segunda-feira, setembro 24, 2007

Tenho o peito desafinado.


Viena sempre me fascinou. Esta música fala de uma valsa com o seu hálito tão próprio, a brandy e morte, que vai pousando a cauda no mar.

Esta música é estímulo cru que me rouba ou empanturra a alma. Ouço-a repetidamente até quase adormecer. É uma figura triste com um chinelo levezinho de carneira e uma bota cardada ao mesmo tempo.

Diz tanta coisa que eu nunca serei capaz de imitar. Sentir talvez, mas dizer, nem pensar.


Now in Vienna there's ten pretty women
There's a shoulder where Death comes to cry
There's a lobby with nine hundred windows
There's a tree where the doves go to die
There's a piece that was torn from the morning
And it hangs in the Gallery of Frost



Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take this waltz with the clamp on its jaws



Oh I want you, I want you, I want you
On a chair with a dead magazine
In the cave at the tip of the lily
In some hallways where love's never been
On a bed where the moon has been sweating
In a cry filled with footsteps and sand



Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take its broken waist in your hand



This waltz, this waltz, this waltz, this waltz


With its very own breath of brandy and Death
Dragging its tail in the sea
There's a concert hall in Vienna
Where your mouth had a thousand reviews
There's a bar where the boys have stopped talking
They've been sentenced to death by the blues
Ah, but who is it climbs to your picture
With a garland of freshly cut tears?



Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take this waltz it's been dying for years



There's an attic where children are playing
Where I've got to lie down with you soon
In a dream of Hungarian lanterns
In the mist of some sweet afternoon
And I'll see what you've chained to your sorrow
All your sheep and your lilies of snow



Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
With its "I'll never forget you, you know!"



This waltz, this waltz, this waltz, this waltz ...



And I'll dance with you in Vienna
I'll be wearing a river's disguise
The hyacinth wild on my shoulder,
My mouth on the dew of your thighs
And I'll bury my soul in a scrapbook,
With the photographs there, and the moss
And I'll yield to the flood of your beauty
My cheap violin and my cross
And you'll carry me down on your dancing
To the pools that you lift on your wrist
Oh my love, Oh my love
Take this waltz, take this waltz
It's yours now. It's all that there is



Take This Waltz - Leonard Cohen

sexta-feira, setembro 21, 2007

Adoro isto.



Postcards from Italy – Beirut

Vir aqui deixar bocados de mim e daquilo que vai fazendo os dias é o que acontecerá enquanto for vivo (ou não me cortarem a Internet). Seja com que frequência for, sendo que a coisa só poderá ter tendência a melhorar.

quinta-feira, setembro 06, 2007

A rua da doçura.


Cláudia Schiffer

Paguei pela primeira vez a uma mulher para ter companhia feminina. Quis que cozinhasse e falasse mal da sua família enquanto eu a ouvia. Só. Estava linda, condição absoluta para as minhas economias.

Não era para sexo porque para isso não precisava dela. Quis uma mulher, foi isso que pedi e foi isso que tive.

Quase que a amei.