Aquele que é provavelmente
o mais proeminente ícone revolucinário
em todo o mundo;
transformou-se parodoxalmente
num dos maiores ícones da cultura Pop.
O Capitalismo contra o qual lutou,
fez dele uma fonte de rendimento fenomenal.
Capitalizando o espirito de revolta
inato na adolescência e o
de todos os "wanna be" revolucionários.
Canecas com a imagem do "Che", t-shirts...enfim,
toda uma panóplia de "merchandise".
Imaginem um dia, sentado ao lado do palhaço ou
até mesmo em substituição deste,
um boneco do "Che"Guevara a promover o "Revolutionary Big Mac".



O Lenço de cabeça do Yasser Arafat fica para um futuro post... hmm...nã

James Tobin
(1918 - 2002)

Economista / Prémio Nobel em 1981

A "Taxa Tobin" é a instituição de uma taxa sobre os movimentos de capitais de curto prazo para impedir a fúria especulativa,a taxa proposta seria baixa,entre 0.05 e 1.0 por cento, fazendo reverter o seu produto em favor dos países em desenvolvimento.

Nao resisti...mais tiras dos "PIRATAS DO TIETE"

Howl

I

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats
floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tene- ment roofs
illuminated,
who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the
scholars of war,
who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull,
who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burn- ing their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror
through the wall,
who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,
who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night
with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, al- cohol and cock and endless balls,
incomparable blind; streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of Canada &
Paterson, illuminating all the mo- tionless world of Time between,
Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront
boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks
of Brook- lyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,
who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of
wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of
brilliance in the drear light of Zoo,
who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford's floated out and sat through the stale beer after noon in desolate
Fugazzi's, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox,
who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brook- lyn Bridge,
lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State
out of the moon,
yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of
hospitals and jails and wars,
whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on
the pavement,
who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall,
suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grind- ings and migraines of China under junk-with- drawal in
Newark's bleak furnished room,
who wandered around and around at midnight in the railroad yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no
broken hearts,
who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing through snow toward lonesome farms in grand- father night,
who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telep- athy and bop kabbalah because the cosmos in- stinctively
vibrated at their feet in Kansas,
who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking vis- ionary indian angels who were visionary indian angels,
who thought they were only mad when Baltimore gleamed in supernatural ecstasy,
who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Okla- homa on the impulse of winter midnight street light smalltown
rain,
who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard
to converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship to Africa,
who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees and the lava and
ash of poetry scattered in fire place Chicago,
who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the F.B.I. in beards and shorts with big pacifist eyes sexy in their
dark skin passing out incom- prehensible leaflets,
who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism,
who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union Square weeping and undressing while the sirens of Los Alamos
wailed them down, and wailed down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also wailed,
who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and trembling before the machinery of other skeletons,
who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in policecars for committing no crime but their own wild
cooking pederasty and intoxication,
who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off the roof waving genitals and manu- scripts,
who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy,
who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love,
who balled in the morning in the evenings in rose gardens and the grass of public parks and cemeteries scattering
their semen freely to whomever come who may,
who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath when the blond
& naked angel came to pierce them with a sword,
who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the one eyed
shrew that winks out of the womb and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but sit on her ass and snip the intellectual
golden threads of the craftsman's loom,
who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of beer a sweetheart a package of cigarettes a can- dle and fell off
the bed, and continued along the floor and down the hall and ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt
and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness,
who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning but prepared
to sweeten the snatch of the sun rise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked in the lake,
who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these poems, cocksman and
Adonis of Denver-joy to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses'
rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely pet- ticoat upliftings &
especially secret gas-station solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too,
who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and picked themselves up
out of basements hung over with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemploy-
ment offices,
who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the East River to open
to a room full of steamheat and opium,
who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime blue floodlight of
the moon & their heads shall be crowned with laurel in oblivion,
who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of Bowery,
who wept at the romance of the streets with their pushcarts full of onions and bad music,
who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts,
who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded by orange crates
of theology,
who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow morning were stanzas of
gibberish,
who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht & tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom,
who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an egg,
who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their
heads every day for the next decade,
who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccess- fully, gave up and were forced to open antique stores where
they thought they were growing old and cried,
who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up
clatter of the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of
sinis- ter intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality,
who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually hap- pened and walked away unknown and forgotten into the
ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alley ways & firetrucks, not even one free beer,
who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of the subway window, jumped in the filthy Pas- saic, leaped on
negroes, cried all over the street, danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed phonograph records of nostalgic
European 1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans in their ears
and the blast of colossal steam whistles,
who barreled down the highways of the past journeying to each other's hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude watch or
Birmingham jazz incarnation,
who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had a vision to find
out Eternity,
who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver
& brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,
who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each other's salvation and light and breasts, until the soul
illuminated its hair for a second,
who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for impossible criminals with golden heads and the charm of reality in
their hearts who sang sweet blues to Alcatraz,
who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys or Southern Pacific
to the black locomotive or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the daisychain or grave,
who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hyp notism & were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung
jury,
who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism and subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of
the madhouse with shaven heads and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding in- stantaneous lobotomy,
and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psycho- therapy
occupational therapy pingpong & amnesia,
who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia,
returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible mad man doom of the
wards of the madtowns of the East,
Pilgrim State's Rockland's and Greystone's foetid halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rock- ing and rolling in
the midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a night- mare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the
moon,
with mother finally ******, and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at
4. A.M. and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last fur- nished room emptied down to the last
piece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger in the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing
but a hopeful little bit of hallucination
ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you're really in the total animal soup of time
and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the ellipse the
catalog the meter & the vibrat- ing plane,
who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the
soul between 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun and dash of consciousness together
jumping with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus
to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless and intel- ligent and shaking
with shame, rejected yet con- fessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head,
the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to say in time come
after death,
and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the suffering of
America's naked mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to
the last radio
with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years.

II

What sphinx of cement and aluminum bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagi- nation?
Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unob tainable dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boys
sobbing in armies! Old men weeping in the parks!
Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy judger of men!
Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the crossbone soulless jailhouse and Congress of sorrows! Moloch whose
buildings are judgment! Moloch the vast stone of war! Moloch the stun- ned governments!
Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose blood is running money! Moloch whose fingers are ten armies!
Moloch whose breast is a canni- bal dynamo! Moloch whose ear is a smoking tomb!
Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows! Moloch whose skyscrapers stand in the long streets like endless
Jehovahs! Moloch whose fac- tories dream and croak in the fog! Moloch whose smokestacks and antennae crown the
cities!
Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch whose poverty is the
specter of genius! Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen! Moloch whose name is the Mind!
Moloch in whom I sit lonely! Moloch in whom I dream Angels! Crazy in Moloch! Cocksucker in Moloch! Lacklove and
manless in Moloch!
Moloch who entered my soul early! Moloch in whom I am a consciousness without a body! Moloch who frightened me
out of my natural ecstasy! Moloch whom I abandon! Wake up in Moloch! Light streaming out of the sky!
Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisible suburbs! skeleton treasuries! blind capitals! demonic industries! spectral
nations! invincible mad houses! granite cocks! monstrous bombs!
They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pave- ments, trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to Heaven which
exists and is everywhere about us!
Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstasies! gone down the American river!
Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole boatload of sensitive bullshit!
Breakthroughs! over the river! flips and crucifixions! gone down the flood! Highs! Epiphanies! De- spairs! Ten years'
animal screams and suicides! Minds! New loves! Mad generation! down on the rocks of Time!
Real holy laughter in the river! They saw it all! the wild eyes! the holy yells! They bade farewell! They jumped off the
roof! to solitude! waving! carrying flowers! Down to the river! into the street!

III

Carl Solomon! I'm with you in Rockland where you're madder than I am
I'm with you in Rockland where you must feel very strange
I'm with you in Rockland where you imitate the shade of my mother
I'm with you in Rockland where you've murdered your twelve secretaries
I'm with you in Rockland where you laugh at this invisible humor
I'm with you in Rockland where we are great writers on the same dreadful typewriter
I'm with you in Rockland where your condition has become serious and is reported on the radio
I'm with you in Rockland where the faculties of the skull no longer admit the worms of the senses
I'm with you in Rockland where you drink the tea of the breasts of the spinsters of Utica
I'm with you in Rockland where you pun on the bodies of your nurses the harpies of the Bronx
I'm with you in Rockland where you scream in a straightjacket that you're losing the game of the actual pingpong of
the abyss
I'm with you in Rockland where you bang on the catatonic piano the soul is innocent and immortal it should never die
ungodly in an armed madhouse
I'm with you in Rockland where fifty more shocks will never return your soul to its body again from its pilgrimage to a
cross in the void
I'm with you in Rockland where you accuse your doctors of insanity and plot the Hebrew socialist revolution against
the fascist national Golgotha
I'm with you in Rockland where you will split the heavens of Long Island and resurrect your living human Jesus from
the superhuman tomb
I'm with you in Rockland where there are twenty-five-thousand mad com- rades all together singing the final stanzas
of the Internationale
I'm with you in Rockland where we hug and kiss the United States under our bedsheets the United States that coughs
all night and won't let us sleep
I'm with you in Rockland where we wake up electrified out of the coma by our own souls' airplanes roaring over the
roof they've come to drop angelic bombs the hospital illuminates itself imaginary walls col- lapse O skinny legions run
outside O starry spangled shock of mercy the eternal war is here O victory forget your underwear we're free
I'm with you in Rockland in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea- journey on the highway across America in tears
to the door of my cottage in the Western night

O sal da vida deixa-me os lábios gretados.
Hoje é dia de lua cheia... num qualquer ponto do mundo as mulheres entregam-se sofregamente...
Disseste que vinhas...
Hoje o firmamento move-se obscenamente... pressiona-nos... incute-nos a loucura...
O meu pénis assiste passivamente ao cortejo...
Hoje as mulheres são uma matilha esfomeada... o anoitecer...
O amor desaparece sempre com o raiar do sol...

Chiclete com Banana

Descobri numa das minhas incursoes a Dr. Kartoon e depois de algum paleio com a Fanny, uma revista de origem brasileiras que compilava a obra de dois autores brasileiros: Laerte e Angeli. As primeiras tiras parecem, no minimo....estranhas. Depois de uma pagina nao consegui parar e hoje tenho a coleccao que saiu pela devir portuguesa, mas ja equacionei varias vezes mandar vir a coleccao completa, verrrrrrrrrrsao "brasileira".

Tira do Wood & Stock


Tiras dos Piratas do Tiete

Hoje depois de "almocar" (nunca se pode afirmar que se almoca ou janta num pais como este) na cantina do colegio das artes (o que e que isto me faz lembrar...) fomos tomar cafe. De repente, num daqueles momentos que acho inutil vociferar ingles e que toda a gente esta a falar...merda (esmagaram uma vespa com a chavena de cafe e ja estao a ver arte, outro comecou a beber aos 25 anos ...faz-me lembrar o outro que comia corn flakes com whisky (ou era vodka)), ouco um cry baby whawha. Visto a minha fatiota de Spiff e ai vou eu nas minhas aventuras espacio-temporais,



Well, I stand up next to a mountain
and I chop it down with the edge of my hand.
Well, I stand up next to a mountain,
chop it down with the edge of my hand.
Well, I pick up all the pieces and make an island,
might even raise just a little sand.
'Cause I'm a voodoo chile,
Lord knows I'm a voodoo chile, baby.

I didn't mean to take up all your sweet time,
I'll give it right back to you one of these days.
I said I didn't mean to take up all your sweet time,
I'll give it right back one of these days.
And if I don't meet you no more in this world
then I'll, I'll meet you in the next one and don't be late, don't be late.
'Cause I'm a voodoo chile, voodoo chile,
Lord knows I'm a voodoo chile, hey hey hey.
I'm a voodoo chile, baby.

Obrigado, Jimi.

Ontem fui cortar o cabelo... interroguei-me se conseguiria fugir do penteado 'a Hugh Grant (lembro-me logo do felacio, do filme Lua de Fel e da Elizabeth). Se um penteado daqueles da direito a Elizabeth... pensei ainda ....

Ok fiquei pelo penteado normal...

Entretanto ia a sair de um autocarro e ouco uma mulher dizer "FUCK OFF" repetidamente... aparentemente dirigido a ninguem. A palavra "FUCK OFF", a mulher e um carrinho de bebe, sera' que era para o filho?. E' caso para dizer : "God save the Queen" ... "her fascist regime, it made you a moron a potential H bomb !"

The Ballad of the Green Berets

SSGT Barry Sadler

Fighting soldiers from the sky
Fearless men who jump and die
Men who mean just what they say
The brave men of the Green Beret

Silver wings upon their chest
These are men, America's best
One hundred men will test today
But only three win the Green Beret

Trained to live off nature's land
Trained in combat, hand-to-hand
Men who fight by night and day
Courage peak from the Green Berets

Silver wings upon their chest
These are men, America's best
One hundred men will test today
But only three win the Green Beret

Back at home a young wife waits
Her Green Beret has met his fate
He has died for those oppressed
Leaving her his last request
Put silver wings on my son's chest
Make him one of America's best
He'll be a man they'll test one day
Have him win the Green Beret.

Silver wings upon their chest
These are men, America's best
One hundred men will test today
But only three win the Green Beret

O grande clássico de propaganda a favor da guerra do Vietnam. O Final... o John Wayne a explicar ao míudo vietnamita a morte do seu amigo bóina verde... eh eh eh


"This Is My Rifle"

THIS IS MY RIFLE. There are many like it, but this one is mine. My rifle is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I master my life.


My rifle, without me is useless. Without my rifle, I am useless. I must fire my rifle true. I must shoot straighter than my enemy who is trying to kill me. I must shoot him before he shoots me. I will....


My rifle and myself know that what counts in this war is not the rounds we fire, the noise of our burst, nor the smoke we make. We know that it is the hits that count.

We will hit...


My rifle is human, even as I, because it is my life. Thus I will learn it as a brother. I will learn its weakness, its strength, its parts, its accessories, its sights, and its barrel. I will ever guard it against the ravages of weather and damage. I will keep my rifle clean and ready, even as I am clean and ready. We will become part of each other. We will...


Before God I swear this creed. My rifle and myself are the defenders of my country. We are the masters of our enemy. We are the saviors of my life.


So be it, until there is no enemy, but Peace!

THE CREED OF THE U.S.M.C.

Se não fosse demais ainda colocava a letra do Merle Haggard... ah que se foda... aqui vai ela :)))... 1,2,3 ...

Okie From Muskogee


E
We don't smoke marijuana in Muskogee;
B7
We don't take our trips on LSD
B7
We don't burn our draft cards down on Main Street;
E
We like livin' right, and bein' free.


E
I'm proud to be an Okie from Muskogee,
B7
A place where even squares can have a ball ----
B7
We still wave Old Glory down at the courthouse,
E
And white lightnin's still the biggest thrill of all

We don't make a party out of lovin';
We like holdin' hands and pitchin' woo;
We don't let our hair grow long and shaggy,
Like the hippies out in San Francisco do.

And I'm proud to be an Okie from Muskogee,
A place where even squares can have a ball.
We still wave Old Glory down at the courthouse,
And white lightnin's still the biggest thrill of all.

Leather boots are still in style for manly footwear;
Beads and Roman sandals won't be seen.
Football's still the roughest thing on campus,
And the kids here still respect the college dean.


We still wave Old Glory down at the courthouse,
In Muskogee, Oklahoma, USA.

Phil Ochs

Was born in El Paso, Texas on Dec. 19. 1940.Committed suicide on April 9, 1976 at the age of 35.

"And if there's any hope for America, it lies in a revolution, and if there's any hope for a revolution in America, it lies in getting Elvis Presley to become Che Guevara."

Love Me, I'm a Liberal

I cried when they shot Medgar Evers

Tears ran down my spine

I cried when they shot Mr. Kennedy

As though I'd lost a father of mine

But Malcolm X got what was coming

He got what he asked for this time

So love me, love me, love me, I'm a liberal

I go to civil rights rallies
And I put down the old D.A.R.
I love Harry and Sidney and Sammy
I hope every colored boy becomes a star
But don't talk about revolution
That's going a little bit too far
So love me, love me, love me, I'm a liberal

I cheered when Humphrey was chosen
My faith in the system restored
I'm glad the commies were thrown out
Of the A.F.L. C.I.O. board
I love Puerto Ricans and Negros
As long as they don't move next door
So love me, love me, love me, I'm a liberal

The people of old Mississippi
Should all hang their heads in shame
I can't understand how their minds work
What's the matter don't they watch Les Crane?
But if you ask me to bus my children
I hope the cops take down your name
So love me, love me, love me, I'm a liberal

I read New Republic and Nation
I've learned to take every view
You know, I've memorized Lerner and Golden
I feel like I'm almost a Jew
But when it comes to times like korea
There's no one more red, white and blue
So love me, love me, love me, I'm a liberal

I vote for the democtratic party
They want the U.N. to be strong
I go to all the Pete Seeger concerts
He sure gets me singing those songs
I'll send all the money you ask for
But don't ask me to come on along
So love me, love me, love me, I'm a liberal

Once I was young and impulsive
I wore every conceivable pin
Even went to the socialist meetings
Learned all the old union hymns
But I've grown older and wiser
And that's why I'm turning you in
So love me, love me, love me, I'm a liberal

American Pie
by Don McLean



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The entire song is a tribute to Buddy Holly and a commentary on how rock and roll changed in the years since his death. McLean seems to be lamenting the lack of "danceable" music in rock and roll and (in part) attributing that lack to the absence of Buddy Holly et. al.


(Verse 1)

A long, long time ago...
"American Pie" reached #1 in the US in 1972, but the album containing it was released in 1971. Buddy Holly et.al. died in 1959.

I can still remember how
That music used to make me smile.
And I knew if I had my chance,
That I could make those people dance,
And maybe they'd be happy for a while.
One of early rock and roll's functions was to provide dance music for various social events. McLean recalls his desire to become a musician playing that sort of music.

But February made me shiver,
Buddy Holly died on the night of February 2, 1959 in a plane crash in Iowa during a snowstorm. The news came to most of the world on the morning of February 3, which is why it's known as The Day The Music Died.
With every paper I'd deliver,
Don McLean's only job besides being a full-time singer-songwriter was being a paperboy.
Bad news on the doorstep...
I couldn't take one more step.
I can't remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride

Holly's recent bride was pregnant when the crash took
place; she had a miscarriage shortly afterward.
But something touched me deep inside,
The day the music died.
The same plane crash that killed Buddy Holly also took the lives of Richie Valens ("La Bamba") and The Big Bopper ("Chantilly Lace"). Since all three were so prominent at the time, February 3, 1959 became known as "The Day The Music Died".
So...

(Refrain)

Bye bye Miss American Pie,

American pie era o nome do Avião em que eles ( Buddy Holly, Richie Valens e o Big Boper) se despenharam
Miss American Pie *is* rock and roll music.

Don McLean dated a Miss America candidate during the pageant.
(unconfirmed)



Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
Them good ol' boys were drinkin whiskey and rye
Singing "This'll be the day that I die,
This'll be the day that I die."

One of Holly's hits was "That'll be the Day"; the chorus contains the
line "That'll be the day that I die".


(Verse 2)

Did you write the book of love,

"The Book of Love" by the Monotones; hit in 1958.

And do you have faith in God above,
If the Bible tells you so?
In 1955, Don Cornell did a song entitled "The Bible Tells Me So". Rick Schubert pointed this out, and mentioned that he hadn't heard the song, so it was kinda difficult to tell if it was what McLean was referencing. Dave Tutelman tells me that this particular song wasn't exactly a gem of rock 'n roll.
There's also an old Sunday School song which goes: "Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so" (Stephen Joseph Smith tells me that Bartlett's gives the source of this as "The Love of Jesus", by Anna Bartlett Warner, 1858.)


Now do you believe in rock 'n roll?
The Lovin' Spoonful had a hit in 1965 with John Sebastian's "Do you Believe in Magic?". The song has the lines: "Do you believe in magic" and "It's like trying to tell a stranger 'bout rock and roll."

Can music save your mortal soul?
And can you teach me how to dance real slow?
Dancing slow was an important part of early rock and roll dance events -- but declined in importance through the 60's as things like psychedelia and the 10-minute guitar solo gained prominence.

Well I know you're in love with him
'Cause I saw you dancing in the gym
Slowdancing COULD just be dancing, or it could be vertical "making out". It wasn't hard to watch a couple slow-dancing and figure out whether they had some sort of relationship, if you knew anything about slow dancing.
So just the fact they were dancing didn't tell you anything, but if "I saw you dancing in the gym" I could tell from watching whether there was anything between you (figuratively :-). (Thanks to Dave Tutelman for this note.)


You both kicked off your shoes
A reference to the beloved "sock hop". (Leather-soled street shoes tear up wooden basketball floors, and rubber-soled sneakers grip too much for dance moves, so dancers had to take off their shoes.)

Man, I dig those rhythm 'n' blues
Some history. Before the popularity of rock and roll, music, like much else in the U. S., was highly segregated. The popular music of black performers for largely black audiences was called, first, "race music", later softened to rhythm and blues.
In the early 50s, as they were exposed to it through radio personalities such as Allan Freed, white teenagers began listening, too. Starting around 1954, a number of songs from the rhythm and blues charts began appearing on the overall popular charts as well, but usually in cover versions by established white artists, (e. g. "Shake Rattle and Roll", Joe Turner, covered by Bill Haley; "Sh-Boom", the Chords, covered by the Crew-Cuts; "Sincerely", the Moonglows, covered by the Mc Guire Sisters; Tweedle Dee, LaVerne Baker, covered by Georgia Gibbs).

By 1955, some of the rhythm and blues artists, like Fats Domino and Little Richard were able to get records on the overall pop charts. In 1956 Sun records added elements of country and western to produce the kind of rock and roll tradition that produced Buddy Holly. (Thanks to Barry Schlesinger for this historical note. ---Rsk) (Oh...and Barry, Dave Tutelman wants to know if you were Bronx Science class of '58.)


I was a lonely teenage broncin' buck
With a pink carnation and a pickup truck
"A White Sport Coat (And a Pink Carnation)", was a hit for Marty Robbins in 1957. The pickup truck has endured as a symbol of sexual independence and potency, especially in a Texas context. (Also, Jimmy Buffet does a song about "a white sport coat and a pink crustacean". :-) )

But I knew that I was out of luck
The day the music died
I started singing...

Refrain

(Verse 3)

Now for ten years we've been on our own
McLean was writing this song in the late 60's, about ten years after the crash.

And moss grows fat on a rolling stone
It's unclear who the "rolling stone" is supposed to be. It could be Dylan, since "Like a Rolling Stone" (1965) was his first major hit; and since he was busy writing songs extolling the virtues of simple love, family and contentment while staying at home (he didn't tour from '66 to '74) and raking in the royalties. This was quite a change from the earlier, angrier Dylan.
The "rolling stone" could also be Elvis, although I don't think he'd started to pork out by the late sixties.

It could refer to rock and rollers in general, and the changes that had taken place in the business in the 60's, especially the huge amounts of cash some of them were beginning to make, and the relative stagnation that entered the music at the same time.

Or, perhaps it's a reference to the stagnation in rock and roll.

Or, finally, it could refer to the Rolling Stones themselves; a lot of musicians were angry at the Stones for "selling out". Howard Landman points out that John Foxx of Ultravox was sufficiently miffed to write a song titled "Life At Rainbow's End (For All The Tax Exiles On Main Street)". The Stones at one point became citizens of some other country merely to save taxes.


But that's not how it used to be
When the jester sang for the King and Queen
The jester is Bob Dylan, as will become clear later. There are several interpretations of king and queen: some think that Elvis Presley is the king, which seems pretty obvious. The queen is said to be either Connie Francis or Little Richard. But see the next note. An alternate interpretation is that this refers to the Kennedys -- the king and queen of "Camelot" -- who were present at a Washington DC civil rights rally featuring Martin Luther King. (There's a recording of Dylan performing at this rally.)

In a coat he borrowed from James Dean
In the movie "Rebel Without a Cause", James Dean has a red windbreaker that holds symbolic meaning throughout the film (see note at end). In one particularly intense scene, Dean lends his coat to a guy who is shot and killed; Dean's father arrives, sees the coat on the dead man, thinks it's Dean, and loses it.
On the cover of "The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan", Dylan is wearing just such as red windbreaker, and is posed in a street scene similar to one shown in a well-known picture of James Dean.

Bob Dylan played a command performance for the Queen of England. He was *not* properly attired, so perhaps this is a reference to his apparel.


And a voice that came from you and me
Bob Dylan's roots are in American folk music, with people like Pete Seeger and Woody Guthrie. Folk music is by definition the music of the masses, hence the "...came from you and me".

Oh, and while the King was looking down
The jester stole his thorny crown
This could be a reference to Elvis's decline and Dylan's ascendance. (i.e. Presley is looking down from a height as Dylan takes his place.) The thorny crown might be a reference to the price of fame. Dylan has said that he wanted to be as famous as Elvis, one of his early idols.

The courtroom was adjourned,
No verdict was returned.
This could be the trial of the Chicago Seven, but McLean seems to be talking about music, not politics at this point in the song. With that in mind, perhaps he meant that the arguments between Dylan and Elvis fans over who was better just couldn't be settled.

And while Lennon read a book on Marx,
Literally, John Lennon reading about Karl Marx; figuratively, the introduction of radical politics into the music of the Beatles. (Of course, he could be referring to Groucho Marx, but that doesn't seem quite consistent with McLean's overall tone.
On the other hand, some of the wordplay in Lennon's lyrics and books is reminiscint of Groucho.) The "Marx-Lennon" wordplay has also been used by others, most notably the Firesign Theatre on the cover of their album "How Can You Be In Two Places At Once When You're Not Anywhere At All?". Also, a famous French witticism was "Je suis Marxiste, tendance Groucho."; "I'm a Marxist of the Groucho variety".

It's also a pun on "Lenin".


The quartet practiced in the park
There are two schools of thought about this; the obvious one is the Beatles playing in Shea Stadium, but note that the previous line has John Lennon *doing something else at the same time*. This tends to support the theory that this is a reference to the Weavers, who were blacklisted during the McCarthy era.
McLean had become friends with Lee Hays of the Weavers in the early 60's while performing in coffeehouses and clubs in upstate New York and New York City. He was also well-acquainted with Pete Seeger; in fact, McLean, Seeger, and others took a trip on the Hudson river singing anti-pollution songs at one point. Seeger's LP "God Bless the Grass" contains many of these songs.


And we sang dirges in the dark
A "dirge" is a funeral or mourning song, so perhaps this is meant literally...or, perhaps, this is a reference to some of the new "art rock" groups which played long pieces not meant for dancing.

The day the music died.
We were singing...

Refrain

(Verse 4)
Helter Skelter in a summer swelter

"Helter Skelter" is a Beatles song which appears on the "white"
album. Charles Manson, claiming to have been "inspired" by the
song (through which he thought God and/or the devil were talking
to him) led his followers in the Tate-LaBianca murders.

Is "summer swelter" a reference to the "Summer of
Love" or perhaps to the "long hot summer" of Watts?


The birds flew off with the fallout shelter
Eight miles high and falling fast
The Byrd's "Eight Miles High" was on their late 1966 release "Fifth Dimension". It was one of the first records to be widely banned because of supposedly drug-oriented lyrics.

It landed foul on the grass
One of the Byrds was busted for possesion of marijuana.

The players tried for a forward pass
Obviously a football metaphor, but about what? It could be the Rolling Stones, i.e. they were waiting for an opening which really didn't happen until the Beatles broke up.

With the jester on the sidelines in a cast
On July 29, 1966, Dylan crashed his Triumph 55 motorcycle while riding near his home in Woodstock, New York. He spent nine months in seclusion while recuperating from the accident.

Now the halftime air was sweet perfume
Drugs, man.
Well, now, wait a minute; that's probably too obvious. It's possible that this line and the next few refer to the 1968 Democratic National Convention. The "sweet perfume" is probably tear gas.


While sergeants played a marching tune
Following from the thought above, the sergeants would be the Chicago Police and the Illinois National Guard, who marched the protestors out of the park and into jail.
Alternatively, this could refer to the Beatles' "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band". Or, perhaps McLean refers to the Beatles' music in general as "marching" because it's not music for dancing. Or, finally, the "marching tune" could be the draft.


We all got up to dance
Oh, but we never got the chance
The Beatles' 1966 Candlestick Park concert only lasted 35 minutes.
Or, following on from the previous comment, perhaps he meant that there wasn't any music to dance to.


'Cause the players tried to take the field,
The marching band refused to yield.
Some folks think this refers to either the 1968 Deomcratic Convention or Kent State; following on from the Chicago reference above, this could be another comment on protests. But perhaps the players are the protestors at Kent State, and the marching band the Ohio National Guard...
This could be a reference to the dominance of the Beatles on the rock and roll scene. For instance, the Beach Boys released "Pet Sounds" in 1966 -- an album which featured some of the same sort of studio and electronic experimentation as "Sgt. Pepper" (1967) -- but the album sold poorly.

This might also be a comment about how the dominance of the Beatles in the rock world led to more "pop art" music, leading in turn to a dearth of traditional rock and roll.

Or finally, this might be a comment which follows up on the earlier reference to the draft: the government/military-industrial-complex establishment refused to accede to the demands of the peace movement.


Do you recall what was revealed,
The day the music died?
We started singing

Refrain

(Verse 5)
And there we were all in one place
Woodstock.

A generation lost in space
Some people think this is a reference to the US space program, which it might be; but that seems a bit too literal. Perhaps this is a reference to hippies, who were sometimes known as the "lost generation", partially because of their particularly acute alientation from their parents, and partially because of their presumed preoccupation with drugs.
It could also be a reference to the awful TV show, "Lost in Space", whose title was sometimes used as a synonym for someone who was rather high... but I keep hoping that McLean had better taste. :-)


With no time left to start again
The "lost generation" spent too much time being stoned, and had wasted their lives? Or, perhaps, their preference for psychedelia had pushed rock and roll so far from Holly's music that it couldn't be retrieved.

So come on Jack be nimble Jack be quick
Probably a reference to Mick Jagger of the Rolling Stones; "Jumpin' Jack Flash" was released in May, 1968.

Jack Flash sat on a candlestick
The Stones' Candlestick park concert? (unconfirmed)

'Cause fire is the devil's only friend
"Sympathy for the Devil", by the Stones -- seems to fit with some of the surrouding material.
It's possible that this is a reference to the Grateful Dead's "Friend of the Devil". But I doubt it.

An alternative interpretation of the last four lines is that they may refer to Jack Kennedy and his quick decisions during the Cuban Missile Crisis; the candlesticks/fire refer to ICBMs and nuclear war.


And as I watched him on the stage
My hands were clenched in fists of rage
No angel born in hell
Could break that satan's spell
While playing a concert at the Altamont Speedway in 1968, the Stones appointed members of the Hell's Angels to work security (on the advice of the Grateful Dead). In the darkness near the front of the stage, a young man named Meredith Hunter was beaten and stabbed to death -- by the Angels.
Public outcry that the song "Sympathy for the Devil" had somehow incited the violence caused the Stones to drop the song from their show for the next six years. This incident is chronicled in the documentary film "Gimme Shelter".

It's also possible that McLean views the Stones as being negatively inspired (remember, he had an extensive religious background) by virtue of "Sympathy for the Devil", "Their Satanic Majesties' Request" and so on. I find this a bit puzzling, since the early Stones recorded a lot of "roots" rock and roll, including Buddy Holly's "Not Fade Away".


And as the flames climbed high into the night
To light the sacrificial rite
The most likely interpretation is that McLean is still talking about Altamont, and in particular Mick Jagger's prancing and posing while it was happening. The sacrifice is Meredith Hunter, and the bonfires around the area provide the flames.
(It could be a reference to Jimi Hendrix burning his Stratocaster at the Monterey Pop Festival, but that was in 1967 and this verse is set in 1968.)


I saw satan laughing with delight
If the above is correct, then Satan would be Jagger.

The day the music died
He was singing...

Refrain

(Verse 6)
I met a girl who sang the blues

Janis Joplin.


And I asked her for some happy news
But she just smiled and turned away
Janis died of an accidental heroin overdose on October 4, 1970.

I went down to the sacred store
Where I'd heard the music years before
There are two interpretations of this: The "sacred store" was Bill Graham's Fillmore West, one of the great rock and roll venues of all time. Alternatively, this refers to record stores, and their longtime (then discontinued) practice of allowing customers to preview records in the store. (What year did the Fillmore West close?)
It could also refer to record stores as "sacred" because this is where one goes to get "saved". (See above lyric "Can music save your mortal soul?")


But the man there said the music wouldn't play
Perhaps he means that nobody is interested in hearing Buddy Holly et.al.'s music? Or, as above, the discontinuation of the in-store listening booths.
It's also possible that this line and the two before it refer to the closing of the Fillmore West in 19?? -- but I've been unable to verify that it was actually closed when this song was written.


And in the streets the children screamed
"Flower children" being beaten by police and National Guard troops; in particular, perhaps, the People's Park riots in Berkeley in 1969 and 1970.

The lovers cried and the poets dreamed
The trend towards psychedelic music in the 60's?

But not a word was spoken
The church bells all were broken
It could be that the broken bells are the dead musicians: neither can produce any more music.

And the three men I admire most
The Father Son and Holy Ghost

Holly, The Big Bopper, and Valens
-- or --
Hank Williams, Presley and Holly
-- or --
JFK, Martin Luther King, and Bobby Kennedy
-- or --
or the Catholic aspects of the deity. McLean had attended several Catholic schools.

They caught the last train for the coast
Could be a reference to wacky California religions, or could just be a way of saying that they've left (or died -- western culture often uses "went west" as a synonym for dying). Or, perhaps this is a reference to the famous "God is Dead" headline in the New York Times.
David Cromwell has suggested that this is an oblique reference to a line in Procol Harum's "Whiter Shade of Pale", but I'm not sure I buy that; for one thing, all of McLean's musical references are to much older "roots" rock and roll songs; and secondly, I think it's more likely that this line shows up in both songs simply because it's a common cultural metaphor.


The day the music died
This tends to support the conjecture that the "three men" were Holly/Bopper/Valens, since this says that they left on the day the music died.

And they were singing...


Refrain (2x)

Obrigação

Sim, meu amor, está bem meu amor
Eu sei que tu tens razão
Dizia-te eu, às vezes, para acabar
Com a discussão...

E lá íamos vivendo,
Entre dois copos e um bom colchão,
Um futuro à nossa frente
E muito amor para mostrar a toda a gente.

Como era bem vivermos a dois
Sem nos darmos mal
(uma canção estrangeira e um filme antigo na televisão),
E uma noite tu disseste:
Já dei p'ra ti meu... vou arrancar!
E lá fiquei eu, sózinho,
A conversar com os meus botões
E a tentar descobrir a causa
Que nos levou a tal situação...
Já achei uma ideia que é bem capaz
De ser a solução:
Acho que nós passamos muito tempo
A misturar tripas com coração
E a verdade é bem diferente.
Para haver amor, não pode haver o-briga-ção.

(Jorge Palma)

Quoque tu:

Julio césar ao ser apunhalado pelo se filho adoptivo Brutus.

Paul Éluard, marido de Gala ao saber que esta o trocara por Dali.

O antigo professor de línguas de D.H. Lawrence ao descobrir que este fugira com a sua esposa, Frieda Von Richthofen, Tia do famigerado " Barão Vermelho"

Manfred von Richthofen
(1892 - 1918)

The most famous air ace of the First World War

After scoring 80 confirmed kills, Richthofen
was finally shot down as he
flew deep into British lines on 21 April 1918.
A British pilot flew over the German aerodrome at Cappy and dropped a note informing the Germans of Richthofen’s death. He was buried in France by the British with full military honours.

Corto/Richthofen

(Esta folha de B.D. pertence ao momento em que a vida do
Marinheiro Corto Maltese se cruza com
a do piloto Alemão Von Richthofen)

Ora fodaaaasssse..."Even you Brutus"




"
Como No regrets that the advertised London concert by Pablo Milanes has been cancelled by the artist. Pablo Milanes recently dismissed his agent and has cancelled his long confirmed October European tour. Como No has tried without success to re-negotiate the show with the artist and persuade him to honour the commitment made in his name by his agent of the time. We are very disappointed that we have not been able to reconfirm the show and apologise to Pablo's fans in the UK.
Refunds are now available to all ticket holders from the point of purchase."

"Been there, done that and have a t-shirt saying it" (Martins?)

Por falar em historias...uma das incursoes ao Piano Negro,

Tinhamos chegado cedo, o bar estava vazio, dissemos ao George para se vir sentar na nossa mesa. Comecamos a falar na possibilidade de fazer uma viagem a cote d'azur, ao que o homem respondeu "oui oui, tres bon! mulheires bonitas! ...os olhus pufff". Disse-nos logo para trazer o mapa para desenhar o percurso a fazer... isto regado com um bom rum de martinique (segundo ele do melhor).
Passados alguns momentos estavamos a falar de uma volta que ele e o filho Nicolas iam fazer pela Espanha. Estava zangado porque o filho, mesmo avisado, deixou passar o prazo do passporte e o novo nao vinha a tempo de fazerem a tao desejada viagem a cuba: rum, putas e charutos ... o que um pai faz pelo filho...
Perguntamos pela filha...ele respondeu:" e parecida com a mae e esta sempre chateada comigo".
A Fernanda e a filha... vivem juntas, o George e o filho vivem juntos... o novo disco (colectanea) de jazz que ele tinha comprado sempre a tocar...

"pa paaa para papa, pa paaa, paaa paaa" (Pleo desculpa mas ja sabes que o contratempo...e tramado)

A noite acabou a falarmos dos ares das indias, das africas, de cuba...

Na altura em que nao tinha rendimentos desenrascava-me como podia.

Mendigava trocos para poder beber uma cerveja ou para pagar o consumo minimo da discoteca.

A ausência de dinheiro levou-me a elaborar vários planos mirabolantes... tal como, parar o carro em frente a uma cabine telefónica e sair de escopro e martelo na mão tentando arrebentar a fechadura para "sacar" as moedas ou ... aquela vez em que para levar o meu carro à inspecção (faltava - lhe o pneu sobresselente), eu e o meu amigo martins pareciamos o pit stop de uma corrida de formula 1. Sacámos a roda de um Fiat, que ficou apoiado no bocado de madeira ou tijolo e desaparecemos o mais rápido que conseguimos. Ao chegarmos ao meu carro, tinhamos ido no 205, constatámos que a minha roda só tinha três furos e aquela era de quatro.

The survival of the fittest...



Ok, "eu me confesso" ... ando a ler "The Origins of Species"

The Survival of the fittest (Charles Darwin)

Cat's Eye Nebula
(Download Aqui)



Cada vez que vejo este tipo de imagens lembro-me do tio Frank,


Fly me to the moon
Let me sing among those stars
Let me see what spring is like
On jupiter and mars...

"Não sou, nem nunca fui um condutor exemplar."

Euphemism made flesh...drooping traffic signs shiver, roundabouts groan in ripped-grass agony, sheep flock to the doors of cafés to watch the ongoing parade.
There's a maniac on the wheel, there are highways to be ripped.
[on the 1st beat, with orchestra hit:]
(tenors) Open! (everyone) La-la-laa! [on the "AND" of the 4th beat:]
(sopranos) Apart! (everyone) Para-pa-paaa!
(basses) Fucked! (everyone) Para-pa-pa-paaa! Tara-ra-raaa!
The wind has stopped now, you'd be wise to lock your not-so-little girls inside.
You see, the Sunday Driver is yet to find Itself and it's a loooooong way to Idaho.

Neat, he? You'll never guess the inspiration-author ;-)

Londres, 18 Setembro de 1970 He died



Well, I'm a voodoo chile
Lord I'm a voodoo chile

Well, the night I was born
Lord I swear the moon turned a fire red
The night I was born
I swear the moon turned a fire red
Well my poor mother cried out 'lord, the gypsy was right!'
And I seen her fell down right dead
(Have mercy)

Well, mountain lions found me there waitin'
And set me on a eagles back
Well, mountain lions found me there,
And set me on a eagles wing
(Its' the eagles wing, baby, what did I say)
He took me past to the outskirts of infinity,
And when he brought me back,
He gave me a venus witch's ring
Hey!
And he said 'Fly on, fly on'
Because I'm a voodoo chile, baby, voodoo chile
Hey!

Well, I make love to you,
And lord knows you'll feel no pain
Say, I make love to you in your sleep,
And lord knows you felt no pain
(Have mercy)
'Cause I'm a million miles away
And at the same time I'm right here in your picture frame
(Yeah! What did I say now)
'Cause I'm a voodoo chile
Lord knows I'm a voodoo chile

Well my arrows are made of desire
From far away as Jupiters sulphur mines
Say my arrows are made of desire, desire
From far away as Jupiters sulphur mines
(Way down by the Methabe Sea, yeah)
I have a humming bird and it hums so loud,
You think you were losing your mind, hmmm...

Well I float in liquid gardens
And Arizona new red sand
(Yeah)
I float in liquid gardens
Way down in Arizona red sand

Well, I taste the honey from a flower named Blue,
Way down in California
And the n New York drowns as we hold hands

'Cause I'm a voodoo chile
Lord knows I'm a voodoo chile
Yeah!

Não sou, nem nunca fui um condutor exemplar. Mas gostava de perceber porque é que, os condutores "modelo", quando faço uma ultrapassagem de risco (à noite) me apontam os máximos? se ja sem os máximos o risco de um choque frontal é iminente, com os máximos a encadear - me, o esforço para fugir ao embate redobra... talvez a maldade inata no homem lhe tolde os sentidos. Será que não percebe que ao querer prejudicar o outro, está a aumentar as probabilidades de sofrer um acidente.

"Todos os homens são maus, só são bons quando são obrigados"

Maquiavel

Devil May Care

No cares for me
I'm happy as I can be
I learn to love and to live
Devil may care

No cares and woes
Whatever comes later goes
That's how I'll take and I'll give
Devil may care

When the day is through, I suffer no regrets
I know that he who frets, loses the night
For only a fool, thinks he can hold back the dawn
He was wise to never tries to revise what's past and gone

Live love today, love come tomorrow or May
Don't even stop for a sigh, it doesn't help if you cry
That's how I live and I'll die
Devil may care

"Gracas a Deus sou Ateu" Luis Buñuel

Esta manha depois de ter escrito o meu post fiquei preplexo...atingimos as 1000 visitas em menos de 4 meses. Como sou engenheiro, gosto de fazer calculos para divagar e por isso aqui vou eu: 1000 vistas em 4 meses da cerca de, 1000/(4*30)= 9 visitas diarias a nossa estimada caravela... atendendo a que somos tres, quer dizer que 6 pessoas andam a ler a merda da vida dos outros.... aconselho a essas 6 a irem ver o site REVISTA CARAS


Por causa disto lembrei-me do Manifesto do Surrealismo do Andre Breton... o meu amigo Pandora Nihil falou nele numa conversa junto a Julia. Manifesto do Surrealismo...."Ainda vivemos sob o imperio da logica, eis ai, bem entendido, onde eu queria chegar. Mas os procedimentos logicos, nos nossos dias, so se aplicam a resolucao de problemas secundarios."


"Apenas posso esperar pela amensia final, aquela que consegue apagar uma vida inteira" - Luis Buñuel

Estou a preparar-me para ir ver um concerto do Pablo Milanes...



ANOS
"
El tiempo pasa, nos vamos poniendo viejos
yo el amor no lo reflejo, como ayer.
En cada conversacion, cada beso, cada abrazo
se impone siempre un pedazo, de razon.
Vamos viviendo, viviendo las horas que van pasando,

las viejas discusiones se van perdiendo entre las razones.
Porque años atrás, tomar tu mano, robarte un beso
sin forzar el momento así a la de una verdad.
Porque el tiempo pasa, nos vamos poniendo viejos
el amor no lo refleja como ayer.
En cada conversacion, cada beso, cada abrazo
se impone siempre un pedazo de razón.
A todo dices que si, a nada digas que no
para poder construir esta tremenda armonía
que pone viejos los corazones.
Porque el tiempo pasa...
En cada conversacion, cada beso, cada abrazo
se impone siempre un pedazo de temor..."

ainda falta um mes mas ja existem poucos bilhetes.

Stray Cat Strut

Black and orange stray cat sittin' on a fence
Ain't got enough dough to pay the rent
I'm flat broke but I don't care
I strut right by with my tail in the air

CHORUS:

Stray cat strut I'm a ladies cat

I'm a feline Casanova hey man that's that

Get a shoe thrown at me from a mean old man

Get my dinner from a garbage can

I don't bother chasing mice around

I slink down the alley looking for a fight

Howlin' to the moonlight on a hot summer night

Singin' the blues while the lady cats cry

Wild stray cat you're a rebel gone guy

I wish I could be as carefree and wild

But I got cat class and I got cat style

I don't bother chasing mice around
I slink down the alley looking for a fight
Howlin' to the moonlight on a hot summer night
Singin' the blues while the lady cats cry
Wild stray cat you're a rebel gone guy
I wish I could be as carefree and wild
But I got cat class and I got cat style

A foggy day, in London town
It had me low, and it had me down
I viewed the morning, with much alarm
The British Museum, had lost its charm

How long I wondered, could this thing last
But the age of miracles, it hadn't past
And suddenly, I saw you standing right there
And in foggy London town, the sun was shining everywhere

No sabado fui ate ao Tate Modern, quando sai encontrei um "festival" chamado "Thames Festival". Dizem eles que no domingo ia ser carnaval (..."estes ingleses estao doidos"...querido Goscinny). Bem...estava eu a trespassar este festival a andamento despacio (? ajuda-me pleo) quando de subito me dou de frente com uma pista de carrinhos de choque! espanto, luzes vermelhas e amarelas, tecto de arame, proteccao lateral,....e os carrinhos de choque? Comecei a ouvir Roll over Bethooven, afinei o ouvido e ... era uma pista de danca de musica rockabilly. Pesquisei, e o modo de vestir era identico ao da comunidade que conheci em Coimbra... ok, talvez com mais estilo, dispensavam os creepers e as calcas elasticas... a diferenca, e essa era grande, e que estes faziam as mocas gingar nas suas maos.



O evento denominava-se "The Dodgem Music Ballroom"...a rigor.

I just wanna play the fuckin' Blues!!!

Faltava as aulas para ficar a tocar guitarra cá fora.

O Rui pegava na revista "Maria" e gritava todas as disfunções e dúvidas sexuais publicadas.

Hoje poderia - lhe chamar Maria Blues ou Sexual Fiction Blues, mas na altura éramos apenas rebeldes sem causa (fenómeno que dá também pelo nome de adolescência) e os berros eram mais um desafio à autoridade do que uma afirmação musical.

A última vez que soube do Rui tinha -se tornado toxicodependente e arrastado com ele a Maria joão, uma moça que namorava.

Parece que o estou a ver de revista na mão a gritar:

TOQUEI - LHE NO PÉNIS. ESTAREI GRÁVIDA??? ESTAREI GRÁVIDA??? OH SIM ESTOU GRÁVIDA !!!

Fico sempre estupidificado com aquelas pessoas que acham que por assistirem a X eventos culturais são cultas e interessantes.
Nunca será por te "dares" com um intérprete da chamada música erudita que serás um entendido no assunto.
Assistir aos festivais anuais de Jazz não te fará ganhar o "sentimento".
O guarda-roupa não te transforma num amante de um estilo musical.
Ir ao Teatro ou ir ver filmes de cinema alternativo só porque é "In"... tenham paciência.
Ide todos mas é à MERDA!!!... Orgulhem - se daquilo que são... não daquilo que aparentam ser.

Aquele diálogo entre o Charlie Parker e o Red Albino diz tudo...

CP: taking drugs will never turn you in to the "Byrd"!
RA: I know that... now

Queria escrever algo mais... mas o Miles... adagio do concerto de Aranjuez... as castanholas...
FODA-SE que arranjo e interpretação

Actually, it was "Way ahead of you". But close enough...
Meanwhile, still no sign of that fleeting blues that was supposed to be available for download somewhere.

Remember Roger Rabbit? Remember Jessica Rabbit? Have you ever noticed Roger Mexico and Jessica (Something) are lovers in Gravity's Rainbow? Do you find it believable that a joint conglomerate Warner Bros. - Walt Disney Hollywood collaboration got a name inspiration from a Pynchon novel? Hmmm...

Lá estávamos nós no Costa, o tasco por trás da penitenciária. Mandámos vir dois bitoques... o meu amigo Martins tinha tido uma discussão com a namorada da altura. Esta arremessara a aliança de namoro para o chão... ele tinha aberto a porta da infidelidade e sentia-se com forças para pôr termo à relação... se bem me recordo a moça era de Leiria.
Ainda levaria mais uns anos até o grito do Ipiranga soar correctamente.
Mas apesar de tudo, o dele foi o primeiro de todos (a seguir ao do D. Pedro I é claro)
E se as forças lhe faltaram em certas alturas, e estou certo que sim, lá se aguentou o melhor que pôde e seguiu em frente.
Um dia quando vinha da "Geral" (dirigia - me para a faculdade de Psicologia como um animal a arrastar a "canga") e encontrei - o em frente às "letras". Virou-se para mim e disse-me:
- Right ahead of you!!! ( ou algo parecido)

Ainda hoje, mesmo com o passar dos anos, medito nesta frase e na impotência que me fez sentir...

How insensitive

How insensitive,I must have seemed
when she told me that she loved me.
How unmoved and cold,
I must have seemed when she told so sincerely.

Why she must have asked,
Did I just turn and stare in icy silence?
What was I to do, what can you do,
When a love affair is over?

So now she's gone away,
And I'm alone with the memory of her last look.
Vague and drawn and sad,
I see it still, all the heartache in that last look.

Why she must have asked,
Did I just turn and stare in icy silence?
What was I to say, what can you say,
When a love affair is over?

que mais há a escrever...

Everybody Wants To Be A Cat

Well, little lady, let me illusidate here
Everybody wants to be a cat
Because a cat's the only cat
Who knows were it's at

Tell me, everybody's pickin' up on that feline beat'
Cause everything else is obsolete.
Strickly high button shoes.
A square with a horn makes you wish you weren't born
Everytime he plays

But with a square in the act
You can set music back
To the cave man days, cha cha ba dum bo day

I've heard some corny birds who who tried to sing
Still a cat's the only cat who knows how to swing

Who wants to dig a long haired gig or stuff like that
When everybody wants to be a cat

Everybody wants to be a cat
Beause a cats the only cat who knows where it's at
While playin' jazz you always have a welcom mat
' Cause everybody digs a swinging cat.

If you want to turn me on,
Play your horn don't spare the tone,
and blow a little soul into the tune.

Lets take it to another key.

Modulate, and wait for me.
I'll take a few ad-libs and pretty soon.
The other cats will all commence
Congregating on the fence.
Underneath the alley's only light.
Where every note is out of sight.

Everybody, everybody, everybody wants to be a cat!

Halejuah!

Everybody, everybody, everybody wants to be a cat!
Everybody, everybody, everybody wants to be a cat!
Everybody, everybody, everybody now

Nunca pedia a ninguém um espermatozóide emprestado; mas a acontecer que nasçam trigêmeos...

Pensava eu conhecer as necessidades da mulher( tinha dezassete anos), quando li o romance do D.H. Lawrence: " O Amante de Lady Chatterley... abalou completamente as fundações do meu mundo...




Lady Chatterley's Lover


Lawrence's frank portrayal of an extramarital affair and the explicit sexual explorations of the central characters caused this controversial book, now considered a masterpiece, to be banned as pornography until 1960.


Lawrence's classic explores the themes of inhumanity, love, and need -- a potent mixture that kept the book banned in England until the early 1960s.


Inspired by the long-standing affair between Frieda, Lawrence's German wife, and an Italian peasant who eventually became her third husband, Lady Chatterley's Lover is the story of Constance Chatterley, who, while trapped in an unhappy marriage to an aristocratic mine owner whose war wounds have left him paralyzed and impotent, has an affair with Mellors, the gamekeeper.


Bold, passionate, and erotic, Lady Chaterley's Lover is a truly classic novel of the twentieth century.
Trapped in a rigid aristocractic marriage and sequestered away on the Chatterley estate, Constnce Chattereley is irresistibly drawn to Mellors, the gamekeeper, whose unihibited sexuality and common touch provide a welcom panacea to her husband's neglect. Lyric and beautiful, D.H. Lawrence's paean to sexual love imprisoned by sterile intellectualism and class consciousness has earned its place as one of the most sensual stories ever told.

Acho que ainda nao tinhamos prestado homenagem a esta...



"
Oh, the shark has pretty teeth dear
And he shows ’em, pearly white
Just a jack knife has macheath dear
And he keeps it way out of sight

When that shark bites with his teeth, dear
Scarlet billows begin to spread
Fancy gloves though has macheath dear
So there’s never, never a trace of red

On the sidewalk, one sunday morning
Lies a body, oozin’ life
Someone’s sneaking ’round the corner
Could that someone be mack the knife

From a tugboat, on the river going slow
A cement bag is dropping on down
You know that cement is for the weight dear
You can make a large bet mackie’s back in town

My man louis miller, he split the scene babe
After drawing out all the bread from his stash
Now macheath spends like a sailor
Do you suppose our boy, he’s done something rash

Old satchmo, louis armstrong, bobby darrin
Did this song nice, lady ella too
They all sang it, with so much feeling
That old blue eyes, he ain’t gonna add nothing new

But with this big band, jumping behind me
Swinging hard, jack, I now I can’t lose
When I tell you, all about mack the knife babe
It’s an offer, you can never refuse

We got patrick williams, bill miller playing that piano
And this great big band, bringing up the rear
All the band cats, in this band now
They make the greatest sounds, you’re ever gonna hear

Oh sookie taudry, jenny diver, polly peachum, old miss lulu brown

Hey the line forms, on the right dear
Now that macheath’s back in town
You’d better lock your doors, and call the law
Because macheath’s back in town"

Kurt Weill/ Bertol Brecht/blitzstein

Quando ainda nao entendia toda a profundidade oceanica da palavra "mulher infiel", o "bacano" que me emprestou um espermatozoide, punha la em casa, de vez em quando, a tocar um cd do Paco Ibanez com poemas do Garcia Lorca... Foi o meu primeiro contacto com Lorca.



"Y que yo me la llevé al río
creyendo que era mozuela,
pero tenía marido.
Fue la noche de Santiago
y casi por compromiso.
Se apagaron los faroles
y se encendieron los grillos.
En las últimas esquinas
toqué sus pechos dormidos,
y se me abrieron de pronto
como ramos de jacintos.

El almidón de su enagua
me sonaba en el oído
como una pieza de seda
rasgada por díez cuchillos.
Sin luz de plata en sus copas
los árboles han crecido,
y un horizonte de perros
ladra muy lejos del río.

Pasadas las zarzamoras,
los juncos y los espinos,
bajo su mata de pelo
hice un hoyo sobre el limo.
Yo me quité la corbata.
Ella se quitó el vestido.
Yo, el cinturón con revólver,
ella, sus cuatro corpiños. Ni nardos ni caracolas
tienen el cutis tan fino,
ni los cristales con luna
relumbran con ese brillo.
Sus muslos se me escapaban
como peces sorprendidos,
la mitad llenos de lumbre,
la mitad llenos de frío.
Aquella noche corrí
el mejor de los caminos,
montado en potra de nácar
sin bridas y sin estribos.
No quiero decir, por hombre,
las cosas que ella me dijo.
La luz del entendimiento
me hace ser muy comedido.
Sucia de besos y arena
yo me la llevé del río.
Con el aire se batían
las espadas de los lirios.

Me porté como quien soy,
como un gitano legítimo.
La regalé un costurero
grande, de raso pajizo,
y no quise enamorarme
porque teniendo marido
me dijo que era mozuela
cuando la llevaba al río."

Garcia Lorca

'Man in Black' Johnny Cash dead at 71



'Man in Black' Johnny Cash dead at 71
Singer a towering figure in music history

Friday, September 12, 2003

He was called the "Man in Black, " who once sang "I shot a man in Reno / Just to watch him die," but opened his concerts with the friendly, modest greeting, "Hello, I'm Johnny Cash."

Johnny Cash -- legend, model, icon -- died Friday. He was 71

Anteontem dia 15 Punk Rock perdeu um dos seus pioneiros.



Johnny Ramone(Guitarra) junta-se assim a joey Ramone(vocalista) e Dee Dee Ramone(Baixista) deixando Tommy Ramone(Baterista) como único sobrevivente da formação original.

Ontem apanhei o metro... fui jantar a casa da minha prima comida que a minha avo enviou para mim. Equanto estava sentado, entraram dois freaks (continuo a gostar desta palavra)...brasileiros, por coincidencia nesta estacao de metro estava afixado um famoso poster dos Clash



Recuei anos atras... os olhos vermelhos, as calcas elasticas com os alfinetes, as all-stars muito sujas... sera que os freaks da minha altura continuam a achar Clash a melhor banda de sempre?

Corri para outros pensamentos, felizmente apareceu um par de namorados...daqueles muito apaixonados. Ela abracada a ele, transformando o peito do companheiro em almofada, e ele muito atentendo ao seu redor como se toda a populacao estivesse a cobicar o seu naco de carne... esqueci-me de referir, a rapariga era adepta da Mary Quant... Mary Quant, Mary Quant...



Mary Quant, Mary Quant...

Ao princípio pensei: "autocarro para o turista ver"; passados uns dias apercebi-me que apenas os lugares da frente na parte de cima e que são para o turista. Todas as manhãs apanho o 14 ou 414.

Quanto ao metro... é para a malta que não tem outra solução

"Man created god. The inverse remains to be proven."

( Serge Gainsbourg )



Serge Gainsbourg, ugly bastard though he was, was nonetheless possessed of the kind of sleazy charm which certain women (Bardot, Birkin, Bambou, and scores of other French hussies whose names begin with B) found irresistible. Not so '80s pop screecher Whitney Houston, who at the time of this meeting was yet to descend into every tabloid's favourite pop casualty, but was a squeaky-clean purveyor of hi-octane, big-hair power ballads.

By a curious quirk of fate, both were invited to perform on the live French equivalent of 'The Des O'Connor Show' in the mid-'80s. Whitney hollered her way through a number, then sat down next to the, er, somewhat soused Monsieur G, ready to be interviewed by the show's host. Halfway through the sterile chinwag, however, Serge suddenly mumbled, "I want to fuck her." Whitney - unable to believe what she'd heard - exclaimed, "What did he say?" The flustered host, trying to intervene, blathered, "He wanted to offer you flowers." Serge was having none of this: "Don't translate for me," he growled, obviously heavily pissed-up on booze. Then, just to clarify matters: "I said I wanted to fuck her." Whitney, for perhaps the only time in her career, was reduced to silence.

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Parisian pair Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin. Je T'aime!