Heterologias

Let me explain:

THE ISRAELIZATION OF INTERNATIONAL POLITICS

Etiquetas: Barack Obama, Crime, Death, Democracy, Droit, Geo-política, Middle East, Politics, USA A-OK, War on terror

Reconstituição das páginas da edição angolana do primeiro caderno do semanário Sol de 12 de Fevereiro de 2010 que por cá andam esquivas, segundo afamado especialista estrangeiro em arqueologia industrial (que pediu anonimato: diz que não gosta de chocos com tinta)



A PARÁBOLA DO JUIZ E DA JORNALISTA

- A JORNALISTA
O sôtor não acha que o primeiro valor de uma sociedade democrática é a liberdade de expressão?

- O JUIZ (do Norte)
Não.

- A JORNALISTA
... a liberdade de pensamento?

- O JUIZ (do Norte)
Não.

- A JORNALISTA
...a liberdade de opinião?

- O JUIZ (do Norte)

- A JORNALISTA
Está a fugir à minha pergunta.

Da tradição popular

Etiquetas: Angola 62, Authority, capitalism, Castela, Cavaco Silva, chocos com tinta, Colonialism, Crime, Death, Democracy, Disobedience, Droit, Economics, Engenheiros, Liberté, Mass Media, Politics, Pulhice

"When I was young, God was dead and the world was a happy place. Now, God is back and the world is miserable (...). Let's Kill God Again".
Dave Graney (Dave Graney & the Lurid Yellow Mist) , apresentando a canção Let's Kill God Again, na primeira parte do concerto de Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds, no Coliseu dos Recreios, em Lisboa, dia 21 de Abril de 2008 (citado de memória).


"I don’t believe in an interventionist God
But I know darling that you do
But if I did I would kneel down and ask Him
Not to intervene when it came to you"
Nick Cave, Into My Arms


"Barone: ¿Y que opina de Dios, Borges?

Borges: (Solemnemente irónico) ¿Es la máxima creación de la literatura fantástica! Lo que imaginaron Wells, Kafka o Poe no es nada comparado con lo que imaginó la teología. La idea de un ser perfecto, omnipotente, todopoderoso es realmente fantástica."
Jorge Luis Borges em conversa com Ernesto Sabato (1974-75),Orlando Barone (org.), Diálogos / Jorge Luis Borges, Ernesto Sabato, Barcelona, Emecé, 2002.

"Nadie rebaje a lágrima o reproche
esta declaración de la maestría
de Dios, que con magnífica ironía
me dio a la vez los libros y la noche."
Jorge Luis Borges, Poema de los dones, publicado em El Hacedor, 1960

Etiquetas: Borges, Coliseu dos Recreio (Lisboa), Dave Graney, Death, God, Leo Ferré, Nick Cave

Etiquetas: Authority, cannibalism, Cinema, Death, Revolution

Etiquetas: Authority, Cinema, Death, Revolution

No país dos sacanas, ser sacana e meio? Não, ó Jorge, que cena, então não sabias? Ser-se Luiz Pacheco. (Como imperativo moral).
E o gajo morreu na mesma. A quem aproveitará? Já tanto faz. Tanto nos faz.

Etiquetas: Body, capitalism, caralho, Death, Democracy, Disobedience, foda-se caralho, Jorge de Sena, Luiz Pacheco

"He was the rock star of my youth," said Esa-Pekka Salonen, music director of the Los Angeles Philharmonic. "When I was a teenager, my classmates listened to rock and pop, but I got the same kind of kicks listening to Stockhausen."

Etiquetas: Death, Music, Stockhausen

Alfred Hitchcock (1899-1980), Frenzy (1972)





Murder, mayhem, violence, sex, beautifully, pictorially expressed, lovely costumes, perfect cutting and... a joke or two

Alfred Hitchcock



LINHA ALERTA INTERNETA SEGURA: chamem a polícia

Etiquetas: caralho, Cinema, Crime, Death, Disobedience, Film, foda-se caralho, Hitchcock, José Sócrates, politically correct, Predation, serial killers, Sexuality

Matthias Grünewald (1470/80 - 1528), Isenheim Altarpiece, The Crucifixion (detail), c. 1515, oil on wood, 269 x 307 cm, Musée d'Unterlinden, Colmar

The killing of Christ injures the being of God.
It looks as if creatures couldn't communicate with their Creator except through a wound that lacerates integrity.
The wound is intended and desired by God.
The humans who did this are not less guilty.
On the other hand, �and this is not the least strange,� the guilt is a wound lacerating the integrity of every guilty being.
In this way God (wounded by human guilt) and human beings (wounded by their own guilt with respect to God), find, if painfully, a unity that seems to be their purpose.
If human beings had kept their own integrity and hadn't sinned, God on one hand and human beings on the other would have persevered in their respective isolation. A night of death wherein Creator and creatures bled together and lacerated each other and on all sides, were challenged at the extreme limits of shame: that is what was required for their communion.

Thus "communication," without which nothing exists for us, is guaranteed by crime. "Communication" is love, and love taints those whom it unites.

In the elevation upon a cross, humankind attains a summit of evil. But it's exactly from having attained it that humanity ceases being separate from God. So clearly the "communication" of human beings is guaranteed by evil. Without evil, human existence would turn in upon itself, would be enclosed as a zone of independence: And indeed an absence of "communication"� empty loneliness �would certainly be the greater evil.

Georges Bataille, Sur Nietzsche (1945)

LINHA ALERTA INTERNETA SEGURA: chamem a polícia

Etiquetas: Bataille, Body, caralho, Crime, Death, Disobedience, foda-se caralho, José Sócrates, Literature, politically correct, Scatology, Sexuality

Caravaggio. The Crucifixion of St. Peter, 1600-1601, oil on canvas, Santa Maria del Popolo, Rome

Rosalie et moi, traînées par ces deux scélérats, nous regagnons les appartements ; les portes se ferment. La malheureuse fille de Rodin est attachée aux colonnes d'un lit, et toute la rage de ces furieux se tourne contre moi ; je suis accablée des plus dures invectives, et les plus effrayants arrêts se prononcent ; il ne s'agit de rien moins que de me disséquer toute vive, pour examiner les battements de mon cœur, et faire sur cette partie des observations impraticables sur un cadavre. Pendant ce temps on me déshabille, et je deviens la proie des attouchements les plus impudiques.
- Avant tout, dit Rombeau, je suis d'avis d'attaquer fortement la forteresse que tes bons procédés respectèrent... C'est qu'elle est superbe ! admire donc le velouté, la blancheur de ses deux demi-lunes qui en défendent l'entrée
jamais vierge ne fut plus fraîche.
- Vierge ! mais elle l'est presque, dit Rodin. Une seule fois, malgré elle, on l'a violée, et pas la moindre chose depuis. Cède-moi le poste un instant...

Marquis de Sade (1740 - 1814), Justine ou les Malheurs de la vertu (1791)


LINHA ALERTA INTERNETA SEGURA: chamem a polícia, "Operação Predador"

Etiquetas: Body, caralho, Death, Disobedience, foda-se caralho, José Sócrates, Literature, Medicine, politically correct, pornography, Predation, Sade, Sexuality

Elizabeth Short’s body, January 15th, 1947, Museum of Death


Oh! Death to Nancy

What is this taht (sic) I can see
Cold icy hands taking hold of me
for Death has come, you all can see.

Hell has open it,s (sic) gate to trick me.

Oh! Death, Oh! Death, can't you spare

me, over for another year!

I'll stuff your jaws till you can't talk
I'll blind (sic) your leg's (sic) till you can't walk
I'll tie your hands till you can't make a
stand.

And finally I'll close your eyes so you
can't see
I'll bring sexual death unto you for me.

B.T.K.
Letter to the police, February 1978



Oh, Anna Why Didn't You Appear

T' was perfect plan of deviant pleasure so bold on that Spring nite

My inner felling hot with propension of the new awakening season

Warn, wet with inner fear and rapture, my pleasure of entanglement, like new vines at night

Oh, Anna, Why Didn't You Appear

Drop of fear fresh Spring rain would roll down from your nakedness to scent to lofty fever that burns within,

In that small world of longing, fear, rapture, and desparation, the game we play, fall on devil ears

Fantasy spring forth, mounts, to storm fury, then winter clam at the end.

Oh, Anna Why Didn't You Appear

Alone, now in another time span I lay with sweet enrapture garments across most private thought

Bed of Spring moist grass, clean before the sun, enslaved with control, warm wind scenting the air, sun light sparkle tears in eyes so deep and clear.

Alone again I trod in pass memory of mirrors, and ponder why for number eight was not.

Oh, Anna Why Didn't You Appear

Letter to Anna Williams, June 1978


"Wanted $2000 Reward", 1923, Philadelphia Museum of Art


Museum of Death, Los Angeles (closed)


LINHA ALERTA INTERNETA SEGURA: chamem a polícia

Etiquetas: Art, Black Dahlia, caralho, Crime, Death, Disobedience, Duchamp, foda-se caralho, José Sócrates, Poetry, politically correct, serial killers, Sexuality

Etiquetas: Antonioni, Cinema, Death, Hitchcock, John Ford, L'Avventura

O tempo, o envelhecimento e a morte. Não é uma história a dois, mas a história da protagonista, a bailarina, irredutivelmente pessoal como um ajuste de contas. Ele, o primeiro namorado, é o Amor e a Juventude - perdidos. É a história de uma aprendizagem. Aprender o tempo, o envelhecimento e a morte. Aprender a vida. A vida é isso tudo e é passageira e frágil e ridícula - é preciso conseguir retirar de lá (construi-la a partir dela e construi-la nela) a felicidade. A bailarina é feliz, descobre ela no fim. Não apesar de tudo, mas feliz apenas - com o amor e a juventude perdidos, o novo namorado impossivelmente o outro, o da juventude, o da Idade de Ouro. Com o fim da carreira e a decadência. É feliz, descobre.

O ballet é efémero como a Vida - efémero e frágil. O namorado perdido é o Amor e a Juventude. O tio é o Tempo. A velha senhora (a avó dele?) é a Morte - di-lo o padre, que com ela joga xadrez. (Com a morte, Ingmar Bergman joga sempre xadrez.) A Vida entre o Tempo, que desespera, corrompe e faz esquecer, e a Morte - que espera.

Como a juventude, o Verão passa, ameaçado, sempre, pelo seu fim. Um Verão de barcos, foguetes e festas nos embarcadouros. E a luz a reflectir-se na água. O primeiro namorado teve a morte como um pressentimento a pairar e nela mergulhará, como esses gregos de Posidonia (a Paestum latina) que se lançam nus no vazio.

Depois do Verão, agarrar o que resta, o possível depois do sublime e da totalidade - como o Inferno partilhado, melhor do que a solidão, numa fala de (tanto quanto me lembro) A Sede / Törst (1949).






Robert Moskowitz, Diver, 2002, oil on canvas, at Lawrence Markey, New York

Etiquetas: 1950, Cinema, Cinema Death, Death, Ingmar Bergman, Robert Moskowitz, Sommarlek, Suécia, Verão de Amor (Um)

posted by Antónimo  # 10:47:00 a.m. 4 comments