Este reino pede férias. Este reino vai de tréguas.

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Rimar papas e bolos

à razão de um por semana
venho encontrando o amor
é ratio de quem se engana
com as oscilações do calor
atenta aos olhos, cabelos,
ao desenho da narina
no fundo, oh, tem sido bom
encontrar-te em cada esquina

A estação tolinha nos meus 10+

Esta semana, fruto de temperaturas, passeios e disposições, as tabelas de audições ficaram assim:

1. Corduroy Utd. – Here Comes the Summer
2. Oh No! Oh My! – Walk in the Park
3. Marching Band – Home Alone
4. Camera Obscura – Lloyd, I´m ready to be heartbroken
5. The Essex Green – The Late Great Cassiopia
6. Jens Lekman – A Sweet Summer's Night on Hammer Hill
7. Acid House Kings – Do What You Wanna Do
8. Clap Your Hands Say Yeah – Upon This Tidal Wave of Young Blood
9. Belle and Sebastian – The Blues Are Still Blue
10. Lucky Lucky Pigeons – Who smells marshmallows?


O alerta veio daqui

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Step to the beat

Get Into the Groove, Sonic Youth

Razões de sobras

enquanto houver mundo nesta fome

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Lyrics fool

"don´t mind puzzles like you

(...) don´t like puzzles like you"

nice day for a walk in the village

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“Estavam num daqueles lugares do mal, onde marés sobem muito, nocturnas, em torvelinho de neblina luminoso… Assim, rara a claridade do dia, e raros o ar seco e o vento, a erguê-los pelas pontas do cabelo.
Mas, sim, talvez ainda pudessem juntos salvar as garças plantadas como estacas todas as manhãs nos aterros e que sempre se afundavam ao entardecer… Indo lá antes do sol se pôr, quem sabe… Quem sabe até o quanto poderia ser salvo enquanto ainda fosse dia no meio das coisas que se afundavam sempre na neblina movediça… (começar pelos lugares mais baixos, pelas margens do rio, sob as pontes, pelos estaleiros dos barcos sobre a areia, pelas primeiras fileiras de prédios, pelos páteos onde desaguam em humidade as janelas baixas e se ouvem matraquear, ainda ao longe, as peças dos jogos sobre os tabuleiros)” , tomou nota no caderno do costume.
“Tantas coisas em perigo, e nós apenas dois!”, ainda pensou antes de submergir o corpo nos lençóis de água para adormecer.

Sentimento de um oriental

São Petersburgo, Berlim, Paris, Madrid, o mundo!

'But what has become of them all?' asked the Mole.

'Who can tell?' said the Badger. 'People come--they stay for a while, they flourish, they build--and they go. It is their way. But we remain. There were badgers here, I've been told, long before that same city ever came to be. And now there are badgers here again. We are an enduring lot, and we may move out for a time, but we wait, and are patient, and back we come. And so it will ever be.'

'Well, and when they went at last, those people?' said the Mole.

'When they went,' continued the Badger, 'the strong winds and persistent rains took the matter in hand, patiently, ceaselessly, year after year. Perhaps we badgers too, in our small way, helped a little--who knows? It was all down, down, down, gradually--ruin and levelling and disappearance. Then it was all up, up, up, gradually, as seeds grew to saplings, and saplings to forest trees, and bramble and fern came creeping in to help. Leaf-mould rose and obliterated, streams in their winter freshets brought sand and soil to clog and to cover, and in course of time our home was ready for us again, and we moved in. Up above us, on the surface, the same thing happened. Animals arrived, liked the look of the place, took up their quarters, settled down, spread, and flourished. They didn't bother themselves about the past--they never do; they're too busy. The place was a bit humpy and hillocky, naturally, and full of holes; but that was rather an advantage. And they don't bother about the future, either--the future when perhaps the people will move in again--for a time--as may very well be. The Wild Wood is pretty well populated by now; with all the usual lot, good, bad, and indifferent--I name no names. It takes all sorts to make a world. But I fancy you know something about them yourself by this time.'

Kenneth Grahame, The Wind in The Willows

Padrão para descobertas

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Fico quieta.
Não escrevo mais. Estou desenhando numa vila que não me pertence.
Não penso na partida. Meus garranchos são hoje e se acabaram. (...)

Ana Cristina César, Um Beijo que Tivesse um Blue