say: The public good be damned, I will have no part of it!"

There stood a tow'r, amazing to the sight,
Built up of beams, and of stupendous height:
Art, and the nature of the place, conspir'd
To furnish all the strength that war requir'd.
To level this, the bold Italians join;
The wary Trojans obviate their design;
With weighty stones o'erwhelm their troops below,
Shoot thro' the loopholes, and sharp jav'lins throw.
Turnus, the chief, toss'd from his thund'ring hand
Against the wooden walls, a flaming brand:
It stuck, the fiery plague; the winds were high;
The planks were season'd, and the timber dry.
Contagion caught the posts; it spread along,
Scorch'd, and to distance drove the scatter'd throng.
The Trojans fled; the fire pursued amain,
Still gath'ring fast upon the trembling train;
Till, crowding to the corners of the wall,
Down the defense and the defenders fall.
The mighty flaw makes heav'n itself resound:
The dead and dying Trojans strew the ground.
The tow'r, that follow'd on the fallen crew,
Whelm'd o'er their heads, and buried whom it slew:
Some stuck upon the darts themselves had sent;
All the same equal ruin underwent.

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
.
.