O país do sonho impossível

foto sacada de http://bulimunda.wordpress.com/2009/10/13/portugal-de-outrora-anos-60-nao-mudamos-assim-tanto-so-no-vestuario/

Nasci em 1960 em Portugal, um país pobre no extremo ocidental da Europa. Desde 1928 que o país vivia sob uma ditadura e por esta altura o seu império colonial, restos de um passado glorioso e aventureiro, entrava na sua decadência final, precipitada por guerras de guerrilha em África que ceifaram vidas e recursos, bens dos quais o país não podia dispôr, sangrado que estava também por vagas de emigração mais ou menos constantes.
Lembro-me de uma sociedade mesquinha, que segregava as pessoas - mesmo no meu bairro, um portão e uma rede de uns 3 metros separavam a metade do bairro dos operários, da metade dos empregados administrativos, especializados ou com cargo de chefia.
Os miúdos de um lado não deviam brincar com os do outro, os vizinhos de um lado não se darem com os do outro e mesmo o lado dos empregados era melhor e mais ajardinado do que o lado de cá, dos operários, que tinha menos canteiros de flores.
O parece mal, regia a maneira como as pessoas deviam actuar e como sentiamos a presença de inúmeros olhos a espiarem os nossos passos,(muita gente escrevia voluntariamente para a policia politica e para as autoridades denunciando comportamentos como se veio a comprovar depois), assim que cresciamos um pouco e tinhamos consciência dos nossos gestos começávamos a auto-controlarmo-nos e a limitarmo-nos.
Num país assim o sonho era impossível.

We all have dreams

"But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.

We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. They have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone."

"I have a dream today."

Just replace Negro by poor and white by rich...it applies.
From the Martin Luther King, Jr. famous I have a dream speech.

COP15

In the absence of true, recognized leaders people want to take the floor and speak for themselves…then you have to unleash the dogs at them.
Or make things happen - I hope so...there's a new conscience, spreading : true Gaia.

Link for the site of the conference

Beauty again

池田 学IKEDA Manabu
“Hanakamakiri.” Pen and acrylic on paper. 2004.

I would love to be really talented and to create beauty like this.

Cary Grant was cool and funny

Personal quotes:


I think making love is the best form of exercise.

I've often been accused by critics of being myself on-screen. But being oneself is more difficult than you'd suppose.

I pretended to be somebody I wanted to be until finally I became that person. Or he became me.

My formula for living is quite simple. I get up in the morning and I go to bed at night. In between, I occupy myself as best I can.

Divorce is a game played by lawyers.

I improve on misquotation.

To succeed with the opposite sex, tell her you are impotent; she can't wait to disprove it.

(with great help from Lolita's Classics blog)

Rain

Rain
by Don Paterson
May 26, 2008


I love all films that start with rain:

rain, braiding a windowpane

or darkening a hung-out dress

or streaming down her upturned face;



one long thundering downpour

right through the empty script and score

before the act, before the blame,

before the lens pulls through the frame



to where the woman sits alone

beside a silent telephone

or the dress lies ruined on the grass

or the girl walks off the overpass,



and all things flow out from that source

along their fatal watercourse.

However bad or overlong

such a film can do no wrong,



so when his native twang shows through

or when the boom dips into view

or when her speech starts to betray

its adaptation from the play,



I think to when we opened cold

on a rain-dark gutter, running gold

with the neon of a drugstore sign,

and I’d read into its blazing line:



forget the ink, the milk, the blood—

all was washed clean with the flood

we rose up from the falling waters

the fallen rain’s own sons and daughters



and none of this, none of this matters.


Read more here

to be german(2)

and then this site...

Just because

Jeune femme denudée sur canapé

Just because you're young and beautiful,
you think time is a broken record
playing the same song over and over...

Well, beautiful one, time is more like an arrow
piercing through someone's apple
in the end everybody dies.
(But no one really gets hurt
and there will always be
true beauty, regarding us
with innocent impudence.)