Sofia B. Fotografou-me!

 

Esta é a primeira fotografia que consigo colocar no blog.Finalmente! Graças à Vanda!
Já agora visitem o blog dela:
http://lostphotos.blogspot.com

Memórias da Rádio

Cresci a escutar rádio.
Recordo-me por exemplo dos programas infantis de Madalena Patacho, na ex-Emissora Nacional. Ainda oiço o separador musical na minha cabeça...
Lembro-me do Luís Filipe Costa e da Tany Belo no Rádio Clube Português. A Matinée Teatral e a Ribalta, que passavam às 14 e 30 e às 20 e 15...
A Carmen Dolores, o Manuel Lereno e o Mário Sargedas davam voz a personagens diversos consoante os argumentos: "A Muralha do Ódio", "A Sombra da Outra", "Almas Inimigas"...e pelo meio spots publicitários da Colgate-Palmolive...

Sempre preferi ouvir rádio, a televisão entrou em 1970 na minha casa e o seu reino não chegou a durar uma década. Quando avariou,e os aldrabões dos técnicos não a repararam como devia de ser, ofereci-a a um vagabundo e nunca mais voltou a entrar um aparelho televisivo neste velho andar da Praça da Armada...

O "Programa dos Doentinhos", a "Parada da Paródia", o "Comboio das Seis e Meia" nos Emissores Associados de Lisboa (Rádio Graça, Clube Radiofónico de Portugal, Rádio Voz de Lisboa)

E sintonizando de novo o RCP, o Fernando Curado Ribeiro e o seu interessante programa "Leitura",com Tchaikowski a anunciar que o programa ia começar, "O Segredo da Abelha", de José Leite Rosa, "A Vida é Assim",com o José de Oliveira Cosme, a Mary e o velho anúncio:

"Candeeiros bem bonitos
modernos, originais,
compre-os na Rádio Vitória,
não se preocupe mais.

Lá na Rua da Vitória
quarenta e seis quarenta e oito
satisfaz-se plenamente
o cliente mais afoito

Porque na Rádio Vitória
Embaixada do bom gosto
Quem lá vai é bem servido
e sai sempre bem disposto!"

Velho anúncio do qual me recordava cerca de 90%, mas que www.truca.pt teve o condão de mo recordar completamente.

O programa "Talismã" de Gilberto Cotta com Eugénia Maria a acordar-me, nas manhãs de escola, carro operário, Maria João Aguiar e Henrique Mendes no "Clube das Donas de Casa" e Igrejas Caeiro e os "Companheiros da Alegria", com Irene e Elvira Velez e Vasco Santana.
Tantas memórias que surgem em turbilhão, anárquicas, difíceis de organizar, para quem começou a habituar-se a escrever directamente.

Tanta coisa para partilhar, mas curiosamente da Renascença só tenho a ideia de terços, missas,sermões, Semanas Santas de preces, orações e relatos de procissões das velas em Fátima...

A minha vida foi-se desenrolando ao som dos velhos aparelhos de rádio, que me ajudavam a sonhar e a saber do Mundo o que os mandantes deixavam que se soubesse.
"Está lá? É do programa "Quando o Telefone Toca? Posso dizer a frase? "Lanalgo:Três entradas para uma saída feliz!...Olhe, eu queria ouvir..."
Nunca telefonei mas passei noites a fio ouvindo os discos escolhidos. E "A Grande Roda", o "Tempo Zip", o "PBX"...
Nesse tempo não havia Internet e saía à noite à rua, com os colegas de escola, íamos até à Baixa ver montras, o movimento,os cartazes de cinema e revista...
Houve vozes que adorei ouvir como a Esmeralda Serrano na Antena 1 até há muito pouco tempo,entrevistando escritores, pintores, artistas, gente diferente que vinha partilhar os seus dias com ouvintes assim como eu, deslumbrados a sorver as palavras, e houve o "Pão com Manteiga", o "Rebéubéu Pardais ao Ninho"...

Ainda hoje continuo a escutar as "histórias da música e outras", do António Cartaxo, o "Rittornello", os programas de Vanda de Freitas com Ruy Vieira Nery, os "Cinco Minutos de Jazz" e "A Menina Dança", do José Duarte e "O Amor é..." de Júlio Machado Vaz.
As overdósicas, insultuosas enxurradas de futebol (das 15 às 24) roubaram-me a fruição de "A Hora das Cigarras".
Devo ser dos poucos portugueses que muda de posto quando a rádio transmite relatos de futebol e eles são ao sábado, ao domingo, à segunda, à terça, à quarta,- todos os dias se possível, para embrutecer ainda mais a imensa maioria de cabeças quadradas.

Houve um tempo em que escutei a TSF, mas o insuportável peso da publicidade histérica, gritada,impingida constantemente e sobretudo à hora das notícias fez com que a arredasse dos postos que aprecio. Raramente se ouve aqui em casa a RFM. A Antena 1 e a 2 são as que sintonizo 99%.
Cresci com esta magia.de dia e de noite, habituei-me a adormecer ao som da música da telefonia portátil.
Hei-de morrer fiel a este amor.

Pérolas de um Colar Partido

A viagem das palavras e das ideias que elas veiculam, aqui, nesta "estrada larga" que é a blogosfera, tem-me trazido belas surpresas, que desejo partilhar com todos vós, conhecidos e desconhecidos leitores, que a pouco e pouco me vou apercebendo que o "águas do sul" tem.
Pelos sinais que tenho recebido, nos comentários aos textos que vou apresentando, tentando ser regular,em opiniões que alguns blogistas deixam, ou nos blogs onde todos vamos beber sabedoria, energia, encantamento, descobrimo-nos leitores uns dos outros, casualmente ou não, e sem entrar em salamaleques (palavra árabe, cuja origem será o célebre "Salam 'alaik", ou seja, "a paz(seja) connvosco" (Vocabulário Português de Origem Árabe, de José Pedro Machado,p. 120)a sensibilidade de cada um, como um íman atrai afectos.
Na lista dos meus afectos bloguísticos incluo agora dois novos sítios que têm de ser saboreados como o chocolate da infância...
Que bonito eternurento é o:
http://riachos-e-margaridas.blogspot.com/
A poesia e a aprendizagem da vida com a delicadeza de vocábulos experimentados.
E que delícia ter encontrado o:
http://nofiodanavalha.blogspot.com/
A poesia, o cinema, a dança, o music hall, esse homem fantástico, rio de força e sofrimento que se chama José Manuel Osório (leiam os seus textos a propósito da Sida: comovente e exemplar!)
Não quero também deixar de referir outro local de prazer e reflexão, aqui neste território de realidades expostas e de ilusões virtuais:
http://adufe.weblog.com.pt/
Visitem-nos e depois digam se tenho ou não razão, se não valeu a pena?
É bom estar bem acompanhado por estas pessoas: o sonho ainda anda por aí, só que andamos dispersos como pérolas de um colar partido...

Katia Guerreiro na Televisão Tunisina

Já que estou numa de poliglota, depois da versão inglesa da Canção da Estrada Larga, de Walt Whitman, uma notícia, em francês, para fazer bem ao ego.Saiu no dia 2 no La Presse da Tunísia:

"Katia Guerreiro chante le fado au TVT.La femme et les guitares

Le spectacle de fado, genre de chant portugais, produit le samedi 30 octobre au TVT, a drainé beaucoup de monde, amateurs de musique en général, habitués du festival et amoureux du monde lusophone.

La vedette de la soirée, Katia Guerreiro, a commencé son spectacle avec un léger retard, somme toute excusable (problème technique, dit-elle). Avec beaucoup de sens du partage (élément cardinal dans le chant fado), elle a présenté ses chansons qui tournent forcément autour de l’amour. L’Amour avec un grand A, à la fois charnel et immortel, elle déclame, chante les amours impossibles, les tristesses du départ et du manque, elle le fait passionnément, la tête légèrement inclinée vers l’arrière, les yeux baissés, les mains derrière le dos, se dandinant langoureusement, toute entière vouée au sens des paroles de ses chansons dont quelques-unes sont composées par ses partenaires musiciens à la guitare espagnole et traditionnelle. Avec elle, la femme pourrait ressembler à une guitare, à des boucles d’oreilles ou à une jupe que l’on oublie lors d’un rendez-vous galant.

Elle chante non pas comme on respire, ses phrases s’enchaînent en cascade, tristes, brisant l’air et bien des cœurs, Katia Guerreiro affirme que le fado connaît actuellement une évolution vers l’optimisme et la joie de vivre. Faisons en sorte de la croire. Triste ou gai, le fado qu’elle nous a servi, ce soir-là, nous a simplement éblouis.
H.H.

Esta e outras notícias daquele país podem ser consultadas no site

http://www.lapresse.tn/archives/archives021104/culture/lafemme.html

Walt Whitman- Song of the Open Road

Vale a pena saborear, mesmo que seja em inglês, este poeta

Song of the Open Road

1

AFOOT and light-hearted, I take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me, leading wherever I choose.

Henceforth I ask not good-fortune—I myself am good fortune;
Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing, 5
Strong and content, I travel the open road.

The earth—that is sufficient;
I do not want the constellations any nearer;
I know they are very well where they are;
I know they suffice for those who belong to them. 10

(Still here I carry my old delicious burdens;
I carry them, men and women—I carry them with me wherever I go;
I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them;
I am fill’d with them, and I will fill them in return.)

2

You road I enter upon and look around! I believe you are not all that is here; 15
I believe that much unseen is also here.

Here the profound lesson of reception, neither preference or denial;
The black with his woolly head, the felon, the diseas’d, the illiterate person, are not denied;
The birth, the hasting after the physician, the beggar’s tramp, the drunkard’s stagger, the laughing party of mechanics,
The escaped youth, the rich person’s carriage, the fop, the eloping couple, 20
The early market-man, the hearse, the moving of furniture into the town, the return back from the town,
They pass—I also pass—anything passes—none can be interdicted;
None but are accepted—none but are dear to me.

3

You air that serves me with breath to speak!
You objects that call from diffusion my meanings, and give them shape! 25
You light that wraps me and all things in delicate equable showers!
You paths worn in the irregular hollows by the roadsides!
I think you are latent with unseen existences—you are so dear to me.

You flagg’d walks of the cities! you strong curbs at the edges!
You ferries! you planks and posts of wharves! you timber-lined sides! you distant ships! 30
You rows of houses! you window-pierc’d façades! you roofs!
You porches and entrances! you copings and iron guards!
You windows whose transparent shells might expose so much!
You doors and ascending steps! you arches!
You gray stones of interminable pavements! you trodden crossings! 35
From all that has been near you, I believe you have imparted to yourselves, and now would impart the same secretly to me;
From the living and the dead I think you have peopled your impassive surfaces, and the spirits thereof would be evident and amicable with me.

4

The earth expanding right hand and left hand,
The picture alive, every part in its best light,
The music falling in where it is wanted, and stopping where it is not wanted, 40
The cheerful voice of the public road—the gay fresh sentiment of the road.

O highway I travel! O public road! do you say to me, Do not leave me?
Do you say, Venture not? If you leave me, you are lost?
Do you say, I am already prepared—I am well-beaten and undenied—adhere to me?

O public road! I say back, I am not afraid to leave you—yet I love you; 45
You express me better than I can express myself;
You shall be more to me than my poem.

I think heroic deeds were all conceiv’d in the open air, and all great poems also;
I think I could stop here myself, and do miracles;
(My judgments, thoughts, I henceforth try by the open air, the road;) 50
I think whatever I shall meet on the road I shall like, and whoever beholds me shall like me;
I think whoever I see must be happy.

5

From this hour, freedom!
From this hour I ordain myself loos’d of limits and imaginary lines,
Going where I list, my own master, total and absolute, 55
Listening to others, and considering well what they say,
Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating,
Gently, but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me.

I inhale great draughts of space;
The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are mine. 60

I am larger, better than I thought;
I did not know I held so much goodness.

All seems beautiful to me;
I can repeat over to men and women, You have done such good to me, I would do the same to you.

I will recruit for myself and you as I go; 65
I will scatter myself among men and women as I go;
I will toss the new gladness and roughness among them;
Whoever denies me, it shall not trouble me;
Whoever accepts me, he or she shall be blessed, and shall bless me.

6

Now if a thousand perfect men were to appear, it would not amaze me; 70
Now if a thousand beautiful forms of women appear’d, it would not astonish me.

Now I see the secret of the making of the best persons,
It is to grow in the open air, and to eat and sleep with the earth.

Here a great personal deed has room;
A great deed seizes upon the hearts of the whole race of men, 75
Its effusion of strength and will overwhelms law, and mocks all authority and all argument against it.

Here is the test of wisdom;
Wisdom is not finally tested in schools;
Wisdom cannot be pass’d from one having it, to another not having it;
Wisdom is of the Soul, is not susceptible of proof, is its own proof, 80
Applies to all stages and objects and qualities, and is content,
Is the certainty of the reality and immortality of things, and the excellence of things;
Something there is in the float of the sight of things that provokes it out of the Soul.

Now I reëxamine philosophies and religions,
They may prove well in lecture-rooms, yet not prove at all under the spacious clouds, and along the landscape and flowing currents. 85

Here is realization;
Here is a man tallied—he realizes here what he has in him;
The past, the future, majesty, love—if they are vacant of you, you are vacant of them.

Only the kernel of every object nourishes;
Where is he who tears off the husks for you and me? 90
Where is he that undoes stratagems and envelopes for you and me?

Here is adhesiveness—it is not previously fashion’d—it is apropos;
Do you know what it is, as you pass, to be loved by strangers?
Do you know the talk of those turning eye-balls?

7

Here is the efflux of the Soul; 95
The efflux of the Soul comes from within, through embower’d gates, ever provoking questions:
These yearnings, why are they? These thoughts in the darkness, why are they?
Why are there men and women that while they are nigh me, the sun-light expands my blood?
Why, when they leave me, do my pennants of joy sink flat and lank?
Why are there trees I never walk under, but large and melodious thoughts descend upon me? 100
(I think they hang there winter and summer on those trees, and always drop fruit as I pass;)
What is it I interchange so suddenly with strangers?
What with some driver, as I ride on the seat by his side?
What with some fisherman, drawing his seine by the shore, as I walk by, and pause?
What gives me to be free to a woman’s or man’s good-will? What gives them to be free to mine? 105

8

The efflux of the Soul is happiness—here is happiness;
I think it pervades the open air, waiting at all times;
Now it flows unto us—we are rightly charged.

Here rises the fluid and attaching character;
The fluid and attaching character is the freshness and sweetness of man and woman; 110
(The herbs of the morning sprout no fresher and sweeter every day out of the roots of themselves, than it sprouts fresh and sweet continually out of itself.)

Toward the fluid and attaching character exudes the sweat of the love of young and old;
From it falls distill’d the charm that mocks beauty and attainments;
Toward it heaves the shuddering longing ache of contact.

9

Allons! whoever you are, come travel with me! 115
Traveling with me, you find what never tires.

The earth never tires;
The earth is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first—Nature is rude and incomprehensible at first;
Be not discouraged—keep on—there are divine things, well envelop’d;
I swear to you there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell. 120

Allons! we must not stop here!
However sweet these laid-up stores—however convenient this dwelling, we cannot remain here;
However shelter’d this port, and however calm these waters, we must not anchor here;
However welcome the hospitality that surrounds us, we are permitted to receive it but a little while.

10

Allons! the inducements shall be greater; 125
We will sail pathless and wild seas;
We will go where winds blow, waves dash, and the Yankee clipper speeds by under full sail.

Allons! with power, liberty, the earth, the elements!
Health, defiance, gayety, self-esteem, curiosity;
Allons! from all formules! 130
From your formules, O bat-eyed and materialistic priests!

The stale cadaver blocks up the passage—the burial waits no longer.

Allons! yet take warning!
He traveling with me needs the best blood, thews, endurance;
None may come to the trial, till he or she bring courage and health. 135

Come not here if you have already spent the best of yourself;
Only those may come, who come in sweet and determin’d bodies;
No diseas’d person—no rum-drinker or venereal taint is permitted here.

I and mine do not convince by arguments, similes, rhymes;
We convince by our presence. 140

11

Listen! I will be honest with you;
I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer rough new prizes;
These are the days that must happen to you:

You shall not heap up what is call’d riches,
You shall scatter with lavish hand all that you earn or achieve, 145
You but arrive at the city to which you were destin’d—you hardly settle yourself to satisfaction, before you are call’d by an irresistible call to depart,
You shall be treated to the ironical smiles and mockings of those who remain behind you;
What beckonings of love you receive, you shall only answer with passionate kisses of parting,
You shall not allow the hold of those who spread their reach’d hands toward you.

12

Allons! after the GREAT COMPANIONS! and to belong to them! 150
They too are on the road! they are the swift and majestic men; they are the greatest women.
Over that which hinder’d them—over that which retarded—passing impediments large or small,
Committers of crimes, committers of many beautiful virtues,
Enjoyers of calms of seas, and storms of seas,
Sailors of many a ship, walkers of many a mile of land, 155
Habitués of many distant countries, habitués of far-distant dwellings,
Trusters of men and women, observers of cities, solitary toilers,
Pausers and contemplators of tufts, blossoms, shells of the shore,
Dancers at wedding-dances, kissers of brides, tender helpers of children, bearers of children,
Soldiers of revolts, standers by gaping graves, lowerers down of coffins, 160
Journeyers over consecutive seasons, over the years—the curious years, each emerging from that which preceded it,
Journeyers as with companions, namely, their own diverse phases,
Forth-steppers from the latent unrealized baby-days,
Journeyers gayly with their own youth—Journeyers with their bearded and well-grain’d manhood,
Journeyers with their womanhood, ample, unsurpass’d, content, 165
Journeyers with their own sublime old age of manhood or womanhood,
Old age, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty breadth of the universe,
Old age, flowing free with the delicious near-by freedom of death.

13

Allons! to that which is endless, as it was beginningless,
To undergo much, tramps of days, rests of nights, 170
To merge all in the travel they tend to, and the days and nights they tend to,
Again to merge them in the start of superior journeys;
To see nothing anywhere but what you may reach it and pass it,
To conceive no time, however distant, but what you may reach it and pass it,
To look up or down no road but it stretches and waits for you—however long, but it stretches and waits for you; 175
To see no being, not God’s or any, but you also go thither,
To see no possession but you may possess it—enjoying all without labor or purchase—abstracting the feast, yet not abstracting one particle of it;
To take the best of the farmer’s farm and the rich man’s elegant villa, and the chaste blessings of the well-married couple, and the fruits of orchards and flowers of gardens,
To take to your use out of the compact cities as you pass through,
To carry buildings and streets with you afterward wherever you go, 180
To gather the minds of men out of their brains as you encounter them—to gather the love out of their hearts,
To take your lovers on the road with you, for all that you leave them behind you,
To know the universe itself as a road—as many roads—as roads for traveling souls.

14

The Soul travels;
The body does not travel as much as the soul; 185
The body has just as great a work as the soul, and parts away at last for the journeys of the soul.

All parts away for the progress of souls;
All religion, all solid things, arts, governments,—all that was or is apparent upon this globe or any globe, falls into niches and corners before the procession of Souls along the grand roads of the universe.

Of the progress of the souls of men and women along the grand roads of the universe, all other progress is the needed emblem and sustenance.

Forever alive, forever forward, 190
Stately, solemn, sad, withdrawn, baffled, mad, turbulent, feeble, dissatisfied,
Desperate, proud, fond, sick, accepted by men, rejected by men,
They go! they go! I know that they go, but I know not where they go;
But I know that they go toward the best—toward something great.

15

Allons! whoever you are! come forth! 195
You must not stay sleeping and dallying there in the house, though you built it, or though it has been built for you.

Allons! out of the dark confinement!
It is useless to protest—I know all, and expose it.

Behold, through you as bad as the rest,
Through the laughter, dancing, dining, supping, of people, 200
Inside of dresses and ornaments, inside of those wash’d and trimm’d faces,
Behold a secret silent loathing and despair.

No husband, no wife, no friend, trusted to hear the confession;
Another self, a duplicate of every one, skulking and hiding it goes,
Formless and wordless through the streets of the cities, polite and bland in the parlors, 205
In the cars of rail-roads, in steamboats, in the public assembly,
Home to the houses of men and women, at the table, in the bed-room, everywhere,
Smartly attired, countenance smiling, form upright, death under the breast-bones, hell under the skull-bones,
Under the broadcloth and gloves, under the ribbons and artificial flowers,
Keeping fair with the customs, speaking not a syllable of itself, 210
Speaking of anything else, but never of itself.

16

Allons! through struggles and wars!
The goal that was named cannot be countermanded.

Have the past struggles succeeded?
What has succeeded? yourself? your nation? nature? 215
Now understand me well—It is provided in the essence of things, that from any fruition of success, no matter what, shall come forth something to make a greater struggle necessary.

My call is the call of battle—I nourish active rebellion;
He going with me must go well arm’d;
He going with me goes often with spare diet, poverty, angry enemies, desertions.

17

Allons! the road is before us! 220
It is safe—I have tried it—my own feet have tried it well.

Allons! be not detain’d!
Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the book on the shelf unopen’d!
Let the tools remain in the workshop! let the money remain unearn’d!
Let the school stand! mind not the cry of the teacher! 225
Let the preacher preach in his pulpit! let the lawyer plead in the court, and the judge expound the law.

Mon enfant! I give you my hand!
I give you my love, more precious than money,
I give you myself, before preaching or law;
Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me? 230
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?

Os Ladrões de Sonhos, Nietzsche e Walt Whitman

Apetece-me criar algo de novo.Não falo em escrever um poema, que isso é como o ar que respiro- indispensável.
Refiro-me a qualquer coisa que não tenha mácula, desconfiança, podridão.Uma ideia para partilhar, uma aventura,um projecto, uma associação.
Infelizmente certos indivíduos vão estragando o mundo, a amizade, a esperança, há ladrões de sonhos a sorrir-nos, para proceder ao assalto e enquanto sorriem apunhalam-nos pelas costas, num gesto certeiro e tentam convencer os outros que nós é que somos os maus da fita.É uma velha técnica que tem as suas estrelas: Judas é um expoente, mas há muitos, são reconhecíveis na política,onde proliferam e em tertúlias literárias, só para citar dois exemplos.Mas também os há nos empregos, nas escolas, na vizinhança. Senão, como era possível termos o belo governo que nos desgoverna?
Caliméricos, muitos portugueses fazem-se tolinhos, não têm culpa de nada, mas alguém os pôs lá e esse alguém são milhares que querem desenfreadamente protagonizar a comédia oportunista a que julgam ter direito. No 1º de Maio de 1974 era quase tudo de esquerda, mas chegados aqui,as palavras solidárias de muitos desses são apenas pó de arroz com que disfarçam a alergia a um mundo mais respirável.
Estou farto de conhecer gente assim, que engana meio mundo com a conversa da treta.
Por isso anseio por um grupo de companheiros de sonho que não esteja atolado em qualquer lamaçal, que não se queira amamentar com dinheiros alheios, que não pretenda fazer do associativismo fábricas de curriculuns e empregos, que não se atreva a pactuar com os detentores do poder, para repararem em si e lhe darem uma migalha, quiçá um emprego ou um cargo autárquico, enfim, o usufruto do pequeno poder que transforma o verme em vómito, sem retorno.
Imagino um território mental, onde o coração possa sentir o que Nietzche escreveu um dia: "Quando o discípulo está pronto, o Mestre aparece!"
Que o discípulo seja o Homem e a sua experiência, e o Mestre, o Caminho e o caminho seja a existência. Uma vida que se anseia partilhar, tornando o quotidiano suportável, longe dos assassinos de sonhos, dos vampiros de ideias, dos plagiadores de luz, dos fantasmas da nossa esperança.
Apetece-me criar algo de novo, e sei que a corrente, a energia, a vontade é mais poderosa do que a angústia de uma derrota momentânea.
Saúdo-te, ó coisa nova que vais nascer, não do pensamento totalitário e egoísta de um frustrado, gerado nos dedos de Moebius,mas das mãos dadas e das almas unidas de tantos que não suportam o lixo das palavras dos falsos fazedores de alegria.
Apetece-me criar algo de novo com vocês que sentem estas palavras e não têm compromissos com ninguém, não precisam de retratos nem artigos a louvaminhar-vos,nem de livros, nem discursatas, diplomas a conferir-vos talento,nem de aplausos comprados.
Apetece-me criar algo de novo com aqueles que têm coragemde dar a cara, de discordar, de dizer não, de lutar.
A fingidez e a paz podre dos pântanos não nos interessa. Como diria Walt Whitman, vamos pela estrada larga, vamos desbravar o futuro desconhecido, o duro futuro do futuro, vamos semear futuro e alimentarmo-nos das surpresas desse futuro e rasgar em mil bocados o passado fedorento onde os perfumados malfeitores de fraque ficarão na sua carnívora jangada de tédio.
Salvé Futuro, salvé ó tu, visão nova de tantos que não se revêem no caco espatifado da maioria.
"I dream in a dream!" (Walt Whitman)

Entre Uma Arrozada e Dois Pastéis de Bacalhau

Há pouco terminei uma tarefa morosa.É que decidi percorrer alguns dos blogs- finlandeses, da Malásia, dos EUA (a maioria), do Canadá, Espanha, Itália e do Irão.
Clicando no "next blog" vi de tudo um pouco: o desabafo, a alegria, a solidão, a revolta, a vidinha, os passos firmes, os sapatinhos que dançam, o mar, os olhos, os sentimentos, a tecnologia, cães, burros e tanta outra coisa que mexe e que sente...
Regressei a este modesto contributo e entre uma arrozada e dois pastéis de bacalhau confirmei que em Portugal se fazem blogs de categoria.

http://vemosouvimoselemos.blogspot.com

p. ex., sabe tão bem como um bom petisco. Volto sempre a este sítio de referência e depois do que vi, apetece cada vez mais ler o que a Guida escreve, transcreve, escolhe e partilha, porque dali vem sempre luxo, ao contrário do muito lixo que prolifera na caminhada diária e nos espelhos que são as Tvs, os jornais, os blogs, os lulus e os governos.