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| noticia aqui |
… e o que aconteceu às pessoas?
claro que a Câmara fez a sua obrigação, mas… e as pessoas que limpam as casas, escritórios, põem a comida no supermercado, põem as malas nos porões, constroem as casas para os fundos imobiliários, recuperam os espaços para os alojamentos locais, vão dormir onde?
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| para ouvir aqui |
...primeiro caso de que tive conhecimento em Portugal:
Stephen Colbert tem um questionário para os convidados, em que uma das perguntas é:
se, para o resta da sua vida, só pudesse ouvir uma música, qual seria?"...grande parte dos engenheiros não terminam a sua carreira como engenheiros..."
assino por baixo.
tive um professor na faculdade que dizia aos alunos: um curso superior abre possibilidades, ensina a procurar informação, não é o fim da linha.
José Rodrigues dos Santos não é sério. Tudo o que se situe à esquerda do PSD, do PS ao Bloco passando pelo PCP e Livre, são "partidos da área socialista", tudo o que seja nazi, neo nazi, fascista, skinhead, são "os nacionalistas". O que se espera da televisão pública é seriedade e honestidade. José Rodrigues dos Santos não é sério, não é honesto, não tem perfil para apresentar o telejornal da televisão pública.
Já fiz a minha parte, façam agora a vossa. Enviar mensagem à Provedora do Telespectador.
I was never one for
singing what I really feel
Except tonight I'm
bringing everything I know that's real
Stars, they come and
go, they come fast or slow
They go like the last
light of the sun, all in a blaze
And all you see is
glory
Hey but it gets lonely
there when there's no one here to share
We can shake it away,
if you'll hear a story
People lust for fame
like athletes in a game,
we break our
collarbones and come up swinging,
some of us are downed
some of us are
crowned, and some are lost and never found
But most have seen it
all,
they live their lives
in sad cafes and music halls
They always come up
singing
Some make it when
they're young,
before the world has
done its dirty job
and later on someone
will say
"You've had your
day, now you must make way"
But they'll never know
the pain of living with a name you never owned
or the many years
forgetting what you know too well
That the ones who gave
the crown have been let down
You try to make amends
without defending
Perhaps pretending you
never saw the eyes of grown men of twenty-five
that follow as you
walk and ask for autographs
Or kiss you on the
cheek and you never can believe they really loved you
Some make it when
they're old
(Perhaps they have a
soul they're not afraid to bare
or perhaps there's
nothing there)
Stars, they come and
go, they come fast they come slow
They go like the last
light of the sun, all in a blaze
And all you see is
glory
But most have seen it
all,
they live their lives
in sad cafes and music halls
They always have a
story
Some women have a body
men will want to see
and so they put it on
display
Some people play a
fine guitar, I could listen to them play all day
Some ladies really
move across the stage and gee, they sure can dance
I guess I could learn
how, if I gave it half a chance
But I always feel so
funny when my body tries to soar
And I seem to always
worry about missing the next chord
I guess there isn't
anything to put up on display
Except the tunes, and
whatever else I say
But anyway, that isn't
really what I meant to say
I meant to tell a
story, I live from day to day
Stars, they come and
go, they're coming fast they come slow
They go like the last
light of the sun, all in a blaze
And all you see is
glory
But most have seen it
all,
who live their lives
in sad cafes and music halls
And we always have a
story
So if you don't lose
patience with my fumbling around
I'll come up singing
for you, even when I'm down
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| noticia completa, aqui |
Words and Music by
Paul Simon
A change of mood
A summer storm erased
the sunny sky
Two hapless
hitchhikers were signaling us
As we were cruising by
Not in the mood
For idle chat or
hitchhike company
Nevertheless
We took them on as
highway courtesy
Hurry get yourselves
inside the truck
We're just going up a
ways
The rain should turn
to mist with any luck
And you can find a
place to stay
The woman spoke
Her voice a blend
Of regional perfumes
We have no destination
The moon and stars
Provide us with our
rooms
My boy and me
We're refugees of
sorts
From my home town
They don't like
different there
They would have mowed
us down
He doesn't talk much
anymore
Just to the voices in
his head
The boy just gazed
down at the floor
And nodded once or
twice at what she said
The sacred harp
That David played to
make his songs of praise
We long to hear those
strings
That set his heart
ablaze
The ringing strings
The thought that God
turns music into bliss. . .
We left the pick-up in
the driveway
I can't seem to face
up to the facts
I'm tense and nervous
and I can't relax
I can't sleep 'cause
my bed's on fire
Don't touch me, I'm a
real live wire
Psycho Killer
Qu'est-ce que c'est?
Fa-fa-fa-fa,
fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa, better
Run, run, run, run,
run, run, run away, oh-oh-oh
Psycho Killer
Qu'est-ce que c'est?
Fa-fa-fa-fa,
fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa, better
Run, run, run, run,
run, run, run away, oh, oh, oh, oh
Ay-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya, ooh
You start a
conversation, you can't even finish it
You're talking a lot,
but you're not saying anything
When I have nothing to
say, my lips are sealed
Say something once,
why say it again?
Psycho Killer
Qu'est-ce que c'est?
Fa-fa-fa-fa,
fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa, better
Run, run, run, run,
run, run, run away, oh-oh-oh
Psycho Killer
Qu'est-ce que c'est?
Fa-fa-fa-fa,
fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa, better
Run, run, run, run,
run, run, run away, oh, oh, oh, oh
Ay-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya
Ce que j'ai fait, ce soir-là
Ce qu'elle a dit, ce
soir-là
Réalisant mon espoir
Je me lance vers la
gloire, okay
Ya, ya, ya, ya, ya,
ya, ya, ya, ya, ya, ya, ya
We are vain and we are
blind
I hate people when
they're not polite
Psycho Killer
Qu'est-ce que c'est?
Fa-fa-fa-fa,
fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa, better
Run, run, run, run,
run, run, run away, oh-oh-oh
Psycho Killer
Qu'est-ce que c'est?
Fa-fa-fa-fa,
fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa, better
Run, run, run, run,
run, run, run away, oh, oh, oh, oh
Nací un día equivocado.
En un país equivocado.
En una calle equivocada.
Amé a mujeres equivocadas.
Visité bares equivocados y tuve amigos equivocados.
Y así todo se fue dando.
Trenes que no conducían a ninguna parte.
Aviones que no aterrizaban.
Buses que salían fuera de horario.
Barcos que se hundían.
Y así fui por la vida.
Mi equipo favorito pierde.
Los botones de mi camisa desaparecen.
Mi cantante preferido se suicida.
Mi horóscopo indica nubarrones
y la chica que amaba se fue con mi mejor amigo.
En verdad que no sé por qué mierda soy tan feliz.
Hugo Vera Miranda, DAQUI
_________________________________________________
Hugo Vera Miranda, DAQUI
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| AbrilAbril |
estes badamecos que fazem a campanha eleitoral a emborcar cerveja nas semanas académicas, que sabem eles?!?!
... fizeram-me acordar mal disposta.
parece que rebentaram a bolha em que eu tenho andado a viver.
mas agora penso:
.jpg) |
| André Carrilho |
Eles tentaram medir o teu suor, multiplicaram
pela taxa de inflação
E um estudo muito detalhado concluiu
Que tens de te esforçar um pouco mais
Eles cobriram os campos com betão,
encurralaram as flores e os animais
E um especialista reputado diz
Que as palhinhas vão foder os oceanos em 2030
e tal
E o amor abriu em queda, o amor abriu em queda
O amor abriu em queda nos mercados
Eles roubaram o beijo à tua boca e até
limparam a cuspo das bochechas
E um fato azul petróleo anuiu que o carinho
deve ser privatizado
Eles trouxeram as armas e as pazes
E capacetes para apanhar merda de pombo
E um jornalista destacado no local pergunta
que horas são aqui agora
E o amor abriu em queda, o amor abriu em queda
O amor abriu em queda nos mercados
Será que eles somos nós? Dizem que eles somos
nós
Achas que eles somos nós? Dizem que eles somos
nós
Ando cá desconfiado que na volta somos nós
I saw a man this morning
From his eyes tears
were falling
As he made ready for
war
He shouted out a
warning;
You slew my sweetest
friend
And as sure as day is
dawning
His death will be
avenged
Was it so hard to die,
Achilles
So very hard to die?
You know and I know
not, Achilles
So much the happier I
You breached the walls
of Troy, Achilles
Slaughtered a thousand
men
Patroclus is
destroyed, Achilles
And can’t come back
again
I saw a man this
morning
Trudging through a
muddy field
From the sky a shell
was falling
With his name
scratched in the steel
Lend him your shield,
Achilles the gods to be his guide
All he has is A
Shropshire Lad
With this poem
scrawled inside
Was it so hard to die,
Achilles
So very hard to die?
You know and I know
not, Achilles
So much the happier I
Look to the starry
skies, Achilles
Look to the silver
seas
They do not live or
die, Achilles
And neither do we
I saw a man this
morning
He was turning
fifty-three
And his pampered mind
was turning
To thoughts of
mortality
One day I will be
nothing
Think how funny that
will feel
For we, the living
Death is the Achilles
Heel
If blood will flow
when flesh and steel are one
Drying in the color of
the evening Sun
Tomorrow's rain will
wash the stains away
But something in our
minds will always stay
Perhaps this final act
was meant
To clinch a lifetime's
argument
That nothing comes
from violence
And nothing ever could
For all those born
beneath an angry star
Lest we forget how
fragile we are
On and on the rain
will fall
Like tears from a
star, like tears from a star
On and on the rain
will say
How fragile we are,
how fragile we are
On and on the rain
will fall
Like tears from a
star, like tears from a star
On and on the rain
will say
How fragile we are,
how fragile we are
How fragile we are,
how fragile we are
