Achiever

you're welcome internet!

Hythlodaeus diz:
posso falar ktg á pita po um momento?
salad days. a trabalhar! diz:
podes
Hythlodaeus diz:
lOo0l éX tÃu kIduXaa DDDDDDDD
salad days. a trabalhar! diz:
obduxxxxx éx o mAiori PPP
Hythlodaeus diz:
oBigaDuxxx f0fAah
éX a nha mAiz mlh0r mIgaAah
salad days. a trabalhar! diz:
oohhhh não dIgax Ixu páhhhh oLha k a Pipita fika cm xIumxxxx LoLOLOloL
Hythlodaeus diz:
eU xeii =DD maX eU tB n g0xto delaH
salad days. a trabalhar! diz:
pox doix
Hythlodaeus diz:
=D

Kant perdeu a sanidade mental quando cortaram a árvore da praça que fazia uma bonita vista da sua janela. Sem ter a ousadia de me imiscuir em tão considerável companhia, ainda para mais porque não despedi a empregada quando foi ao médico, devo confessar que perdi a compostura e assassinei a minha réstia de dignidade quando vi que não sabia da minha caneta.
Quando me apercebi que teria de fazer apontamentos com uma "jetstream" preta, posso - ou não - ter ofendido os antepassados dos caloiros que se sentaram perto de mim no teste de ontem.
Queres saber o mais ridículo? (está no singular porque não sou pessoa de me iludir. Olá Maggie!) A dita estava no Moleskine contrafeito do jornal 'i'. Que usei no comboio para casa. Ontem. Depois do teste.

O olhar do meu irmão... parecia o dos antepassados da Mulan quando a vêm vestida à menino.

so true.

até a internet sabe disto. A minha vida é mesmo triste.

ENCONTREI-A NA PLAZA REAL. PEDIU-ME LUME NUM AJUNTAMENTO. TRANSACIONAVAM-SE OBJECTOS ROUBADOS. diz:
bored
ringleader of the tormentors aka don algodon fingers. diz:
damn straight bro
ENCONTREI-A NA PLAZA REAL. PEDIU-ME LUME NUM AJUNTAMENTO. TRANSACIONAVAM-SE OBJECTOS ROUBADOS. diz:
wanna go somewhere?
ringleader of the tormentors aka don algodon fingers. diz:
meh, nao tenho disposição. andei o dia a arrumar a casa. estamos em obras.
ENCONTREI-A NA PLAZA REAL. PEDIU-ME LUME NUM AJUNTAMENTO. TRANSACIONAVAM-SE OBJECTOS ROUBADOS. diz:
rly? a fazer oke?
kitchen?
bedrooms?
little shack outside?
ringleader of the tormentors aka don algodon fingers. diz:
redoing the basement. it as all those old blood stains on it. it's just not hip.
ENCONTREI-A NA PLAZA REAL. PEDIU-ME LUME NUM AJUNTAMENTO. TRANSACIONAVAM-SE OBJECTOS ROUBADOS. diz:
you better call a priest while you're at it. little timmy's ghost is not gonna like to have his playground thorn up like that
ringleader of the tormentors aka don algodon fingers. diz:
tr00. but at least it's gonna call my bro down. he still doesn't like to go 'down stairs'. the images of the murder comme right back
ENCONTREI-A NA PLAZA REAL. PEDIU-ME LUME NUM AJUNTAMENTO. TRANSACIONAVAM-SE OBJECTOS ROUBADOS. diz:
we're gonna get you, we're gonna get you
ringleader of the tormentors aka don algodon fingers. diz:
LOL
nao, sao os quartos. ando a dormir num sofa-cama no escritorio. not fun.
ENCONTREI-A NA PLAZA REAL. PEDIU-ME LUME NUM AJUNTAMENTO. TRANSACIONAVAM-SE OBJECTOS ROUBADOS. diz:
finalmente vais tirar o papel d parede da barbie?

Hyperkinetic rabbity thing diz:
agora vou te por um ganda mindfuck na cabeça
Hyperkinetic rabbity thing diz:
hoje vais sonhar com o special ed
Hyperkinetic rabbity thing diz:
vais sonhar com ele envolto em neblina e brilhos cor de rosa
Hyperkinetic rabbity thing diz:
e que estás de mão dada com ele a voar pelos ceus
and we'll talk about leaving town. diz:
FODASSE
and we'll talk about leaving town. diz:
AMIGOS NAO FAZEM ISSO
Hyperkinetic rabbity thing diz:
e na background do sonho vai se ouvir akela musica do "so happy together"
and we'll talk about leaving town. diz:
e continua...

ninguém diz:
quando eles mostraram imagens do levanta.te e ri, mesmo do principio
ninguém diz:
fiquei chocadissima
ninguém diz:
com o visual do marco horácio
vá lá amor, acende-me o lume. diz:
yahh
vá lá amor, acende-me o lume. diz:
ah bimbo
ninguém diz:
porque:
a. o cabelo
b. a roupa
c. a abordagem
ninguém diz:
era uma copia do seinfeld
vá lá amor, acende-me o lume. diz:
ah pensava que tavas a falar do look bimbo de agora.
ninguém diz:
LOL
vá lá amor, acende-me o lume. diz:
mas yah, tem ar de seinfeld no inicio
vá lá amor, acende-me o lume. diz:
:D
ninguém diz:
tambem, tambem
ninguém diz:
por acaso
ninguém diz:
quando ele aparece, o marco actual
ninguém diz:
fiquei um bocado atrapalhada
ninguém diz:
porque ele tinha um ar mesmo gay. o estereotipo do inicio da decada.
vá lá amor, acende-me o lume. diz:
yah
vá lá amor, acende-me o lume. diz:
ate ao promenor do dedo no polegar
vá lá amor, acende-me o lume. diz:
LOL
vá lá amor, acende-me o lume. diz:
dedo no polegar!!!
vá lá amor, acende-me o lume. diz:
:P
vá lá amor, acende-me o lume. diz:
anel, anel ...
ninguém diz:
dedo no polegar..
ninguém diz:
tu rulas
vá lá amor, acende-me o lume. diz:
gracias

Reverendo Bonifácio diz:
tenta correr
Reverendo Bonifácio diz:
tenta esconder-te
Reverendo Bonifácio diz:
penetra lá no outro lado
swing life away. diz:
LOL
swing life away. diz:
as pessoas sao estranhas
swing life away. diz:
quando és um estranho
Reverendo Bonifácio diz:
ama-me duas vezes miuda
Reverendo Bonifácio diz:
uma por amanha
Reverendo Bonifácio diz:
outra só por hoje
swing life away. diz:
este é o fim, meu unico amigo, o fim.
Reverendo Bonifácio diz:
quando a música acaba
Reverendo Bonifácio diz:
apaga a luz
Reverendo Bonifácio diz:
apaga a luz
Reverendo Bonifácio diz:
apaga a luz
swing life away. diz:
vá lá amor, acende-me o lume.
Reverendo Bonifácio diz:
hahahaha
swing life away. diz:
:D
Reverendo Bonifácio diz:
acende me o lume
Reverendo Bonifácio diz:
isso é mesmo á tuga
Reverendo Bonifácio diz:
vá maria, acende me aí o lume
swing life away. diz:
yah, quando escrevi tava mesmo a pensar nisso
Reverendo Bonifácio diz:
a palavra lume é tão provincial
swing life away. diz:
:D
Reverendo Bonifácio diz:
not like us, fine gents from the city
swing life away. diz:
imptelectuales

A sample page from Sylvia Plath’s copy of The Great Gatsby.

Ao tentar fugir aos canais generalistas e às programações nauseantes de inicio de Verão, mudo para o canal Odisseia a fim de ter um pouco de erudição para repetir quando estou em situações desconfortáveis (desbloqueadores de conversa:} ) e apanho esta bonita pérola:

"o estagosaurus era o primeiro ser vivo bipede a andar com as duas pernas...."

seguiram-se 5 minutos de riso alarve com a minha mãe.

forgetfulness


The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read,
never even heard of,

as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.

Long ago you kissed the names of the nine Muses goodbye
and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,

something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,
the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.

Whatever it is you are struggling to remember
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue,
not even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.

It has floated away down a dark mythological river
whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall,
well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.

No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.

- Billy Collins

Canada

I am writing this on a strip of white birch bark
that I cut from a tree with a penknife.
There is no other way to express adequately
the immensity of the clouds that are passing over the farms
and wooded lakes of Ontario and the endless visibility
that hands you the horizon on a platter.

I am also writing this in a wooden canoe,
a point of balance in the middle of Lake Couchiching,
resting the birch bark against my knees.
I can feel the sun’s hands on my bare back,
but I am thinking of winter,
snow piled up in all the provinces
and the solemnity of the long grain-ships
that pass the cold months moored at Owen Sound.

O Canada, as the anthem goes,
scene of my boyhood summers,
you are the pack of Sweet Caporals on the table,
you are the dove-soft train whistle in the night,
you are the empty chair at the end of an empty dock.
You are the shelves of hooks in a lakeside cottage:
Gift from the Sea by Anne Morrow Lindbergh,
A Child’s Garden of Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson,
Anne of Avonlea by L. M. Montgomery,
So You’re Going to Paris! by Clara E. Laughlin,
and Peril Orer the Airport, one
of the Vicky Barr Flight Stewardess series
by Helen Wills whom some will remember
as the author of the Cherry Ames Nurse stories.
What has become of the languorous girls
who would pass the long limp summer evenings reading
Cherry Ames, Student Nurse, Cherry Ames, Senior Nurse,
Cherry Ames, Chief Nurse, and Cherry Ames, Flight Nurse?
Where are they now, the ones who shared her adventures
as a veterans’ nurse, private duty nurse, visiting nurse,
cruise nurse, night supervisor, mountaineer nurse,
dude ranch nurse (there is little she has not done),
rest home nurse, department store nurse,
boarding school nurse, and country doctor's nurse?

O Canada, I have not forgotten you,
and as I kneel in my canoe, beholding this vision
of a bookcase, I pray that I remain in your vast,
polar, North American memory.
You are the paddle, the snowshoe, the cabin in the pines.
You are Jean de Brebeuf with his martyr’s necklace of hatchet heads.
You are the moose in the clearing and the moosehead on the wall.
You are the rapids, the propeller, the kerosene lamp.
You are the dust that coats the roadside berries.
But not only that.
You are the two boys with pails walking along that road,
and one of them, the taller one minus the straw hat, is me.

—BILLY COLLINS

On Turning Ten

The whole idea of it makes me feel
like I'm coming down with something,
something worse than any stomach ache
or the headaches I get from reading in bad light--
a kind of measles of the spirit,
a mumps of the psyche,
a disfiguring chicken pox of the soul.

You tell me it is too early to be looking back,
but that is because you have forgotten
the perfect simplicity of being one
and the beautiful complexity introduced by two.
But I can lie on my bed and remember every digit.
At four I was an Arabian wizard.
I could make myself invisible
by drinking a glass of milk a certain way.
At seven I was a soldier, at nine a prince.

But now I am mostly at the window
watching the late afternoon light.
Back then it never fell so solemnly
against the side of my tree house,
and my bicycle never leaned against the garage
as it does today,
all the dark blue speed drained out of it.

This is the beginning of sadness, I say to myself,
as I walk through the universe in my sneakers.
It is time to say good-bye to my imaginary friends,
time to turn the first big number.

It seems only yesterday I used to believe
there was nothing under my skin but light.
If you cut me I could shine.
But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of life,
I skin my knees. I bleed.

—Billy Collins

Daniel diz:
metaleira in the closet?
hooker with a penis. diz:
sinhe
hooker with a penis. diz:
hehe
Daniel diz:
devia haver marchas de orgulho metaleiro
Daniel diz:
ah pera..há as paradas de motociclista
Daniel diz:
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Daniel diz:
inês
hooker with a penis. diz:
daniel
Daniel diz:
se alguém que anda de mota é um motociclista, como se chama alguém que anda de automóvel?
hooker with a penis. diz:
automobilista?
Daniel diz:
autoclisto
Daniel diz:
*autoclismo
hooker with a penis. diz:
epah. superaste-te
hooker with a penis. diz:
parabéns
hooker with a penis. diz:
:)
Daniel diz:
por acaso nao faz sentido
Daniel diz:
eu sei eu sei.
hooker with a penis. diz:
too late
Daniel diz:
sacrasmo
hooker with a penis. diz:
ja ta a ir po vlog
hooker with a penis. diz:
sacrasmo?
Daniel diz:
sarcasmo. a tua resposta.
hooker with a penis. diz:
hum
hooker with a penis. diz:
tas a ficar pior

«My name is Yon Yonson,
I live in Wisconsin,
I work in a lumbermill there.
The people I meet when I walk down the street,
They say, "What's your name?"
And I say
"My name is Yon Yonson,
I live in Wisconsin ..."



"Slaughter House Five" - Kurt Vonnegut Jr.

Isto só serve para exemplificar o que é o sofrimento imposto às pessoas por 3 anos de FLUL.
Ontem eu e a Maggie fomos paparocar ao refeitório e ao sair fomos abordadas. Eu, a ter uma conversa deveras intelectual e interessante com a xô dona Margarida (vamos supor que sim, ok?), fui abordada por 2 (ou mais, nem sei) raparigas que pergutaram 3 vezes seguidas se tínhamos lume.
resposta de uma aluna frágil, vitima de 3 árduos anos de flul:
'Erg...hum...ah..nós não fumamos.' - disse a pobre, com um ar de sobrevivente do buzinão da ponte de 1994 e uma voz de automaton.
E foi a gargalhada geral para os fumadores. E para a Maggie....e só depois de entender tudo...para mim também.

"If you're going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don't even start. This could mean losing girlfriends, wives, relatives and maybe even your mind. It could mean not eating for three or four days. It could mean freezing on a park bench. It could mean jail. It could mean derision. It could mean mockery--isolation. Isolation is the gift. All the others are a test of your endurance, of how much you really want to do it. And, you'll do it, despite rejection and the worst odds. And it will be better than anything else you can imagine. If you're going to try, go all the way. There is no other feeling like that. You will be alone with the gods, and the nights will flame with fire. You will ride life straight to perfect laughter. It's the only good fight there is."


— Charles Bukowski (Factotum)

Nothing Gold Can Stay

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

Robert Frost

sim, vi The Outsiders pela enésima vez. ^^

No meio de uma aula de literatura inglesa com a professora muito empenhada em explicar a diferença entre novel e romance e prossegue com um exemplo.
"podemos ver essa mudança no nome que os autores davam às suas personagens. A Maude Flanders era uma prostituta e o Tom Jones era um aventureiro." e foi aqui que no meu cantinho da sala mandei um grunhido de fazer corar o Butthead.
epá... a Maude numa rua escura a fumar um cigarro e a mostrar as pernas. o Tom Jones numa mota ao som de 'sex bomb sex bomb you're my sex bomb'.
e é isto 3 anos de flul.

e esta foi a 1ª vez que vi "2 results". e logo para algo totally pointless.
frustrações.

Fear of seeing a police car pull into the drive.
Fear of falling asleep at night.
Fear of not falling asleep.
Fear of the past rising up.
Fear of the present taking flight.
Fear of the telephone that rings in the dead of night.
Fear of electrical storms.
Fear of the cleaning woman who has a spot on her cheek!
Fear of dogs I've been told won't bite.
Fear of anxiety!
Fear of having to identify the body of a dead friend.
Fear of running out of money.
Fear of having too much, though people will not believe this.
Fear of psychological profiles.
Fear of being late and fear of arriving before anyone else.
Fear of my children's handwriting on envelopes.
Fear they'll die before I do, and I'll feel guilty.
Fear of having to live with my mother in her old age, and mine.
Fear of confusion.
Fear this day will end on an unhappy note.
Fear of waking up to find you gone.
Fear of not loving and fear of not loving enough.
Fear that what I love will prove lethal to those I love.
Fear of death.
Fear of living too long.
Fear of death.

I've said that

—Raymond Carver

Mais uma razão para não me sentar na primeira fila ao ver uma peça de teatro:
Alguém pode-me oferecer maltesers e eu posso simplesmente espalhar os benditos chocolates pelo palco.Posso. Não quer dizer que tenha acontecido.




Isso.

Este senhor é um génio.

Daniel diz:
k se faz?
computer says no. diz:
lê-se coisas para literatura
computer says no. diz:
e pondera-se ir lavar os dentes e vestir o pj
Daniel diz:
de?
computer says no. diz:
hum?
computer says no. diz:
algodão...
Daniel diz:
literatura do k?
computer says no. diz:
inglesa
Daniel diz:
LOL
Daniel diz:
ah
Daniel diz:
k dás?
computer says no. diz:
ok...agr a sério, estás comunicar cmg atraves de anagramas?
Daniel diz:
não...pk?
computer says no. diz:
nao te entendo
computer says no. diz:
que informaçoes e que pertendes de mim?

Diary page from Theodore Roosevelt on February 14th, 1884. On this day both his mother and wife died, eleven hours apart.

"Up until the mid twentieth century the mountain gorilla was considered a myth. Oddly enough, a legend not unlike bigfoot or the loch ness monster. The chance of actually seeing/experiencing this elusive shadow was as likely as finding ones soulmate.
Rare.

Precious.

Even once discovered they seemed unapproachable. The only way to get close to this magnificent creature was to become empathetic. Abandon all pretense and preconceptions.

To bare an open throat.
To collapse into the arms of vulnerability.

All but extinct, these beings/moments are threatened by the black hearted.

The cold and oblivious.
The empty eyed profit seekers that overlook these

Rare

Precious

Moments."

Maynard James Keenan about the song "3 libras"

3 Libras

Threw you the obvious and you
Flew with it on your back, a
Name in your recollection
Down among a million same

Difficult not to feel a little bit
Disappointed and passed over
When I look right through
To see you naked but oblivious
And you don't see
Me

But I threw you the obvious just to
See if there's more behind the
Eyes of a fallen angel
Eyes of a tragedy

Here I am expecting just a little bit
Too much from the wounded
But I see, see through it all
See through, see you

'Cause I threw you the obvious to
See what occurs behind the
Eyes of a fallen angel
Eyes of a tragedy

Oh well
Oh well
Apparently nothing
Apparently nothing at all

You don't, you don't, you don't see me
You don't, you don't, you don't see me
You don't, you don't, you don't see me
You don't, you don't, you don't see me
You don't see me
You don't
You don't
You don't see me at all

Fala num episódio da série "Poirot":

Homem vestido de palhaço - "I pity the Hun who fights for fun!" e desembrenha a espada.

E, claro, que eu só vi o Mr.T vestido de palhaço a lutar com um Huno. :x

Estava a folhear a FHM (interesso-me pelas piadas badalhocas, e depois?) e reparo que o senhor que está na capa, Sá Pinto - marido da Sra.Frederica, tem cara de sapato. Daqueles fashion, bicudos. E é isso. O Sá Pinto tem cara de xulé.







É ou não é? hum? hum?

creature fear. diz:
http://www.theonion.com/content/entertainment?utm_source=featuredsection
Daniel diz:
bem
Daniel diz:
é um loserp or se ter matado
Daniel diz:
mas ao menos fe-lo com estilo
Daniel diz:
e se a sua vida se basava nos simpsons
creature fear. diz:
ok ok para
Daniel diz:
entao dev ter sido uma vida feliz
creature fear. diz:
é o the onion
Daniel diz:
ah...
creature fear. diz:
pois..
Daniel diz:
isto nao é vdd?
creature fear. diz:
completamente imaginado
Daniel diz:
then it's no fun
creature fear. diz:
epá..



Ele acreditou naquilo. Sem palavras.

Qual será o tema de conversa de circunstância de um meteorologista? :x

If I play a stupid girl and ask a stupid question I've got to follow it through. What am I supposed to do - look intelligent?
Marylin Monroe

Photo by Elliot Ewritt

ontem fui ao Continente, estava a ver uma camisola e...
NEVER GIVE YOU UP! NEVER LET YOU DOWN!

Fui rickrollada no Continente!
deprimente.

«Estou cansado, é claro,
Porque, a certa altura, a gente tem que estar cansado.
De que estou cansado, não sei:
De nada me serviria sabê-lo,
Pois o cansaço fica na mesma.
A ferida dói como dói
E não em função da causa que a produziu.
Sim, estou cansado,
E um pouco sorridente
De o cansaço ser só isto —
Uma vontade de sono no corpo,
Um desejo de não pensar na alma,
E por cima de tudo uma transparência lúcida
Do entendimento retrospectivo...»

excerto de "Estou cansado" - Álvaro de Campos.

“Alice came to the fork in the road.
“Which road do I take?” she asked.
“Where do you want to go?” responded the Cheshire cat.
“I don’t know,” Alice answered.
“Then,” said the cat, “it doesn’t matter.
— Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

Because I could not stop for Death—
He kindly stopped for me—
The Carriage held but just Ourselves—
And Immortality.

We slowly drove—He knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility—

We passed the School, where Children strove
At recess—in the ring—
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain—
We passed the Setting Sun—

Or rather—He passed Us—
The Dews drew quivering and chill—
For only Gossamer, my Gown—
My Tippet—only Tulle—

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground—
The Roof was scarcely visible—
The Cornice—in the Ground—

Since then—'tis centuries— and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses' Heads
Were toward Eternity—

- Emily Dickinson

Estou a ver muito bem o programa Vintage do VH1. Metem Sparks, banda com a mítica canção "this town ain't big enough for the both of us". Vídeo deles a tocarem no famoso Top of the Pops em 1974.
e PAM. Hitler aparece a tocar no piano. E guinxei numa voz de menina de 12 anos de tal forma alto que o meu irmão engasgou-se.
Momentos em família.

O que é que o Bill Murray disse à Scarlett Johansson no fim do 'Lost in Translation'?