quinta-feira, 22 de dezembro de 2011

Explodindo Coloridos

Explodindo coloridos,
De certezas desconcertantes.
Vontade de pular pro perigo de dentro,
Medo de perder o seguro de fora.

Lua da alegria,
Clareia meu caminho,
De Brasil ao todo resto.

Verde dessa mata,
Bebe minha alma,
Chove meu entender.

segunda-feira, 19 de dezembro de 2011

Desagradável mar de poesia voltado ao mesmo tema que se quer provar provável. Amor.

Esse desconhecido indisconhecível,
Me segue pelas madrugadas alertas cansadas.

Discutido pela massa indelicada de sentimento,
Manuseado pelas mentes largas da propaganda,
Aspirado pelos que deleitam felicidade utópica,
Não me compra confortavelmente com promessas coloridas e perfumadas.

Quero o incheirável




Antes constante,
Hoje quase figurante.

Seca fonte,
Sem monte.

Sem seu calor abafante
Ou batida acelerante.

Sentimento agonizante, asfixiante...

Já se foi o comunicante,
Brilhante e inventariante.

quarta-feira, 7 de dezembro de 2011

Pina Bausch

Her work never stopped with the perfect technique.
What is created after that, with an specific purpose, is what we can call art.
It is so beautiful and open, that can be meaningfull in different ways to different people.
Its a work that cannot be compared to all the stupidity on tv, cinema and theatre that's been called "art" all over the world.

We have lost a beautiful artistic creative person.
I just hope we can bring to existence half of the beauty she brought.

A movie for Pina, full of beautiful contrasts
Beautiful relationships
Real feelings
Real problems
Real dancers

It is life
It is truth
It is art
It is Pina.

WATCH ONLINE = http://www.megavideo.com/?v=4BY2T3G5

quinta-feira, 1 de dezembro de 2011

The Alive DEATH Subject

Is it creepy to have death as a very present subject in our lives now-a-days?
Richard Godwin writes about it:
Apocalypse? Wow! 
Peering into economic abyss is provoking new creativity in our attitude to death
Last week, at the Evening Standard's party for influential Londoners, I spied a tall, dark man standing apart from the throng, casting a severe eye over the crowd. I asked if he was enjoying the party.
"I don't like people very much," he said with a sigh. Oh, I said, apologising - I am a person. However, when he introduced himself as an extremely important figure in the City of London, I directed the conversation towards the global financial crisis.
"Well, we're f**ked, aren't we?" he said with certain macabre pleasure. "The end is nigh."
The end of the eurozone?
"No!" he laughed. "The end of the world."
As a vast asteroid called 2005 YU 55 passed silently within the orbit of the Moon, he provided a vivid picture of the future here on Earth. He described the imminent abandonment of Detroit and Pittsburgh; the coming social catastrophe in Glasgow (where even the pound shops have closed); the breakdown of law and order in rural England ("the countryside always goes first"). After a while, I realised I was laughing. What he described was not funny - far from it. But it was bracing to peer into the abyss. I came away with an undeniable feeling of uplift. Apocalypse? Wow!
It seems the rest of London is having a similar conversation. In the multiplexes and in bus shelters, in the playgrounds and on the trading floors, on the steps of St Paul's Cathedral and around the Oka-sourced dinner tables of Notting Hill, we are talking of doom, death and dread. As Bank of England governor Sir Mervyn King announced our catastrophically rubbish growth figures earlier this week, could you hear a certain relish in his voice?
Politicians are at it, too. The Treasury is planning for "economic Armageddon". The usually cheery Hazel Blears was cackling on Radio 5 the other night that there was no good news left. Politicians like to offer voters optimism - but David Cameron can't stop talking about what an "alarming time" it is. The markets are "incredibly volatile" and we have "clear and present dangers" to face, he reckons. So even the Prime Minister is feeling miserable now. Once a Smiths fan, always a Smiths fan, I suppose.
Or perhaps once a PR man always a PR man? It is a rule of crisis management that you should overestimate the damage caused by an oil spill or a terrorist atrocity at first - that way it looks better when you downgrade it later. If he emphasises the biblical inevitability of the crisis, we'll forget to blame his government for the fact that 2.6 million people are unemployed.
Come November 2017, we might consider it a relief that a mere 634 children have starved to death in the West Midlands. We might willingly fight against the resurgent army of Berlusconi loyalists who have annexed the Suffolk coast.
Then again, the dark mood is not limited to the economy. Thoughts always turn inwards fast upon the macabre triple bill of Halloween, Bonfire Night and Remembrance Day. Perhaps the asteroid passing so close to Earth has had its effect too.
Usually in uncertain times we seek safe, cosy entertainment - that seemed to be the case when the credit crunch hit in 2008 (at least, it's the only reason I can think of for the global celebrity of Susan Boyle). Now older and wiser, audiences are switching off The X Factor and turning over to The Killing. The highest-grossing film of the year is Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part II, as morbid a blockbuster as you'll ever see. The year's most acclaimed films have centred on mortality (Tree of Life), apocalypse (Melancholia) and apocalypse again (the hotly anticipated Take Shelter).
Florence + The Machine
You can hear it in music too. The winner of the Mercury Prize this year was PJ Harvey's war-haunted Let England Shake ("Death was everywhere", I often find myself singing as I fill up the kettle … "Death to all and everyone" as the water boils.) Listen to the lyrics of Florence + the Machine, Emeli Sandé and Kyla La Grange and you see why they're calling their music "darkside pop".
Death is the central focus of a whole festival at the Southbank Centre early next year - events include Desert Island Death Discs, an exhibition of Ghanaian coffins and a new play about assisted dying. A new production of Hamlet seems to turn up every other month - Michael Sheen is the latest to ask if it's worth carrying on or not.
And there's a new Death Café in Hackney, where, once a month, strangers drink tea, eat cake and talk about mortality. The response has been profound, says its founder, Jon Underwood.
"One guy came in and talked about the death of his father," he tells me. "He said that amid all the sadness, he felt a certain amount of relief when he died. He had never been able to say that before. He had always felt extremely guilty. The fact that he was able to say that in front of strangers for the first time was really important for him."
Underwood says he was moved by the final interviews with Philip Gould, the Labour Party strategist who died earlier this month, and observes that Steve Jobs's death has resonated. The famous Stamford Commencement Speech has been circulated widely on the internet: "Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything - all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure - these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important," said the late entrepreneur.
Another who has been unflinching in documenting his own death is Christopher Hitchens, the essayist and journalist who is currently dying of cancer. Last week, he was due to discuss his life's work with Stephen Fry at the Festival Hall. He was too ill to take part, so the evening was hastily transformed into a sort of memorial service, involving Hitchens's friends Martin Amis, Salman Rushdie and Richard Dawkins. It is a rare memorial service that the deceased can stream over the internet and send wry text messages to the host. In a way, it felt fitting for one who so determinedly refuses to admit the possibility of an afterlife.
By coincidence, the following night, I travelled to Oxford to have dinner with a friend of mine who has terminal cancer. On the way, I worried that the meeting would be awkward - I hadn't seen him since the diagnosis and like most English males, I often find words failing me in these circumstances. In fact, I found my friend to be in excellent spirits. We headed directly for the important subjects - love, books, happiness - and tarried with trivialities only as long as they amused us. It was life-affirming.
And perhaps this is what the financial uncertainty is permitting on a wider scale. As Underwood says, "all the troubles we are facing now are pushing us to fundamentally re-examine the way we live. I personally think that talking about death is one of the best things people can do at this time." We are facing the worst - let's concentrate on what matters. Let's inscribe "you'll die anyway" over the entrance way of every plastic surgeon. Let's stop wasting time.
With this in mind, I recommend a Twitter feed: @mementomorrow, a 21st-century take on the memento mori painting or sculpture. Every few hours, it reminds us that life is short. Here is a sample of its recent messages: "Remember, you must die." "Death is not a story. It is not a thing for other people." And, just occasionally: "Seize the day."
The next Death Café is on December 4 (deathcafe.com). The Death festival is at the Southbank Centre from January 19-30, 2012 (southbankcentre.co.uk). The apocalypse is scheduled for spring 2013.

His dark materials - apocalypse chic 

London's love affair with skulls has been hijacked for Christmas, and this year you can buy a mini dead head for your tree. But there is a wider trend at work in these straitened times - a fondness for black and dark rooms. Popular patterns for fabrics, wallpaper and china feature ravens, black roses, cloudy nights and, yes, even skulls. And cans of black emulsion are selling very well at B&Q.
Gothic imagery is now becoming almost mainstream. It no longer shocks but is still edgy and different.
Biba diva designer Barbara Hulanicki has designed sumptuous flocked black wallpapers for British brand Graham & Brown, inspired by the evil Maleficent, and her cunning feathered sidekick, the raven Diablo, from the Disney classic Sleeping Beauty. These are sleek, sophisticated designs for adults, not revamped cartoons.
Barbara Chandler

segunda-feira, 28 de novembro de 2011

The contrast is between the grey truth and the locked beautiful green lies.

Fim de tarde.
O vento rebola as folhas nuas, 
Pássaros conversam entre si.
Nuvens densas escondem o azul pacífico do profundo.
Lembranças passeiam pelo verde.
Lembranças de uma infância com aparência livre,
Trancada com portões daquele condomínio.
Pingos caem com precisão.
O barulho orquestral da chuva me acalma,
Telha se molha lentamente, formando desenho simétrico.
Cheiro molhado de chuva torta.
Árvores embriagadas dançam.
O homem tenta imitá-las,
Porém sua beleza é apenas contagiante.

Fatoumata Diawara

Fatoumata Diawara (born 1982) is a Malian musician currently living in France. Born in the Ivory Coast to Malian parents, Diawara moved to France to pursue acting, appearing in Cheikh Oumar Cissoko's 1999 feature film La Genèse, Dani Kouyaté's popular 2001 filmSia, le rêve du python, in the internationally renowned street theatre troupe Royal Deluxe, and played a leading role in the musical Kirikou et Karaba.
She later took up the guitar and began composing her own material, writing songs that blend Wassalou traditions of Southern Mali with international influences. Noted for her distinct “sensuous voice,” she has performed and recorded with Oumou Sangaré, AfroCubism, Dee Dee Bridgewater (on Red Earth: A Malian Journey),and the Orchestre Poly-Rythmo de Cotonou. Her new EP was released May 9, 2011 and her debut album Fatou with World Circuit Records was released in September 2011.

domingo, 27 de novembro de 2011


Fill your boring sunday with some british comedy and shut down your brain for a couple of hours.
Peter Sellers and John Cleese are the right ones to make you burst in laughter.
Peter Sellers

--> The Pink Panter
KNOWN FOR - Ability to speak in different accents (French, Indian, American, German, as well as British regional accents)
The director Peter Hall has said: "Peter had the ability to identify completely with another person, and think his way physically, mentally and emotionally into their skin. Where does that come from? I have no idea. Is it a curse? Often. I think it's not enough, though, in this business to have talent. You have to have talent to handle the talent. And that I think Peter did not have."
John Cleese

-->Fawlty Towers

KNOWN FOR - Mustache / Being very tall / Playing arrogant characters who mistreat those around them


Not from my heart do I select my words,
But from my judgemental calculations.
As glass that cuts the flesh and leaves the wound,
Iced is my blood that flows not to my bosom,
But refuse that one that can leave me ruined.
The more I'm free the more I'm lonely still,
Still counting empty drops of nothingness.
I'm maybe crashed, from all that broke me once
And left my naked heroes solely.
But virtuous as I was, never will again.
So go and hunt for love at other sight,
For I that word do not recall as mine.
      I'll keep my feelings all deep down
      So anymore I'll let you drown.

sábado, 26 de novembro de 2011

Can We Talk About This? DV8

Lloyd Newson’s latest work, Can We Talk About This? deals with freedom of speech, censorship and Islam. The production will premiere in August 2011 at Sydney Opera House, followed by an international tour. For dates and ticket information click here >
From the 1989 book burnings of Salman Rushdie’s The Satanic Verses, to the murder of filmmaker Theo Van Gogh and the controversy of the ‘Muhammad cartoons’ in 2005, DV8’s production will examine how these events have reflected and influenced multicultural policies, press freedom and artistic censorship.
In the follow up to the critically acclaimed To Be Straight With You, this documentary-style dance-theatre production will use real-life interviews and archive footage. Contributors include a number of high profile writers, campaigners and politicians.

"The liberal fear of giving offence has simply
made it easier to take offence."
Kenan Malik, author of From Fatwa to Jihad
"It is very, very easy not to be offended by a book.
You just have to shut it."
Salman Rushdie

Mechas Ardidas

Sinto teu gosto no cheiro do ar
Sinto teu cheiro no gosto do mar
Fala comigo sereia perdida
Lambe minhas ondas com mechas ardidas
Te levo onde for
Te trago comigo
Me pega no ardor
Enfeita o domingo

She's Dying to Survive

She stands there, on the sidewalk. The floor is too cold to be sat at, so she leans on the sides of her feet, which she doesn't feel anymore. 

The more she holds her baby, the more se feels its pain. The small undeveloped creature stopped crying days ago. He got used to the constant physical hurting, she thought.

All she wanted was to hear his crying again, any alive noise; but the heart beat was garbled and the slow breathing was almost gone.

Take a Picture

Take a picture
Of the feeling.
Unstoppable feminine talking on the background,
Swimming trees on the hot air,
Beautifully screaming birds,
Peace mixed with nostalgic missing of my frenetic times.
That locked freedom used to fill my lungs as a drug,
Taking my fears away and gently stroking my blond hair.
I miss it.

Um pouco de tudo junto, virou muito

De tudo fica um pouco.
Daquele ficou muito.
As rosas murcharam
E o tempo se foi,
Mas um pouco daquele cheiro ficou.
Um pouco das palavras desenhadas.
Um pouco dos sentimentos na pele.
Um pouco de tudo junto, virou muito.
Nos construimos.


There is a woman in Somalia
Scraping for pearls on the roadside
There's a force stronger than nature
Keeps her will alive

This is how she's dying
She's dying to survive
Don't know what she's made of
I would like to be that brave

She cries to the heaven above
There is a stone in my heart
She lives a life she didn't choose
And it hurts like brand-new shoes

Hurts like brand-new shoes

There is a woman in Somalia
The sun gives her no mercy
The same sky we lay under
Burns her to the bone

Long as afternoon shadows
It's gonna take her to get home
Each grain carefully wrapped up
Pearls for her little girl


She cries to the heaven above
There is a stone in my heart
She lives in a world she didn't choose
And it hurts like brand-new shoes
Hurts like brand-new shoes


Espanto, sono não vem.
O lustre preto tem aspecto sombrio.
Janela semi-aberta,
Luzes passeiam pelo quarto, dançantes.
Temperatura está boa,
Mas se penso em tempestade tenho frio.
Frio solitário.
Barulho constante de cidade.
Fora vejo luzes, muita vida, muita morte.
Como será a morte?
Coração acelera.
Duvidas, muitas.
Cama larga trás mais solidão.
Aula. Tenho que dormir, mas somente deslizo sobre o sonho.


A felicidade é pouca para quem merece bondade monstra,
E amor é palavra pequena para tamanha imensidão.

Espalha sua sabedoria pelo mundo, que nesse a hipocrisia é muita.
Precisamos colher das suas terras plantadas de paixão, grãos de riso melódico e rosa cheirosa.