sexta-feira, 21 de junho de 2013

In the Nursery: The Seventh Seal

Anybody seen a knight pass this way I saw him playing chess with Death yesterday His crusade was a search for God and they say It's been a along way to carry on Anybody hear of plague in this town The town I've left behind was burned to the ground A young girl on a stake her face framed in flames cried I'm not a witch God knows my name The knight he watched with fear He needed to know He ran where he might feel God's breath And in the misty church He knelt to confess The face within the booth was Mr. Death My life's a vain pursuit of meaningless smiles Why can't God touch me with a sign Perhaps there's no one there answered the booth And Death hid within his cloak and smiled This morning I played chess with Death said the knight We played that he might grant me time My bishop and my knight will shatter his flanks And still I might feel God's heart in mine And through confession's grille Death's laughter was heard The knight cried No you've cheated me! But still I'll find a way We'll meet once again and once again Continue to play They met within the woods the knight his squire and friends And Death said now the game shall end The final move was made The knight hung his head And said you've won I've nothing left to play The minstrel filled with visions sang to his love To look against the stormy sky The knight his squire and friends Their hands held as one Solemnly danced toward the dawn His hourglass in his hand his scythe by his side The master Death he leads them on The rain will wash away the tears from their faces And as the thunder cracked they were gone

original Scott Walker but i like this one better.

segunda-feira, 17 de junho de 2013

quinta-feira, 6 de junho de 2013

segunda-feira, 3 de junho de 2013

domingo, 2 de junho de 2013

clarification: cause-effect, events and my definition

I wrote a bit about causality some months ago, and then half an hour ago i was reading about causality on the web. I realized that i was using a similar terminology with a different meaning.

I would like to clarify something. 

By event i mean what is commonly called the phenomenon
The event is what can be perceived, measured, studied, etc. 
We only deal with events, they are what make up reality. 

The event is never a cause or an effect: it is what happens when the process of causality occurs.
But the event/phenomenon always carries with it information from its generating cause.

The information in the event/phenomenon is temporary.
But the information that is delivered from the cause to the effect is permanent

To put it very unscientifically:

.The cause is the ultimate past.
.The event is the present.
.The effect is the ultimate future.

Maybe i should call the information of the causal process some kind of noumenon of the Kantian language. Except this information would not be static, it would ( fantastic!!!)* only exist in motion. And that motion would begin with the First Cause.

This First Cause is something like Chaos.

For this last 'chaos' part check this post here.

For the rest, click on the 'causality' tags, etc.

*edit major silliness!! am dritte juni.

terça-feira, 28 de maio de 2013

fields of the nephilim: chord of souls

the preacher says to all his men I hear a godly laughter can it be the end well I'm on fire when he's so cold I hear a godly laughter let it be the end let it be the end you won't need no conscience let's skip this world I hate your gods people who breed on earth over to the other side I'm caught stepping out come over to the other side save your brothers now let it be the end eyes eyes eyes eyes honest men these worthy men in all my dreams I hear a godly laughter unleash your souls the faceless knows when I'm disclosed it's not your god I'm after let it be the end let it be the end let it be the end believers chord of souls let it be the end let it be the end let it be the end between us chord of souls eyes eyes eyes eyes and I hate your country and I hate your world I hate your Gods people who breed on earth over to the other side I'm caught stepping out over to the other side I'm gonna recreate a religious experience to tear my fucking heart out the end believers let it be the end the end between us lord of souls the end believers let it be the end let it be the end between us chord of souls let it end let it end let it end eyes eyes eyes eyes no

i'm in debt to this band since 4ever.

sexta-feira, 10 de maio de 2013

The Sequence

I think Time is very much like movement, directed motion, and transference. And then you get numbers, and you count them: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5…. until the infinite. That is very much like our perception of Time.

And then you have Mathematics. And it tries to establish laws between numbers or sets of given numbers — like geometry. And we usually use Numbers to count. And we can count whatever we see, we add and subtract and make incredible discoveries about numbers: if a certain sequence is random or not, if there is some hidden pattern or not between given number Y, number X-n+Y ^3 and the Width of a Circle. Well you can have something that in the beginning had a simple purpose (count things) and then build a fantastic castle made of equations, super-calculus, matrixes and n-dimensional manifolds or whatever they call it. But then Math doesn't really bother to match what it is saying to what is 'real'. That is more the works of physics. Example: we know what Pi stands for, it's easy. But then you start getting negative numbers or imaginary numbers. It complicates a bit. What do they stand for is the question to ask.

But i think there can be a different way to look at numbers, and it's like perceiving them as movement, as a directed motion and as transference. So each one of them is but a single 'moment'. Like a constant flow from Zero to Infinite. It starts, but then it has no end. Well, we think it has no end. The infinite looks like it doesn't stop. But then our brains are limited, so we just assume that, that's the meaning of the word. And regarding something that transcends our mind we can only assume. But i have the liberty to assume the opposite, that the infinite does stop in a certain way — and here i'm using the 'stop' word purposely. Not saying that it ends.
Back to numbers and movement. It's like a process of transference: from 0 to 1 to 2 to 3 to infinite. And then if it can be seen as movement, motion and transfer, then it can be seen as an analogy for the Beginning and the End: the path from Zero to the Infinite-number would be the path from the Big First Nothing called Zero to that Endless coming that is the Infinite.

This leads us to the 'moment' before anything happened. The Zero Moment. And this 1st Beginning of All can only start with Zero or the Big Nothing.
Here i will say what i think about numbers and movement and what they stand for:

A. Zero to me is Chaos. But it is also something like Love. Something that prevails over and in everything.
Zero always represents the absence, the nothing, the void. But the 'absence' is just the negative of a 'presence' and the 'nothing' is the negative of a 'fullness'. It's like saying the Zero/Absence/Void/Nothing is the Dark when all the rest that exists is the Light. But if we look closer, in the Dark there can be something, always hidden from view, but it is there. And just because our brains cannot see in that kind of Dark, doesn't mean there aren't things there. And basically what i'm saying is that there cannot be a Void, there cannot be a Nothing. Only an absence of a Formal Order capable of being understood by our brain. So Zero/Void is basically the absence of that Order that our brains so desperately seek. And we seek that Order basically to give meaning to life. It has always been like that. Some higher plane where our existence is justified. But it is difficult when we only 'happen' inside and within this Order. Call it reality, call it existence, call it atoms and molecules, call it bodies of flesh or daily life. But there is that Other Order that doesn't conform to any rule, to any law, and that name is Chaos. It has no pointer, it points to nowhere, it points to everywhere and it points to itself and to each single thing in the universe, seen and not seen, imagined or not.
So this is Zero, and then comes One.

B. And then One is like unprocessed Information or raw-data, the tape on which all the events of the Universe will be printed. Past, present, future — it doesn't matter. It's like a blank cassette tape. And it is coiled on the A-side, waiting for the Play button to start. It will register everything as it moves to the B-side. It's the only thing that can come after Chaos. Chaos is like 'order by its own rules' or 'order that only obeys Itself'. Unprocessed information or raw-data can exist in that state: a perfect sphere + 70s television cartoons + white noise + human tissue +... it wouldn't matter, information doesn't concern itself with categories or the essence of stuff. There it is. Everything waiting to unfold. A jungle of everything.

C. Next comes Two. And Two equals Time.
Time brought the first kind of Formal Order into the Chaos of Information that existed. I said Chaos OF Information, not Chaos AND Information because it's like transference, the numbers will add on 1+1+1+…etc. Number 1 always comes along with the number 0, number 2 always comes along with number 0, 1 and another 1, they get transferred. Always to give birth to something new. I'm here breaking them into single digits because it's easier to explain. But going from Zero to Infinite is like doing one giant step. You cannot stop halfway, with your leg in the air. Or you can, but that's not a step. That's weird.

Chaos + Information = 0 + 1 = 1
and this gives us the coiled cassette tape on the A-side.

Chaos + Information + Time = 0+1+1 = 2
and this gives us the 'nature' of Time.
The 'Press Play' button moment of the universe.

So Time is the first Order, it dictates the pace, that big metronome of the universe. Much like the bass&drum section of a band dictate the rhythm of a song. Also, time divided everything by two. Past and future, life and death, beginning and end, many things. It's what keeps the universe in shape along with number 1. So that's why i say that Time always carries Information. And this pair of Time+Information is something like the Will of Universe. It pushes you and everything along with you from that Zero Moment. The Zero Moment is completely invisible. Our minds can never perceive the Zero via rational methods, but sometimes i think it is possible to get a glimpse of it for seconds, perhaps via intuition or inspiration.

D. And then 3 is like Energy.
Once a Formal Order is established, everything needs the input of Energy to manifest as matter. And that's why i say that Energy has 3 layers.
Here the tape is already rolling and music is heard, it's got impetus. The music we would hear would be something like all the events taking place everywhere according to a certain temporal flow.

Like in the previous scheme above:
0+1 = 1
0+1+1 = 2
0+1+1+1= 3

Next comes Space, or the shape of Space. The difference, i think, is not very big, because Space itself just shapes things into what they are. It puts on the limits for existence. It's like constriction, a closed box. It may bend and twist and et cetera, but what happens in it will be shaped by whatever form it presents.
After comes Matter.
And then i don't know.

I just want to explain why i mentioned the word Love associated with Zero & Chaos, amid all these words devoid of much feeling. Our mind can never perceive the Zero or Chaos via rational methods or by reason alone, but sometimes i think it is possible to get a glimpse of it for fleeting moments, and it is much like joy and inner peace. Something we unconsciously seek but that keeps on hiding behind the sun, that dips below the horizon or vanishes into thin air the moment we wake up. So that's why i say that that is very akin to love, because of its joy and peace it brings. But it is a universal love, not the romantic love or the infatuation love. It's in the broadest sense of the word, it is there, just on the side, hidden from view, outside of time or barriers imposed, and it prevails in and over everything. And that thing, you can find it inside you. It's like going very deep below in your mind and find a place where you are completely free and at one, because in that space you will find Everything from that very first beginning and a sense of complete belonging. Chaos is only scary because our minds don't have any control over it, but then, so is love.

related stuff: here and here and around those dates.

quinta-feira, 9 de maio de 2013

robert palmer: johnny and mary

Johnny's always runnin' around Tryin' to find certainty He needs all the world to confirm That he ain't lonely Mary counts the walls Knows he tires easily Johnny thinks the world would be right If it could buy the truth from him Mary says "He changes his mind more than a woman" But she made her bed Even when the chance was slim Johnny says, "He's willing to learn When he decides, he's a fool" Johnny says' "He'll live anywhere When he earns to time" Mary combs her hair Says, "She should be used to it" Mary always hedges her bets She never knows what to think She says that he still acts Like he is bein' discovered Scared that he'll be caught Without a second thought runnin' around Johnny feels he's wasting his breath Tryin' to talk sense to her Mary says, "He's lackin' a real Sense of proportion" So she combs her hair Knows he tires easily Johnny's always runnin' around Tryin' to find certainty He needs all the world to confirm That he ain't lonely Mary counts the walls Says, "She should be used to it" Johnny's always runnin' around Runnin' around

i don't like the cover of this song by Placebo.
i also don't like their cover of Kate Bush - Running Up that Hill. I don't like their covers. They shouldn't have made any covers. When it comes to covers, there's always the COVER OR NOT DILEMMA SYNDROME, or the CNOT-DS, i think. I'm inventing, but it sounds about right, to me.

List of covers done of Johnny and Mary:

Anthony Monn - German languange version
Marie Léonor - French language version
The Notwist
Status Quo
Nicole Jackson - dance version
Züri West - Swiss German
Nouvelle Vague
Wir sind Helden
Leigh Jaeger
Tina Turner
Ellen Foley
Melissa Manchester

this is... never... ending. Too much!

segunda-feira, 6 de maio de 2013

domingo, 5 de maio de 2013

Robert Gabriel Kramer

Nome: Robert Gabriel Kramer (Bob para os amigos, eu chamo-lhe Bob, mas eu sou uma grande amiga dele, sublinhe-se já.) Iniciou a sua actividade nos lendários estúdios da BBC nos idos anos 60 até se aposentar há sete anos atrás. Este senhor, de semblante aparentemente simples e digamos mesmo, bonacheirão, tem um dom que ainda ninguém sabe muito bem qual é. Sabe-se, no entanto, que é detentor de mais de 27 patentes relacionadas com a aplicação de transístores MOSFET. Fez uma fortuna brutal com isso e podia ter construído um império de transístores em que ele teria sido o rei, mas continuou um subordinado nos lendários estúdios da BBC. É um senhor discreto mas perspicaz e sabia do que teria de abdicar. Isto, suspeito eu que esteja relacionado com Maude, sua mulher, hippie de formação.

Nasceu em Stanford Rivers, Reino Unido, a 26 de Novembro de 1942. É casado e feliz com sua mulher e tem com ela uma filha chamada Patricia, publicitária de profissão, presentemente nos EUA. Patricia partilha o seu amor com um peruano de nome Pablo Corazón Aimar. Ela diz que ele é muy caliente. Eu rio-me mas se calhar não devia. E prontos, já estraguei isto, right Bob? Desculpa, Bob. É que ele é um senhor, como já disse, discreto.

É mega-fã de Van Der Graaf Generator e do Peter Hammill.

sábado, 4 de maio de 2013

sexta-feira, 3 de maio de 2013

No Canto Rasgado

Não há saída por aí.
Esqueceram-se de afixar um sinal
que indique que é um beco sem retorno.

As almas mais desnorteadas
perguntam muitas vezes
que caminho devem tomar.

Marcha atrás, sempre atrás.
Pode ir. Pode ir. À vontade.
Mas custa ter essa liberdade.

Se me pergunta se por acaso
o ocaso desse lado descansa?
Eu respondo-lhe que sim.

Descanse, não o tempo que quiser,
apenas o tempo de uma noite.
Tempo apenas esse que deve descansar.

O dia chama todos os dias por si,
sem o senhor saber.
E depois ainda se vira com sobranceria e diz:
já que acordou comece a viver.

Mas no fim de tudo, antes de adormecer,
o traçado do percurso cabe-lhe a si.

Mas não é por acaso que
o meu veículo está estacionado
no canto do seu mapa mais rasgado.

Queria precisamente dizer-lhe que  
às vezes tudo parece convergir para ali.

E aí convém relembrar-lhe, tendo sempre
a bondade de respeitar a sua liberdade,
de que não há saída por aí.

domingo, 28 de abril de 2013

És Marselha

És Marselha ao entardecer.
Pirata escondido no lodo do cais.
E entre tripulações atribuladas,
tu és aquele que está sempre a mais.
Tu és Babel, e as mil línguas faladas
desde o começo do fim do mundo.
És eu quando eu sou tu.
E se eu sou dente-de-sabre,
tu és o meu golpe mais fundo.
Vives atrás de cada esquina
que eu esqueci e deixei para trás.
Pirata de brinco de pérola
tesouro escondido de infância,
voo elegante de garça,
sono e paz de criança.
És rasgo em céu incerto,

gato em bairro deserto.
E num extenso imenso refúgio,
subterfúgio de bandidos,
numa casa soterrada de luar,
és farol distante que ilumina
o porto de abrigo dos sem-lei.
Trazes contigo alfazema e maresia,
ontem não sabia o teu nome
mas hoje chamo-te Alexandria.

segunda-feira, 22 de abril de 2013

quarta-feira, 17 de abril de 2013

geinoh yamashirogumi: teinshou (reincarnation)

AAAAaaaaww wwAAAA AAaaaaAAAa aaaaWWW WaaaaaaAAAa aaaww wWWWWAaaa aAAWWwa aAaAAwwWWAaA AAwwWWAAA aaWWAWWWWW AaaaaWWWww wWwWAAAA AAAAAWwaAWA WWWWaaaa AW WWWWWW WWWAAA AAAWWWW WAWWAWWAWWa aaaawWAAAAAwAAAA AwWaAWWAMM MMMaaaWWWWaaaaaaA AAaaaawwaaAAAaaaaww wWWMyyyYki iiiiIIIIIIOOOOOOIIII INNNASHHHIM yYYyYkiiIIIIiiiII IIIIIYYI IIAAAAaaaaYYIIIAHIi iiiMIIKOiiiNASHiiiiii. Dumdumdumdu dmdudmdud mdudmdudmdud mdudmdu dmdudmdudmdudm dudmdudmdudmdudmdud mdudmdudmdudm.Tinktonktink tinkton ktinktinktonktinktink tonktink tinktonktink tinktonktinktinkt onktinktinkt onktinktink tonktinktinktonkti nktinkto nktink tinktonktinktink. Lenglenh lengTinglengto nklingTng: Bloambl oambloambloambloam: Tinktoktinktoktinktok. OHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHH: AWWWWWWWWW WWWWWWWW WWWWWWWWWW:tinktinkt onkti nktinkt onktinkt inktonktin ktinktonktinktinktonkti nktink tonktin.TaotaotaotaoAW WWW WWWWWWWWWWWAaaaa aawwwawOO OOOOOWWWOO OOwwwwww....aaaaahh-oh-oh. a hhhh-oohhhh. AAAAAhhhhhh. AAAAaaaahhhhh. aaaaaAAAAAAAAh ----oh. !!!ZRISNK!! TR!SKKG!1 KHST!!!. . . . . . . . . . . . . . TT. T-T-T-T-T- T-T-t-t-t t----tt-t--t--t -t---t. -t----t- t--t--t----aat-t- t-awaa awaat -t--tt--- t--t---t--aaaawaaaaatt --t-t-t-t--t-t-ttt. WEH-WAH-WOH- WEH-WAH-WOH -WEH-WAH-WOH -nahh hhhhAAA Aaaaaa. ..NAaaaaa nanann nahhh..aaaahhhhhhhWEH-WAH-WOH-WEH-WAH-WOH WEH-WAH-WOH- WEH-WAH-WOHWE H-WAH-W OH-WEH-WAH-WOH WEH-WAH-WOH-WEH-WAH-WOH.

something like this.

quinta-feira, 11 de abril de 2013

terça-feira, 26 de março de 2013

pink turns blue: when the hammer comes down

i like his face expression. it is spooky honest desperate anger, i think. people usually hide that because, well... because. i also like this song. he says, i think, that when the hammer comes down, he comes down on you. and that you are working in a factory and /cut!/ because the lyrics were online. So here: — You are working in a factory Your heart beats for industry Sweat pearls on your skin It's the screech of your machine When the hammer comes down It's too late for you When the hammer comes down It comes down on you Live for mass-production You wanna speed up the action And you hammer on steel And you hammer for fame But when it hammers on you Will it be the same When the hammer comes down It's too late for you When the hammer comes down It comes down on you.

domingo, 24 de março de 2013

Montesquieu no Jardim

As searas daquele quadro de Van Gogh não haviam sido ceifadas há séculos e as paisagens de Turner apresentavam-se tão nítidas agora como as pinceladas de um quadro maluco de Pollock. Montesquieu ficou pensático… pensativo? Naquele instante as palavras interessavam-lhe pouco, queria ser, acima de tudo, verdadeiro e as palavras pesavam-lhe: eram um fardo e um empecilho. Mas seria aquilo de facto um quadro? Não lhe tinham dito que o jardim de infância lhe daria todas as ferramentas para poder saber distinguir o certo do errado? Subiu as escadas até ao quarto. E afinal era o quarto errado. Eram umas escadas de uma beleza estonteante, uma beleza que só se via em sonhos. Montesquieu lembrou-se de Hegel e talvez do labirinto que fosse a sua cabeça. Pensou que talvez também ele tivesse sido seu colega naquele jardim de infância, deveras muito labiríntico. E depois lembrou-se de Van Gogh: a voz que ninguém ouve só pode ser fruto de um aparelho defeituoso — a orelha. Ora toca e ele arranca-a. A orelha. Ou corta-a. Que era algo de todo surpreendentemente diferente. Um outro tipo de manifestação: o brilho frio mecânico e louco do metal. Dürer continuou pendurado na parede, aparentemente calmo, observando aquilo com bastante ligeireza. Achou piada, devia estar habituado. Montesquieu olhou para a porta e ouviu passos rápidos, assustou-se e fugiu. Era a primeira vez cá fora, no recreio. Não sabia como o mundo se ia comportar agora que não tinha tecto. Os passos correram atrás dele, por entre corredores infinitos. E viu um branco brilho, não o do metal, o da tristeza. Montesquieu era assustadiço. Alguém lhe ensinara que a vontade é-o em si mesma, que o indivíduo só o é quando é livre e nele incorpora o universo… aquele imenso exterior. E faz dele seu no âmbito das suas acções. Aquilo fê-lo sentir-se grande, maior que o maior dos mundos, em comprimento, largura e profundidade. Nunca ouvira palavras tão bonitas. Mas agora e ali ouvia passos atrás de si e gritos chamarem o seu nome que aliás não podia ser outro. Montes-quê? Grostes-quê? Seria grotesco, o pobre do Montesquieu? Era ou não, mas achava que não. Não podia ser, mas objectivamente não podia saber. E naquele momento fez muito esforço para não o ser. Sentia medo. Havia muita luz cá fora. Uma manhã verde e inocente, como ele. Uma manhã fresca, cortante e insinuante. Só ela, ele e os berros outra vez. Onde andariam as palavras milagrosas que o salvariam desta vez? Hegel disse que a liberdade do indivíduo… Não, eles iam embirrar. Iam dizer para ele se calar. Que já era demasiado Hegel. Que esse,... outra vez, por amor de Deus, Não! Estavam fartos. Montesquieu decidiu reagir de forma violenta quando sentiu quatro mãos em cima dele e chegou à conclusão que devia ser mesmo grotesco. Mas submeteu-se de livre vontade. E depois gritou. Não vale a pena perscrutar a vontade da Humanidade, bem alto no meio do jardim do mundo. Mas o mundo de Montesquieu, de qualquer maneira, nunca fizera muito sentido. Deixemo-lo em paz, então, a esse tal que chegou a conhecer o espírito das leis.

sábado, 16 de março de 2013

segunda-feira, 11 de março de 2013

domingo, 10 de março de 2013

O Menino e o Palhaço

Alguém deixou de limpar as janelas daquela casa 
há muito tempo.
Alguém trocou os vidros daquela casa 

por grades de ferro que agora enferrujaram.
Menino faz aritmética ao frio 

por causa da avó que o mandou para as obras acartar tijolos
enquanto faz sopa de cimento.
E nos tapetes rolantes ele engraça com o palhaço triste
que num elevador morto vive
e que faz truques com baralhos de cartas
sujos e absurdos.
E os reis e os pajens
já há muito que deixaram de fazer a barba
e parecem uns mendigos,
e as rainhas que envelheceram ao frio,
e os cabelos delas caíram precocemente.
O palhaço queria um baralho novo,
brilhante, de plástico,
que durasse a sua eternidade.
Seria o seu tesouro.
O menino que faz aritmética
com giz e ardósia preta distrai-se
e acaba a jogar à bisca com ele
e deixa-o ganhar porque tem pena.
A sopa de cimento já está a ferver,
estão os dois com fome,
juntos e agora, no meio do fumo e do frio
vão finalmente comer.

quinta-feira, 7 de março de 2013

Hello Roger Walkie

Roger Walkie loves him no see. Roger's longing to plea. To put it plainly and madly: Roger walks across the wave ridden sea. But Roger Walkie talks about acronyms and random clouds found under his bed and misty shores. Underhanded manned crying gulls are flying in jazzy trios above his head. Now, Roger, rest assured because all is well in the kingdom of your most conceivable inconvenience. A thousand and two miles from the shore. You will be upping the ante until it's gone. But it will last, Roger Walkie. It will not break even in extreme constraints. Roger loves him no see. Putting the brakes on, he's free. Roger walks now across the wave ridden sea. Hello Roger Walkie, long time no see.

terça-feira, 5 de março de 2013

massive attack: safe from harm

Midnight rockers, city slickers Gunmen and maniacs All are featured on the freak show And I can't do nothing 'bout that, no But if you hurt what's mine I'll sure as hell retaliate Telling us what is infectious and dangerous You can free the world, you can free my mind Just as long as my baby's safe from harm tonight You can free the world, you can free my mind Just as long as my baby's safe from harm tonight Telling us what is infectious and dangerous Friends and enemies, they find us contagerous I was looking back to see If you were looking back at me To see me looking back at you Lucky dippers, crazy chancers Seems to be moving fast What happened to the niceties of my childhood days? Well, I can't do nothing 'bout that, no But if you hurt what's mine I'll sure as hell retaliate I was I was looking back to see if you were I was looking I was I was looking back to see if you were looking back at me To see me looking back at you You can free the world, you can free my mind Just as long as my baby's safe from harm tonight You can free the world, you can free my mind Just as long as my baby's safe from harm tonight Telling us what is infectious and dangerous Friends and enemies, they find us contagerous And they spread into your system like a virus Yes, the trouble is it kind of makes you anxious I was I was looking back to see If you were looking back at me To see me looking back at you I was I was looking back to see If you were looking back at me To see me looking back at you But if you hurt what's mine I'll sure as hell retaliate You can free the world, you can free my mind Just as long as my baby's safe from harm tonight You can free the world, you can free my mind Just as long as my baby's safe from harm tonight.

massive attack is seriousness coolness gravity.

domingo, 24 de fevereiro de 2013

the right to light

Solar access is the ability of one property to continue to receive sunlight across property lines without obstruction from another’s property (buildings, foliage or other impediment). Solar access is calculated using a sun path diagram.

Example of Solar Path @ 40ºN Latitude

Solar access is differentiated from solar rights or solar easement, which is specifically meant for direct sunlight for solar energy systems, whereas solar access is a right to sunlight upon certain building façades regardless of the presence of active or passive solar energy systems.

A historical example of Solar access is Ancient Lights, a doctrine based on English law that refers to a negative easement that prevents the owner or occupier of an adjoining structure from building or placing on his own land anything that has the effect of obstructing the light of the dominant tenement. In common law, a person's window on his property receiving flow of light that passed through it for so long a time as to constitute immemorial usage in law, the flow of light became an “ancient light” that the law protected from disturbance. The Prescription Act of 1832 created a statutory prescription for light. It provided that:

'When the access and use of light to and for (any building) shall have been actually enjoyed therewith for the full period of 20 years without interruption, the right thereto shall be deemed absolute and indefeasible, any local usage or custom to the contrary notwithstanding, unless it shall appear that the same was enjoyed by some consent or agreement, expressly made or given for that purpose by deed or writing...'

quarta-feira, 20 de fevereiro de 2013


hey mate, will you be able to handle the perils that threaten thrill seeking souls? will you be able to skid on the edge of chance? will you be able to capacitate yourself that all you said was concrete and solid? and that you did actually walk upon those words with honour until they broke them into pieces of shattered meaning. but all they demand of you is that you break the deadlock with charm and elegance. hey mate, you're beaten and down by law and still hold your head up high. but they'll take you when you're sleeping in bed at night, masters of the art of displacement. next you're playing chess in a court against yourself, talking about the weather. but you had your intentions, and your faith. you walked and jumped on top of their skyscrapers, and you did it with style and groove and you didn't bother to look down. but the law is ever above and now you are under, checkmate, talking things about the weather.

sexta-feira, 8 de fevereiro de 2013

Blue Boy Telegram

Blue boy telegrammed: living in a hollow cube that's actually a ballroom where grown ups waltz in dim lit circles until the end of forever. Strike a chance, like they do. Imitate their circumstance because they are also about persuasion. Never give up while you can still listen to the music, like flying baby birds. Because in the end, a violin fire branded silence, mistaken for violence, danced a million times and solved a million a lives. Second that, in those old fashioned telegram ways.

quinta-feira, 7 de fevereiro de 2013


There is a particular richness of musical invention in Puccini’s Turandot, but richer still is the variety of ways in which the old tale of the ‘ice princess’ has been used throughout the centuries. In fact, few subjects have inspired so many theatrical interpretations, ranging from the commedia dell’arte of the 18th century to the 20th century’s Theatre of the Absurd. Of the twelve operas that have been written about Turandot (thirteen if one counts a vaudeville of 1729), no fewer than six were composed during Puccini’s lifetime. His is the only version still performed on a regular basis.

In the Near East, the story has been known for close on a thousand years, and even today, folk-tales persist in the Iranian region about an irresistible princess of China and her potentially fatal challenges to unwanted suitors.

Turandot (Turan-doxt, Turandoct, Tourandocte or Turandokht) is a Persian name meaning ‘the daughter of Turan’ - Turan being the Persian name for Central Asia. Persia fell to Genghis Khan's Mongols in the thirteenth century and then, in the following century, to the Tatar ruler Timur, known to Europeans as Tamerlane. This Timur was a military genius (albeit an exceedingly brutal one) who died during a campaign against the Ming dynasty. His son visited China in 1420. The Timurid dynasty survived until 1857 as the Mughal dynasty of India.

One of the principal sources of the story of Turandot is a collection called The Thousand and One Days, or The Persian Tales, a counterpart to The Thousand and One Nights. A translation by the pioneer French orientalist François Pétis de la Croix was published in several volumes between 1710 and 1712, and this was subsequently translated into other European languages. Pétis claimed to have heard these tales while living in Isfahan and entitled one of them: Histoire du prince Calaf et de la princesse de la Chine. For European explorers of the 16th and 17th centuries, Persia was the gateway to the East, and it was through this gateway that they glimpsed the even more distant ‘fairy-tale’ kingdom of China.

More than a century later, Italian composer Giacomo Puccini was still working on his opera Turandot at the time of his death in 1924. Unlike his other operatic heroine, Madame Butterfly, who lived and died for the love of a man, Turandot rejected any man whom she deemed inferior to her. Puccini's opera became the most famous of the artistic variations of her life’s story.

quarta-feira, 6 de fevereiro de 2013

puccini: nessun dorma (turandot) perf. paul potts

Nessun dorma! Nessun dorma! Tu pure, o, Principessa, nella tua fredda stanza, guardi le stelle che tremano d'amore e di speranza. Ma il mio mistero è chiuso in me, il nome mio nessun saprà! No, no, sulla tua bocca lo dirò quando la luce splenderà! Ed il mio bacio scioglierà il silenzio che ti fa mia! (Il nome suo nessun saprà!... e noi dovrem, ahime, morir!) Dilegua, o notte! Tramontate, stelle! Tramontate, stelle! All'alba vincerò! vincerò, vincerò!

*insónias. mas ao (-) esta é (+) bonita.

quarta-feira, 30 de janeiro de 2013

curiously draw no attention

alas, hear the secretary to the absolute call the military to the fall. and the army of the ordinary glittering in television splendor to the frequency of their heart beats or a crashing parabolic sky in hi-definition sound. alas, undivided attention unyields concrete results, but destroys. and it is permanent failure, like forever. or a diamond made of rainbows and a heart made of glass. that a reflective mirror is but a convex eye. and again only half seems to be seen and blown out of proportion, as curiously as it may be. but sir, draw no attention.

quarta-feira, 16 de janeiro de 2013

os terrenos baldios

 Tudo quer rebentar com ela. Zum! Como abelhas que constroem castelos dentro dos ouvidos. Zum! Zum! E que não param. Zum! E que vivem e que andam de um lado para o outro dentro dela e que lhe sugam o mel e que não a deixam dormir. Não! É um comboio que lhe atravessa as veias e que se esquece de parar nos apeadeiros das horas arredondadas. Zum! É o vapor da turbina que lhe enche os pulmões e que não a deixa respirar e que a sufoca e as rodas que não param, nunca! Zum! É o constante andamento de um motor que não é o dela. Sem parar. Lá vai aquele comboio e ela torce-se de medo porque a noite é longa. A noite é longa. Mas não! É um monstro. É um monstro que vive lá dentro e que lhe torce as pernas e os braços e que faz assim: Crack! Assim, sem doer. Mas não dói. Porque dói, porque dói. Mas ninguém vê. É sempre véspera de alguma coisa. Que dói. Um vazio de sensação que antecipa a dor de não saber o que vem a seguir no coração. Crack! Outra vez! Abre os olhos e ela não vê nada. Crack! Abelha. Comboio. Monstro. Lá foi ela pelo cano abaixo. Sem saber o que aconteceu. Zum! Crack! Kaboom! Porque era de noite. Não havia luz nos terrenos baldios do pensamento.

quarta-feira, 9 de janeiro de 2013


Morals reformed— health preserved — industry invigorated — instruction diffused — public burthens lightened — Economy seated, as it were, upon a rock — the gordian knot of the poor-law not cut, but untied — all by a simple idea in Architecture!

— Jeremy Bentham

(será da minha visão? será uma ilusão óptica? ou esta imagem do panopticon parece que está ligeiramente torta? — pergunta retórica.)