Musicofilia #4

I don't know what to want from this world 
I really don't know what to want from this world

Olhando o sofrimento dos outros

"Nenhuma ideia por mais elaborada que seja daquilo que é ou pode ser a fotografia poderá diminuir a satisfação que dá uma imagem de um acontecimento inesperado captado em plena acção por um fotógrafo atento."

"A imagem fotográfica, até na medida em que é um indício (não uma construção feita a partir de variados indícios fotográficos), não pode ser simplesmente uma cópia de uma coisa que aconteceu. É sempre a imagem que alguém escolheu; fotografar é enquadrar, e enquadrar é excluir."

Susan Sontag, em Olhando o sofrimento dos outros.

"I understand, all right. The hopeless dream of being - not seeming, but being. At every waking moment, alert. The gulf between what you are with others and what you are alone. The vertigo and the constant hunger to be exposed, to be seen through, perhaps even wiped out. Every inflection and every gesture a lie, every smile a grimace. Suicide? No, too vulgar. But you can refuse to move, refuse to talk, so that you don't have to lie. You can shut yourself in. Then you needn't play any parts or make wrong gestures. Or so you thought. But reality is diabolical. Your hiding place isn't watertight. Life trickles in from the outside, and you're forced to react. No one asks if it is true or false, if you're genuine or just a sham. Such things matter only in the theatre, and hardly there either. I understand why you don't speak, why you don't move, why you've created a part for yourself out of apathy. I understand. I admire. You should go on with this part until it is played out, until it loses interest for you. Then you can leave it, just as you've left your other parts one by one." 

Persona, de Ingmar Bergman.

Ouvi num livro #1

Em The rain before it falls, de Jonathan Coe. 

Como outra coisa qualquer

Morrer
É uma arte, como outra coisa qualquer.
E eu executo-a excepcionalmente bem.

Sylvia Plath, em Ariel.

Musicofilia #3

Oh, the glory of it all was lost on me 'Til I saw how hard it'd be to reach you And I would always be light years, light years away from you.

Little oranges in the fire

But sometimes when I was starting a new story and I could not get it going, I would sit in front of the fire and squeeze the peel of the little oranges into the edge of the flame and watch the sputter of blue that they made. I would stand and look out over the roofs of Paris and think, "Do not worry. You have always written before and you will write now. All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know."

Ernest Hemingway, em A moveable feast.

Sair da ilha para ver a ilha

Maybe away from Paris I could write about Paris as in Paris I could write about Michigan.

Ernest Hemingway, em A moveable feast.

How different it was when you were there

Hemingway fez uma lista de títulos quando quis dar nome ao livro que hoje conhecemos como "Paris é uma festa", "A moveable feast", em inglês:

• The part nobody knows
• To hope and write well (The Paris Stories)
• To write it true
• Good nails are made of iron
• To bite on the nail
• Some things as they were
• Some people and the places
• How it began
• To love and write well
• It is different in the ring
• How different it was when you were there

Musicofilia #2

O meu desejo
É morrer
Na paz
Do teu beijo