real
in a lost labirinth
2 late to see you

"An old thing becomes new if you detach it from what usually surrounds it."

"Cinema, radio, television, magazines are a school of inattention: people look without seeing, listen in without hearing."

"Make visible what, without you, might perhaps never have been seen."

three quotes by Robert Bresson

open it, the book!
open your eyes!

According to the latest studies, Britain has a staggering 4.2million CCTV cameras - one for every 14 people in the country - and 20 per cent of cameras globally. It has been calculated that each person is caught on camera an average of 300 times daily.

One of my reasons to leave England by the end of this year...

notes new baby for my friend Petra; more are coming!

Dream Letter

Lady time fly away
I've been thinking 'bout my yesterday
Oh, please listen darlin' to my empty prayers
Sleep inside my dreams tonight
All I need to know tonight are you and my child

Oh, is he a soldier or is he a dreamer?
Is he mama's little man?
Does he help you when he can?
Or does he ask about me?

Just like a soldier boy
I been out fighting wars
That the world never knows about
But I never win them loud
There's no crowds around me

But when I get to thinkin'
'Bout the old days
When love was here to stay
I wonder if we'd ever tried
Oh, what I'd give to hold him.

Tim Buckley
Happy Sad

notes:Fantastic sunny day what a better thing to do than to hear very loudly Ben Kweeler and his album "Sha Sha"!.

Another night slips away
In other words i should say
There are no words he should say
There are no words

In his eyes i see the fear
That only time could disappear
If only time could re-appear
Now's the time

Somethin' to take it away to take it away to take it
Don't let it stay don't let it stay don't let it

The butterflies are passive aggressive and put their problems on the shelf but they're beautiful
He'll realize the only thing thats real are the kids that kid themselves and the demise of the beautiful
What is beautiful?

The multi-life is better than
The one we're in the one we knew
Cause everyone is seein' through everyone

They're steppin' on
His gold terrain
He's movin' on with bold refrain
His blatantly old campaign
Is movin' on

Somethin' to take it away to take it away to take it
Don't let it stay don't let it stay don't let it

The butterflies are passive aggressive and put their problems on the shelf but they're beautiful
He'll realize the only thing thats real are the kids that kid themselves and the demise of the beautiful
What is beautiful?

What can't stay goes away

It starts stopping when it stops stopping

"In Other Words"
BEN KWELLER

notes: last talk with V. Love her. Bangkok before Phnom Pehn. Emptiness...feeling a bit strange at the moment. More personal notes on "on going project".

notes: very, very few in this huge house; I think there are at the moment as many dogs around as persons. Someone asked me today to be her boyfriend...oooopppsss, I said no (I looked at her a few hours before this revelation and I realize her nice and desirable body...coincidences?). Since then I closed myself in my office hearing some of my best music.
Here is the list ( in alf. order):
Arctic Monkeys
Captain Beefheart and the Magic Band Radio
Cat Power
Devendra Banhart
Echo & the Bunnymen
Egberto Gismonti
Faust
The Fiery Furnaces
Frank Zappa
Gentle Giant
Ghost
Hard Fi
Holly Cole
John Cale
John Mayall
Klaus Schulze
Liars
Lisa Germano
The Lofty Pillars
Manu Chao
Milton Nascimento
Momus
Morrissey
Natalie Merchant
Nick Cave
Nico
Pearl Jam
Peter Seeger
Radiohead
Sartre Ringo
Scitti Politti
Shoplifting
The Smiths
Sufjan Stevens
Syd Barrett
TV On The Radio
Van Der Graaf Generator

Good day for music and thinking in love, friendship and sex...
...very bad day for work ( no work almost at all)

Anyway music is probably my best friend!!!!

notes:Snowing heavily; traffic disruption; but snow is a calming sight. Even if the spring should by around!
My sweet friend V is leaving to Cambodia; i will miss her for some months,until I visit her in July!
image: shaly, other beautiful animal from Petra.

note: north again. my passport gives me always trouble whenever I go. I guess is my photograph and the fact that is a Portuguese passport issued in London. I should never get stamped in European borders, but I do!
picture: the young donkey of my friend Petra training to carry weights.

Apenas um ponto e vírgula.
No azul algo que bate forte
em cinzento de rocha.
Ser capaz é incenso
uma mistura de poder e lágrimas.
Algo linear que sarcásticamente
envolve o doce arredor.
Azul e castanho as cores
azul a cor que domina
mas não conquista;
essa capacidade da impossibilidade
do amor.
Castanho sobreviverá imerso numa
perspectiva com pontos azuis.

O dia nasce na proporção da noite
da fúria e do prazer
de não controlar ser controlado
redondo apenas interiorizo
a tua força.

Gigantes ondas transversando
as paisagens...

sincopado
image
Anne K
Hagesaether

notes: delicate and direct oriental delicassy, your questions are sparks. I feel old and I feel fine.

to W.H. Auden

Scraps of appreciation
on the door of my wardrobe
In my inbox
My outbox.
One winter, after a week of skies like dust,
I nearly traced you on my body,
indissolubly,
across dud-wing shoulder blades.

Last night, even, I found
your shit copied longhand and jammed into
a pile
of ancient birthday cards.
Among postcards from Marrakech,
Stockholm, China,
your poem is breeding -
A printout in Courier,
heavy seam of creasing where it'd been
folded
and pressed tight by hyper-glossy music rags
dating back to oh-one.

You wrote a poem that I married my life to,
My youth, forfeit
in a hasty moment of unthinking passion
to your two-dozen lines
or so.

And of course you've sculpted me,
old man, dead poet.
A child of cutting edges
that trim
and rarefy language,
watching words become antique ornaments,
I smell of you.
sing harmonies of you, behind the anthem choruses
of my rock shows.

You did this,
whose starched collars and bowler hats
would be at odds with the new streets,
squid-inked as they are
and encrusted
with the lymph jewels
of a city's decadence.

But it was your expired wonder
that rattled me
helped wind me,
and steadied my bones, soft,
upon this garish tarmac.

Old poet, dead man.

Light Less Public
Sara Saab

notes: after a talk, in discovering poetry in what she was saying, I reminded a poem sitting in my vault, left there to pay a visit one day...

poets don’t have gender
just faint words embossed on their flesh
like secondary sexual characteristics,
a many-years-old growth of impressions
which is never fully expressed,
shave it off or leave it for its charm?
bearded Hemingway hunts down his death –
a lazy lioness in a broken trajectory of flight
pounces on him swiftly and heavily
like tropical rain after a long drought,
how long did he have to wait for her
hidden, craving,
feeding the mosquitoes of routine with his own blood?!
after all, who has to wait for whom
in this unwritten code of existence
who is hunting whom?
poets don’t have gender
solitude’s hermaphrodites
incomprehensibly wanting every time the other the Other,
in torture giving birth to only themselves
which are repeated,
а repetition of а repetition
repeat please
а repetition of а repetition,
how does one escape these hula-hoops of bodies?
reconciling these differences within oneself
smoothing genitalia,
everything will go smoothly, Hemingway
without any snags,
the last boundaries of self-identification are crossed,
Gordian knots of mutual obligations are hewn,
Sisyphus’ stone of life is pushed from the summit,
genius doesn’t have gender
just a throat raw from shouting
between the legs

poets don't have gender
Halyna Krouk

notes: the words drying, slow direction to
Angkor Wat, silence growing.


When I go to sleep at night my mind
hides parts of my body
in different rooms of the house
so I wake up in the morning
wondering where I am
and how to go about finding myself
Sometimes I decide to do without
an arm or a spine and once
I just left my head
hidden in a box of old letters
on the top shelf
of the bedroom closet
because I never look there

A.Boy
both image and poem

Can you see eternity
in a flower?
The pain the sorrow
the misery
the joy the love
the ecstasy
or does it only ever
equate to monotony?

ao teu post
can't remember the poets name, sorry!

(the flowers du mal are your's!)

notas:

Em Inglaterra outra vez; a viagem a norte foi excepcionalmente proveitosa. Em termos de trabalho surpreendi-me com a quantidade e qualidade de documentos que produzi.

As condições são únicas, proporcionando niveis de concentração e interconexão extremamente elevados.Todos os meses trabalharei aqui, neste espaço incrivel, com algumas das pessoas mais curiosas que se pode encontrar; a concentração e a fluidez provoca um funcionamento cerebral como em nenhum outro lugar em que trabalhei anteriormente.

Em 2007 virei aqui todos os meses por uma semana ou mais. O meu dia de trabalho extende-se das 9 horas até às 22 horas. O meu escritorio é central e funciona tambem como quarto. N&o precisamos de sair deste edifício, mesmo para fazer desporto (saio apenas para jacuzzi, sauna e piscina), uma curta viagem ao centro mais próximo.

No aspecto pessoal, trabalhei todos os dias num dos meus hobies. A mente.

Ao longo dos anos desenvolvi uma capacidade de ler as "vibrações" e pensamentos das pessoas que me circundam; essa capacidade é extremamente valiosa para a actividade que desenvolvo. Permite uma maior fluídez no interrelacionamento com pessoas de todos os extractos sociais e académicos.

Decidi investir muito mais do meu tempo nesta área. Traduzir as sensações em palavras, em primeiro lugar, e desenvolver ainda mais as "ferramentas" que uso; muito simplesmente o poder de acelerar, visualizar e indexar as informações que me são transmitidas pelas pessoas.

Esta decisão envolve diferentes aspectos como dieta mais especializada, desporto, uso de suplementos vitamínicos.

De repente quando chego à meia idade, sinto-me extremamente jovem e leve!

notes: "on going project"
north and not so cold
warm and deep talks
sometimes so deep in the history of our lives
...and i love, really, i love you

a book i'm reading:
Blink(The Power of Thinking without Thinking)
Malcolm Gladwell,
bought in a snap in my airport loved bookshop.
(all 3 books I'm reading now were bought there!)


The killer lives inside me; yes, I can feel him move.
Sometimes he's lightly sleeping in the quiet of his room;
but then his eyes will rise and stare through mine,
he'll speak my words and slice my mind inside.
Yes, the killer lives.

The angels live inside me, I can feel them smile;
their presence strokes and soothes the tempest in my mind
and their love can heal the wounds that I have wrought.
They watch me as I go to fall;
well, I know I shall be caught
while the angels live.

How can I be free?
How can I get help?
Am I really me?
Am I someone else?

But stalking in my cloisters hang the acolytes of gloom
and Death's Head throws his cloak into the corner of my room
and I am doomed.
But laughing in my courtyard play the pranksters of my youth
and solemn, waiting Old Man in the gables of the roof:
he tells me truth.

And I, too, live inside me and very often don't know who I am;
I know I'm not a hero;well, I hope that I'm not damned.
I'm just a man, and killers, angels, all are these,
dictators, saviours, refugees in war and peace
as long as Man lives...

I'm just a man, and killers, angels, all are these:
dictators, saviours, refugees.

Man Erg
Peter Hammill

notes: "on going project"

I'm going north
a few hours before departure
is cold there
warm inside

"Making love is a way of getting high,
perhaps ultimately the only way.

We make love when we walk down the street
and smile at an old person;
we make love when we pet an animal.
In all of our daily inter-relating with people and with things,
we either create more love
or break down the love that exists.
Sexual intercourse is one form of making love."

Maithuna, the meditation of sex

frio em dois lados
perspectivas
em cavalos adiados
uma fotografia e um pacote perdidos
que mulher esta
tardia!

notas em nova ida para norte

notas: "on going project"

fighting still with the translation
lost in it?
no, lost on her,
my mind in distant time and distant shore
taking my life with both hands
& live my dreams
I'll get there
restless red river passing by


Nos bailes da vida
Só quem toma um sonhoComo sua forma de viverPode desvendar o segredode ser felizFoi nos bailes da vida ou num bar em troca de pãoQue muita gente boa pôs o pé na profissãoDe tocar um instrumento e de cantarNão importando se quem pagou quis ouvirFoi assimCantar era buscar o caminho que vai dar no solTenho comigo as lembranças do que eu eraPara cantar nada era longe, tudo tão bomTé a estrada de terra na boléia de um caminhãoEra assimCom a roupa encharcada e alma repleta de chãoTodo artista tem de ir aonde o povo estáSe foi assim, assim seráCantando me disfaço e não me canso de viverNem de cantar
Milton Nascimento

notes: "on going project"

last night i have discussed
life, coincidencies, affection and love
why my love for you
you free bird
we exchanged thanks and skates,
by the end of the night
i had only one page translated
a smile on my face
and the certainty of loving


Where
Perhaps a woman is waiting for you.
In a turquoise mood. In a yellow car.
In the parking lot of a ghost town.

Where a flock of scarves is turning.
Where it’s sixty degrees inside the idea
and seven o’clock on the last day.

Where the children have misplaced your bones.
Where a glass anvil is falling
through atmospheres of language.

poem: Where
Chad Sweeney

I am now a teacher without teams or students
I am now a teacher for myself and the others
who want to hear me
who want to read me
who want to talk with me
and that is wonderful,
i can celebrate life every day!
SONG TO A NEW MORNING

There are teachers who say that the world is a gas.
There are others who think it's a pain in the ass;
There are some who insist that we never will know,
and those who reply that we'll know if we grow.

There are teachers who preach that we all must be celibate,
but others say sex is divine as THEY tell of it;
some say have orgasms, others say "no,
turn the energy inward and feel how you glow."

There's karma and dharma and chanting and prayer
and yoga and acid and "Christ-ian care.

There are teachers who preach that we'll reap what we sow
while others insist that we let go and flow.
There are some who hold out for us pie-in-the-sky
with spirits to guide us around when we die.

Some say we're doomed to eternal damnation
unless we wear hair shirts "and love flagellation.

The physicists give us a relative space
with particles bouncing all over the place.
They tell us we never can know what is true
because seeing it changes the whole point of view.

There's tantra and mantra and teachings like honey.
Some give it away and some charge lots of money.

Elizabeth Gips

What a fantastic poet
Antonio Machado (1875-1939)!
one of the greatest spanish poets of all time, here in a french translation

Jamais je n'ai cherché la gloire
Ni voulu dans la mémoire
des hommes
Laisser mes chansons
Mais j'aime les mondes subtiles
Aériens et délicats
Comme des bulles de savon.

J'aime les voir s'envoler,
Se colorer de soleil et de pourpre,
Voler sous le ciel bleu, subitement trembler,
Puis éclater.

A demander ce que tu sais
Tu ne dois pas perdre ton temps
Et à des questions sans réponse
Qui donc pourrait te répondre?

Chantez en coeur avec moi:
Savoir? Nous ne savons rien
Venus d'une mer de mystère
Vers une mer inconnue nous allons
Et entre les deux mystères
Règne la grave énigme
Une clef inconnue ferme les trois coffres
Le savant n'enseigne rien, lumière n'éclaire pas
Que disent les mots?
Et que dit l'eau du rocher?

Voyageur, le chemin
C'est les traces de tes pas
C'est tout; voyageur,
il n'y a pas de chemin,
Le chemin se fait en marchant
Le chemin se fait en marchant
Et quand tu regardes en arrière
Tu vois le sentier que jamais
Tu ne dois à nouveau fouler
Voyageur! Il n'y a pas de chemins
Rien que des sillages sur la mer.

Tout passe et tout demeure
Mais notre affaire est de passer
De passer en traçant
Des chemins
Des chemins sur la mer

the dilemma is that each side demands what the other cannot give

a. a couple splitting
b. Israel and Palestine
c. me and you

notes
image Shonagh Rae

sim, estou casado contigo
és o meu céu e eu teu filho
embalo-me em ti e tu feiticeira envolves-me
"haja o que ouver espero por ti"

lugar sagrado, lugar mágico

image Anna Coulter

Sometimes we remind dreams
sometimes we are curious
survival, one could say
travelling I say,
going around
reminds us of other ways

De partida e sem acentos
boneca de trapos em maos de bom tocador
lidos os classicos caminhadas as duas linhas
encontrados paralelos em teus dois olhos
paredes altas de tijolo vermelho no meio a fonte
a barca a luz da lua definhando calma
os cigarros falando de quentes territorios
lento afastando
ainda a despedida espera

e cruzei entao os bracos e tu beijaste o ar
trocado o sonho tocada a ideia
no ar ainda a sombra de teu gesto certo
na ida ao encontro do adeus
um livro com paginas mais escritas
entrelinhas como os nossos olhares cruzados
e pergunto-me porque te amo...

notas "on going project"
do discurso amoroso:
desamando

Imaginar que do vazio a paz brota
revolvendo dois caminhos
imaginar que no outro mundo
a realidade funciona como casa de bonecas
"quando me visitas?"
magneto, armadilha irrecusável
entrega a uma nuvem que obstinada passa sem paragem ou desvio
imaginar tudo isto e ainda assim
largar amarras num jogo perigoso de esconde e descobre
imaginar uma boneca intelectualmente avançada
teimosa como o universo e entregue ao jogo do interesse outro
saber que a armadilha se desvenda a cada contacto
clara e deliciosamente apelativa
saber que por fim a magia se constrói desta forma extraordinária
alimentando de forma sólida a minha estória.

notas "on going project"
do discurso amoroso:
o amor participativo sem qualquer preocupação em seduzir

Notas:
da recusa e da intransponibilidade as portas abrem-se
dois mundos a definir-se as pontes desabando
dois seres duas estradas dois percursos
no desalinho do sentir
retrato de v


de profundis amamus

Ontem às onze
fumaste
um cigarro
encontrei-te
sentado
ficámos para perder
todos os teus eléctricos
os meus
estavam perdidos
por natureza própria

Andámos
dez quilómetros
a pé
ninguém nos viu passar
excepto
claro
os porteiros
é da natureza das coisas
ser-se visto
pelos porteiros

Olha
como só tu sabes olhar
a rua os costumes
O Público
o vinco das tuas calças
está cheio de frio
é há quatro mil pessoas interessadas
nisso

Não faz mal abracem-me
os teus olhos
de extremo a extremo azuis
vai ser assim durante muito tempo
decorrerão muitos séculos antes de nós
mas não te importes
muito
nós só temos a ver
com o presente
perfeito
corsários de olhos de gato intransponível
maravilhados maravilhosos únicos
nem pretérito nem futuro tem
o estranho verbo nosso

1957, Mário Cesariny
From: Pena Capital
Publisher: Assírio & Alvim, Lisbon, 2004

de profundis amamus

Yesterday
at eleven
you smoked
a cigarette
I found you
sitting there
we stayed and missed
all your streetcars
mine
by their very nature
were missed

We walked
five miles
no one saw us go by
except
of course
the doormen
it’s in the nature of things
to be seen
by doormen

Look
as only you know how
at the street manners
The Public
the crease in your trousers
is shivering
and four thousand people are interested
in this

It’s all right hug me
with the perfectly blue circles
of your eyes
it will be this way for a long time
many centuries will arrive before we do
but don’t worry
don’t worry
too much
we have only to do
with the present
perfect
pirates with the
wonder-struck wondrous unique
eyes of an impassible cat
our strange verb
has no past or future

Back in England...
Time to plan again, time to budgeting, time to move fast, before travelling next weeks.

When planning for a year, plant corn. When planning for a decade, plant trees. When planning for life, train and educate people.

I like this chinese proverb, by the end of the day it expresses myself.



image from
fotolog.com

The lover transforms

«The lover transforms into the thing loved» with his
savage smile, his teeth,
his hands that flash in the dark. He brings sound
and silence. He brings the noise of the cold waves
and burning stones which rage within him.
And he covers this primordial sound with the staggered
silence of his last life.
The lover transforms from moment to moment,
and it's the moment of the immortal spirit of love
creating flesh in extreme atmospheres, wafting
over all death things.


The lover transforms. He cuts through forms to the core.
And the thing loved is an enclosed bay,
the space of a candlestick,
the backbone and spirit
of women sitting.
He transforms into extinguishing night.
Because the lover is everything, and the thing loved
is a curtain
battered by the wind of the lover on the heights
of an open window. The lover enters
through every open windows and
batters, batters, batters.
The lover is smashing hammer.
that transforms the thing loved.


He enters through her ears,and the woman
who listens
holds that shout forever in her mind
burning like the first day of summer.She hears
and slowly transforms, while sleeping, into that shout
of the lover.
She awakens, and goes, and gives herself to the lover,
she gives him his own shout.
And the lover and the thing loved are a single shout
preceding love.


And they shout and batter. He batters her with his lover
spirit. And she is battered and batters him
with her spirit of the beloved.
Then the world transforms into this harsh noise
of love.While overhead
the silence of the lover and the beloved feed
the surprising silence of the world and of love.

The lover transforms
Herberto Helder

Tríptico

«Transforma-se o amador na coisa amada», com seu
feroz sorriso, os dentes,
as mãos que relampejam no escuro. Traz ruído
e silêncio. Traz o barulho das ondas frias
e das ardentes pedras que tem dentro de si.
E cobre esse ruído rudimentar com o assombrado
silêncio da sua última vida.
O amador transforma-se de instante para instante,
e sente-se o espírito imortal do amor
criando a carne em extremas atmosferas, acima
de todas as coisas mortas.


Transforma-se o amador. Corre pelas formas dentro.
E a coisa amada é uma baía estanque.
É o espaço de um castiçal,
a coluna vertebral e o espírito
das mulheres sentadas.
Transforma-se em noite extintora.
Porque o amador é tudo, e a coisa amada
é uma cortina
onde o vento do amador bate no alto da janela
aberta. O amador entra
por todas as janelas abertas. Ele bate, bate, bate.
O amador é um martelo que esmaga.
Que transforma a coisa amada.


Ele entra pelos ouvidos, e depois a mulher
que escuta
fica com aquele grito para sempre na cabeça
a arder como o primeiro dia do verão. Ela ouve
e vai-se transformando, enquanto dorme, naquele grito
do amador.
Depois acorda, e vai, e dá-se ao amador,
dá-lhe o grito dele.
E o amador e a coisa amada são um único grito
anterior de amor.


E gritam e batem. Ele bate-lhe com o seu espírito
de amador. E ela é batida, e bate-lhe
com o seu espírito de amada.
Então o mundo transforma-se neste ruído áspero
do amor. Enquanto em cima
o silêncio do amador e da amada alimentam
o imprevisto silêncio do mundo e do amor.

Notes under stormy weather far away from my base
but with music and tea and space
The quote of the day
"The best way to make your dreams come true is to wake up."
Paul Valery

I'm working in a new plan to make 2007 a very good and different year.

I will be visiting my country and the other - my secret country - in a few days.
It is a trip, the one to my country, to revisit some feelings, to adjust my inner clock and to smile, the smile of her - one of the best smiles I ever saw in my life.

I will then go to my secret destination, some compealing visit to the sacred country. Don't ask me why I maintain this fascination - because of her, because of the landscapes, because I'm looking to hear from myself in a distant shore?

I will have a long meeting - I'm preparing it - to plan the entire 2007. It will be the next hours.
The good thing is that I will be traveling every month, sometimes to more than one country; the work load will be enormous; many more eyes will be focused in what I can and will not achieve.
The good part of it is that I will work with a super team, and I will get a lot out of it!!

Thinking about boredom
Things to do when you're bored
Quote:
Boredom: the desire for desires. (Anna Karenina)Leo Tolstoy

Looking outside the freak weather
The Mountain Goats
Orange Ball of Hate

When I hear the screeching weather vane
in the wild wind and the hissing rain
I know that one of us, I'm not saying who,
has got rocks in her head
as the rain comes through the open window
But you don't think so

I sure do love you
I sure do love you

When I notice that the radio is broken
I see you standing there in the doorway soaking
The water drizzles off of you down to the floor
and I say that I don't want to live in New England anymore
Some flower petals stick to your skin
I grab hold of your hip, and I pull you in

When the building establishes control
When the thunder from the north begins to roll down our way
I know I've been right all along
and you start singing that stupid children's song
You think I don't know it
but I just don't feel like singing it

I sure do love you
I sure do love you