GRANDCHILDREN

GRANDCHILDREN

♥ GRANDCHILDREN ♥

♥ GRANDCHILDREN ♥

REMARKABLE PEOPLE



FERNANDO PESSOA

(Lisboa, 1888 - 1935, Lisboa)


"Não sou nada.
Nunca serei nada.
Não posso querer ser nada.
À parte isso, tenho em mim todos os sonhos do mundo.


************
"I am nothing.
I will never be anything.
I cannot want to be anything.
Apart from that, I have in me all the dreams in the world."

or...

"I am not nothing.
I will never be nothing.
I cannot want to be nothing.
Apart from that, I have in me all the dreams in the world."


(Álvaro de Campos in "Tabacaria")




LISBOA - Chiado

LISBOA - Chiado
"Fernando Pessoa" by Lagoa Henriques. The place: "Café A Brasileira" (Brazilian Café) - 1905.

PLAYLIST TODAY




MUSIC IS THE PASSION REPORT



♥ ♥ ♥


GUITARS



Sep 10, 2016 - 06:13





ADAM LEVINE + PATRICK MONAHAN - PURPLE RAIN [PRINCE]



YouTube – "The Howard Stern Show"





ANN & NANCY WILSON (HEART) - STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN [LED ZEPPELIN]



YouTube – "The Kennedy Center"





PRINCE, TOM PETTY, STEVE WINWOOD, JEFF LYNNE, DHANI HARRISON & OTHERS - WHILE MY GUITAR GENTLY WEEPS [GEORGE HARRISON]



YouTube – "Rock & Roll Hall of Fame"





ERIC CLAPTON - RIVER OF TEARS



YouTube – "slunky08"





JEFF BUCKLEY - HALLELUJAH [LEONARD COHEN]



YouTube – " Danielle Katsav's Channel"





XUTOS & PONTAPÉS - HOMEM DO LEME



YouTube – "NoSa7"







_____________________


LEANING INTO THE AFTERNOONS by PABLO NERUDA

«Inclinado en las Tardes»



YouTube - "FourSeasons Productions"






CHANGING BATTERIES - OSCAR WINNING ANIMATED SHORT FILM



YouTube - "Bzzz Day"





DIALA BRISLY - A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG LADY

(a huge thanks to my daughter who e-mailed this video to me)



BBC Newsnight

«Syria is devastated by five years of war - and it's taken a huge toll on the country's children. Here's one woman - artist Diala Brisly - who is trying to make life that little bit more bearable for Syria's kids.»

Syria is devastated by five years of war - and it's taken a huge toll on the country's children. Here's one woman -...

Publicado por BBC Newsnight em Domingo, 20 de Março de 2016






A JOURNEY BACK TO ENDEARMENT

A JOURNEY BACK TO ENDEARMENT



FLYING A SECRET



I got here to hide. From equations and patterns. From repetition, after all.
Closed the door and got me a special place where I thought I could
somehow sit close to the stars. But I soon found out that the sky was
still opaque, no matter what the steps. And so I left. Again.

I thought, then, I could build me a different ceiling, a new-coloured scrap
of highness. And then make it work. Where I could dream, more than I sleep.
I have long decided that sleeping is overrated - that I know for sure. So I
take that time instead to travel the night alone and in the meantime I allow
myself to fly, unlike stated before... Yes, I like playing with paradox, to
expose the inside of words and the revelation of writing down the voice of a
silence. My adventurous, ever-walking silence.

So I came back. Here, within this quiet world, I intend to gather all my
things usually kept hidden or inactive. They are here to speak.

And since the future is a stand-by secret, I want to live by a precocious
clock, at every running instant of every entering second.

And I will not slow down until my "future exists now" - kind of reverse
quoting Jacob Bronowski.


Ana Vassalo
in my site "CAFEÍNA"(former "No Flying Allowed")
Nov 11, 2010 - 11:54



THE WALK OF TIME

THE WALK OF TIME

sábado, 22 de dezembro de 2012

CAFÉ




 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Café cheio, se faz favor. E já agora, a escaldar.

Feito: 60 cêntimos de calor.

Energia: visto, comprada. Está paga, posso vesti-la,

entregar-lhe a amnésia de um corpo que costumava
 
ser meu. Do efeito não sabemos, que comerciar é
 
enigma, o risco de ser-se epílogo.

Mas chama-se a musa. Que comparece em negativo:

lúcida-clara-vigil, sem rasgo de sonho à vista. Vulgar

e feia se aceita - passeia a chama perdida que nem o

inferno sabe...

Estamos bem, a calma reina: despovoa-se da palavra

qualquer rasto de alma com vida, e somos uma outra

espera, sem o nome, no apagão da vertigem.

Tudo cala, na casa da fantasia. O luar não faz maré e

rebenta a praia só e farto, na falésia dos silêncios.

Sobram os vultos dançantes por folhas cansadas de

outono, restolhando a escuridão - que ainda cantam,

às vezes, sem querer, a solidão dos orvalhos. De

resto, não sabem vida.

No caminho, jaz a migalha: referente, generosa, que

largámos da prudência num dia de nos pensarmos.

O fado soa de aléns, onde a alma já cantou. Para-se

o pé do cansaço e a pena morta escreve um pássaro,
 
preso à mão, e o olhar supõe-se vivo: repetidos
 
somos vivos, respiração do instinto que sobrevive o
 
permafrost.

E o retrato engana a luz, na mistura já antiga: somos

amor em memória, refugiado do frio que já nem

sabe quem fomos.

Só as musas, que não dormem, sabem que o sonho

aterrou.

E partem, leves. Indiferentes à geada.


Ana Vassalo
28-Nov-2012 – 22:40

(Imagem: “Snow coffee”, in Dark Sky Magazine)

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