Sexta-feira, 29 de Outubro de 2010

testamento

 


publicado por middlemay às 14:30
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Sexta-feira, 17 de Setembro de 2010

de maio a setembro

 


publicado por middlemay às 18:35
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Quarta-feira, 1 de Setembro de 2010

shhh! listen...

 

Time is so old and love so brief
Love is pure gold and time a thief


publicado por middlemay às 23:43
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Domingo, 22 de Agosto de 2010

Sous le soleil exactement...


publicado por middlemay às 12:31
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Segunda-feira, 16 de Agosto de 2010

não há uma sem duas, nem duas sem... (II)

 

 

 


publicado por middlemay às 22:19
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Sábado, 31 de Julho de 2010

quel dommage

 

... lol!


publicado por middlemay às 22:25
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Quarta-feira, 28 de Julho de 2010

linger ... e por esta ordem...

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

porque não há uma sem duas, nem duas sem três!

 

http://www.bibendum.co.uk/oyster-bar/index.html


publicado por middlemay às 12:35
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Quarta-feira, 14 de Julho de 2010

gossip in the grain

 

 

 

...truly thanked...


publicado por middlemay às 14:24
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Terça-feira, 13 de Julho de 2010

sem dissimulações

 

 

7 de Julho 2004


publicado por middlemay às 23:18
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Segunda-feira, 12 de Julho de 2010

hmm... like pictures

Female nude on drapes, oil on canvas

Diane Walkey

 

 



publicado por middlemay às 23:09
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Sábado, 3 de Julho de 2010

É!


publicado por middlemay às 19:44
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Sábado, 26 de Junho de 2010

and again

 

 

 

 

the moon was once a moth

who flew to her lover

fluttering from silence she danced

splashing and diving in the warming display of his light

the moon was once a moth

who flew to her lover

fluttering from silence she danced

splashing and diving in the warming display of his light

they embraced and she passed into death

with ecstasy dissolving her body in a thousand sighing smiles

her limbs fell softly to earth to sanctify the night meadows

angels came to bury the limbs that touched His mouth,

that touched His mouth

the moon was once a moth

who flew to her lover

see how how her bodiless glowing so rises in the night

to find him again,

and again,

and again,

and again, and again,

and again,

and again

 

 

a poem by 8th century Sufi saint Rabia of Basra

 

 



publicado por middlemay às 12:26
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Sábado, 19 de Junho de 2010

e afinal havia uma flor...


publicado por middlemay às 20:47
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Quinta-feira, 17 de Junho de 2010

no fair fight in bullfighting

 

 

 

 

In bullfighting, there is no fair fight. The organisers do everything possible to make sure that the bull will not survive the wretched ordeal. Before he even enters the ring, he could be subjected to a range of secret atrocities, including being given laxatives to weaken him and anti-inflammatory drugs to mask his injuries; having the muscles in his neck cut to prevent him from lifting his head all the way; having several inches of his horns cut off, impairing his co-ordination and ability to judge distances; having his eyes smeared with petroleum jelly to blur his vision; or being beaten in the kidneys to weaken him.

 

Already frightened, confused and in pain, the bull faces prolonged and ritualised cruelty. As the bull enters the arena, picadores on blindfolded horses twist lances into his back and neck, causing excruciating pain and blood loss that often prevent him from being able to lift his head or think properly.

Then banderilleros – men armed with barbed darts – run the bull in circles, plunging the sharpened ends of their banderillas into his back until he is so dizzy and weak that he cannot run anymore.

Finally, the matador appears and goads the exhausted and terrified bull into a few final charges before trying to kill the animal with his sword. If he succeeds, the bull's ears and tail will be cut off and presented to him as a gift. If he fails, an executioner is called in to stab the mutilated animal to death. The dagger is supposed to cut the spinal cord, but even this can be blundered, leaving the bull conscious but paralysed as he is chained by the horns and dragged out of the arena.

The process is so stomach-turning that many spectators leave before the end and never see another bullfight again. But by then it's too late. They've already bought their ticket, helping to fuel an industry that thrives on tourist voyeurism.


publicado por middlemay às 21:43
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Domingo, 13 de Junho de 2010

the nest that sailed the sky

 

 

There's perfect harmony
In the rising and the falling of the sea
And as we sail along
I never fail to be astounded by
The things we'll do for promises

We are the innocent
We cut we bleed
We're your one great chance for a miracle
And a miracle is something we need.

 


publicado por middlemay às 22:41
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hair bobbed

 

 

Girls like you are responsible for all the tiresome colorless
marriages; all those ghastly inefficiencies that pass as feminine
qualities. What a blow it must be when a man with imagination
marries the beautiful bundle of clothes that he's been building
ideals round, and finds that she's just a weak, whining, cowardly
mass of affectations!"

Bernice's mouth had slipped half open.

"The womanly woman!" continued Marjorie. "Her whole early life is
occupied in whining criticisms of girls like me who really do
have a good time."

Bernice's jaw descended farther as Marjorie's voice rose.

"There's some excuse for an ugly girl whining. If I'd been
irretrievably ugly I'd never have forgiven my parents for
bringing me into the world. But you're starting life without any
handicap--" Marjorie's little fist clinched, "If you expect me to
weep with you you'll be disappointed. Go or stay, just as you
like." And picking up her letters she left the room.

Bernice claimed a headache and failed to appear at luncheon. They
had a matinee date for the afternoon, but the headache
persisting, Marjorie made explanation to a not very downcast boy.
But when she returned late in the afternoon she found Bernice
with a strangely set face waiting for her in her bedroom.

"I've decided," began Bernice without preliminaries, "that maybe
you're right about things--possibly not. But if you'll tell me
why your friends aren't--aren't interested in me I'll see if I
can do what you want me to."

 

Bernice Bobs Her Hair

 

F. Scott Fitzgerald

 

 



publicado por middlemay às 15:55
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Quinta-feira, 10 de Junho de 2010

no thought control is needed

 

 

 


publicado por middlemay às 19:00
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Domingo, 6 de Junho de 2010

découpage

 

 

 

mag and mgam and millie and molly and may and...

 

my sweet old etcetera
since feeling is first

somewhere I have never travelled, gladly beyond

 

Me up at does


all which isn't singing is merely talking
silently if, out of not knowable
Now I lay (with everywhere around)

 

Who are you, little I?

 

Spring is like a perhaps hand

if everything happens that can't be done

as freedom is a breakfastfood

 

oh! by the by


publicado por middlemay às 15:16
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gig (III)

 

 

 


publicado por middlemay às 14:59
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gig (II)


publicado por middlemay às 14:57
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gig (I)

 

 

I would call it Heat ... rather than Ice.


publicado por middlemay às 14:53
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Sábado, 5 de Junho de 2010

(re)collection

 

um dia, ao saltar ao eixo, fiz a espargata e deixei de ser bailarina.

 


publicado por middlemay às 11:00
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Quinta-feira, 3 de Junho de 2010

yes............. oh.......... yes.........

 

 

And you and I climb, crossing the shapes of the morning
And you and I reach over the sun for the river
And you and I climb, clearer towards the movement
And you and I called over valleys of endless seas


publicado por middlemay às 14:57
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Segunda-feira, 31 de Maio de 2010

coup de foudre

 

 

 


publicado por middlemay às 22:26
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Quinta-feira, 27 de Maio de 2010

olha. ouve


publicado por middlemay às 17:25
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Quarta-feira, 26 de Maio de 2010

não há uma sem duas, nem duas sem...

 

 

 


publicado por middlemay às 15:37
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Terça-feira, 25 de Maio de 2010

das cerejas

 

 

Cherries of the night are riper
Than the cherries pluckt at noon
Gather to your fairy piper
When he pipes his magic tune:
Merry, merry,
Take a cherry;
Mine are sounder,
Mine are rounder,
Mine are sweeter
For the eater
Under the moon.
And you’ll be fairies soon.

In the cherry pluckt at night,
With the dew of summer swelling,
There’s a juice of pure delight,
Cool, dark, sweet, divinely smelling.
Merry, merry,
Take a cherry;
Mine are sounder,
Mine are rounder,
Mine are sweeter
For the eater
In the moonlight.
And you’ll be fairies quite.

When I sound the fairy call,
Gather here in silent meeting,
Chin to knee on the orchard wall,
Cooled with dew and cherries eating.
Merry, merry,
Take a cherry;
Mine are sounder,
Mine are rounder,
Mine are sweeter.
For the eater
When the dews fall.
And you’ll be fairies all.

Robert Graves


publicado por middlemay às 18:05
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Segunda-feira, 24 de Maio de 2010

23 maio

 

 

 

O meu agradecimento ao C


publicado por middlemay às 10:12
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Quarta-feira, 19 de Maio de 2010

...


publicado por middlemay às 10:08
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Terça-feira, 18 de Maio de 2010

argument true, tone light

SAINT FRANCIS AND THE BIRDS

When Francis preached love to the birds
They listened, fluttered, throttled up
Into the blue like a flock of words

Released for fun from his holy lips.
Then wheeled back, whirred about his head,
Pirouetted on brothers' capes.

Danced on the wing, for sheer joy played
And sang, like images took flight.
Which was the best poem Francis made,

His argument true, his tone light.

Seamus Heaney

 


publicado por middlemay às 22:45
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Segunda-feira, 17 de Maio de 2010

caged ... uncaged

Francis Bacon

 


publicado por middlemay às 16:51
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Domingo, 16 de Maio de 2010

birds of a feather...

 

 

 

 

 

 

flock together

 


publicado por middlemay às 15:02
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Segunda-feira, 10 de Maio de 2010

let me tell you a story...

 


publicado por middlemay às 15:55
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super… calif… ragilistic… expialid… ocious! Oh!

 

 

 

Of course it’s a word. And unless I’m very much mistaken, I think it’s going to prove a rather useful one.

 

When trying to express oneself, it’s frankly quite absurd

 

To leaf through lengthy lexicons, to find the perfect word.

 

A little spontaneity keeps conversation keen

 

You need to find a way to say precisely what you mean

 

Even though the sound of it is simply quite atrocious

 

If you say it loud enough, you’ll always sound precocious

 

Say it and wild animals would not seem so ferocious

 

Ahhhh

 

Ah-ah-ah-ah.

 

The Druids could have carved it on their mighty monoliths

 

The ancient Greeks, I’m certain, could have used it in their myths.

 

I’m sure the Roman Empire only entered the abyss

 

Because those Latin scholars never had a word like this!

 

If you say it softly, the effect can be hypnocious.

 

Check your breath before you speak, in case it’s halitotious

 

Of course, you can say it backwards, which is suoicodiliaipxecitsiligarfilacrepus.

 

She may be tricky, but she’s bloody good!

 

So when the cat has got your tongue, there’s no need for dismay.

 

Just summon up this word and then you’ve got a lot to say.

 

 

Um diddle um diddle um diddle ay


publicado por middlemay às 15:21
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stormy weather

 

 


publicado por middlemay às 14:59
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Quarta-feira, 5 de Maio de 2010

dogs

 


publicado por middlemay às 20:03
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berries a day ...

... Keep ... away.


publicado por middlemay às 10:26
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Segunda-feira, 3 de Maio de 2010

e é isto...


publicado por middlemay às 21:20
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Domingo, 2 de Maio de 2010

...

 

 

 

Helena ( a mãe no final da minha gestação)

 

 


publicado por middlemay às 11:51
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Quarta-feira, 28 de Abril de 2010

l’heure du conte

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ailes étaient une fois
Rire aux éclats et dire « Encore ! » à un  loup, un chat botté, une sirène et une princesse...
Craquer une allumette en pleine nuit pour  mieux rêver au prince charmant...
Vous transformer en cheval sans perdre votre  apparence humaine...
Vous promener dans une drôle de forêt de  toutes les couleurs...
Vous envoler dans l’espace à bord d’un  vaisseau allié...
Il était, il sera, et la magie des contes ne passera pas !

publicado por middlemay às 15:15
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Domingo, 25 de Abril de 2010

nevermore lenore

 

 

 

 

 

 


publicado por middlemay às 19:04
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Terça-feira, 13 de Abril de 2010

interiors

 

 

 

 

 

Lucien Freud - girl with white dog


publicado por middlemay às 17:23
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we've got to get in to get out

 


publicado por middlemay às 16:36
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Sexta-feira, 9 de Abril de 2010

... e nada será como dantes

"Nós éramos os leopardos, os leões; esses que nos substituíram são os chacais, as hienas; e todos os leopardos, chacais e ovelhas continuarão a acreditar no sal da terra."

 

in Il Gattopardo de Lampedusa

 

 

 

 

 

 


publicado por middlemay às 15:25
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Sábado, 3 de Abril de 2010

piccadilly radio

 

 

 

 

 


publicado por middlemay às 16:51
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Sexta-feira, 2 de Abril de 2010

grief

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


publicado por middlemay às 18:40
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Terça-feira, 30 de Março de 2010

pièce de résistance

 

 


publicado por middlemay às 22:25
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Segunda-feira, 29 de Março de 2010

my small Indulgences (I)

 

 

 

 

(...)

Resolve your 'Ego', it is all one web
With vibrant ether clotted into worlds:
Your subject, self, or self-assertive 'I'
Turns nought but object, melts to molecules,
Is stripped from naked Being with the rest
Of those rag-garments named the Universe.
Or if, in strife to keep your 'Ego' strong
You make it weaver of the etherial light,
Space, motion, solids & the dream of Time
Why, still 'tis Being looking from the dark,
The core, the centre of your consciousness,
That notes your bubble-world: sense, pleasure, pain,
What are they but a shifting otherness,
Phantasmal flux of moments?

 

by George Eliot


publicado por middlemay às 13:50
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Domingo, 28 de Março de 2010

where the wild roses grow and die

 

 

 


publicado por middlemay às 19:44
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quand trois poules vont aux champs

 

 

 

 

Quand trois poules vont aux champs
La première va devant
La deuxième suit la première
La troisième vient la dernière
Quand trois poules vont aux champs
La première va devant

autre version: Quand trois poules vont aux champs
La première va par-devant
La deuxième suit la première
En chantant coquelonlaire
La troisième ferme les rangs
Quand trois poules vont aux champs

autre version:
Quand trois poules vont aux champs,
La première va devant
La deuxième suit la première
La troisième vient derrière.
Et tout en se promenant
Elles vont chercher du froment.


publicado por middlemay às 13:27
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Sexta-feira, 26 de Março de 2010

a hustle here...

 


publicado por middlemay às 15:58
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and a hustle there

 

 

 

 

 


publicado por middlemay às 15:35
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Quarta-feira, 24 de Março de 2010

...

 

 

 


publicado por middlemay às 20:43
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...

 


publicado por middlemay às 20:42
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twice shy

Her scarf a la Bardot,
In suede flats for the walk,
She came with me one evening
For air and friendly talk.
We crossed the quiet river,
Took the embankment walk.

Traffic holding its breath,
Sky a tense diaphragm:
Dusk hung like a backcloth
That shook where a swan swam,
Tremulous as a hawk
Hanging deadly, calm.

A vacuum of need
Collapsed each hunting heart
But tremulously we held
As hawk and prey apart,
Preserved classic decorum,
Deployed our talk with art.

Our Juvenilia
Had taught us both to wait,
Not to publish feeling
And regret it all too late -
Mushroom loves already
Had puffed and burst in hate.

So, chary and excited,
As a thrush linked on a hawk,
We thrilled to the March twilight
With nervous childish talk:
Still waters running deep
Along the embankment walk.

 

Seamus Heaney - Twice shy

 

 

 

http://www.bradmehldau.com/content/storybook/index.html


publicado por middlemay às 10:17
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Terça-feira, 23 de Março de 2010

twits

 

 

 

"Mr. Twit was a twit. He was born a twit. And, now at the age of sixty, he was a bigger twit than ever."

 

"If a person has ugly thoughts, it begins to show on the face. And when that person has ugly thoughts every day, every week, every year, the face gets uglier and uglier until you can hardly bear to look at it.

A person who has good thoughts cannot ever be ugly. You can have a wonky nose and a crooked mouth and a double chin and stick-out teeth, but if you have good thoughts it will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely."

 

 

 


publicado por middlemay às 21:27
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Pois...

 

 

 

 

 


publicado por middlemay às 21:06
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Segunda-feira, 22 de Março de 2010

more about oysters

 

 

 

 

 


publicado por middlemay às 19:23
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pearl in the oyster

 

 

 

There once was an oyster
Whose story I tell,
Who found that some sand
Had got into his shell.
It was only a grain,
But it gave him great pain.
For oysters have feelings
Although they’re so plain.

Now, did he berate
The harsh working of fate
That had brought him
To such a deplorable state?
Did he curse at the government,
Cry for election,
And claim that the sea should
Have given him protection?

No – he sad to himself
As he lay on a shell,
Since I cannot remove it,
I shall try to improve it.
Now the years have rolled around,
As the years always do,
And he came to his ultimate
Destiny – stew.

And the small grain of sand
That had bothered him so
Was a beautiful pearl
All richly aglow.
Now the tale has a moral;
For isn’t it grand
What an oyster can do
With a morsel of sand?

What couldn’t we do
If we’d only begin
With some of the things
That get under our skin.


publicado por middlemay às 19:17
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"worshiping"


publicado por middlemay às 15:19
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.Outubro 2010

Dom
Seg
Ter
Qua
Qui
Sex
Sab

1
2

3
4
5
6
7
8
9

10
11
12
13
14
15
16

17
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19
20
21
22
23

24
25
26
27
28
30

31


.posts recentes

. testamento

. de maio a setembro

. shhh! listen...

. Sous le soleil exactement...

. não há uma sem duas, nem ...

. quel dommage

. linger ... e por esta ord...

. gossip in the grain

. sem dissimulações

. hmm... like pictures

.arquivos

.favoritos

. Varandas (1998-2016)

. Quase sem falar

. Sylvie Guillem, sempre

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