Terça-feira, 31 de Agosto de 2010

Poema Maquinanda:



«There's an owl in the valley fixing his prey
He's not counting the tally
It's down to what comes up before the day
And the trees in the orchard were taken from a narrow view of time
Where the minds of the tortured perpetuated patron saints of crime
Oh civilisation.

I can fit into your puzzle but it's hardly, hardly ever a hold
And I'll tell you, yeah yeah, tell you the trouble
The habits I've got are more than 10.000 years old
And we cannot sell our souls to learning morals
Big brother is no place for us to slide
We cannot live by numbers or on laurels
And hardly on how far from death we hide.

And it's not a case of rampant paranoia
But just an age I'd love to see unborn
Not that I'd be missing playing Goya
More like I feel awkward passing on
Civilisation, civilisation down to my children
Without a question.

While the prophets of freedom, battery farming brains for narrow minds
Have decided, yes they decided that meaning is far beyond the lives they left behind
As two thirds of the population dine
On scraps in shadow lengthening with time
While propaganda spreads the same old theme
You is me and we can change the game, bullshit.

Oh but how many times have we written these lines
And delivered these signs and not made it happen
Walking the tightrope of taking our head off
Losing the rhythm, idealising and all criticising
And not realising that we've changed and left and we've gone.

And sad to be leaving the things we believe in but time has a way and we fly
The next age is born and the old hands are gone and done in the wink of an eye
No point in passing bad reason good guessing, no time for massing much more than can flourish with love.

And right now, my darling, I'm lying here dreaming of feeling, no daylight between us
So wherever you are and whenever I'm there is someplace we've got to be ours
Can we right-heartedly stand in this light and see what might turn out to be crazy enough, enough to be we ?

When we've had a past sad enough to last for sometime into the future
These storms have torn and true love is alone and the past is almost a failure
Consciences burn in the programme turn, computing the social behaviour
But yoke revolts, the foundation bolts and cries for yet another saviour.

And I'd pack my things on a pair of wings and tomorrow I'd be parting
With the summer birds and the winter herds for a place to face a new heart in
But it makes no difference, where I am I'm in the game first hand
There are no certain answers and no time to understand
The rules are set to paradox, coercion and blind faith
The goal's a changing paradise, a moment out of date
The dream is righteous grandeur fit to flood the universe
The fact is more than meets the eye but less than runs the earth, running the earth.

And the prisoner of the present paces up and down inside his cell
He's the living replacement, somersaulting from this psychic well
Screaming : 'I'm the sponsor of a hell'
Voices like the sea inside a shell
Telling me I cannot stake a claim
Possession is a clue but not the game
So please leave this world as clean as when you came.»

Segunda-feira, 30 de Agosto de 2010

o exercício

© Diogo Pimentao
Empli, 2010 performance, paper and graphite - 200 x 200 cm

O terror de uma página em branco. O cliché materializado numa ideia oposta ao motivo do acto de escrever. Assim se despoleta vontade de pensamento, talvez criativo, talvez meramente mecânico, do ponto de vista da experiência por si só, mas também da sua natureza enquanto objecto, vivência e processo.
Aparentemente temos já definida, a designada introdução, que encabeça qualquer texto/exercício do acto da escrita. Ainda o tema da folha em branco e respectivo terror do utilizador, perante a emergência do desenvolvimento de uma relação de afectividade, que se tornará dopante (sempre que os acasos da vida assim os provoquem); recorrendo às regras, do exercício em causa, pretende-se o desenvolvimento de algumas ideias, conceitos, palavras e demais temáticas, que nos conduzam a um determinado ponto do raciocínio. Torna-se claramente evidente a necessidade de discorrer sobre o ponto focado, no exercício de reflexão intelectual, associado à própria lógica deste mesmo processo criativo – o exercício.
O ponto da reflexão, exposta no acto da escrita, poderá tomar diferentes formas de ser (existir), consoante o objectivo de quem na efectividade do momento, se dedica à sua comprovação (ou não), sendo este o objectivo primário do exercício. A intersecção de todas as ideias lançadas pela escrita, define um ponto de entendimento, dentro de todo o percurso de raciocínio, o transcrito para o exercício e todo aquele arrumado no nosso pensamento. Esse ponto de entendimento do nosso próprio intelecto varia na sua posição e centralidade, consoante a filtragem, ou focagem daquela determinada e específica área de entendimento.
Por vezes, essa mesma área será difusa o suficiente para que mal se a consiga encontrar verdadeiramente – um género de onde tendencialmente se extraem os génios do acto da escrita -, podendo ser igualmente linear e definida e consoante o contexto, assumidamente técnica e/ou meramente funcional.
Usando uma fórmula repetida, mais um cliché naturalmente, em jeito de conclusão será claramente comprovar, resumir e reafirmar a validade, de todo o processo explanado durante o exercício. O cumprimento de uma necessidade, mediante um posicionamento emotivo, perante o confronto com uma página em branco.

Sábado, 28 de Agosto de 2010

All Hand in Hand For FREE GAZA (A Song for Palestine)

25th May 2010

"Over the new year 2009-2010, an international group of 1500 men and women from 42 nations went to Egypt to join a Freedom March to Gaza. They did this to protest the current blockade of Gaza. To protest the fact that the people of Gaza live in a virtual prison. To protest the fact that a year after the terror attack by Israeli armed forces destroyed most of their homes, hospitals, schools, and other public buildings, they have no possibility to rebuild because their borders are closed. The would be Freedom Marchers wanted to peacefully draw attention to the predicament of the Palestinian population of Gaza. The Egyptian government, (funded to the tune of $2.1 billion a year, by us, the US tax payers), would not allow the marchers to approach Gaza. How lame is that? And how predictable! I live in the USA and during this time Dec 25th 2009-Jan3rd 2010 I saw no reference to Gaza or the Freedom March or the multi national protesters gathered there. Anyway I was moved, in the circumstances, to record a new version of «We shall overcome». It seems appropriate.
Many thanks to G.E Smith: lead guitar and Thor Jonsson, drum programming and whatever. Thanks guys!!!"

- Roger Waters





Quarta-feira, 25 de Agosto de 2010

A Dita ensina...

Curto, directo e simples. Elas sabem perfeitamente o efeito que despertam em nós homens e fazem questão de nos mostrar sempre que podem, que o sabem e que sabem como nos deixar completamente desnorteados...
Sim, sabemos que sem voçês não seriamos nada, mas verdade seja Dita, ela sabe mais do que voçês falsas púdicas todas juntas! Meninos degustem-se com este spot, quanto às meninas, tirem apontamentos e aprendam a tratar bem de nós!


(aparentemente este post parece uma repetição de um anterior, mas sem dúvida que vale a pena insistir neste assunto, não acham?)

Terça-feira, 24 de Agosto de 2010

Near Apocalypse



«in my rear view mirror the sun is going down
sinking behind bridges in the road
i think of all the good things
that we have left undone
and i suffer premonitions
confirm suspicions
of the holocaust to come
the rusty wire that holds the cork
that keeps the anger in
gives way
and suddenly it's day again
the sun is in the east
even though the day is done
two suns in the sunset
hmmmmmmmmm
could be the human race is run
like the moment when your brakes lock
and you slide toward the big truck
and stretch the frozen moments with your fear
and you'll never hear their voices
and you'll never see their faces
you have no recourse to the law anymore
and as the windshield melts
my tears evaporate
leaving only charcoal to defend
finally i understand
the feelings of the few
ashes and diamonds
foe and friend
we were all equal in the end»

Domingo, 22 de Agosto de 2010

Mensagem Maquinanda!



«Far across the ocean
In the land of look and see
There once was a time
For you and me

Where the winds blow sweetly
And the easy seas flow still
And where the barefoot dream of life
Can laugh and cry its fill

Where slot machine confusions
And the plastic universe
Are objects of amusement
In the fiction of their curse

And where the crazy whiteman
And his teargas happiness
Lies dead and long since buried
By his own fantastic mess

For I hate the whiteman
And his plastic excuse
For I hate the whiteman
And the man who turned him loose...

And the reins of coloured thunder
Of the stallion of the dawn
Ride the coalfire morning
On the beach where all is born

Where the emperor of meaning
Is burning up his forts
And sits to warm his toes around
A fire made up of useless thoughts

And when the children tempt him
With the riddles of their trance
He flings the flames of solstice
Casting laughs into their dance

And while a crazy whiteman
In the desert of his bones
Lies as bleached as the paradise
He likes to think he owns

And I hate the whiteman
In his evergreen excuse
Oh I hate the whiteman
And the man who turned him loose...

And far across the reaches
Of the drifting yellow sands
The living carpet wilderness
Forever joins its hands

With heaven hell's attainment
In a surging crest of fire
Where more than all is thrown upon
The ever lasting pyre

And through the countless canticles
Of Jason's charcoal fleece
Are sung the songs of nothing
In the timeless masterpiece

And there stood in the middle
Guess who?
It's the everlasting burst
Built by god's very own whiteman
As he tries to rule the dust

And I hate the whiteman
In his doctrinaire abuse
Oh I hate the whiteman
And the man who turned you all loose...

And the bowels of his city
Have been locked into a safe
Where the spew stains on the sidewalks
Are defenders of his faith

While back inside his kitchen
The bowler hatted, long haired saint
Cleans with soap and water
But it's really just white paint

While his golden headed scandal sheets
Present their daily bite
To give their righteous news-bleeders
Drugs to keep them white

While outside in the whitewash
Where the guns are always, always right
A shooting star has summoned
Its dark angel from his night


And I hate the whiteman
And his evergreen excuse
Oh I hate the whiteman
And the man who turned you all loose
And the man who turned him loose...»

Sexta-feira, 20 de Agosto de 2010

I'm in love with a German film star...


Esta foi retirada das profundezas do baú das sonoridades. The Passions, foram uma das designadas bandas one-hit wonders dos anos 80. Em 1981, conseguem entrar para a história da música com este single I'm in love with a German film star. A ilustração, na pessoa de Marlene Dietrich aqui associada, surge por clara influência de todos aqueles que mais recentemente têm recuperado esta música, envolvendo-a em novos esquemas sonoros, à luz das tendências actuais. Sobre este mesmo assunto, poderão encontrar mais derivações sobre este mesmo tema num outro lugar...

Quinta-feira, 12 de Agosto de 2010

Terça-feira, 10 de Agosto de 2010

Maquinanda Tónica

porque já não se fazem bandas de raparigas como antigamente e com o calor a apertar um gin tónico ia mesmo a calhar...