30 junho 2010
1) Go to "wikipedia" and hit "random"or click http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random. The first random wikipedia article you get is the name of your band. 2) Go to "Random quotations"or click http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3 The last four or five words of the very last quote of the page is the title of your first album!3) Go to flickr and click on "explore the last seven days"or click http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7daysThe 3rd picture, no matter what itis, will be your album cover!
28 junho 2010
“Em 2005, a inventora Sonette Ehlers introduziu o Rapex, um preservativo feminino anti-violação que pode ser inserido no canal vaginal, tal como um diafragma. Este produto apresenta minúsculas farpas que atacam o pénis do violador, e que tem de ser cirurgicamente removido. Num artigo sobre o Rapex, Ehlers comentou que foi inspirada a inventar o aparelho depois de um encontro com uma vítima que lhe disse, ‘Se eu tivesse dentes aqui em baixo….’ “Fonte: Wikipédia
OH-MAN. Se eu fosse homem virava gay. And feck yeah, girl power in a very, very, very strange way!
26 junho 2010
“Some days are disasters,
that you wish could just end.
Other days are bastards,
just like a bad boyfriend.But it makes me feel much worse than this
to see your face marked with a frown,
i’m not telling you to smile but don’t be down.Don’t be down my friend,
don’t do your wrist any harm.
You don’t belong on a funny farm.
And i fancy you in a party dress,
Not in a hospital gown.I’m not telling you to smile but don’t be down.” - Pandora Moon
25 junho 2010
Se o Paulo Furtado consegue ser o homem mais do rock de portugal e cozinhar ao mesmo tempo..
Sara Santos vai conseguir ser mestre na cozinha
(#37)
24 junho 2010
23 junho 2010
20 junho 2010
19 junho 2010
18 junho 2010
Estava eu a sentir o meu corpo morrer e o único sentido que estava minimamente desperto em mim era a audição - o jornalista a declarar oficialmente a morte de Saramago. Ele tinha 87 anos, eu tenho 20. Não deveria ser mais grave morrer alguém com a vida pela frente?
Ah, e sim, vi parte da vida a passar-me à frente (guess what, não é um conceito pré-fabricado para auto-motivação), pensei inconscientemente em pedir ajuda aos que me são mais próximos e enquanto lutava para respirar só pensava no quão injusto era estar a morrer e deixar tanta coisa por fazer. E senti (provavelmente nunca tão perto) a minha mortalidade. A incapacidade de fazer o que o nosso cerebrio manda. Abrir os olhos e não ver nada. Tentar gritar e não conseguir. Sentir o sangue parar de correr e ouvir muito ao fundo do tunel o meu pai perguntar-me o que se estava a passar.
To die by your side is such an heavenly way to die + Live together die alone passaram a fazer sentido.
17 junho 2010
Insonias:
Querido blog, estou desde as 2 da manha a tentar dormir. São as 6.51. Entre este intervalo de tempo (que poderia ser representado por uma variavel aleatoria continua), já passei pelas seguintes fases:
1- cerebro desperto
2- Tentativa de adormecer o cerebro vendo HIMYM
3- Falhanço do passo 2.
4- Contar até 60 7 vezes
5- escrever + desenhar, ouvir xx, ouvir sigur ros, ler livros aleatorios, jogar joguinhos parvos da gameloft, pensar na vida, pensar no futuro e clichês identicos.
6- olhar para as horas e entrar em ataques de panico e de choro compulsivos por estar em plena epoca de exames e necessitar das minhas horinhas de sono e nada
7- Tomar o 3º copo de leite quente com mel da noite
8- retomar passo 4-5
9- Pensamentos suicidas
10- Pesquisar na web cura para insonias
11- Assaltar os farmacos de familiares
12- tomar o dobro da dose aconselhada - e mesmo assim efeito nulo
13- Tentar em vão estudar estatistica- neste preciso momento nao consigo distinguir uma distribuição Binomial de uma distribuição de Poisson. Alias, ao longo deste texto cometi erros ortográficos tais como "paço 5", "mele", "cuicidias"
14- Abrir a janela e entrar em verdadeiro panico ao ver o sol já bem alto no ceu.
15- Inspirar
16- Expirar
17- Decidir ir descarregar as minhas frustrações e energias acumuladas de passar 10 horas na biblioteca seguidas no blog
18- (passo actual) ponderar hipoteses
19- Ir ver os feeds e pensar em coisas relaxantes.
20- Tentativa de entender intervalos de confiança
21- Cerebro logico diz que se passou 3 horas a tentar entender e mesmo assim dificilmente em epoca produtiva do dia, nao sera certamente agora que conseguirei entender
22- Apreceber-me que neste estado os Cs são praticamente iguais aos Ss
23- Os vitans nao deviam dar, va la, tendo em conta o forte que sao, pelo menos uma minima tontura?
24- Ponderar se valera apena publicar tanto garbage no blog
25- Lembrar-me que ninguem tem acesso ao blog, logo não haverá criticas para alem de mim mesma por ter escrevido e passado tanto tempo em coisas inuteis.
Não sei como vai ser amanha. E as insonias não devem ser desprezadas e consideradas como uma directa. É mais frustrante do que parece ficar 3/4/5/6 horas na cama a tentar descansar para poder obter o minimo de produtividade e nada. Não sei se vou conseguir estudar amanha. Tenho o 1º exame segunda. Quero falecer.
Over and Out (retomando o passo 1)
16 junho 2010
15 junho 2010
14 junho 2010
13 junho 2010
Se há serie que eu aconselhe e não me canse de ver é skins. A minha primeira impressão foi que era mais uma série oca de adolescentes (demorou meio episódio até começar a gostar) e depois disso foi sempre exponencial na primeira geração. A segunda até doi ver, é o esteriotipado dos estereotipos e deixa imenso a desejar. Mas a primeira.. a primeira geração é honesta e inteligente. Representa na perfeição grande parte daquilo que eu senti quando tinha os meus 15/16 anos. Consigo entender a profundidade de encarar o quotidiano de maneira vaga, de achar que os problemas consomem e que nos fazem escorregar até baixo. Já para não falar que tem a minha personagem preferida de sempre. e não, isto não é uma sobrevalorização tipicamente minha. Cheguei ao ponto de ver a serie toda outra vez só pelas atitudes, imagens e falas da Cassie. As cenas dela são magicas e unicas. E vai dai eu gostar tanto deste clip (não dá para por o video aqui) e deste
"I do not care what car you drive. Where you live. If you know someone who knows someone who knows someone. If your clothes are this year’s cutting edge. If your trust fund is unlimited. If you are A-list B-list or never heard of you list. I only care about the words that flutter from your mind. They are the only thing you truly own. The only thing I will remember you by. I will not fall in love with your bones and skin. I will not fall in love with the places you have been. I will not fall in love with anything but the words that flutter from your extraordinary mind"
Ultimo post hoje. Prometo. Estatistica já está à espera há demasiado tempo (E nesta frase provo que sei usar o à/há! Épico)
Ainda a proposito do Buried Life (inspirou-me imenso!) o poema que deu nome ao projecto:
Light flows our war of mocking words, and yet,
Behold, with tears mine eyes are wet!
I feel a nameless sadness o'er me roll.
Yes, yes, we know that we can jest,
We know, we know that we can smile!
But there's a something in this breast,
To which thy light words bring no rest,
And thy gay smiles no anodyne.
Give me thy hand, and hush awhile,
And turn those limpid eyes on mine,
And let me read there, love! thy inmost soul.
Alas! is even love too weak
To unlock the heart, and let it speak?
Are even lovers powerless to reveal
To one another what indeed they feel?
I knew the mass of men conceal'd
Their thoughts, for fear that if reveal'd
They would by other men be met
With blank indifference, or with blame reproved;
I knew they lived and moved
Trick'd in disguises, alien to the rest
Of men, and alien to themselves--and yet
The same heart beats in every human breast!
But we, my love!--doth a like spell benumb
Our hearts, our voices?--must we too be dumb?
Ah! well for us, if even we,
Even for a moment, can get free
Our heart, and have our lips unchain'd;
For that which seals them hath been deep-ordain'd!
Fate, which foresaw
How frivolous a baby man would be--
By what distractions he would be possess'd,
How he would pour himself in every strife,
And well-nigh change his own identity--
That it might keep from his capricious play
His genuine self, and force him to obey
Even in his own despite his being's law,
Bade through the deep recesses of our breast
The unregarded river of our life
Pursue with indiscernible flow its way;
And that we should not see
The buried stream, and seem to be
Eddying at large in blind uncertainty,
Though driving on with it eternally.
But often, in the world's most crowded streets,
But often, in the din of strife,
There rises an unspeakable desire
After the knowledge of our buried life;
A thirst to spend our fire and restless force
In tracking out our true, original course;
A longing to inquire
Into the mystery of this heart which beats
So wild, so deep in us--to know
Whence our lives come and where they go.
And many a man in his own breast then delves,
But deep enough, alas! none ever mines.
And we have been on many thousand lines,
And we have shown, on each, spirit and power;
But hardly have we, for one little hour,
Been on our own line, have we been ourselves--
Hardly had skill to utter one of all
The nameless feelings that course through our breast,
But they course on for ever unexpress'd.
And long we try in vain to speak and act
Our hidden self, and what we say and do
Is eloquent, is well--but 't#is not true!
And then we will no more be rack'd
With inward striving, and demand
Of all the thousand nothings of the hour
Their stupefying power;
Ah yes, and they benumb us at our call!
Yet still, from time to time, vague and forlorn,
From the soul's subterranean depth upborne
As from an infinitely distant land,
Come airs, and floating echoes, and convey
A melancholy into all our day.
Only--but this is rare--
When a belov{'e}d hand is laid in ours,
When, jaded with the rush and glare
Of the interminable hours,
Our eyes can in another's eyes read clear,
When our world-deafen'd ear
Is by the tones of a loved voice caress'd--
A bolt is shot back somewhere in our breast,
And a lost pulse of feeling stirs again.
The eye sinks inward, and the heart lies plain,
And what we mean, we say, and what we would, we know.
A man becomes aware of his life's flow,
And hears its winding murmur; and he sees
The meadows where it glides, the sun, the breeze.
And there arrives a lull in the hot race
Wherein he doth for ever chase
That flying and elusive shadow, rest.
An air of coolness plays upon his face,
And an unwonted calm pervades his breast.
And then he thinks he knows
The hills where his life rose,
And the sea where it goes.
Matthew Arnold
Light flows our war of mocking words, and yet,
Behold, with tears mine eyes are wet!
I feel a nameless sadness o'er me roll.
Yes, yes, we know that we can jest,
We know, we know that we can smile!
But there's a something in this breast,
To which thy light words bring no rest,
And thy gay smiles no anodyne.
Give me thy hand, and hush awhile,
And turn those limpid eyes on mine,
And let me read there, love! thy inmost soul.
Alas! is even love too weak
To unlock the heart, and let it speak?
Are even lovers powerless to reveal
To one another what indeed they feel?
I knew the mass of men conceal'd
Their thoughts, for fear that if reveal'd
They would by other men be met
With blank indifference, or with blame reproved;
I knew they lived and moved
Trick'd in disguises, alien to the rest
Of men, and alien to themselves--and yet
The same heart beats in every human breast!
But we, my love!--doth a like spell benumb
Our hearts, our voices?--must we too be dumb?
Ah! well for us, if even we,
Even for a moment, can get free
Our heart, and have our lips unchain'd;
For that which seals them hath been deep-ordain'd!
Fate, which foresaw
How frivolous a baby man would be--
By what distractions he would be possess'd,
How he would pour himself in every strife,
And well-nigh change his own identity--
That it might keep from his capricious play
His genuine self, and force him to obey
Even in his own despite his being's law,
Bade through the deep recesses of our breast
The unregarded river of our life
Pursue with indiscernible flow its way;
And that we should not see
The buried stream, and seem to be
Eddying at large in blind uncertainty,
Though driving on with it eternally.
But often, in the world's most crowded streets,
But often, in the din of strife,
There rises an unspeakable desire
After the knowledge of our buried life;
A thirst to spend our fire and restless force
In tracking out our true, original course;
A longing to inquire
Into the mystery of this heart which beats
So wild, so deep in us--to know
Whence our lives come and where they go.
And many a man in his own breast then delves,
But deep enough, alas! none ever mines.
And we have been on many thousand lines,
And we have shown, on each, spirit and power;
But hardly have we, for one little hour,
Been on our own line, have we been ourselves--
Hardly had skill to utter one of all
The nameless feelings that course through our breast,
But they course on for ever unexpress'd.
And long we try in vain to speak and act
Our hidden self, and what we say and do
Is eloquent, is well--but 't#is not true!
And then we will no more be rack'd
With inward striving, and demand
Of all the thousand nothings of the hour
Their stupefying power;
Ah yes, and they benumb us at our call!
Yet still, from time to time, vague and forlorn,
From the soul's subterranean depth upborne
As from an infinitely distant land,
Come airs, and floating echoes, and convey
A melancholy into all our day.
Only--but this is rare--
When a belov{'e}d hand is laid in ours,
When, jaded with the rush and glare
Of the interminable hours,
Our eyes can in another's eyes read clear,
When our world-deafen'd ear
Is by the tones of a loved voice caress'd--
A bolt is shot back somewhere in our breast,
And a lost pulse of feeling stirs again.
The eye sinks inward, and the heart lies plain,
And what we mean, we say, and what we would, we know.
A man becomes aware of his life's flow,
And hears its winding murmur; and he sees
The meadows where it glides, the sun, the breeze.
And there arrives a lull in the hot race
Wherein he doth for ever chase
That flying and elusive shadow, rest.
An air of coolness plays upon his face,
And an unwonted calm pervades his breast.
And then he thinks he knows
The hills where his life rose,
And the sea where it goes.
Matthew Arnold
A MTV (sim, a MTV) explorou um conceito tão simples e ao mesmo tempo genial: O que queres fazer antes de morrer? A pressão do quotidiano, exames etc fazem-nos esquecer que estamos aqui temporariamente e é genial alguém ter tido as guts para fazer exactamente o que querem, sugar o máximo da vida. Gostava de ter a mesma coragem. O programa chama-se Buried Life e até agora tem 6 episódios e é realizado no formato documentário, mas com a marca da MTV bem presente. Neste verão o meu objectivo é fazer a minha própria lista das 100 coisas que gostava de fazer antes de morrer. Até agora já fiz algumas coisas geniais, mas isso fica para outro post. Abaixo ficam as 100 coisas que eles escolheram:
Epico ou nao?12 junho 2010
11 junho 2010
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