Henry Miller's bathroom...

Nudge Nudge Wink Wink. Know what I mean?

"Sell the Vatican, Feed the world"

"A letter from Hemingway"

A letter from Ernest Hemingway to F. Scott Fitzgerald.

"Trick or Treat"

"Trick or Treat" de acordo com Gaspar.

Pioneers! O Pioneers!

Pioneers! O pioneers! Walt Whitman

Pioneers! O pioneers!

Come my tan-faced children,

Follow well in order, get your weapons ready,
Have you your pistols? have you your sharp-edged axes?
Pioneers! O pioneers!

For we cannot tarry here,
We must march my darlings, we must bear the brunt of danger,
We the youthful sinewy races, all the rest on us depend,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

O you youths, Western youths,
So impatient, full of action, full of manly pride and friendship,
Plain I see you Western youths, see you tramping with the foremost,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Have the elder races halted?
Do they droop and end their lesson, wearied over there beyond the seas?
We take up the task eternal, and the burden and the lesson,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

All the past we leave behind,
We debouch upon a newer mightier world, varied world,
Fresh and strong the world we seize, world of labor and the march,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

We detachments steady throwing,
Down the edges, through the passes, up the mountains steep,
Conquering, holding, daring, venturing as we go the unknown ways,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

We primeval forests felling,
We the rivers stemming, vexing we and piercing deep the mines within,
We the surface broad surveying, we the virgin soil upheaving,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Colorado men are we,
From the peaks gigantic, from the great sierras and the high plateaus,
From the mine and from the gully, from the hunting trail we come,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

From Nebraska, from Arkansas,
Central inland race are we, from Missouri, with the continental blood intervein'd,
All the hands of comrades clasping, all the Southern, all the Northern,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

O resistless restless race!
O beloved race in all! O my breast aches with tender love for all!
O I mourn and yet exult, I am rapt with love for all,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Raise the mighty mother mistress,
Waving high the delicate mistress, over all the starry mistress, (bend your heads all,)
Raise the fang'd and warlike mistress, stern, impassive, weapon'd mistress,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

See my children, resolute children,
By those swarms upon our rear we must never yield or falter,
Ages back in ghostly millions frowning there behind us urging,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

On and on the compact ranks,
With accessions ever waiting, with the places of the dead quickly fill'd,
Through the battle, through defeat, moving yet and never stopping,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

O to die advancing on!
Are there some of us to droop and die? has the hour come?
Then upon the march we fittest die, soon and sure the gap is fill'd.
Pioneers! O pioneers!

All the pulses of the world,
Falling in they beat for us, with the Western movement beat,
Holding single or together, steady moving to the front, all for us,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Life's involv'd and varied pageants,
All the forms and shows, all the workmen at their work,
All the seamen and the landsmen, all the masters with their slaves,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

All the hapless silent lovers,
All the prisoners in the prisons, all the righteous and the wicked,
All the joyous, all the sorrowing, all the living, all the dying,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

I too with my soul and body,
We, a curious trio, picking, wandering on our way,
Through these shores amid the shadows, with the apparitions pressing,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Lo, the darting bowling orb!
Lo, the brother orbs around, all the clustering suns and planets,
All the dazzling days, all the mystic nights with dreams,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

These are of us, they are with us,
All for primal needed work, while the followers there in embryo wait behind,
We to-day's procession heading, we the route for travel clearing,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

O you daughters of the West!
O you young and elder daughters! O you mothers and you wives!
Never must you be divided, in our ranks you move united,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Minstrels latent on the prairies!
(Shrouded bards of other lands, you may rest, you have done your work,)
Soon I hear you coming warbling, soon you rise and tramp amid us,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Not for delectations sweet,
Not the cushion and the slipper, not the peaceful and the studious,
Not the riches safe and palling, not for us the tame enjoyment,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Do the feasters gluttonous feast?
Do the corpulent sleepers sleep? have they lock'd and bolted doors?
Still be ours the diet hard, and the blanket on the ground,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Has the night descended?
Was the road of late so toilsome? did we stop discouraged nodding on our way?
Yet a passing hour I yield you in your tracks to pause oblivious,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Till with sound of trumpet,
Far, far off the daybreak call—hark! how loud and clear I hear it wind,
Swift! to the head of the army!--swift! spring to your places,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

O dia em que a TSU saíu à rua

"Piratices"

A sabedoria da Patti

“Make your interactions with people transformational, 

not just transactional.” 

~ Patti Smith

Life Philosophy from the Dirty Old Man

Don't Try

"Somebody at one of these places [...] asked me: 'What do you do? How do you write, create?' You don't, I told them. You don't try. That's very important: 'not' to try, either for Cadillacs, creation or immortality. You wait, and if nothing happens, you wait some more. It's like a bug high on the wall. You wait for it to come to you. When it gets close enough you reach out, slap out and kill it. Or if you like its looks you make a pet out of it."

So you want to be a writer

if it doesn't come bursting out of you

in spite of everything,

don't do it.

unless it comes unasked out of your

heart and your mind and your mouth

and your gut,

don't do it.

if you have to sit for hours

staring at your computer screen

or hunched over your

typewriter

searching for words,

don't do it.

if you're doing it for money or

fame,

don't do it.

if you're doing it because you want

women in your bed,

don't do it.

if you have to sit there and

rewrite it again and again,

don't do it.

if it's hard work just thinking about doing it, don't do it.

if you're trying to write like somebody

else,

forget about it.

if you have to wait for it to roar out of you, then wait patiently.

if it never does roar out of you,

do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife or your girlfriend or your boyfriend or your parents or to anybody at all, you're not ready.

don't be like so many writers,

don't be like so many thousands of

people who call themselves writers,

don't be dull and boring and

pretentious, don't be consumed with self- love.

the libraries of the world have

yawned themselves to

sleep

over your kind.

don't add to that.

don't do it.

unless it comes out of

your soul like a rocket,

unless being still would

drive you to madness or

suicide or murder,

don't do it.

unless the sun inside you is

burning your gut,

don't do it.

when it is truly time,

and if you have been chosen,

it will do it by

itself and it will keep on doing it

until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

and there never was.

By Charles Bukowski

"Blackmail"

A TVI devia lançar um programa destes cá.
Sucesso garantido, I say.

Fear and loathing on the Road to Hollywood

"Good night Gore Vidal"

“Faster, Faster, Until The Thrill Of Speed Overcomes The Fear Of Death.” - Hunter S. Thompson

"The Haves vs The Have Nots"

Dr. Seuss' The Sneetches.

 

Alienados e sossegados

Estratégias utilizadas pelo binómio Troika - Governo ... já contei algumas.

"Stay in bed"

"The Big Jesus"

Roubado o título ao Kurt, God Bless you, Dr. Kevorkian

Are you talkin' to me??

Banksy on Advertising:


People are taking the piss out of you everyday. They butt into your life, take a cheap shot at you and then disappear. They leer at you from tall buildings and make you feel small. They make flippant comments from buses that imply you’re not sexy enough and that all the fun is happening somewhere else. They are on TV making your girlfriend feel inadequate. They have access to the most sophisticated technology the world has ever seen and they bully you with it. They are The Advertisers and they are laughing at you.
You, however, are forbidden to touch them. Trademarks, intellectual property rights and copyright law mean advertisers can say what they like wherever they like with total impunity.
Fuck that. Any advert in a public space that gives you no choice whether you see it or not is yours. It’s yours to take, re-arrange and re-use. You can do whatever you like with it. Asking for permission is like asking to keep a rock someone just threw at your head.
You owe the companies nothing. Less than nothing, you especially don’t owe them any courtesy. They owe you. They have re-arranged the world to put themselves in front of you. They never asked for your permission, don’t even start asking for theirs.


- Banksy

Pure Lennon

"Nightmare on Kurt St."

"Os Donos de Portugal"

Nighthawks at the Diner by Paulo Kussy

"Sound du jour"

"Despir a Pele", Exposição de Paulo Kussy, Instituto Camões, Luanda, 10 de Maio

Paulo Kussy em três actos...

"O operário de hoje trabalha todos os dias da sua vida, faz as mesmas tarefas. Esse destino não é menos absurdo, mas é trágico quando apenas em raros momentos ele se torna consciente".

Albert Camus – O Mito de Sísifo

Acto I - A Tragédia

Que melhor maneira de falar deste último trabalho de Kussy do que remetê-lo para a essência do que retrata, que não é mais do que o teatro da vida humana na sua insignificância e na sua grandeza, espelhando assim a mitologia Grega. Sísifo, o mortal que desafiou-os Deuses, por mais do que uma vez, viu a sua vida no Tártaro ser confinada a empurrar uma bola de mármore encosta arriba de uma montanha, sendo que sempre que chegava ao topo, devido à sua força voltaria a rolar para o sopé da mesma, confinando Sísifo à insignificância da vida mortal, rotineira e repetitiva.

Esta fútil condenação está patente nos quadros de Kussy, no homem reduzido à sua fragilidade, despido da sua rigidez e da sua força, amorfo e disforme. Mas é também neste estado que o homem encontra a sua grandeza, tornando-se criativo na repetição e na monotonia. O Homem destinado ao sofrimento, encontra nele forma de se superar e de se regenerar, sendo assim, esta exposição uma alegoria à conquista e à superação pessoal.

Acto II – A Luta

O provocante delírio que nos propõe Paulo Kussy nesta sua mais recente mostra, transporta-nos para um mundo repleto de contradições alimentado pela filosofia do absurdo dos nossos tempos modernos. Desprovido de referências a que já nos habituamos, o seu trabalho universal é posto em causa por uma preocupação muito quotidiana, a condição do homem enquanto agente de uma sociedade em transformação em luta e em busca de sobrevivência e, em última análise, de superação.

Aqui vemos que, a prótese da máquina é o homem e não o contrário. A figura central, embora descentralizada é a máquina, a máquina perfeita, total e final na qual o homem balança na sua inconsistência, manipulado, conduzido e transfigurado. Transfiguração esta que nos faz pensar em Bacon e em como procurava destacar as profundidades da psique humana nos retratos que pintava. Kussy pinta a profundidade da pessoa, reduzida ao seu espírito, despindo a da sua pele e remetendo a para a sua essência, frágil e quase animal. O pendor erótico está presente em todos os seus quadros, como se de uma procura pela sobrevivência se tratasse, o Homem ao serviço da máquina constantemente e inconscientemente desafiando o seu destino de submissão, procurando a rebelião e a sobrevivência, ou seja, a vitória.

Acto III – A Vitória

Os cenários pitorescos sobre os quais se passam todas estas representações remetem para o lado mais geométrico da Escola de Kussy. Professor de Geometria, obcecado com ângulos e formas, procura responder a todas as questões que se lhe colocam através de uma equação matemática. Esta tradução dos mais profundos sentimentos humanos em fórmula representa apenas mais uma feliz contradição da sua obra, fazendo lembrar as fórmulas de Almada Negreiros, a explicação dos Painéis de São Vicente e os Painéis da Gare Maritima de Alcântara, em que a essência humana não é reduzida à formulação mas sim aumentada pela sua racionalidade e simplicidade quase asséptica. A geometria para Kussy perde a sua frieza quando preenchida de cor, cores essas que, podendo ser pensadas como cores de banda desenhada, para quem conhece o autor percebe que vêm do seu fascínio pelas ilustrações de Frank H. Netter e dos seus inúmeros catálogos de anatomia humana. Cores fortes e sólidas completamente delimitadas pelo traço, estabelecendo fronteiras claras como num storyboard, transportam a obra para o fantástico, conferindo-lhe assim o seu estatuto mitológico e teatral, remetendo-nos outra vez para Sísifo, o grande desafiador dos deuses e o mais inconformado dos mortais.

Andrew Schnitzer da Silva

Luanda, Março de 2012

What does it say to you?

This is just to say...

The English have a great hunger for desolate places...

Keep Calm and Carry On... Thinking of London...

"Musique du jour"

Don't think of death as an end but as an effective way of cutting your expenses...

"Goldman Sucks"

Greg Smith, Director da Goldman Sachs em Londres escreve hoje no NY Times uma carta aberta a explicar porque sai da instituição, com recadinhos à capitania que oscilam entre a falta de "fibra moral" e um ambiente corporativo "tóxico e destrutivo".

O mais irónico desta estória (para mim) é o facto de na mesma página aparecer uma anúncio (Google Ad) que apela às pessoas a lucrarem com a queda do Euro.

Contextual advertising, pois claro!

Anatomia da Dívida

Leituras essenciais - a dívida como instrumento de colonização.

"Debt: The First 5000 Years", David Graeber.

Awesome People Hanging Together

via

when you're slapped you'll take it and like it!!

The Real Maccoy

Krugman na Playboy

Eu leio a Playboy pelos artigos.

"Claire"

"Portraits of wisdom"

"Goldman Sachs elevator gossip"

No comments!



via

Watching the elephants

Mrs Norman Mailer, on married life:

Well, I bought a ticket to the circus. I don’t
know why I was surprised to see elephants.

"Did Psychopaths Take Over Wall Street?"

Having a "Bret Easton Ellis" déjà vù.

"Did Psychopaths Take Over Wall Street?"