KiN Mode ON

"On The Radio

This is how it works
It feels a little worse
Than when we drove our hearse
Right through that screaming crowd
While laughing up a storm
Until we were just bone
Until it got so warm
That none of us could sleep
And all the styrofoam
Began to melt away
We tried to find some words
To aid in the decay
But none of them were home
Inside their catacomb
A million ancient bees
Began to sting our knees
While we were on our knees
Praying that disease
Would leave the ones we love
And never come again

On the radio
We heard November Rain
That solo's really long
But it's a pretty song
We listened to it twice
'Cause the DJ was asleep

This is how it works
You're young until you're not
You love until you don't
You try until you can't
You laugh until you cry
You cry until you laugh
And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath

No, this is how it works
You peer inside yourself
You take the things you like
And try to love the things you took
And then you take that love you made
And stick it into some
Someone else's heart
Pumping someone else's blood
And walking arm in arm
You hope it don't get harmed
But even if it does
You'll just do it all again

And on the radio
You hear November Rain
That solo's awful long
But it's a good refrain
You listen to it twice
'Cause the DJ is asleep
On the radio
(oh oh oh)
On the radio
On the radio - uh oh
On the radio - uh oh
On the radio - uh oh
On the radio"

by Regina Spektor

Copy -> Paste #20

“He soon perceived, however, that the battles which Sir Miles and the rest waged against armed knights to win a kingdom, were not half so arduous as this which he now undertook to win immortality against the English language. Anyone moderately familiar with the rigours of composition will not need to be told the story in detail; how he wrote and it seemed good; read it and seemed vile; corrected and tore up; cut out; put in; was in ecstasy; in despair; had his good nights and bad mornings; snatched at ideas and lost them; saw his book plain before him and it vanished; acted his people’s parts as he ate; mouthed them as he walked; now cried; now laughed; vacillated between this style and that; now preferred the heroic and pompous; next the plain and simple; now the vales of Temple; then the fields of Kent or Cornwall; and could not decide whether he has the divinest genius or the greatest fool in the world.”

by Virginia Woolf in Orlando

See? After all of this it becomes almost impossible to imagine an artist without him being neurotic. Welcome home.

"Ps: there's a life vest under your seat."

Copy -> Paste #19

“For the philosopher is right who says that nothing thicker than a knife’s blade separates happiness from melancholy; and he goes on to opine that one is twin fellow to the other; and draws from this the conclusion that all extremes of feeling are allied to madness; (...)"

by Virginia Woolf in Orlando

Copy -> Paste #18

“Soon he had covered ten pages and more with poetry. He was fluent, evidently, but he was abstract. Vice, Crime, Misery were the personages of his drama; there were Kings and Queens of impossible territories; horrid plots confounded them; noble sentiments suffused them; there was never a word said as he himself would have said it, but all was turned with a fluency and sweetness which, considering his age – he was not yet seventeen – and that the sixteenth century had still some years of its course to run, were remarkable enough. At last, however, he came to a halt. He was describing, as all young poets are forever describing, nature, and in order to match the shade of green precisely he looked (and here he showed more audacity than most) at the thing itself, which happened to be a laurel bush growing beneath the window. After that, of course, he could write no more. Green in nature is one thing, green in literature another. Nature and letters seem to have a natural antipathy; bring them together and they tear each other to pieces.”

by Virginia Woolf in Orlando

KiN Mode ON

Coffee and TV... I don't like either.
Well, it's ok if it's coffee flavored icecream.. and I don't mind watching some pre-selected stuff on TV. It seems that life's not that black & white anymore.. But it's certainly a blur.

"Coffee & TV

Do you feel like a chain store
Practically floored
One of many zeros
Kicked around bored

Your ears are full but you're empty
Holding out your heart
To people who never really
Care how you are

So give me coffee and TV easily
I've seen so much, I'm going blind
And braindead virtually
Sociability is hard enough for me
Take me away from this big bad world
And agree to marry me so we can start over again

Do you go to the country
It isn't very far
There's people there who will hurt you
Cos of who you are

Your ears are full of their language
There's wisdom there you're sure
'Till the words start slurring
And you can't find the door"

by Blur

Hoje

bla bla bla

A difícil via da abstracção total

Pensar o nada exige um grau de concentração muito mais profundo do que pensar alguma coisa.

Monologue in Stereo

He said I'm my own worst enemy. He should have known me as a teenager.

Quoting myself #6

Não é a minha biblioteca real que me define; nem sequer a minha biblioteca ideal… mas antes o espaço de potencialidade que medeia as duas.

Quoting myself #5

Better to keep a living dream than to become an exhausted dreamer.

??

Nostalgia como resistência à alienação do futuro presentificado.

Quoting myself #4

É fundamental um reforço na dose de tensão diária que discipline uma criatividade tendencialmente caótica. Por isso os editores inventaram os prazos... ao que os médicos responderam com os calmantes, por forma a repor o desequilíbrio natural das forças produtivas.

Ficcionando o 11 de Setembro

céptico n.º 1:
"lembra-me de sempre desconfiar de conspirações tão perfeitas"

céptico n.º 2:
"quem não tem dúvidas absolutamente nenhumas não pode pretender ser sério"

Quoting myself #3

...pelo menos nos sonhos a falta de coerência não incomoda tanto, porque quando tomamos realmente consciência do que se está a passar: já acabou. A vida é a incoerência em tempo real.

That song isn’t funny anymore

Os Muse são a banda de uma adolescência. Bem, de várias, na realidade, mas é a minha que sinto como única e sobre a qual possuo os direitos de autor e de divulgação (ou secretismo). Carregava o pensamento já há algum tempo, mas forço-me de momento a não persistir em ignorá-lo. Aquilo que me atraía na sua música é o que agora me afasta sem pudor. O caos sentimental, o negativismo crónico, a psicologia da infelicidade reunidos num act hiperbolizado serviam a uma adolescência conturbada e envolvida no típico sentimento de incompreensão com outputs mais violentos do que o necessário.

O choque com o mundo mantém-se, mas no intervalo a fronteira entre o corpo próprio e o(s) outro(s) esbateu-se, quase eliminada por um processo de osmose. Por isso apenas por segundos consigo dedicar-me à tragédia da singularidade, já sem a convicção de outras colheitas.

Na adolescência o mundo é terrível. Entretanto não deixa de o ser, mas a noção de responsabilidade cresce irremediavelmente. Na adolescência conseguimos dedicar as vinte e quatro horas do dia a sermos infelizes. Depois disso o tempo torna-se – na nossa percepção subjectiva das mesmas vinte e quatro horas – demasiado escasso e procuramos aplicar os raros vestígios de silêncio a explorar outros matizes do nosso mundo interior.

Não deixei de ser infeliz. Mas de momento prefiro a ironia à hiperbolização quase irracional. Pelo menos sempre se deixam os outros na dúvida – por outro lado, ninguém acredita de modo sincero no trágico da adolescência depois de ter sofrido a lavagem cerebral que a passagem ao estado adulto normalmente implica.

Eles – Muse – continuam os mesmos, essencialmente. Eu suprimo a fidelidade a uma banda pela fidelidade a mim mesma na aproximação à minha essência. Não quero, porém, parecer ingrata. Continuo a reviver os Muse na minha memória, apenas me tornei incapaz de gerar novas vivências com eles para recordar. E de cada vez que os Smiths me chamam a atenção em “Rubber Ring” recordo o que fui e confirmo o que sou…

“But don't forget the songs
That made you cry
And the songs that saved your life
Yes, you're older now
And you're a clever swine
But they were the only ones who ever stood by you”

Sempre através da música – apenas as letras e a melodia vão mudando de tom, ao ritmo de cada descoberta interior… que é agora também exterior.

Copy -> Paste #17

"Viver é ser outro. Nem sentir é possível se hoje se sente como ontem se sentiu: sentir hoje o mesmo que ontem não é sentir - é lembrar hoje o que se sentiu ontem, ser hoje o cadáver vivo do que ontem foi a vida perdida.

Apagar tudo do quadro de um dia para o outro, ser novo com cada nova madrugada, numa revirgindade perpétua da emoção - isto, e só isto, vale a pena ser ou ter, para ser ou ter o que imperfeitamente somos.

Esta madrugada é a primeira do mundo. Nunca esta cor rosa amarelecendo para branco quente pousou assim na face com que a casaria de oeste encara cheia de olhos vidrados o silêncio que vem na luz crescente. Nunca houve esta hora, nem esta luz, nem este meu ser. Amanhã o que for será outra coisa, e o que eu vir será visto por olhos recompostos, cheios de uma nova visão.

Altos montes da cidade! Grandes arquitecturas que as encostas íngremes seguram e engrandecem, resvalamentos de edifícios diversamente amontoados, que a luz tece de sombras e queimações - sois hoje, sois eu, porque vos vejo, sois o que (serei?) amanhã, e amo-vos da amurada como um navio que passa por outro navio e há saudades desconhecidas na passagem."

by Bernardo Soares in Livro do Desassossego

Pessimistic realism

If you're happy, then you must be deluded. But if you're sad, then it's all clear.

A gravidade das emoções

O romance eleva-o no ar e a meio caminho do infinito diz-me que não pode evitar: a força da gravidade perde para a impulsão ascendente do amor.

Aviso-o: "mas toma cuidado, que as nuvens são de essência gasosa, incapazes de suster o peso das angústias humanas".

Copy -> Paste #16

"Um hálito de música ou de sonho, qualquer coisa que faça quase sentir, qualquer coisa que faça não pensar."

by Bernardo Soares in Livro do Desassossego

Copy -> Paste #15

Enough of this side vs side thing. I really don't know but I actually do care...

"There is more difference within the sexes than between them."

by Ivy Compton-Burnett

Quoting myself #2

Cada mulher encontra na generalidade das outras mulheres poderosos obstáculos ao sucesso do seu género. Mas tem em cada homem um precioso aliado para inverter este estado de coisas.

Some advice

I've got this friend of mine that from time to time comes to me for a word of understanding and some advice. We've never met and I only know of him what he states in romantic riddles and poetic incursions on his love life. Consequently, what I say to him has more to do with my own mood and experience than with what he is actually going through (I hope that is not the current practice of our psychologists).

When I realize this is happening, I end up adding that he is the only one who possesses all the data and therefore he himself ought to do the foresights and plan the decisions. I do know he is only looking for some comfort. But I've also come to think that even among the closest friends, advice should be taken very cautiously. I'm not skeptical about my friends capabilities of providing me with a wise and just guidance. It's only that subjectivity plays perverse tricks on us sometimes. If my friends only knew how my life actually was...

Quoting myself

Wipe that smile off your face, don’t betray your naivety.
Do you trust love’s embrace to get you back your dignity?

Copy -> Paste #14

"A lot of guys think the larger a woman's breasts are, the less intelligent she is. I don't think it works like that. I think it's the opposite. I think the larger a woman's breasts are, the less intelligent the men become."

by Anita Wise

Copy -> Paste #13

"Une femme qui se croit intelligente réclame les mêmes droits que l'homme. Une femme intelligente y renonce."

by Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette