Alemanha vs. Alemanha

Gota

A três mil metros de altura, no meio de uma nuvem escura (cúmulo-nimbo), uma gota se forma. Desce atravessando ar gelado, depois camadas de ar cada vez mais denso e quente, ganhando velocidade, até encontrar um obstáculo, a marquise de um prédio na Rua do Ouvidor. Em passo mais lento continua em frente (abaixo), atravessando gerações de fuligem de automóvel tornada carvão, de cocô de pombo fossilizado, camadas mais finas deixadas pela fumaça de carrocinhas de churrasco. Atravessa o próprio concreto, ganha velocidade de novo enquanto circula uma estalactite e assim, girando, acerta o meu olho.

Prazer, José. Idade: esqueci. Profissão: da rua. Logradouro: aqui mesmo, entre o Unibanco (lucro anual: 1,4bn) e o ABN-AMRO (lucro anual: 6,4bn). Com licença, que eu tenho de ir ali na esquina mijar. Essa aqui do lado é minha filha, se quiser falar com ela enquanto isso...

Pronto. Não falou nada? Ô menina, deixa de ser mal-educada. Minha filha, sim. Ou pelo menos a mãe dizia que é, não tenho porque desconfiar da pobre criatura, que Deus a tenha. Morreu, sim, morreu de caminhão quando tentava atravessar a Rodrigues Alves com seu carrinho. Já faz um tempo. Crio a menina, com muito orgulho, é quietinha assim mas nunca cheirou cola, já sabe ler e escrever. Tá meio sujinha, mas isso a gente resolve no convento. Antigamente eu ia no chafariz, mas hoje em dia eles fecham a água para que a gente não tome banho. Uma barbaridade.

Eu pessoalmente acho que tô sujo também. Mas no convento eu não posso tomar banho. Não tenho raiva das freirinhas não, tadinhas. Todas tão velhinhas, não parecem mais passarinhos - minha mãe sempre dizia que freira parece passarinho, parecem uns pingüins, andando devagarzinho, devagarzinho.

Enfim.

Olha, menina, o dirigível! É, ela gosta muito do dirigível. Mesmo sabendo que é da polícia. Minha filha. Eu já fui piloto de avião, quando era mais novo. Não, não desses grandões de aeroporto. Avião de campo, de jogar inseticida (Monsanto: imagine). Aí fiz uma besteira, aceitei carregar droga, quando saí da cadeia não tinha quem me aceitasse como piloto. Não por preconceito não, meu patrão era um homem muito bom. É que me fizeram muita maldade na cadeia, não dava mais pra pilotar avião direito. Tentei um emprego que me arranjaram, atendendo telefone, mas não deu certo. Aí vim pra cá. A mãe da menina, conheci no rebotalho da Coag, morava com ela numa invasão lá do Porto. Quando ela morreu, desgostei do lugar, vim pra cá. É menos seguro mas é mais fresquinho. Chegamos. Oi, irmã Remédios, como vai a senhora? É, trouxe a menina. Foi um caminhão que enguiçou ontem, muita fuligem. Tá menos cinza é pela chuva mesmo, a senhora devia ver quando acordou, tava mais preta do que eu.

Olha a gota d'água, que coisa mais linda? Limpinha.

Menino, fui como os outros: feliz

I used to have vivid dreams. Some of them, so much so that I still remember those. I dreamed of a voyage in a Portuguese man-o-war, in which we sailed through shampoo-pink seas and stopped in a reef from which strange filamentary life-forms, emerged. I dreamed that the Viscount of Cornear wanted to destroy the world using Agent Orange, and remember looking at him in the depths of the Paris Metro, carrying an old-fashioned perfume sprayer full of the deadly poison. Oddly enough, you entered the Paris metro throug steps that looked more like those of a seawall than those of a metro station, and there was a black panther treading through these steps. (Note: black panthers always improve any narrative in which they appear. Yes, this does apply to dissertations on ferromagnetic fluids.)

Now, those dreams are long gone. I dream in short, confused snatches. It's as if, but not really, there was a grey fog, through which faces and emotions appear at random, no more substantial than mist. And they are still more solid than the fog, which is not a fog but an emptiness; I bite at it, and my bites leave holes in the emptiness for a while, but there is no taste or resistance. I am biting at a pure presence.

In a way, I like to think of myself as Microcosmos. Everyone does that, to some level. I just make the issue more complex, and pedantic, than most, by removing myself from it. And the grey fog affects society as well, in a way. Think of the difference between what used to be called depression and the word's new meaning. It used to mean a deep sadness, a descent into darkness. Orpheos Bákykos making a trip to the underworld for Eurydices' sake. Now, that Tartarus has gone, and been replaced by the fate of those who wander the grey fields of Asphodel, Gehinnon, Hel. Just compare and contrast the words of Egil Skallagrimsson, nearly a thousand years ago with those of Caetano, not so long ago, and the contemporary anthem


When you were here before
Couldn’t look you in the eye
You’re just like an angel
Your skin makes me cry
You float like a feather
In a beautiful world
And I wish I was special
You’re so fuckin’ special

But I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo.
What the hell am I doing here?
I don’t belong here.

I don’t care if it hurts
I want to have control
I want a perfect body
I want a perfect soul
I want you to notice
When I’m not around
You’re so fuckin’ special
I wish I was special

But I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo.
What the hell am I doing here?
I don’t belong here.

She’s running out again,
She’s running out
She’s run run run running out...

Whatever makes you happy
Whatever you want
You’re so fuckin’ special
I wish I was special...

But I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo,
What the hell am I doing here?
I don’t belong here.
I don’t belong here.

Fantômas

O show da banda até que foi legalzinho. Nada que se compare ao Nine Inch Nails, ou sequer ao Iggy (apesar de, por conta da expectativa, eu ter achado o show do Iggy uma brochada). Mas legalzinho.

Agora, o Fantômas quente é esse aqui.

Ga-ga--ga-----ga

Stuttering (commonly known as stammering in the UK and scientifically known as dysphemia) is a speech disorder in which the normal flow of speech is frequently disrupted by repetitions (sounds, syllables, words or phrases), pauses and prolongations that differ both in frequency and severity from those of normally fluent individuals. The term stuttering is most commonly associated with involuntary sound repetition, but it also encompasses the abnormal hesitation or pausing before speech, referred to by stutterers as blocks, and the prolongation of certain sounds, usually vowels. Much of what constitutes "stuttering" cannot be observed by the listener; this includes such things as sound and word fears, situational fears, anxiety, tension, shame, and a feeling of "loss of control" during speech. The emotional state of the individual who stutters in response to the stuttering often constitutes the most difficult aspect of the disorder.

49 + 35 = 84

The Liebowitz Social Anxiety Scale

Balsamo soberano

Não sei bem pra quê.

Pushkin, traduzido por Walter Arndt:


I loved you - and my love, I think, was stronger
Than to be quite extinct within me yet;
But let it not distress you any longer;
I would not have you feel the least regret.
I loved you bare of hope and of expression,
By turns with jealousy and shyness sore;
I loved you with such purity, such passion
As may God grant you to be loved once more




Amei-te, e esse amor, creio, era forte demais
pra ser, ainda, considerado extinto.
Mas que isso não te aborreça mais
Não quero de ti nenhum remorso.
Amei-te sem esperança nem expressão,
às vezes ciumento, às vezes tímido;
Amei-te - com uma pureza, uma paixão
Que Deus queira que encontres novamente.

Incal

Se o mundo fosse roteirizado pelo Jodorowsky, a gente não diria ai quando desse uma topada, nem diria que uma coisa é boa. Diria biomerda! e que aquilo é o néctar-nirvana do Paleocristo.

E tem gente que acha que Deus sabe o que faz...

Happy Birthday to you...

Hoje Maggie Thatcher faz 80. Em homenagem à data, uma música do Elvis Costello:


I saw a newspaper picture from the political campaign
A woman was kissing a child, who was obviously in pain
She spills with compassion, as that young child’s
Face in her hands she grips
Can you imagine all that greed and avarice
Coming down on that child’s lips?

Well I hope I don’t die too soon
I pray the lord my soul to save
Oh I’ll be a good boy, I’m trying so hard to behave
Because there’s one thing I know, I’d like to live
Long enough to savour
That’s when they finally put you in the ground
I’ll stand on your grave and tramp the dirt down

When England was the whore of the world
Margaret was her madam
And the future looked as bright and as clear as
The black tarmacadam
Well I hope that she sleeps well at night, isn’t
Haunted by every tiny detail
’cos when she held that lovely face in her hands
All she thought of was betrayal

And now the cynical ones say that it all ends the same in the long run
Try telling that to the desperate father who just squeezed the life from his only son
And how it’s only voices in your head and dreams you never dreamt
Try telling him the subtle difference between justice and contempt
Try telling me she isn’t angry with this pitiful discontent
When they flaunt it in your face as you line up for punishment
And then expect you to say thank you straighten up, look proud and pleased
Because you’ve only got the symptoms, you haven’t got the whole disease
Just like a schoolboy, whose head’s like a tin-can
Filled up with dreams then poured down the drain
Try telling that to the boys on both sides, being blown to bits or beaten and maimed
Who takes all the glory and none of the shame

Well I hope you live long now, I pray the lord your soul to keep
I think I’ll be going before we fold our arms and start to weep
I never thought for a moment that human life could be so cheap
’cos when they finally put you in the ground
They’ll stand there laughing and tramp the dirt down __________________

Canção do Carrasco

O último post não tinha nada a ver com Nova Orleans. Este tem.



Now I taught the weeping willow how to cry,

and I showed the clouds how to cover up a clear blue sky.

And the tears that I cried for that woman are gonna flood you Big River.

Then I'm gonna sit right here until I die.



I met her accidentally in St. Paul (Minnesota).

And it tore me up ev'ry time I heard her drawl, Southern drawl.

Then I heard my dream was back downstream cavortin' in Davenport,

And I followed you, Big River, when you called.



Then you took me to St. Louis later on (down the river).

A freighter said she's been here but she's gone, boy, she's gone.

I found her trail in Memphis, but she just walked up the block.

She raised a few eyebrows and then she went on down alone.



Now, won't you batter down by Baton Rouge, River Queen, roll it on.

Take that woman on down to New Orleans, New Orleans.

Go on, I"ve had enough; dump my blues down in the gulf.

She loves you, Big River, more than me.

It never rains...

Moranguinho de adulto

Supah Brain Explody

Liberality for All


Muita gente critica os quadrinhos de super-herói por serem um gênero conservador - afinal, o tema básico do troço são super-homens defendendo o status quo. É até curioso que, atualmente, a maior parte dos roteiristas desse gênero conservador seja de esquerda (com direito a porrar o Bush, no Authority). Mas tem gente que volta às raízes, e tem gente que vai muito além delas e estaciona na extrema direita da extrema direita, como na pérola do fascismo Fox News linkada.



LIBERALITY FOR ALL #1 It is 2021, tomorrow is the 20th anniversary of 9/11 It is up to an underground group of bio-mechanically enhanced conservatives led by Sean Hannity, G. Gordon Liddy and Oliver North to thwart Ambassador Usama Bin Laden's plans to nuke New York City...And wake the world from an Orwellian nightmare of United Nations dominated ultra-liberalism.
(Read complete synopsis) or (see 5-page preview)


Series concept: What if today's anti-war Liberals were in charge of the American government and had been since 9/11? What would that society look like in the year 2021? What would be the results of fighting “a more sensitive war on terror” and looking to the corrupt United Nations to solve all of America 's problems? In Liberality For All , the reader sees a vision of that future where there is only one justified type of war…the war against Conservatives and their ideals

LIBERALITY FOR ALL #1 Is getting major publicity in the talk radio world, with much more to come. To our knowledge, no book in over 10 years will be made known to so many people, outside the comic community.

WARNING: Expect this to sell out very fast.

Ultraman Sabra

Menachen Begin!
David ben Gurion
Golda Meir
Moshe
Moshe
Moshe
Dayan!

What is cyberpunk?

The Matrix has been hailed as a cyberpunk movie. Is it? I don't think so. Now, of course one can call whatever one likes cyberpunk, just as you can call April Lavigne punk. In fact, a lot of punk is about calling others unpunk, and it should be admitted that cyberpunk bears a tenuous connection to punk as a musical gender, and even its connection to punk aesthetics isn't so tight.

Why isn't it? Because it's Star Wars - or Dune - with "virtual reality" added in. (Note- this is not a dismissal of the technical and scientific inaccuracies of the Matrix movies. Cyberpunk isn't "hard" science fiction, itself). Let's make a list of cyberpunkisms, and see if the Matrix fits



1 - Broken Dreams - Heroes come from the sprawl. Think Depression, rather than Dystopia. The world is not decaying, but decayed - and humans have been displaced by the gleaming chrome corporations. "Red Star, Winter Orbit" is before Year Neuro. Heroes glean hope from cockroach droppings - but it's still hope, and they still dream. The decadence is not just social, it's physical. Count the references to shiny stuff and the references to obsolete junk. Junk wins 4-1. (The Matrix is all about the slick, although the first movie retains this aspect by referencing "the desert of the real." No huge raves and togas yet, just slop. The chicken-tasting gruel is probably the cyberpunkest bit of the Matrix.)

2- Badassatron - In fantasy and science fiction (even cerebral fantasy and science fiction, usually) heroes are badasses. Conan, Fafhrd, or Mazirian could face on whatever their world had to offer and win. Molly, if she ever tried to tack Hideo head-on, would just die. And she knows that. She may be a competent razorgirl, but he is a "stone-cold killer from the vat up." Case may be smart, but there's always the nagging feeling that the grey-haired people who live a strange half-life, organic hearts for the corporations, are just toying with him - as is, definitely, the AI Wintermute-Neuromancer. (There's a half-hearted go at this. However, Neo is "the one." Messiahs aren't very helpless.)


3- Riding the Tiger - The sense of urgency should always be a big part of it. And a large plot device is the "artifact." Chrome is far better than the heores, but she has no chance aboutthe Russian icebreaker they use to burn her. However, using it is dangerous. Everything the heroes use is dangerous, and the bigger the target, the bigger the chance the weapon may be turned against them. If they chose safer weapons, or try to face the corporations with their own resources, they will wound, not kill. Hosaka helicopters coming for the cheap coffin-hotel. (They can stop to have a talk with the oracle. What urgency is there in the movie is of the action-movie sort - the hero, busy with something else, has only a few seconds - yeah, right - to save the world/girl/etc. There is, of course, no big break, since the hero is already The One, and just has to go through the standard Hero's Journey steps.)


4 - Cyber - The loss of humanity is everywhere. There are characters who are jacked full of circuits, but more important are the ones whose soul has been taken over by the corporations, described as the dominant life form on Earth. That's important; Man's enemy are not machines, but corporations. Machines are wonderful, strange, alien. Wintermute doesn't take over the world and quash humans, it doesn't change anything at all. Its concerns are not our concerns, it is perfect in its isolation. Human beings altered to be tools are a truer symbol of the genre. Hideo, not Neuromancer. Even the latter - in the form of a "Brazilian urchin" (heh - pivetes do America, c. 1984) has been shaped by the corporations to be a tool. Though, unlike our finite human heroes, it does transcend that society.


5 - Heroism - from holding on to your principles or your friends to saving the world - is a big part of it. It's just that the heroes are closer to Bilbo than to Conan.
Of course, Bilbo isn't slick; you'd never catch him in mirrorshades and trenchcoats. But he was Tolkien's Everyman. And everymen in the future-that-was of this particular cyberpunk don't use magic rings to become invisible, they use sendais to see the invisible world, that is, jack into the matrix. Surreal landscapes, four-dimensional and in a trillion different colour channels are the mode of hacking, not grubby keyboard-punching. For all of the punk in the name, the reference is not musical, but visual. (I suppose this one counts. But it comes, in the literature, as something that balances the other stuff. Case, the low-life ex-hacker, manages to be a hero of sorts. Neo is a hero, pure and simple, not Everyman who manages not to betray himself.)


All four aspects can be glimpsed at (the gruel, again) in the first movie. In the latter two things become downright camp, complete with the blandest sex in human history and the Big Ewok Rave. And the challenge whereby the hero has to kiss Monica Bellucci - and pretend to like it! (The next challenge, I suppose, would be eating through a wall of chocolate.)