Monday, December 3, 2007

Título: A Obra ao Negro (1968)
Autora: Marguerite YourcenarEditor: Dom Quixote
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"Penso para comigo, não raras vezes, que nada no mundo, salvo uma ordem eterna ou uma singular veleidade da matéria em construir algo que a ultrapasse, poderá explicar a razão por que, de dia para dia, me esforço por pensar com um pouco mais de clareza que no dia anterior. [...]
Sempre me há-de maravilhar o facto de esta carne sustentada pelas suas vértebras, de este tronco ligado à cabeça pelo istmo do pescoço e com os membros dispostos simetricamente à sua volta, conter, e talvez produzir, um espírito que tira partido dos meus olhos para ver e dos meus gestos para apalpar... Conheço os seus limites, e sei que lhe falta tempo para ir mais longe, e força, se porventura pudesse dispor de tempo. Mas existe, e, neste momento, ele é aquele que É. Bem sei que se engana, que erra, que por vezes interpreta mal as lições que o mundo lhe ministra, mas sei também que possui o dom de conhecer e não raro rectificar os seus próprios erros.
Já percorri grande parte desta bola onde vivemos; estudei o ponto de fusão dos metais e a germinação das plantas; observei os astros e examinei o interior dos corpos. Sou capaz de extrair, deste tição que aqui está, a noção de peso, e destas chamas a noção de calor. Sei que não sei aquilo que não sei; invejo aqueles que venham a saber mais, mas sei que, tal como eu, terão de medir, pesar, deduzir e desconfiar das deduções alcançadas, distinguir o que há de falso no verdadeiro e levar em conta a eterna mistura da verdade e da falsidade.
Nunca me agarrei fixamente a uma ideia, por temer a confusão em que, sem ela, poderia vir a cair. Nunca temperei um facto verdadeiro com o molho da mentira, para me facilitar a digestão. Nunca deformei os pontos de vista do adversário para mais facilmente ter razão [...]. Ou talvez sim: surpreendi-me nesse acto, mas sempre me repreendi como se repreende um criado desonesto, confiando apenas na promessa que a mim mesmo fiz de vir a proceder melhor.
Sonhei com os meus sonhos; não considero tudo isto mais do que sonhos. Abstive-me sempre de fazer da verdade um ídolo, preferindo designá-la pelo nome mais humilde de exactidão. Os triunfos e os perigos que acumulei não são aquilo se pensa: existem outras glórias para além da glória e outras chamas para além das da fogueira. Consegui, praticamente, desafiar as palavras. Hei-de morrer um pouco menos estúpido do que nasci."

Saturday, November 24, 2007

DA PALAVRA
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[...]
As vezes, palavras duras, definitivas, a luta dos indivíduos (a morte ou a vida), e chacotas pelos fracassos de cada um, e arremessos de mau, génio, e vampirismo, pois então. Somos puros. E que falta nos fazem lençóis, fronhas, almofadas ? Os cobertores, quando os há, estão enegrecidos e com manchas, cheiram ao chichi das criancinhas, quando não a coisas que eu não digo. Mas abrindo a janela, que contraste de perfumes com o ar lavado que vem dos montes da Serra de São Luís! com a florescência das árvores na Avenida! E deixem-me que lhes diga: se é precisa a maior vigilância com as maganas das lêndeas e as brincalhonas pulguitas (especialmente daquelas pequeninas, estilo terroristas, são mesmo uns amores!), a graça que tem a Irene na caça à bicharada, desporto conceituado nas brenhas beirãs onde a fui escolher, e como se alegra dizendo «era uma verdadeira toira !» ou «esta tinha o rabo branco, eram duas às cavalitas», o que só demonstra que na classe agrária, enquanto não chega o dia do tractor e da reforma, a educação feminina quedou nessas prendas doméstico-venatórias do olho atento, dedos que nem setas, unhas como guilhotinas.
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"A comunidade" de Luis Pacheco
SEGREDOS
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DIZ QUE SIM
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Kenn Brown, artista gráfico da Mondolithic Studios, desenvolveu um trabalho impressionante inspirado no livro de Weisman, ilustrando este terrível e fascinante mundo pós-apocaliptico. Mais recentemente o semanário Expresso contactou a firma americana para conceber uma visão de Lisboa, como esta seria ao fim de 300 anos de abandono. E ainda que a música do Blade Runner possa parecer um pouco fora de tom, a imagem não é menos que espectacular.

Sunday, November 4, 2007

TECNOLOGIA
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No, I'm not going to get an iPhone, quit emailing me about it. I'm not getting one because I already have a phone that's better: it's called the Nokia E70, it's the pinnacle of human achievement, and I love it more than my family;

You've probably never heard of the E70 because Nokia's marketing team is busy finding every last dick in the universe to suck, so I'm going to do their job for them and tell you about this product.

First of all, the E70 has a full keyboard, not some shitty stripped down, tap-and-pray smudgy piece of shit. Nokia uses a technology that's even more advanced than the iPhone's tap screen, allowing you to actually feel the keys you press as you're pressing them! The technology is called "tactile response," and it allows you to do things like dial a phone number without staring at your screen like a shit-chucking ape. In fact, every other cellphone ever made has this technology, sometimes called "buttons."

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Saturday, November 3, 2007















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Vencedor destacado do prémio "Eu_não_sou_machista,_apenas_acho_que_as_mulheres_são lixo" de esta semana.
THE OFFICIAL GOD FAQ
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Question: “Is there a God?”

Answer: “No.”

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ARE YOU A FUNDAMENTALIST CHRISTIAN?

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10 - You vigorously deny the existence of thousands of gods claimed by other religions, but feel outraged when someone denies the existence of yours.

9 - You feel insulted and "dehumanized" when scientists say that people evolved from other life forms, but you have no problem with the Biblical claim that we were created from dirt.

8 - You laugh at polytheists, but you have no problem believing in a Triune God.

7 - Your face turns purple when you hear of the "atrocities" attributed to Allah, but you don't even flinch when hearing about how God/Jehovah slaughtered all the babies of Egypt in "Exodus" and ordered the elimination of entire ethnic groups in "Joshua" including women, children, and trees!

6 - You laugh at Hindu beliefs that deify humans, and Greek claims about gods sleeping with women, but you have no problem believing that the Holy Spirit impregnated Mary, who then gave birth to a man-god who got killed, came back to life and then ascended into the sky.

5 - You are willing to spend your life looking for little loopholes in the scientifically established age of Earth (few billion years), but you find nothing wrong with believing dates recorded by Bronze Age tribesmen sitting in their tents and guessing that Earth is a few generations old.

4 - You believe that the entire population of this planet with the exception of those who share your beliefs -- though excluding those in all rival sects - will spend Eternity in an infinite Hell of Suffering. And yet consider your religion the most "tolerant" and "loving."


3 - While modern science, history, geology, biology, and physics have failed to convince you otherwise, some idiot rolling around on the floor speaking in "tongues" may be all the evidence you need to "prove" Christianity.

2 - You define 0.01% as a "high success rate" when it comes to answered prayers. You consider that to be evidence that prayer works. And you think that the remaining 99.99% FAILURE was simply the will of God.

1 - You actually know a lot less than many atheists and agnostics do about the Bible, Christianity, and church history - but still call yourself a Christian.

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

O SOM E A FÚRIA: ESCALADA
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Nothing to do but sit, and wait,,,

Monday, October 22, 2007

A ARTE DO NÃO
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[...]
Going up stairs to my old haunt, there was Bartleby silently sitting upon the banister at the landing.

“What are you doing here, Bartleby?” said I.

“Sitting upon the banister,” he mildly replied.

I motioned him into the lawyer’s room, who then left us.

“Bartleby,” said I, “are you aware that you are the cause of great tribulation to me, by persisting in occupying the entry after being dismissed from the office?”

No answer.

“Now one of two things must take place. Either you must do something, or something must be done to you. Now what sort of business would you like to engage in? Would you like to re-engage in copying for some one?”

“No; I would prefer not to make any change.”

“Would you like a clerkship in a dry-goods store?”

“There is too much confinement about that. No, I would not like a clerkship; but I am not particular.”

“Too much confinement,” I cried, “why you keep yourself confined all the time!”

“I would prefer not to take a clerkship,” he rejoined, as if to settle that little item at once.

“How would a bar-tender’s business suit you? There is no trying of the eyesight in that.”

“I would not like it at all; though, as I said before, I am not particular.”

His unwonted wordiness inspirited me. I returned to the charge.

“Well then, would you like to travel through the country collecting bills for the merchants? That would improve your health.”

“No, I would prefer to be doing something else.”

“How then would going as a companion to Europe, to entertain some young gentleman with your conversation,—how would that suit you?”

“Not at all. It does not strike me that there is any thing definite about that. I like to be stationary. But I am not particular.”

“Stationary you shall be then,” I cried, now losing all patience, and for the first time in all my exasperating connection with him fairly flying into a passion. “If you do not go away from these premises before night, I shall feel bound—indeed I am bound—to—to—to quit the premises myself!” I rather absurdly concluded, knowing not with what possible threat to try to frighten his immobility into compliance. Despairing of all further efforts, I was precipitately leaving him, when a final thought occurred to me—one which had not been wholly unindulged before.

“Bartleby,” said I, in the kindest tone I could assume under such exciting circumstances, “will you go home with me now—not to my office, but my dwelling—and remain there till we can conclude upon some convenient arrangement for you at our leisure? Come, let us start now, right away.”

“No: at present I would prefer not to make any change at all.”
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Excerto de Bartleby o escrivão, de Herman Merville

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