U-mouth

July 18, 2011

 

Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta.

 

Nabokov – que pra ter gosto (de citar, de recitar) precisa passar do primeiro ponto final.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Os cavalos da Av. 23

May 16, 2011

cavalo-galinha

No caminho que usualmente faço para ir ao Shizuoka Kenjin, passo por uma ponte com três pontos de luz: começo, meio, fim. Agora faz frio e anoitece cedo, atravesso com um bando de silhuetas encapotadas. Foi o sonho: tudo deserto. Na avenida que sempre tem carros não tinha nenhum, mas corria uma massa de penas curtas na penumbra, em passo determinado sem pressa. Eu caminhava sozinha, olhando, longe do parapeito. Na hora em que percebi o que era aquela marcha, vejo um deles no ponto de luz do começo da ponte: metade cavalo, metade galinha, um exagero descomunal dos dois medindo bem os seus 3 metros. Mais bizarro que a proporção foi o movimento: com o canto do olho o borrão que me alertou tinha aquele passinho nervoso da galinha. Quando virei de frente para ele, parou, e apareceu mais o cavalo – me olhava todo preto, inexpressivo, o poste fazia ver só as linhas dos músculos densos, o contraste marcado do pescoço até as linhas do peito, que era onde começava a mistura. Me olhava mas não deu sinal de que ia me perseguir, não sonhei terror. Eu no segundo ponto de luz não via nada do asfalto até o animal; não parecia mais longe do que é realmente, só parecia mais tempo.

Não lembro se ele fungou e cheguei a ver o ar quente pelo foco de luz, mas é com essa cena que lembrei da história quando acordei – um monstro parou e respirou pra ver o que a menina fazia. Eu é que estava no lugar errado, o grupo de todos eles marchava com algum outro propósito, algum outro compromisso naquela cidade sem gente.

Working Flango

April 28, 2011

Vicious Streak

April 27, 2011

Do CD mais tocado durante horas de trabalho neste começo de semana vem a musiquinha de boa noite de hoje.

You used to have a limited number of reasonably practical choices presented to you, based on what bookstores carried, what your local newspaper reviewed, or what you heard on the radio, or what was taught in college by a particular English department. There was a huge amount of selection that took place above the consumer level. (And here, I don’t mean “consumer” in the crass sense of consumerism, but in the sense of one who devours, as you do a book or a film you love.)

Now, everything gets dropped into our laps, and there are really only two responses if you want to feel like you’re well-read, or well-versed in music, or whatever the case may be: culling and surrender.

Culling is the choosing you do for yourself. It’s the sorting of what’s worth your time and what’s not worth your time. It’s saying, “I deem Keeping Up With The Kardashians a poor use of my time, and therefore, I choose not to watch it.” It’s saying, “I read the last Jonathan Franzen book and fell asleep six times, so I’m not going to read this one.”

Surrender, on the other hand, is the realization that you do not have time for everything that would be worth the time you invested in it if you had the time, and that this fact doesn’t have to threaten your sense that you are well-read. Surrender is the moment when you say, “I bet every single one of those 1,000 books I’m supposed to read before I die is very, very good, but I cannot read them all, and they will have to go on the list of things I didn’t get to.”

Culling is easy; it implies a huge amount of control and mastery. Surrender, on the other hand, is a little sad. That’s the moment you realize you’re separated from so much. That’s your moment of understanding that you’ll miss most of the music and the dancing and the art and the books and the films that there have ever been and ever will be, and right now, there’s something being performed somewhere in the world that you’re not seeing that you would love.

It’s sad, but it’s also … great, really. Imagine if you’d seen everything good, or if you knew about everything good. Imagine if you really got to all the recordings and books and movies you’re “supposed to see.” Imagine you got through everybody’s list, until everything you hadn’t read didn’t really need reading. That would imply that all the cultural value the world has managed to produce since a glob of primordial ooze first picked up a violin is so tiny and insignificant that a single human being can gobble all of it in one lifetime. That would make us failures, I think.

– Linda Holmes

Docinho, aqui.

Antínoo

April 12, 2011

Eager and impassionated tenderness, sullen effeminacy

-Shelley

9 to 5

July 22, 2010

Segunda semana de CLT, eu leio

http://www.escapingthe9to5.com/

e só percebo a ironia bem depois.