sexta-feira, 30 de novembro de 2007

quinta-feira, 29 de novembro de 2007

quarta-feira, 28 de novembro de 2007

The Golden Compass
"When she walks down the hall of fictional Jordan College in a figure-hugging gold lamé gown, her honey-blonde locks permed into place, the men on screen fall silent - and my mouth fell open and an involuntary 'wow!' fell out,"..."

Við Erum Með Landakort af Píanóinu

múm: “Við Erum Með Landakort af Píanóinu,” from the Loksins erum við engin LP (Smekkleysa, 2002)

Einstein on the Beach

Philip Glass: “Knee 1″ (composed 1976, recorded 1993), from the Einstein on the Beach LP (Nonesuch, 1993)

terça-feira, 27 de novembro de 2007

Pine Tree

Love is a Dog from Hell


women don't know how to love,
she told me.
you know how to love
but women just want to
I know this because I'm a

hahaha, I laughed.

so don't worry about your breakup
with Susan
because she'll just leech onto
somebody else.

we talked awhile longer
then I said goodbye
went into the crapper and
took a good beershit
mainly thinking, well,
I'm still alive
and have the ability to expel
wastes from my body.
and poems.
and as long as that's happening
I have the ability to handle
and the economic reports in the
financial section.

with that
I stood up
then thought:
it's true:
I know how to love.

I pulled up my pants and walked
into the other room.

Love is a Dog from Hell
Poems, 1974-1977
Charles Bukowski

sexta-feira, 23 de novembro de 2007

Don't Come Knocking

Aquilo que mais me chamou atenção foi este fotograma fabuloso, pelas semelhanças do senhor que se segue. Aquilo que não estava a espera, éra de encontrar, mais e muito mais de "hopper".

Claro que está longe do Paris Texas, mas é deslumbrante a fotografia.
"... gosto mais dos filmes, do que a vida real"...

New York Movie1939 oil

segunda-feira, 19 de novembro de 2007

World of Vladimir Kush

Alone in the Rain

I am alone on my porch, in the rain.
Nightfall is closing in.
Now, the island is lonely.
The world is muffled.

The rain falls on the porch roof.
Two mourning doves twitter as
They go from tree to tree,
Branch to branch.
Now they coo and call
To their mate.

The water shimmers
As sheets of rain
Disturb its surface.
A small yellow warbler alights
On a branch before me,
Ready to add its cheerful song to the mix.

Rain now falls from the roof
The staccato of the heavy
Drops on the hard ground below.

A lone boat courses across the water,
Eager for home.
It leaves but a wake, lost on the rocks.
Mist obscures the shoreline.
Loons steer by me.

I am still, writing these lines.
But I am anxious.
How I long for the sun
For the warmth to join me again
In my rustic cabin in the lake.

by Raymond A. Foss

Envolvente e Encantatório

Onde quer que estejas, tu proteges

Não durmo e tenho os olhos abertos para ti
Olho para fora e olho à roda.
Como está cheia a estrada
De pó e de vento
No caminho do regresso

E quando chegares…
Quando voltarás para mim!...
Olha para o canto do céu
Onde está escrito o teu nome,
Está escrito no ferro
Do aro de um anel

E ainda me seduz
E me faz suspirar
Agora e por quanto tempo
Voltará o encanto…

E se me encontrares cansado,
Se me encontrares apagado,
Se o melhor já tiver passado
E eu não tiver sabido
Mantê-lo dentro de mim…

Os velhos já sabem o porquê
E também os hotéis tristes…
Que muito é por pouco
E, mesmo assim, não chega…
E é só uma vez…

Ainda proteges
O encanto do meu coração
Agora e até que
Volte o encanto,
O encanto por ti,
De te ter perto de mim

Tenho pedras nos sapatos
E pó no coração
Frio, mesmo ao sol
E não bastam as palavras…

Lamento, se pequei
Lamento, se me enganei
Se não fui
Se não voltei

Mas tu ainda manténs
O encanto no meu coração
Agora e até que
Se torne no tempo
O tempo para partir
O tempo para ficar…
O tempo para deixar
O tempo de abraçar

Na riqueza e na fortuna
Na tristeza e na pobreza
Na alegria e na celeuma
No luto e na dor
No frio e no sol
No sono e no barulho

Seja onde for, tu proteges
A alegria do meu coração.
Seja onde for, tu proteges
A alegria do teu coração

Seja onde for, tu proteges
Protege-me do mal
Seja onde for, tu proteges
A alegria do teu coração

Culturgest - 17 Nov 2007

sexta-feira, 16 de novembro de 2007

Superb... Brilliant... Magnificent...

When routine bites hard, and ambitions are low
And resentment rides high, but emotions won't grow
And we're changing our ways, taking different roads
Then love, love will tear us apart again --
Why is the bedroom so cold?
You've turned away on your side
Is my timing that flawed - our respect run so dry?
Yet there's still this appeal that we've kept through our lives
Love, love will tear us apart again --
You cry out in your sleep - all my failings expose
There's a taste in my mouth, as desperation takes hold
Just that something so good just can't function no more
When love, love will tear us apart again --

quinta-feira, 15 de novembro de 2007

Last Dream

One of the final dreams of a blind old man littered with threads of his grandson's narrative. Use your mouse to pan around the dream/landscape and click/drag to pick up and carry objects around.

terça-feira, 13 de novembro de 2007

Life goes on...

"All the world's a stage, And all the men and
women merely players.They have their exits
and their entrances...”
William Shakespeare

Domingo na Culturgest

Que alegria ver este senhor tocar bateria, o Obrigado para ele

Sexta na Culturgest

«Aos meus olhos, parece-me que estou
sempre densamente rodeado de fenóme-
nos muito pequenos e triviais.Embora
admita que sou eu próprio um deles,
desejo tornar-me ainda mais pequeno
e trivial. Acredito que, se conseguir,
um maginifico novo mundo se abrirá,
onde onde desejo estar.»

Hiroaki Umeda

Um trabalho genial, onde me deliciou o minimalismo subtil e violento das suas raízes japonesas contemporâneas. Um optimo fotografo e uma boa escolha sonora.
Incrivel iluminação, sobretudo a luz Estroboscópica.
Obrigado, Umeda por estes dois trabalhos; While going to a condition / Finore

sexta-feira, 2 de novembro de 2007


Totally gorgeous ... James Elaine & William Basinski's Melancholia, shot in Super-8 at the World's Fairgrounds in Flushing Meadows, Queens, NY, 2003, with the soundtrack of William Basinski's "The Saddest Melody Ever Heard" ... the whole thing is a marvellous melancholic mélange ...


Sigur Rós

Count That Day Lost

If you sit down at set of sun
And count the acts that you have done,
And, counting, find
One self-denying deed, one word
That eased the heart of him who heard,
One glance most kindThat fell like sunshine where it went
--Then you may count that day well spent.
But if, through all the livelong day,
You've cheered no heart, by yea or nay
--If, through it allYou've nothing done that you can trace
That brought the sunshine to one face
--No act most small
That helped some soul and nothing cost
--Then count that day as worse than lost.
by George Eliot

An Edward Hopper Scrapbook

New York Movie

Nothing Remains Empty

Nothing Remains Empty
Juan Gregorio Regino
Translated from the Spanish by Earl Shorris and Sylvia Sasson Shorris
Note: This poem was originally written in Mazateco. Although the subject matter of the following poem is contemporary, the style is traditional. As Juan Gregorio Regino has maintained the rhythms of Mazateco chanting in his Spanish translation, we have attempted to carry the rhythms through here.

Nothing will remain empty.
Nothing will remain forgotten.
There is a place in the Universe
where the memory of timeis recorded.
My words will be recorded there.
In clean books.In pure books.
In books of gold.In books of light.
In peaceful books.
Because I am writing with a sacred pencil,
with a sprout for a pencil,
with a pencil of white light.
Thus I feel secure.
Thus I feel wise.
My word is sacred.
My breath is pure.
It is born from there.
My language is fresh.
It will be heard.
It will be written.
In clean books.
In pure books.
In books of gold.
In the books of light.
In the books of peace.
My words will reach there.
On the white table.
On the mother table.
On the clear table.
On the wise table.
Because they are not empty words.
Because they are not hollow words.
Because I speak humbly.
Because I ask for mercy.
Because I ask for justice.
I am not speaking to a vacuum.
I have my light turned on.
I have my breast open.
I have my heart pure.
It is born from there.
It springs forth from there.
It germinates from there.
I have my tender pencil.
I have my kindly pencil.
I have my pencil of light.
I have my sprouted pencil.
It is in between my hands.
It is in between my fists.
They will arrive at a clean house.
They will arrive at a white house.
They will arrive at a celestial house.
They will arrive at a house of flowers.
Because I am begging for clemency.
Because I am begging for justice.
Nothing secret exists.
Nothing hidden exists.
These images speak.
These images plead.
Between many dead letters.
Between many bad rifles.
Between many wordsthat do not reach the sky.
Now I hand it over.
Now I send it.
How far does the infinite light reach.
How far does the white light reach.
In the clean house.
In the white house.
In the celestial house.
My words will arrive there.
Because there are no lies.
Because there is no evil.
Because I deliver humbly.
Because I ask with just words.
Because my language is pure.
Because my word is wise.
Because my speech is sacred.
Because my breath is fresh.
They will be received,they will be heard.
In the house of purity.
In the house of chastity.
Where the lovely table is set.
The white table.
The mother table.
The clear table.
The table of the dawn.
They will arrive like fresh medicine.
Like new leaves.
Like tender sprouts.
Like blank dew, clean and transparent.
As my grandfather says.
As my mother expresses.
My young mother.
My tender mother.
My pure mother.
My dewy mother.
Thus I deliver this word.
Thus I deliver this book.
Thus I deliver this judgment.
Originally published in Que Siga Lloviendo, Escritores en Lenguas Indigenas, Mexico, 1999.

para a Tânia Alexandre

By Katina kamatson from NINE FLOWERS series