sexta-feira, 26 de agosto de 2016

Um ofício que fosse de intensidade e calma

Tempo Modernos, Charlie Chaplin, 1936

Um ofício que fosse de intensidade e calma
e de um fulgor feliz E que durasse
com a densidade ardente e contemporâneo
de quem está no elemento aceso e é a estatura
da água num corpo de alegria E que fosse fundo
o fervor de ser a metamorfose da matéria
que já não se separa da incessante busca
que se identifica com a concavidade originária
que nos faz andar e estar de pé
expostos sempre à única face do mundo
Que a palavra fosse sempre a travessia
de um espaço em que ela própria fosse aérea
do outro lado de nós e do outro lado de cá
tão idêntica a si que unisse o dizer e o ser
e já sem distância e não-distância nada a separasse
desse rosto que na travessia é o rosto do ar e de nós próprios
António Ramos Rosa

quinta-feira, 25 de agosto de 2016

quarta-feira, 24 de agosto de 2016

A modo de trégua

Fotografia de Louise Dahl-Wolfe

Tienes mi cuerpo para el desquite
Mis dedos astillados acarician tu soledad
Mi orfandad te refeja
A modo de tregua, Alejandra
Recuéstate en mí
Mientras te invento.
Martha Carolina Dávila

terça-feira, 23 de agosto de 2016

Siren Song


This is the one song everyone
would like to learn: the song
that is irresistible:

the song that forces men
to leap overboard in squadrons
even though they see the beached skulls

the song nobody knows
because anyone who has heard it
is dead, and the others can't remember.

Shall I tell you the secret
and if I do, will you get me
out of this bird suit?

I don't enjoy it here
squatting on this island
looking picturesque and mythical

with these two feathery maniacs,
I don't enjoy singing
this trio, fatal and valuable.

I will tell the secret to you,
to you, only to you.
Come closer. This song

is a cry for help: Help me!
Only you, only you can,
you are unique

at last. Alas
it is a boring song
but it works every time.
Margaret Atwood

domingo, 21 de agosto de 2016

Maldita matemática!


Lust is a force

Valentine de Saint-Point

A reply to those dishonest journalists who twist phrases to make the Idea seem ridiculous;
to those women who only think what I have dared to say;
to those for whom Lust is still nothing but a sin;
to all those who in Lust can only see Vice, just as in Pride they see only vanity.

Lust, when viewed without moral preconceptions and as an essential part of life’s dynamism, is a force.

Lust is not, any more than pride, a mortal sin for the race that is strong. Lust, like pride, is a virtue that urges one on, a powerful source of energy.

Lust is the expression of a being projected beyond itself. It is the painful joy of wounded flesh, the joyous pain of a flowering. And whatever secrets unite these beings, it is a union of flesh. It is the sensory and sensual synthesis that leads to the greatest liberation of spirit. It is the communion of a particle of humanity with all the sensuality of the earth.

Lust is the quest of the flesh for the unknown, just as Celebration is the spirit’s quest for the unknown. Lust is the act of creating, it is Creation.

Flesh creates in the way that the spirit creates. In the eyes of the Universe their creation is equal. One is not superior to the other and creation of the spirit depends on that of the flesh.

We possess body and spirit. To curb one and develop the other shows weakness and is wrong. A strong man must realize his full carnal and spiritual potentiality. The satisfaction of their lust is the conquerors’ due. After a battle in which men have died, it is normal for the victors, proven in war, to turn to rape in the conquered land, so that life may be re-created.

When they have fought their battles, soldiers seek sensual pleasures, in which their constantly battling energies can be unwound and renewed. The modern hero, the hero in any field, experiences the same desire and the same pleasure. The artist, that great universal medium, has the same need. And the exaltation of the initiates of those religions still sufficiently new to contain a tempting element of the unknown, is no more than sensuality diverted spiritually towards a sacred female image.

Art and war are the great manifestations of sensuality; lust is their flower. A people exclusively spiritual or a people exclusively carnal would be condemned to the same decadence—sterility.

Lust excites energy and releases strength. Pitilessly it drove primitive man to victory, for the pride of bearing back a woman the spoils of the defeated. Today it drives the great men of business who run the banks, the press and international trade to increase their wealth by creating centers, harnessing energies and exalting the crowds, to worship and glorify with it the object of their lust. These men, tired but strong, find time for lust, the principal motive force of their action and of the reactions caused by their actions affecting multitudes and worlds.

Even among the new peoples where sensuality has not yet been released or acknowledged, and who are neither primitive brutes nor the sophisticated representatives of the old civilizations, woman is equally the great galvanizing principle to which all is offered. The secret cult that man has for her is only the unconscious drive of a lust as yet barely woken. Amongst these peoples as amongst the peoples of the north, but for different reasons, lust is almost exclusively concerned with procreation. But lust, under whatever aspects it shows itself, whether they are considered normal or abnormal, is always the supreme spur.

The animal life, the life of energy, the life of the spirit, sometimes demand a respite. And effort for effort’s sake calls inevitably for effort for pleasure’s sake. These efforts are not mutually harmful but complementary, and realize fully the total being.

For heroes, for those who create with the spirit, for dominators of all fields, lust is the magnificent exaltation of their strength. For every being it is a motive to surpass oneself with the simple aim of self-selection, of being noticed, chosen, picked out.

Christian morality alone, following on from pagan morality, was fatally drawn to consider lust as a weakness. Out of the healthy joy which is the flowering of the flesh in all its power it has made something shameful and to be hidden, a vice to be denied. It has covered it with hypocrisy, and this has made a sin of it.

We must stop despising Desire, this attraction at once delicate and brutal between two bodies, of whatever sex, two bodies that want each other, striving for unity. We must stop despising Desire, disguising it in the pitiful clothes of old and sterile sentimentality.

It is not lust that disunites, dissolves and annihilates. It is rather the mesmerizing complications of sentimentality, artificial jealousies, words that inebriate and deceive, the rhetoric of parting and eternal fidelities, literary nostalgia—all the histrionics of love.

We must get rid of all the ill-omened debris of romanticism, counting daisy petals, moonlight duets, heavy endearments, false hypocritical modesty. When beings are drawn together by a physical attraction, let them—instead of talking only of the fragility of their hearts—dare to express their desires, the inclinations of their bodies, and to anticipate the possibilities of joy and disappointment in their future carnal union.

Physical modesty, which varies according to time and place, has only the ephemeral value of a social virtue.

We must face up to lust in full conciousness. We must make of it what a sophisticated and intelligent being makes of himself and of his life; we must make lust into a work of art. To allege unwariness or bewilderment in order to explain an act of love is hypocrisy, weakness and stupidity.

We should desire a body consciously, like any other thing.

Love at first sight, passion or failure to think, must not prompt us to be constantly giving ourselves, nor to take beings, as we are usually inclined to do so due to our inability to see into the future. We must choose intelligently. Directed by our intuition and will, we should compare the feelings and desires of the two partners and avoid uniting and satisfying any that are unable to complement and exalt each other.

Equally conciously and with the same guiding will, the joys of this coupling should lead to the climax, should develop its full potential, and should permit to flower all the seeds sown by the merging of two bodies. Lust should be made into a work of art, formed like every work of art, both instinctively and consciously.

We must strip lust of all the sentimental veils that disfigure it. These veils were thrown over it out of mere cowardice, because smug sentimentality is so satisfying. Sentimentality is comfortable and therefore demeaning.

In one who is young and healthy, when lust clashes with sentimentality, lust is victorious. Sentiment is a creature of fashion, lust is eternal. Lust triumphs, because it is the joyous exaltation that drives one beyond oneself, the delight in posession and domination, the perpetual victory from which the perpetual battle is born anew, the headiest and surest intoxication of conquest. And as this certain conquest is temporary, it must be constantly won anew.

Lust is a force, in that it refines the spirit by bringing to white heat the excitement of the flesh. The spirit burns bright and clear from a healthy, strong flesh, purified in the embrace. Only the weak and sick sink into the mire and are diminished. And lust is a force in that it kills the weak and exalts the strong, aiding natural selection.

Lust is a force, finally, in that it never leads to the insipidity of the definite and the secure, doled out by soothing sentimentality. Lust is the eternal battle, never finally won. After the fleeting triumph, even during the ephemeral triumph itself, reawakening dissatisfaction spurs a human being, driven by an orgiastic will, to expand and surpass himself.

Lust is for the body what an ideal is for the spirit—the magnificent Chimaera, that one ever clutches at but never captures, and which the young and the avid, intoxicated with the vision, pursue without rest.

Lust is a force.
Futurist Manifesto of Lust
11 January 1913

sábado, 20 de agosto de 2016

Traçado urbanístico

Fotografia de Jacques Dequeker

Tal como qualquer cidade
também nós escondemos
turvos itinerários, edifícios arruinados,
escuras vielas de rancor ou desejo,
arrabaldes de medo ou parques para o amor,
cantos em penumbra onde ocultar segredos,
praças que nunca visitamos
e aborrecidos museus onde expor lembranças
que não interessam a ninguém.
A nós
também nos habitam cidadãos terríveis:
funcionários do tédio,
mensageiros de moto levando para muito longe
o pequeno embrulho - primoroso e com laço -
dos remorsos.
Viajantes que passam por nós
com as suas malas a caminho de outros corpos
e sobretudo
transeuntes alheios à nossa própria vontade,
incivis e teimosos;
têm nomes ridículos
tal como os sentimentos amor, rancor ou medo
e especulam - como vulgares comerciantes -
com o preço
por metro quadrado do nosso coração.
Silvia Ugidos

sexta-feira, 19 de agosto de 2016


* Texto publicado hoje no Jornal do Centro

1. Em 19 de Agosto de 2003, faz hoje exactamente 13 anos, um camião-bomba destruiu o quartel-general das Nações Unidas em Bagdade, causando vinte e três mortos, entre eles o chefe da missão de paz, o brasileiro Sérgio Vieira de Mello.

Dez dias depois, segundo golpe no triunfalismo do sr. George W. Bush: um carro-bomba atingiu a mesquita do aiatola Mohammed Bakir al-Haqim, líder espiritual xiita e defensor de um Iraque democrático. Morreu o clérigo e mais 124 fiéis.

Ninguém no ocidente percebeu o que se estava a passar. Estes dois ataques suicidas foram atribuídos a gente leal a Saddam Hussein que, nesta altura, já estava confinado a um buraco.

O ocidente não percebeu, mas, como explica Loretta Napoleoni, no seu livro “A Fénix Isâmica, O Estado Islâmico e a Reconfiguração do Médio Oriente”, o movimento jiadista percebeu o recado: havia dois alvos a flagelar — o ocidente e os xiitas. Abu al-Zarqawi era o autor desta estratégia que desagradava a Osama bin Laden cuja mãe era xiita.

O carro-bomba de 29 de Agosto, por curiosidade, foi guiado por Yassim Jarrad, pai da segunda mulher de al-Zarqawi. Nos dois anos seguintes, o líder jiadista foi aumentando a sua capacidade militar e, em 2006, já ocupava largo território em volta de Bagdade, obrigando a uma mobilização de 130 mil tropas norte-americanas para a reconquista do “chamado «triângulo da morte» a sul da capital”. Em 8 de Junho de 2006, al-Zarqawi foi abatido pelos americanos que tinham a sua cabeça com um prémio igual à de Osama: 25 milhões de dólares.

O líder do Estado Islâmico, Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, tem procurado continuar a “obra” de al-Zarkawi. Aproveitou o caos no Iraque e na Síria para dar território à jiade sunita. O seu “califado” parece estar a encolher agora. Oxalá.

2. No segundo trimestre, a CGD perdeu 1,4 mil milhões de euros de depósitos. 

A secar
Fotografia Olho de Gato

É o que dá a conversa mal parida sobre imparidades e buracos no banco público e meses atrás de meses sem nenhuma decisão.

I wake up and I see the face of the devil

Fotografia de Gary Isaacs

I wake up and I see the face of the devil

and I ask him «What time is it?»

And he says,
«How much time do you want?»
Diamanda Galás

quinta-feira, 18 de agosto de 2016


* Texto publicado no Jornal do Centro há exactamente dez anos, em 18 de Agosto de 2006

1. A Guerra do Líbano mostrou, mais uma vez, que quando os canhões começam a vomitar fogo, a primeira vítima é a verdade.

A Reuters despediu o fotógrafo Adnan Hajj depois deste, numa fotografia, ... 
... ter criado em computador uma nuvem de fumo virtual a pairar sobre Beirute.

Nalgumas fotografias de Ben Curtis, da Associated Press, e de Issam Kobeisi e Sharif Karim, da Reuters, ...

sobressaem brinquedos luzidios e imaculados, no meio do pó e dos destroços das casas bombardeadas.

Numa merecida homenagem à capacidade reconstrutiva libanesa, duas fotografias, uma da Reuters e outra da AP, “documentam” que o prédio bombardeado pelos israelitas em 22 de Julho foi destruído outra vez, duas semanas depois, em 5 de Agosto.

Poderão ser vistos estes e outros prodígios informativos no vídeo: São quatro minutos que valem a pena. *

2. Há já uns bons meses, recebi um telefonema duma simpática funcionária das Finanças a perguntar-me se eu tinha comprado o dístico do automóvel numa determinada papelaria de Viseu. De facto tinha. Perguntou-me a matrícula do carro. Dei-lha. «A matrícula escrita no Modelo 11 é de um Mercedes.», disse ela. Havia um algarismo enganado. Em vez dum nove, um sete. «O meu carro não é um Mercedes. É um Ford.», confessei eu. Com pena.

Pelo decorrer da conversa, percebi que as Finanças estavam a gastar energia com eventuais fugas ao pagamento do selo e desconfiavam do trabalho dos revendedores. Percebi que o fisco estava preocupado com ninharias. Com amendoins. Para ser mais exacto: com a casca dos amendoins.

O resultado está à vista: este ano, a cobrança dos selos dos automóveis pifou. Depois de duas prorrogações, termina hoje o prazo para a compra do selo. Quando é que o responsável por esta vergonha é demitido?

* Infelizmente, este vídeo já não está disponível no YouTube