Coucher avec Elle (Montand canta Desnos)

Coucher avec elle
Pour le sommeil, côte à côte
Pour les rêves parallèles
Pour la double respiration

Coucher avec elle
Pour l'ombre unique et surprenante
Pour la même chaleur
Pour la même solitude

Coucher avec elle
Pour l'aurore partagée
Pour le minuit identique
Pour les mêmes fantômes

Coucher, coucher avec elle
Pour l'amour absolu
Pour le vice et pour le vice
Pour les baisers de toute espèce

Coucher, coucher avec elle
Pour un naufrage ineffable
Pour se prostituer l'un à l'autre
Pour se confondre

Coucher avec elle
Pour se prouver et prouver vraiment
Que jamais n'a pesé sur l'âme
Et le corps des amants
Le mensonge d'une tâche originelle.

O cartaz que não ganhou (Joana Teixeira)

Vale o Festival

Leonard Cohen

Teachers


I met a woman long ago
her hair the black that black can go,
Are you a teacher of the heart?
Soft she answered no.
I met a girl across the sea,
her hair the gold that gold can be,
Are you a teacher of the heart?
Yes, but not for thee.
I met a man who lost his mind
in some lost place I had to find,
follow me the wise man said,
but he walked behind.
I walked into a hospital
where none was sick and none was well,
when at night the nurses left
I could not walk at all.
Morning came and then came noon,
dinner time a scalpel blade
lay beside my silver spoon.
Some girls wander by mistake
into the mess that scalpels make.
Are you the teachers of my heart?
We teach old hearts to break.
One morning I woke up alone,
the hospital and the nurses gone.
Have I carved enough my Lord?
Child, you are a bone.
I ate and ate and ate,
no I did not miss a plate, well
How much do these suppers cost?
We'll take it out in hate.
32
I spent my hatred everyplace,
on every work on every face,
someone gave me wishes
and I wished for an embrace.
Several girls embraced me, then
I was embraced by men,
Is my passion perfect?
No, do it once again.
I was handsome I was strong,
I knew the words of every song.
Did my singing please you?
No, the words you sang were wrong.
Who is it whom I address,
who takes down what I confess?
Are you the teachers of my heart?
We teach old hearts to rest.
Oh teachers are my lessons done?
I cannot do another one.
They laughed and laughed and said, Well child,
are your lessons done?
are your lessons done?
are your lessons done?

registo Cartesiano

    Interditando-me as graças (porque de graças se tratam), calo o "graças a deus, sou ateu".
    E então é assim:
    Contados pelo mapa (à escala ) foram 5 km. Isto é, 5.000 metros, ou seja, para 1 bípede vulgar como me considero, 5.000 passos.
   Confirmado pela balança:: 5 kg.
    Façam as contas: ...é obra !
   O subjectivo é que suei, penei, pensei ( e muito), gozei ( como já não me lembrava), meninei (de mais).
   Tive pena, muita pena, de mim, de nós, porque me soube só, porque me soube rei (e se há coisas que não me encaixam nos cornos, são coroas... ).
  Cheguei a casa feliz, como só se pode ser feliz com as coisas simples ou indizíveis. Assim.

    Continuando com a filosofia, ficavamos assim (outra vez): onde  se vê um, apenas e deliberadamente, objecto, que se saiba (se grite se fôr caso disso), vida.
    Talvez na radical solidão encontremos a tão ansiada fraternidade.
   Muito meu, muito vosso...
   ... irremediavelmente!

Monty Python (para mim)

Isn't it awfully nice to have a penis?
Isn't it frightfully good to have a dong?
It's swell to have a stiffy.
It's divine to own a dick,
From the tiniest little tadger
To the world's biggest prick.
So, three cheers for your Willy or John Thomas.
Hooray for your one-eyed trouser snake,
Your piece of pork, your wife's best friend,
Your Percy, or your cock.
You can wrap it up in ribbons.
You can slip it in your sock,
But don't take it out in public,
Or they will stick you in the dock,
And you won't come back.

monty python (para a MJ)

words and music by Eric Idle

Some things in life are bad
They can really make you mad
Other things just make you swear and curse.
When you're chewing on life's gristle
Don't grumble, give a whistle
And this'll help things turn out for the best...

And...always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the light side of life...

If life seems jolly rotten
There's something you've forgotten
And that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing.
When you're feeling in the dumps
Don't be silly chumps
Just purse your lips and whistle - that's the thing.

And...always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the light side of life...

For life is quite absurd
And death's the final word
You must always face the curtain with a bow.
Forget about your sin - give the audience a grin
Enjoy it - it's your last chance anyhow.

So always look on the bright side of death
Just before you draw your terminal breath

Life's a piece of shit
When you look at it
Life's a laugh and death's a joke, it's true.
You'll see it's all a show
Keep 'em laughing as you go
Just remember that the last laugh is on you.

And always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the right side of life...
(Come on guys, cheer up!)
Always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the bright side of life...
(Worse things happen at sea, you know.)
Always look on the bright side of life...
(I mean - what have you got to lose?)
(You know, you come from nothing - you're going back to nothing.
What have you lost? Nothing!)
Always look on the right side of life...

Finalmente

Baselitz

Georg Baselitz       "Die grosse Nachtim Elmer " (The Great Piss-Up], 1962-3

The exposed genitalia in Baselitz's uncompromising paintings and graphics of this period are essentially attempts to bring into the open, to make public, the effects of official 'cover-ups'and repressed
emotions in post-Holocaust West Germany. Three years earlier Gunter Grass's novel The Tin Drum had exploited images of retarded childhood to allegorize the darker aspects of the German psyche.

Piero Manzoni

Piero Manzoni, Artist’s Breath [Fiato d’artista], 1960. Balloon, wood and lead seals. 
Tate Collection, London. Photo © Tate, London 2005. © DACS 2005

podiam ser pombas, podiam ser gaiolas ...

Henri Cartier-Bresson, "Henri Matisse", (1944)


   Um fotógrafo, um pintor e o que hão-de ser desenhos. Afinal , gaiola (a havê-la) é a própria fotografia aprisionando o momento.
   Mas isso não explica tudo, pois não ?

Borgianas

A Soma

Diante da cal de uma parede que nada
nos impede de imaginar infinita
sentou-se um homem que premedita
traçar com rigorosa pincelada
na branca parede o mundo inteiro:
portas, balanças, sedimentos, jacintos,
anjos, bibliotecas, labirintos,
âncoras, Uxmal, o infinito, o zero.
Povoa de formas a parede. A sorte,
que em curiosos dons não é avara,
permite-lhe dar fim à sua porfia.
No preciso instante da morte
dscobre que essa vasta algaravia
de linhas é a imagem da sua cara.


A Posse do Ontem

   Sei que perdi tantas coisas que não poderia contá-las e que essas perdas são agora o que é meu. Sei que perdi o amarelo e o preto e penso nessas impossíveis cores. Como não pensam os que vêem. O meu pai morreu e está sempre a meu lado. Quando quero escandir * versos de Swinburne, faço-o, dizem-me, com a voz dele. Ilíon passou, mas Ilíon perdura no hexágono que a chora. Israel aconteceu quando era uma antiga nostalgia. Todo o poema, com o tempo, é uma elegia. Nossas são as mulheres que nos deixaram, já não sujeitos à véspera, que é angústia e aos alarmes e terrores da esperança. Não há outros paraísos que não sejam paraísos perdidos.

* - v.t. Medir, calcular, enumerar.
Pronunciar, destacando as sílabas.
Escandir versos, medi-los, contar-lhes as sílabas métricas.

Jorge Luis Borges, in "Os Conjurados" (trad.Mª da Piedade M. Ferreira e Salvato Teles de Meneses)

Cortázar

EL DIARIO A DIARIO

Un señor toma el tranvía después de comprar el diario y ponérselo bajo
el brazo. Media hora más tarde desciende con el mismo diario bajo el
mismo brazo.
Pero ya no es el mismo diario, ahora es un montón de hojas impresas
que el señor abandona en un banco de plaza.
Apenas queda solo en el banco,  el montón de hojas impresas se
convierte otra vez en un diario, hasta que un muchacho lo ve, lo lee y lo
deja convertido en un montón de hojas impresas.
Apenas queda solo en el banco,  el montón de hojas impresas se
convierte otra vez en un diario, hasta que una anciana lo encuentra, lo lee y
lo deja convertido en un montón de hojas impresas. Luego se lo lleva a su
casa y en el camino lo usa para empaquetar medio kilo de acelgas, que es
para lo que sirven los diarios después de estas excitantes metamorfosis.

Julio Cortázar, in "A Volta ao Dia em 80 Mundos"