J. M. W. Turner, Hannibal And His Army Crossing The Alps, 1812.

— So what am I supposed to do then?
— Well, go green, do something for the environment.
— What, like planting a tree inside an ocean with recyclable hands?

Valentine Coverly I often sit with my eyes closed and it doesn't necessarily mean I'm awake.
in Arcadia, by Tom Stoppard.

Henry I don't want anyone else but, some times, surprisingly, there's someone, not the prettiest, or the most available, but you know that, in another life, it would be her. Or him, don't you find? A small quickening, the room responds slighly to being entered, you catch the glint of being someone else's possibility, and it's a... sort of politeness to show you haven't missed it. So you push it a little, well within safety. But there's that sense of a promise almost being made. The touching and kissing, without which noone can seem to say good morning in this ponce business and one more push would do it. Billy. Right?
in The Real Thing, by Tom Stoppard.

Professor Anderson Have you ever noticed the way the wings keep wagging? I mean, I try to look away and think of something else but I'm drawn back irresistibly. I don't think I'd be nervous about flying if the wings didn't wag, but they're solid steel, thick as a bank safe, flexing like tree branches. It's not natural. There's a coldness around my heart. As I've seen your cigarette smoke knock against the ceiling and break in two like a breadstick-- by the way, that's a non-smoking seat.
in Professional Foul, by Tom Stoppard.

Peter Blake, On the Balcony, 1955-7.

paremos esta estupidez enquanto é tempo:
vamos continuar a escrever como deve ser;

(e sobretudo calem-me aquele parvo que só está ali a dizer merda)

thought i'd cry for you forever / but i couldn't so i didn't / people's children die and they don't even cry forever / thought i'd see your face in my mind for all time / but i don't even remember what your ears looked like // and the clock still strikes midnight and noon / and the sun still rises and so does the moon / birds still migrate south and people move on / even though i'm no longer in your arms / thought the mountain would crumble / and the rivers would bend / but i thought all wrong and the world did not end / guess the maps will just have to stay the same for a while / didn't even need therapy to rehabilitate my smile / rehabilitate my smile
[MP3] Regina Spektor - Rejazz

e o ter estado calado deve-se afinal a mais um tropeção tecnológico
num dia a internet funcionava feliz da vida
e no dia seguinte remetia-se a uma parede
metafísica claro está
estes dias todos depois
já cansado do amuo
arranco a ficha da tomada
e quando a volto a pôr já a net acontece outra vez



The many faces of robert webb.
Isso do ricardinho acabou.

(Rufus Wainwright | Rules and Regulations
> from Release the Stars)

A ler Frost de Thomas Bernhard e ouvir e a ver coisas que se fôssemos aqui a pô-las todas havíamos de chegar atrasados a sítios onde temos horas para chegar.




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