sábado, julho 07, 2007

Registo

A União (Pobre e Mal Agradecido).

A estupidez matemática de 27 referendos nacionais (Klepsýdra).

Liberum veto (Wikipedia).

Paradoxo de Abilene (Wikipedia).

Coisas simples


(Blas de Ledesma)

Song of the Open Road

13

Allons! to that which is endless, as it was beginningless,
To undergo much, tramps of days, rests of nights,
To merge all in the travel they tend to, and the days and nights they tend to,
Again to merge them in the start of superior journeys;
To see nothing anywhere but what you may reach it and pass it,
To conceive no time, however distant, but what you may reach it and pass it,
To look up or down no road but it stretches and waits for you—however long, but it stretches and waits for you;
To see no being, not God’s or any, but you also go thither,
To see no possession but you may possess it—enjoying all without labor or purchase—abstracting the feast, yet not abstracting one particle of it;
To take the best of the farmer’s farm and the rich man’s elegant villa, and the chaste blessings of the well-married couple, and the fruits of orchards and flowers of gardens,
To take to your use out of the compact cities as you pass through,
To carry buildings and streets with you afterward wherever you go,
To gather the minds of men out of their brains as you encounter them—to gather the love out of their hearts,
To take your lovers on the road with you, for all that you leave them behind you,
To know the universe itself as a road—as many roads—as roads for traveling souls.


(Walt Whitman)

domingo, julho 01, 2007


(Vincent Van Gogh)

Song of the Open Road

12

Allons! after the GREAT COMPANIONS! and to belong to them!
They too are on the road! they are the swift and majestic men; they are the greatest women.
Over that which hinder’d them—over that which retarded—passing impediments large or small,
Committers of crimes, committers of many beautiful virtues,
Enjoyers of calms of seas, and storms of seas,
Sailors of many a ship, walkers of many a mile of land,
Habitués of many distant countries, habitués of far-distant dwellings,
Trusters of men and women, observers of cities, solitary toilers,
Pausers and contemplators of tufts, blossoms, shells of the shore,
Dancers at wedding-dances, kissers of brides, tender helpers of children, bearers of children,
Soldiers of revolts, standers by gaping graves, lowerers down of coffins,
Journeyers over consecutive seasons, over the years—the curious years, each emerging from that which preceded it,
Journeyers as with companions, namely, their own diverse phases,
Forth-steppers from the latent unrealized baby-days,
Journeyers gayly with their own youth—Journeyers with their bearded and well-grain’d manhood,
Journeyers with their womanhood, ample, unsurpass’d, content,
Journeyers with their own sublime old age of manhood or womanhood,
Old age, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty breadth of the universe,
Old age, flowing free with the delicious near-by freedom of death.


(Walt Whitman)

"Confesso que vivi."

Quando nos apropriamos da frase de Neruda, quer dizer que estamos preparados para partir?

Desencanto

Numa democracia amadurecida, resta como causa nobre a defesa das minorias? A maioria está suficientemente defendida do populismo brando?

Assiste-se permanentemente ao ataque de direitos que foram conquistas de décadas. Agora, até o direito a estar doente e a ter filhos sem ser prejudicado por isso. A partir de um bom múltiplo do salário mínimo, isso deixa de fazer diferença, não é? E quem paga campanhas eleitorais agradece.

Quem tem acesso aos media parece não conhecer nem respeitar quem quer que seja que alguma vez tenha feito greve. Spoilt brats! Parece que Spartakus terá de nascer e morrer mil vezes. Entretanto, o circo continua.

Temos o que merecemos? Em democracia, todos têm o que merecem?

Anatomia de um post inexistente

Sintonia: pensa-se num tema, que talvez se desenvolva num post, e descobre-se que alguém escreveu sobre esse tema, num outro blog e melhor do que teríamos escrito. Interrogamo-nos sobre se terá sido notado, ou se vai perder-se como se perderia na efemeridade do papel de jornal ou como um livro entre milhares numa biblioteca.

Afinal, que será feito deste suporte chamado Blogger, daque a alguns anos? O que fazer com o excesso de informação? (E o que fazer com a suspeita de que o melhor que leríamos pode estar escrito em línguas não traduzidas?)

Malditas praxes

Mais um ano letivo, mais uma temporada de praxes. Com trinta graus, andam com capas de lã e de collants aos berros durante horas e horas, a ...