sábado, 31 de março de 2012


Não importa quão grande possa ser um lago. Nunca será um oceano...

O oceano não tem limtes, funde-se com outros oceanos, e tende para um infinito.

O lago, esse não tem por onde crescer...

quarta-feira, 28 de março de 2012

segunda-feira, 26 de março de 2012


Ekki Múkk ("Not a Peep")


...broken life...


"La bestialidad imperialista, bestialidad que no tiene una frontera determinada, ni pertenece a un país determinado, bestias fueron las hordas hitlerianas, como bestias son los norteamericanos hoy, como bestias son los paracaidistas belgas, como bestias fueron los imperialistas franceses en Argelia, porque es la naturaleza del imperialismo la que bestializa a los hombres, la que los convierte en fieras sedientas de sangre que están dispuestas a degollar, a asesinar, a destruir hasta la última imagen de un revolucionario, de un partidario de un régimen que haya caído bajo su bota o que luche por su libertad." ~ Che Guevara

sexta-feira, 23 de março de 2012

quarta-feira, 21 de março de 2012


"When it comes, don't you hesitate
The falling sun, it never fades
When it comes, don't you hesitate
It'll come around"

segunda-feira, 19 de março de 2012


"As tuas mãos têm grossas veias como cordas azuis sobre um fundo de manchas já da cor da terra - como são belas tuas mãos pelo quanto
lidaram, acariciaram ou fremiram da nobre cólera dos justos...
Porque há nas tuas mãos, meu velho pai, essa beleza que se chama simplesmente vida.
E, ao entardecer, quando elas repousam nos braços da tua cadeira predileta, uma luz parece vir de dentro delas...
Virá dessa chama que pouco a pouco, longamente, vieste alimentando na terrível solidão do mundo, como quem junta uns gravetos e tenta acendê-los contra o vento.
Ah! Como os fizeste arder, fulgir, com o milagre das tuas mãos!
E é, ainda, a vida que transfigura as tuas mãos nodosas...essa chama de vida - que transcende a própria vida...e que os Anjos, um dia, chamarão de alma."

Mario Quintana


"Bleeding all around
Liquid metal through my veins
The radio's burning"


Echo (phenomenon)

In audio signal processing and acoustics, an echo (plural echoes) is a reflection of sound, arriving at the listener some time after the direct sound. Typical examples are the echo produced by the bottom of a well, by a building, or by the walls of an enclosed room and an empty room. A true echo is a single reflection of the sound source. The time delay is the extra distance divided by the speed of sound. The word echo derives from the Greek ἠχώ (ēchō), itself from ἦχος (ēchos), "sound".

domingo, 18 de março de 2012

sexta-feira, 16 de março de 2012


"I've never been so high
I think I'm coming down
I've never laughed so loud
I think I'm coming down
Nothing gonna stop me now"


"Dive, we fall and sail flat into the noise"


"Sink, sink
Drowned by our country
Old machine
Is cursed and forgotten
Never surface again"


"Fuck me? Fuck you.

Fuck you and this whole city and everyone in it
rapped up in plastic

10 years in the country still no speaky English?

Fuck the squeegee men dirtying up my clean windshield. Get a fucking job.

Fuck the Sikhs and the Pakistanis palming down the avenues in decrepit cabs.

Curries steaming out their pours. Stinking up my day. Terrorists in fucking training. Slow the fuck down!

Fuck the Chelsea boys with their waxed chest and bulked up biceps, going down on each other in my parks and on my piers. Jingling their dicks on my channel 35.

Fuck the Russians in Brighton Beach. Mobsters, thugs, sitting in cafes sipping tea in little glasses. Sugar cubes between their teeth.

Fuck the black-headed Hasidim strolling up and down 47th street in their dirty Gabardine with their dandruff selling South African apartheid diamonds.

Fuck the Wall Street brokers. Self-stout masters of the universe. Michael Douglas Gordon Gecko wannabe motherfuckers figuring out new ways to rob hard working people blind.

Move the fuck on!

Fuck the corrupt cops with their anus violating plungers and their 41 shot standing behind a blue wall of silence. You betrayed our trust!

Fuck the priests who put their hands down some innocent child's pants. Fuck the church that protects them delivering us into evil and while you're at it, fuck J.C. He got off easy. A day on the cross, a weekend in hell and all the hallelujahs of the legion angels for eternity. Try seven years in fucking Otisville, Jay.

Fuck this whole city and everyone in it. From the row houses of Astoria to the penthouses on Park Avenue. From the projects in the Bronx to the lofts in Cohoe. From the tenements in Alphabet C to the brown stones of Parksville to the split-levels in Staten Island. Let an earthquake crumble it. Let the fires rage. Let it burn to fucking ash and then let the waters rise and submerge this whole rat infested place."


They speak with knives... but still, we can beat them with sharper minds!

terça-feira, 13 de março de 2012


Everything Is Made In China...


"Now we're apart,
Though not through choice.
Do we stay mute?
Or raise our voice?"


As she walks in the room
Scented and tall
Hesitating once more
And as I take on myself
And the bitterness I felt
I realise that love flows

Wild, white horses
They will take me away
And the tenderness I feel
Will send the dark underneath
Will I follow?

Through the glory of life
I will scatter on the floor
Disappointed and sore
And in my thoughts I have bled
For the riddles I've been fed
Another lie moves over

Wild, white horses
They will take me away
And the tenderness I feel
Will send the dark underneath
Will I follow?

Wild, white horses
They will take me away
And the tenderness I feel
Will send the dark underneath
Will I follow?

segunda-feira, 12 de março de 2012




A whisper in the noise...


it feels so wrong!


"In a land far away
There is hope on a beach
In a broch
In my thoughts
I will feed every day with itself
With my present state
With my heart on a lead
I could fall in a hole
I could drive the circumference
A piano broken up into parts
Is a car that sits still

I am here in a sky
In a lead part that I didn't write
Every word I will feed
With the thought of a home
On a hill
Under trees
All alone
I'll sustain every year
I will grow every hope I have."


sexta-feira, 9 de março de 2012

terça-feira, 6 de março de 2012


"And at the end of all your lines
Who will love you?
Who will fight?
Who will fall far behind?"

sábado, 3 de março de 2012


Sorrow is an emotion, feeling, or sentiment. Sorrow 'is more "intense" than sadness...it implies a long term state'.[1] At the same time 'sorrow - but not unhappiness - suggests a degree of resignation...which lends sorrow its peculiar air of dignity'.
'In terms of attitude, sorrow can be said to be half way between sadness (accepting) and distress (not accepting)'.

In "Wikipedia)