(or: Old Long Since - The Good Old Days)
Should old acquaintances be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and old lang syne?
For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we'll take a cup of kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
We two have paddled in the stream,
from morning sun till dine;
But seas between us broad have roared
since auld lang syne.
quarta-feira, dezembro 30, 2009
terça-feira, dezembro 29, 2009
Haccu and Fren talk to Hhymir, the First Man, about the first days of the world
So Hhymir spoke:
- In the younger years all we did was give names. There were also weeks when, without nothing to do, we spent time conquering things to their names. On the rest of the time, we did it to survive. In the struggle against fear, any second of hesitation would mean death. Later, we were called gods. And don't be mistaken, it was not a fantasy or delusion, we really were.
Fren said:
- Then speak of the coming of the State. Of the invention of writing, of the first religions and the first civilizations!
Hhymir spoke:
- Oh, those things. They came. They were inevitable to happen, somewhere in the world, as the cold winter. We knew that Golden Days were to be Silver. And from silver to Bronze. We marched on. But only the small people paid any attention to them. We had eyes for the more important hunts: wars, the shifting of the stars and loud volcanoes.
Fren said:
- But what about the development of tools? The leap of astronomy and mathematics, the reason and logic that were born in your time.
Hhymir spoke:
- The only knowledge that I know of is the knowledge of the teeth against the prey.
Haccu said:
- But knowledge seeking is a form of hunting too.
Hhymir spoke:
- But were is the blood dripping or the mud that silences the footsteps? They are all in your head! How could I live in such a tiny place?
- In the younger years all we did was give names. There were also weeks when, without nothing to do, we spent time conquering things to their names. On the rest of the time, we did it to survive. In the struggle against fear, any second of hesitation would mean death. Later, we were called gods. And don't be mistaken, it was not a fantasy or delusion, we really were.
Fren said:
- Then speak of the coming of the State. Of the invention of writing, of the first religions and the first civilizations!
Hhymir spoke:
- Oh, those things. They came. They were inevitable to happen, somewhere in the world, as the cold winter. We knew that Golden Days were to be Silver. And from silver to Bronze. We marched on. But only the small people paid any attention to them. We had eyes for the more important hunts: wars, the shifting of the stars and loud volcanoes.
Fren said:
- But what about the development of tools? The leap of astronomy and mathematics, the reason and logic that were born in your time.
Hhymir spoke:
- The only knowledge that I know of is the knowledge of the teeth against the prey.
Haccu said:
- But knowledge seeking is a form of hunting too.
Hhymir spoke:
- But were is the blood dripping or the mud that silences the footsteps? They are all in your head! How could I live in such a tiny place?
quarta-feira, dezembro 23, 2009
Auld Lang Syne
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind ?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and auld lang syne ?
For auld lang syne, my jo,
for auld lang syne,
we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
And surely ye’ll be your pint-stowp !
and surely I’ll be mine !
And we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
We twa hae run about the braes,
and pu’d the gowans fine ;
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary foot,
sin auld lang syne.
We twa hae paidl’d i' the burn,
frae morning sun till dine ;
But seas between us braid hae roar’d
sin auld lang syne.
And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere !
and gie's a hand o’ thine !
And we’ll tak a right gude-willy waught,
for auld lang syne.
and never brought to mind ?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and auld lang syne ?
For auld lang syne, my jo,
for auld lang syne,
we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
And surely ye’ll be your pint-stowp !
and surely I’ll be mine !
And we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
We twa hae run about the braes,
and pu’d the gowans fine ;
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary foot,
sin auld lang syne.
We twa hae paidl’d i' the burn,
frae morning sun till dine ;
But seas between us braid hae roar’d
sin auld lang syne.
And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere !
and gie's a hand o’ thine !
And we’ll tak a right gude-willy waught,
for auld lang syne.
terça-feira, dezembro 22, 2009
sexta-feira, dezembro 18, 2009
segunda-feira, dezembro 14, 2009
Where the Wild Things Are
Garoto foge de casa e vira rei dos monstros. Um filme precisa de uma premissa melhor?
E o engraçado é que não é um filme para crianças. Mas é um ótimo filme sobre crianças. E, melhor ainda, sobre adultos que não querem crescer.
Me lembra um pouco a História Sem Fim. Garoto foge do seu mundo e vira rei do mundo de Fantasia. Quanto mais rei, mais ele perde. As criaturas esperam que ele resolva todos os seus problemas, mas não é possível: ele é só um garoto. É só um garoto triste e solitário, que fingiu ser poderoso.
E no final os dois perdem tudo. Porque não coseguem dar conta da fantasia que criaram.
Mas conseguem voltar para casa, salvos por um amigo.
sábado, dezembro 12, 2009
Roder´s Second Dragon
Sir Riding Roder, all must listen
of his deeds and makings in this land.
His sword and service he had given
to brave King Arthur on Camelot.
His mind was turned to hero-deeds
To dragon-slaying and monster-killing
All his thoughts were on this needs
not on treasure nor on love.
Many maids cried by his leaving
broken hearted, soul in sore.
They begged him so, just to listen
to reason´s voice and ride no more.
But immune to them Sir Roder rode,
across the plains and far-off roads.
He crossed with Galahad of shiny armor,
Who begged of him to ride no more.
But seek the Grail and restore the youth
the kingdom lacked, and end the rouse
between Sir Roder and the other knights
Who thought him vain to undermine
To Round Table and all its Fame.
Who would want as a company
a men whose voice sounded in litany
only for dragons, only for them?
A dragon for killing, a maid in his den.
A dragon for dreaming Sir Roder had found
The last dragon on Britain on top of a mound.
Goodbye to Galahad, may your peace prevail
No Heaven´s Glory, no Holy Grail
Instead his mind was fixed in them:
Dragon´s mound and Dragon´s den.
And so on he rode, Sir Roder the knight
Until he met with Merlin one night.
"A prophecy, oh bard! I ask of thee
Give me the future a chance to see".
Old Merlin who knew most of the stars
by name and by foot for he had been there
In the lands of Old Times, now underground
Where all the secrets where to be found.
Lowered his voice and quietly spoke
Not of dragons, not of killings
But of yew, barley and oak.
Of all the voices contained in nature
The most sacred of all spoke through him
Go home, he said, and forget your task.
Forget the monster, turn your back.
He who seeks what is not there
Will only find it heavy to bear
The burden of an empty mission
The burden of an endless fiction.
Go home and become what you really are
Forget this road in which you came so far!
You are not this desire to control & destroy
Dragons are not yours to be bent towards
Your every tiding and capricious whim
Their fury is not there for you to win
A battle or medal, nor is their teeth
For adorning your halls and long tapestries.
Their wings shall not use to raise as a banner
Their heads never meant to be displayed in this manner!
Their skin is not there just to be cut
Their bones never made for others to hurt
When you engrave them as daggers, daggers still wet
Of their mighty blood from the mighty silhouette.
So listen! And listen well...
Don´t look for them, you must respect
The Old Way of the gods that wisely kept
Dragons in dens and men in their homes.
Each has a place and a voice to call reason.
But Roder, poor Roder,
You think he would listen?
A night with old Merlin might even had been
A night with a stranger with nothing to tell
For he didn´t listen to a word from the tale.
A prophecy was lost in a mind full of gale
Sir Roder had winds to keep him on going
Winds in his head that insisted in blowing
And when those winds took the form of a dragon...
Nothing would stop him from riding his way.
As he rode in that morning
When Merlin stopped performing
To an innocent man - so pure in his way
Sir Roder kept riding, kept riding away.
By the Lake he saw Sir Lancelot
Who begged of him to ride no more.
He spoke of Love and lover´s pains
He spoke of hard sweet painful chains
Cast around a loving heart
(All men someday would play this part)
And feel the love, and feel rejoice
Their hearts by the simple voice
Of the beloved one, such a beauty!
As common man could never see.
What could be much more than Love?
That made him want for nothing more?
Sir Roder wondered if this could be
what he would feel when he would see
A dragon growling above the sea.
etc.
of his deeds and makings in this land.
His sword and service he had given
to brave King Arthur on Camelot.
His mind was turned to hero-deeds
To dragon-slaying and monster-killing
All his thoughts were on this needs
not on treasure nor on love.
Many maids cried by his leaving
broken hearted, soul in sore.
They begged him so, just to listen
to reason´s voice and ride no more.
But immune to them Sir Roder rode,
across the plains and far-off roads.
He crossed with Galahad of shiny armor,
Who begged of him to ride no more.
But seek the Grail and restore the youth
the kingdom lacked, and end the rouse
between Sir Roder and the other knights
Who thought him vain to undermine
To Round Table and all its Fame.
Who would want as a company
a men whose voice sounded in litany
only for dragons, only for them?
A dragon for killing, a maid in his den.
A dragon for dreaming Sir Roder had found
The last dragon on Britain on top of a mound.
Goodbye to Galahad, may your peace prevail
No Heaven´s Glory, no Holy Grail
Instead his mind was fixed in them:
Dragon´s mound and Dragon´s den.
And so on he rode, Sir Roder the knight
Until he met with Merlin one night.
"A prophecy, oh bard! I ask of thee
Give me the future a chance to see".
Old Merlin who knew most of the stars
by name and by foot for he had been there
In the lands of Old Times, now underground
Where all the secrets where to be found.
Lowered his voice and quietly spoke
Not of dragons, not of killings
But of yew, barley and oak.
Of all the voices contained in nature
The most sacred of all spoke through him
Go home, he said, and forget your task.
Forget the monster, turn your back.
He who seeks what is not there
Will only find it heavy to bear
The burden of an empty mission
The burden of an endless fiction.
Go home and become what you really are
Forget this road in which you came so far!
You are not this desire to control & destroy
Dragons are not yours to be bent towards
Your every tiding and capricious whim
Their fury is not there for you to win
A battle or medal, nor is their teeth
For adorning your halls and long tapestries.
Their wings shall not use to raise as a banner
Their heads never meant to be displayed in this manner!
Their skin is not there just to be cut
Their bones never made for others to hurt
When you engrave them as daggers, daggers still wet
Of their mighty blood from the mighty silhouette.
So listen! And listen well...
Don´t look for them, you must respect
The Old Way of the gods that wisely kept
Dragons in dens and men in their homes.
Each has a place and a voice to call reason.
But Roder, poor Roder,
You think he would listen?
A night with old Merlin might even had been
A night with a stranger with nothing to tell
For he didn´t listen to a word from the tale.
A prophecy was lost in a mind full of gale
Sir Roder had winds to keep him on going
Winds in his head that insisted in blowing
And when those winds took the form of a dragon...
Nothing would stop him from riding his way.
As he rode in that morning
When Merlin stopped performing
To an innocent man - so pure in his way
Sir Roder kept riding, kept riding away.
By the Lake he saw Sir Lancelot
Who begged of him to ride no more.
He spoke of Love and lover´s pains
He spoke of hard sweet painful chains
Cast around a loving heart
(All men someday would play this part)
And feel the love, and feel rejoice
Their hearts by the simple voice
Of the beloved one, such a beauty!
As common man could never see.
What could be much more than Love?
That made him want for nothing more?
Sir Roder wondered if this could be
what he would feel when he would see
A dragon growling above the sea.
etc.
sexta-feira, dezembro 11, 2009
Of Animals
About the animal Squid
Squids developed over the years the ability to produce colours. They can change their skin in order to camouflage themselves into the rocks. Each tone of colour - varying from the ultra-violet to the infra-red - has a meaning. So does the wavelenght of each colour. The Squids use this language to show other Squids what they think about the spot in which they are. So if Squid is comfortable he will emit a "comfortable situation" colour, to which other Squids will react positively. This allows them to understand better the world they live in, by communicating details of feelings and sensations that the spaces have provoked in them.
Throughout the years tough, Squids have also invented the lie, by which a comfortable Squid will emit a "distress colour" in order to avoid competition for a good environment. Since this invention, Squids have not been able to understand the world.
About the animal Monkey
The Monkeys collect rocks throughout their lives. They separate them by three characteristics: density, colour and firmness. These are very important characteristics that will enable the rocks to smash efficiently the nuts - which consists the basic food supply for the Monkeys. Each Monkey will learn as a child how to recognize if a rock is useful or not by a mere touch. They spend years holding and comparing rocks, discussing within themselves about the good things and the bad things of each find. The best rocks are kept safe by the whole clan, but always belonging to a special individual. The Monkey who successfully brings a good rock to the clan is considered privileged among the others.
About the animal Human
Humans are born with the intriguing characteristic of thinking. They can create another world inside themselves. With that, they are better adapted to life in the real world, by perceiving or understanding it better. By dreaming or imagining a world that is similar but different from this one, they can improvise, invent and even surpass difficulties that they could not solve by their bodies alone. On the other hand this system can sometimes turn against them: they cannot accept the reality in detriment of this other world. If this happens, Humans cannot unknot what is hindering their movements. In which case, they die.
Squids developed over the years the ability to produce colours. They can change their skin in order to camouflage themselves into the rocks. Each tone of colour - varying from the ultra-violet to the infra-red - has a meaning. So does the wavelenght of each colour. The Squids use this language to show other Squids what they think about the spot in which they are. So if Squid is comfortable he will emit a "comfortable situation" colour, to which other Squids will react positively. This allows them to understand better the world they live in, by communicating details of feelings and sensations that the spaces have provoked in them.
Throughout the years tough, Squids have also invented the lie, by which a comfortable Squid will emit a "distress colour" in order to avoid competition for a good environment. Since this invention, Squids have not been able to understand the world.
About the animal Monkey
The Monkeys collect rocks throughout their lives. They separate them by three characteristics: density, colour and firmness. These are very important characteristics that will enable the rocks to smash efficiently the nuts - which consists the basic food supply for the Monkeys. Each Monkey will learn as a child how to recognize if a rock is useful or not by a mere touch. They spend years holding and comparing rocks, discussing within themselves about the good things and the bad things of each find. The best rocks are kept safe by the whole clan, but always belonging to a special individual. The Monkey who successfully brings a good rock to the clan is considered privileged among the others.
About the animal Human
Humans are born with the intriguing characteristic of thinking. They can create another world inside themselves. With that, they are better adapted to life in the real world, by perceiving or understanding it better. By dreaming or imagining a world that is similar but different from this one, they can improvise, invent and even surpass difficulties that they could not solve by their bodies alone. On the other hand this system can sometimes turn against them: they cannot accept the reality in detriment of this other world. If this happens, Humans cannot unknot what is hindering their movements. In which case, they die.
quinta-feira, dezembro 10, 2009
Lullaby
O!, for a voice like thunder! And a tongue to drown the throat of war.
When the senses are shaken and the souls are driven to madness,
Who can stand?
When the souls of the oppressed fight in the troubled air that rages,
Who can stand?
When a whirlwind of fury comes from the throne of God and the frowns of Its countenance drives the nations together,
Who can stand?
When Sin clasps its broad wings over the battle and sails rejoicing in a flood of Death,
when souls are torn to everlasting fire and fiends of hell rejoice upon the slain!,
O, who can stand?
O, who hath caused this?
O, who can answer at the throne of God!
The kings and the nobles of the land have done it.
Hear me not Heaven, thy ministers have done it!
(William Blake)
(Loreena Mckennitt, Douglas Campbell, Falkwer Lorne)
When the senses are shaken and the souls are driven to madness,
Who can stand?
When the souls of the oppressed fight in the troubled air that rages,
Who can stand?
When a whirlwind of fury comes from the throne of God and the frowns of Its countenance drives the nations together,
Who can stand?
When Sin clasps its broad wings over the battle and sails rejoicing in a flood of Death,
when souls are torn to everlasting fire and fiends of hell rejoice upon the slain!,
O, who can stand?
O, who hath caused this?
O, who can answer at the throne of God!
The kings and the nobles of the land have done it.
Hear me not Heaven, thy ministers have done it!
(William Blake)
(Loreena Mckennitt, Douglas Campbell, Falkwer Lorne)
terça-feira, dezembro 08, 2009
O Segundo Dragáo de Roder
Ele afastava as teias de aranha com o cabo da espada e andava cada vez mais para o fundo da caverna. Ele ainda procurava o dragao. O que acontecera com o uivo que ouvira? Onde estava seu Inimigo?
A caverna se transformou em tuneis. E os tuneis em passagens. Roder sabia que aquilo tinha que levar a algum lugar. Ele acreditava que um dragao estaria no final e continuava e continuava por entre a lama e as teias de aranha.
Quantos anos durara isso? Milenios pelo que ele podia contar! A donzela Faelin ficara esquecida do lado de fora.
Roder fora derrotado pelo seu primeiro dragáo, e náo o percebera.
A velha terminou sua lenda e se virou para o jovem contador de histórias:
- Agora, voce entendeu tudo?
- Entendi, ele disse. Roder sou eu e a jovem Faelin é ela.
- Náo! Isto está errado!
- Náo, é isto sim! - insistiu o jovem contador de histórias
- Voce náo pode! - sibilou a draconiza - Náo pode roubar histórias dos outros.
O contador de histórias riu:
- Essa história só te pertence se voce a esconder.
- Se eu a esconder ela náo é uma história. Se eu náo a contar ela náo existe - respondeu a draconiza com muita sabedoria.
- Mas se voce a contar eu a roubarei. E entáo?
quarta-feira, dezembro 02, 2009
Outras Músicas
Dia do Gato Preto
E se eu continuasse a tradicáo? E se eu escrevesse em todos os dias de Dezembro de acordo com o animal correspondente?
Mas náo, agora náo tem sentido. Antes eu escrevia porque eu tinha que escrever todo dia. Por diversáo. Para construir uma história. Para me forcar a fazer alguma coisa. Para náo poder escrever sobre mais nada.
Ainda sinto que preciso me forcar a fazer coisas. Que estúpido.
Se sáo coisas que eu quero eu náo deveria precisar me obrigar a nada...
Living Trees
We belive that dry trees are all dead.
As we see with no leaves they are bare.
What if only this could be the real trees?
That with no leaves can then show us what they have.
And I changed my name again...
- Pray for the angels - said Cain - Pray for them not to find me.
Their perfect light is too much to bear!
Trying to do my thing
His decision ended up beeing far greater than the king's. So, naturally, his fire burnt higher.
She had the power of beeing them; Mellock could very quietly peep into someone´s mind. All that she had to do, and sometimes
He had the power of being them. He could be a spider or a worm. A tiger or a ostritch.
Preview
Sinto que tenho coisas nas máos. Náo sei bem o que fazer com elas. Só o que consigo pensar em fazer é mostrá-las para alguém. Mas... Mas tem que ser mais do que isso!
"O, For a voice like thunder!"
E se eu continuasse a tradicáo? E se eu escrevesse em todos os dias de Dezembro de acordo com o animal correspondente?
Mas náo, agora náo tem sentido. Antes eu escrevia porque eu tinha que escrever todo dia. Por diversáo. Para construir uma história. Para me forcar a fazer alguma coisa. Para náo poder escrever sobre mais nada.
Ainda sinto que preciso me forcar a fazer coisas. Que estúpido.
Se sáo coisas que eu quero eu náo deveria precisar me obrigar a nada...
Living Trees
We belive that dry trees are all dead.
As we see with no leaves they are bare.
What if only this could be the real trees?
That with no leaves can then show us what they have.
And I changed my name again...
- Pray for the angels - said Cain - Pray for them not to find me.
Their perfect light is too much to bear!
Trying to do my thing
His decision ended up beeing far greater than the king's. So, naturally, his fire burnt higher.
She had the power of beeing them; Mellock could very quietly peep into someone´s mind. All that she had to do, and sometimes
He had the power of being them. He could be a spider or a worm. A tiger or a ostritch.
Preview
Sinto que tenho coisas nas máos. Náo sei bem o que fazer com elas. Só o que consigo pensar em fazer é mostrá-las para alguém. Mas... Mas tem que ser mais do que isso!
"O, For a voice like thunder!"
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