"lift up your hearts and sing me a song, that was a hit before your mother was born."

"Se podes olhar, vê. Se podes ver, repara."

Ensaio sobre a Cegueira, 1995, José Saramago.

"Este é um livro francamente terrível com o qual eu quero que o leitor sofra tanto como eu sofri ao escrevê-lo. Nele se descreve uma longa tortura. É um livro brutal e violento e é simultaneamente uma das experiências mais dolorosas da minha vida. São 300 páginas de constante aflição. Através da escrita, tentei dizer que não somos bons e que é preciso que tenhamos coragem para reconhecer isso."

Fantástica leitura.

life can only be understood backward. It must be lived forward.

"It's funny how sometimes the people we remember the least make the greatest impression on us."

in the curious case of benjamin button.

Aya Lines.

A True Portrait of Life and Art.

Pollock. (2000)

At the end of the 1940's, abstract expressionist Jackson Pollock (1912-1956) is featured in Life magazine. Flashback to 1941, he's living with his brother in a tiny apartment in New York City, drinking too much, and exhibiting an occasional painting in group shows. That's when he meets artist Lee Krasner, who puts her career on hold to be his companion, lover, champion, wife, and, in essence, caretaker. To get him away from booze, insecurity, and the stress of city life, they move to the Hamptons where nature and sobriety help Pollock achieve a breakthrough in style: a critic praises, then Life magazine calls. But so do old demons: the end is nasty, brutish, and short.

Directed by Ed Harris. With Ed Harris, Marcia Gay Harden, Tom Bower, Jennifer Connelly.

so fucking better.

I absolutely loved when

you were in silence,

just breathing, only staring.

I even liked the fact that

we didn’t know each other

at all.

I thought it was exciting,

stimulating,

sweet and innocent…

and it could have been!

We could have had

a lovely

and permanent

connection,

I was in the mood.

But you weren’t,

and so we haven’t.

You just…

fucked everything up.

It turns that…

you’re not that beautiful.

You were so

fucking better when

you were only a stranger.

So Fucking Better.

Que reste-t-il de tout cela?

Que reste-t-il de nos amours?
Que reste-t-il de ces beaux jours?
Une photo, vieille photo de ma jeunesse

Que reste-t-il des billets doux
Des mois d'avril, des rendez-vous?
Un souvenir qui me poursuit sans cesse

Bonheurs fanés, cheveux au vent
Baiser volés, rêves émouvants
Que reste-t-il de tout cela?
Dites-le moi

Un petit village un vieux clocher
Un paysage si bien caché
Et dans un nuage le cher visage
De mon passé.

Charles L. Trenet