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6.12.03

Terra Longínqua da Rádio 

Conheci um guitarrista que dizia «a minha amiga rádio». Sentia um parentesco menos com a música do que com a voz da rádio. A sua qualidade sintética. A sua voz única, distinta das vozes que a atravessam. A sua capacidade de transmitir a ilusão de gente a grande distância. Dormia com a rádio. Falava para a rádio. Discordava da rádio. Acreditava numa Terra Longínqua da Rádio. Como achava que nunca encontraria esta terra, reconciliou-se consigo mesmo limitando-se a ouvir a rádio. Acreditava que tinha sido banido da Terra da Rádio e condenado a errar eternamente pelas ondas sonoras, ansiando por um posto mágico que o devolvesse à sua herança há muito perdida.

22/12/79
Homestead Valley, Ca.

Sam Shepard, "Crónicas Americanas"
© Difel

5.12.03

Little homemakers 


A La Curtis


Big Twig Nest


Leeba's Nest


Home On A Stick

© Ruth Silverman

Excellent Birds  

Flying Birds. Excellent Birds. Watch them fly. There they go.
Falling snow. Excellent snow. Here it comes. Watch it fall.
Long words. Excellent words. UI can hear them now.
This is the picture.
I'm sitting by the window. Watching the snow fall. I'm looking out.
And I'm moving. Turning in time. Jump up!
And I can land on my feet. Look out! This is the picture.
This is the picture. This is the picture. This is the picture.

Looking out. I'm watching now. But when I see the future,
I close my eyes. I can see it now.
I see pictures of people rising up. I see pictures of people falling down.
I see pictures of people, they're standing on their heads. They're ready!
I see pictures of people rising up. I see pictures of people falling down.
I see pictures of people, they're standing on their heads. They're ready!

They're looking out. Look out! They're watching out. Watch out!
They're looking out. Look out!
They're watching out. Watching watching out.

I see pictures of people. I see pictures of people.
They're watching. They're watching out. Watch out.
I see pictures of people. They're watching. They're watching out.
I see pictures of people. Watching. Watch out. They're watching.
I see pictures of people. Watching out. Watch out.
Pictures of people. They're watching out.

Laurie Anderson

2.12.03

Blue's the colour of the sky #8 


30.11.03

Hang on to a Dream 

What can I say she’s walking away
From what we’ve seen
What can I do still loving you
It’s all a dream
How can we
Hang on to a dream
How can it really be the way it seems
What can I do she’s saying we’re through
With how it was
What will I try still don’t see why
She says the things she does
How can we
Hang on to a dream
How can it really be the way it seems
What can I say she’s walking away
From what we’ve seen
What can I do still loving you
Is it all a dream
How can we
Hang on to a dream
How can it really be the way it seems

Tim Hardin
© EMI PUBLISHING

RECORTES # 37 

NA MAIS ÍNTIMA FRACÇÃO DA NOITE
 
A noite, esta noite, é uma sucessão de sobressaltos. Depois do que me trouxe aqui, no meio da noite, a um computador tremeluzente e desperto enquanto a cidadezinha se apaga no escorrer húmido do frio na janela, outro acontece.
Paciente, Francisco Amaral explica que só lhe interessa o inabdicável. Compreendo. É.
Mas o inabdicável começa a paracer distante. Mais.
Olho agora a janela. Já não há cidadezinha. Para onde vão as luzes que se apagam?


posted by Hugo @ trato-me por tu, Quarta-feira, Novembro 12, 2003 04:04




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