terça-feira, 12 de janeiro de 2010

Butterflies and hurricanes


Não estava a par das últimas teorias acerca do nascimento do universo, mas sempre gostara da do Big Bang - ou, como dirão os entendidos, do "small schhhhhh", já que no nada não existe o som e "a partícula" original seria pequenina, big bang só mesmo para soar a coisa importante e que, a ter existido, o foi de facto. Fascinava-a a ideia de ser uma montagem de infinitas coisas que já viajaram biliões de biliões de km, que já foram estrelas vivas e mortas, que foram água, pedra, lava, ar, que foram bicharocos que não chegaram aos dias de hoje, átomos e outras miudezas de seres vivos, átomos e corações de seres não-vivos (como os asteróides que flutuam no vazio, como a pedra que chuta na calçada). Tudo isto a fazia sentir imensamente importante - tinha a certeza que era única no mundo, irrepetível, insubstituível, apesar de tudo o que dela fazia parte ter sido já usado por milhares de vidas e outras coisas não-tão-vivas, desde sempre, desde o início - desde o small schhhhhhhhhhhhh. Não tinha medo de desaparecer, pois tudo o que era seria, sabiamente, reutilizado; reencarnaria certamente noutros corpos, os átomos de oxigénio que possui seriam respirados por outros, faria parte do ar, seria nuvem, seria chuva, seria fogo, seria água, seria larva, seria leão, seria cacto, seria rosa, seria espinho, seria sal, seria lágrima, seria madeira, seria diamante.
Sabia-se eterna. E eternamente dançaria ao sabor das forças que, há biliões de milénios se libertaram e fugiram e andaram soltas até que, por escassas nano-fracções de segundo, convergiram para juntar todos os átomos e coisas mais pequenas ainda que a faziam, que a "eram", a ela, singularidade neste universo imenso, única, irrepetível, eterna.

(Inquietava-a não saber de que partículas era feita a alma... Inquietações que ficarão pairando no ar, até qualquer outra hora)

Butterflies and hurricanes - Muse

segunda-feira, 4 de janeiro de 2010

Inflatable


Glad to know they all (?) have boyfriends. Well, here isn't quite the same...

Inflatable - Bush

Letting the cables sleep


I heard the beats of a dying heart.

Damn! can't you just stop and let go? Too much pain... too much sorrow... Just let go. I know you will soon taste the sweetness of death.

Letting the cables sleep - Bush

sábado, 2 de janeiro de 2010

Kicking like a sleep twitch


Keep spinning around yourself... where the hell are you expecting to fall? Nothing turns faster than you, in a heart beat every little thing you take for granted vanishes... leaving you in the exact same place, with the exact same emptiness that ever ran through your veins. Just you... full of nothing.

Papillon - Editors

segunda-feira, 7 de dezembro de 2009

Where the fuck did the sun go?

You are a waterfall
Waiting inside a well
You are a wrecking ball
Before the building fell
And every lightning rod
Has got to watch the storm cloud come.

And I’ve heard of pious men
And I’ve heard of dirty fiends
But you don’t often hear
Of us ones in between
And I’ve heard of creatures
Who eat their babies;
And I wonder if they stop
To think about the taste.

I saw the sun go down
Outside of Arkansas;
And I saw the sun come up
Somewhere in Illinois.
And in the darkness
I taught myself to hate.
But where were you, oh where were you?
And where the fuck did the sun go?

And I am a creature.
And I am survivin’.
And I want to be alone
But I want your body.
So when you eat me,
Mother and baby,
Oh baby, mother me,
Before you eat me.

And you should always pass
When you get the inside lane.
Don’t pull your hair out;
I won’t pull my hair out.
For I have never seen the sun
That did not bury his fears in the side of the world.
And the day is done.

You are a waterfall
Waiting inside a well
You are a wrecking ball
Before the building fell
And I will mutter like a lover
Who speaks in tongues, oh he speaks in tongues.
Oh I speak in tongues.

(She’s your mother; she’s got a lovely tongue.)

Us ones in between - Sunset Rubdown

domingo, 6 de dezembro de 2009

There's nothing wrong with us


Foda-se. Tenho dito.

terça-feira, 1 de dezembro de 2009

Disarm

You do not belong here. You shouldn't have to breath. Not yet. You shouldn't have to be twisted around like a little something (someone) - that, indeed, you are. You aren't meant to be, no, this is too soon. I don't know what'll happen to you; if we ever meet again, i won't know you're you, nor you will know i'm me, for i have only stared at you for a few moments. I hope we will meet again, you special little someone - hoping that the brightness of the sun - that has now scared the rain away - will walk by your side every single day of your beautiful life.

Disarm - The Smahing Pumpkins