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2/5/08 02:43 pm - Solidariedade

"Depois do trágico acidente que roubou a vida do Sassá, resolvemos todos contribuir, e assim pagar as despesas do funeral; o que sobrar permitirá ao Toni e ao Ari ter algum tempo para fazer luto pelo filho e irmão que perderam de forma tão brutal. Para isso bastará transferirem o que acharem bem (ou o que poderem) para o NIB do Tony (António Tavares): 00 350 396 00 20 9360 30023."

www.sassaudade.blogspot.com

9/13/06 02:36 pm - Dancing Strings

6/30/06 11:32 pm - Pergunto-me

Estive a falar com ele. Ele disse-me que era moralista, depois descaiu-se para o falso moralista e finalmente para o moralista que o era por ausência de oportunidades. Na prática era o quê afinal?

5/18/06 12:47 am - Unfaithful therapy

Apenas queria despejar o meu corpo descarnado em camas alheias e mortas. Mas essas camas que me foram reveladas através da noite e que me eram estranhas pertenciam a todos e, em especial, a mim.


A partir da tua existência, quando anoitecia - se anoitecia – comecei a observar-te apenas através dos espelhos da minha casa no teu deambular inconclusivo. Mas nunca conheci a razão. A conclusão era só tua e não querias – e nem pretendias - partilhá-la comigo.

Enchi então as paredes de reflexos espelhados e, fosses um gato sem cio, ganhava a tua confiança para que descansasses acomodado nos meus braços sem que viesses a pertencer-me algum dia. Como felino com instinto que sempre foste, fugiste-me através do reflexo da janela escancarada por esquecimento para que pudesses encontrar a cópula que nunca iria preencher-te.

Agora estou aqui. Prostada numa cama alheia a ti, olho pacientemente para o já único espelho de minha casa. Os outros fui destruindo em vão. Comecei a sentir-me peregrina sem terra por (re)ver-me sem a tua imagem ao lado da minha. Embora já não me lembre de como eras.

Das feições incógnitas descritas na minha mente apenas tenho a percepção de que eras melhor do que eu. Mais belo. Mais inacessível. Menos alheio por não possuíres um leito onde pudesses repousar. Só a minha alma te pertencia. Mas até disso serias capaz de abdicar.

Por isso, ainda hoje há uma parte dela que responde com dor à tua ausência e com alegria à tua recordação. O resto do que eu sou é devoção acomodada.

4/2/06 10:29 pm - Sophie Scholl - Os últimos dias

Este fim de semana aluguei e visionei o filme "Sophie Scholl", que contém a descrição dos últimos dias da vida de três membros do grupo "die habe rose", grupo este composto por jovens cujo objectivo era demonstrar através de resistência passiva (e pacífica) a injustiça de um regime totalitário e de uma guerra que, ao invés de trazer o bem para o seu povo, apenas produziu desgraça, vergonha e submissão.

O mais interessante nesta história está essencialmente relacionado com a resistência dentro da Alemanha Nazi, pelos próprios alemães. E estas pessoas estudavam, tinham filhos e vidas normais e possuiam convicções muito fortes. Tão fortes ao ponto de morrerem por aquilo que acreditavam. A Liberdade. A mesmo liberdade que ainda faz com que muitos indivíduos lutem e sofram consequências por essa mesma luta passiva ou activa, independentemente do modo como poderemos avaliar os métodos usados, porque a intensidade ou a forma ou o conteúdo são sempre discutíveis, assim como as próprias ideias são quimeras passíveis de discussão, no entanto, nunca poderemos condenar outrém por aspirar à Liberdade, devemos sim por limitá-la (ainda que em nome desta).

Se Sophie Scholl (a personagem-da-vida-real-dentro-do-filme-que-me-impressionou-muito-neste-fim-de-semana-de-pijama-e-chinelos) não é a Anne Frank que se encontra no espectro oposto por ter vivido uma situação que não pôde escolher e que, por isso mesmo, se tornou um símbolo perante a inércia de povos inconscientes e também perante todo o ser humano submetido involuntariamente ao sofrimento, certamente Sophie e os companheiros serão um símbolo da Luta pela Liberdade e da consciência da Opção de acção voluntariosa e desinteressada elevada aos mais nobres sentimentos.


Deixo aqui um relato de Else Gebel, companheira de prisão de Sophie Scholl:

"To the Memory of Sophie Scholl.
*
I have before me your picture, Sophie, earnest, questioning, standing alongside your brother and Christoph Probst. It is as if you suspected what a heavy destiny you were to fulfill, which was to unite the three of you in death.
*
February 1943. As a political prisoner, I am put to work in the receiving office at the Gestapo headquarters in Munich. It is my job to register those other unfortunates who have fallen into the hands of the secret police and to record their personal data in the card catalogue which grows larger day by day.
*
For days now there has been feverish excitement among the officials. With increasing frequency at night the streets and houses are being painted with signs, "Down With Hitler!," "Long Live Freedom," or simply, "Freedom."
*
At the University leaflets have been found strewn about the corridors and on the stairs. At the prison office there is a marked tenseness in the atmosphere. None of the investigative personnel come from the headquarters to the prison; most of them have been detailed on "Special Investigative Duty." Which of the brave fighters for freedom will they snare now? We who are familiar with the methods of these merciless brutes are torn with anxiety for the people who are daily apprehended.
*
Early on Thursday, February 18, there is a telephone call from headquarters: "Keep a number of cells free for today." I ask the official, who is my boss, "Who is expected?," and he says, "The painters."
*
A few hours later, you, Sophie, are brought in by an official to wait in the receiving room. You are quiet, relaxed. almost amused by all the excitement around you. Your brother Hans was brought in shortly before, and he has already been locked up. Every new arrival must hand over his papers and belongings and then submit to a body search. Since there are no female guards in the Gestapo, I have to perform the job. For the first time we stand face to face and alone, and I can whisper: "If you have a leaflet on you, destroy it now. I am a prisoner too."
*
Will you trust me, or do you think that the police are laying a trap? Your quiet, friendly manner allays all suspicion. You are not in the least excited. I can feel my own tension giving way. They must have made a big mistake in bringing you here. For surely this sweet girl with an innocent child's face has never been involved in such reckless acts. You are even assigned the best cell, which is generally reserved for deviant Nazi bigwigs. Its superiority consists of its having a larger window, containing a small locker, and having white covers on the blankets.
*
In the meantime I am ordered, while under surveillance, to get my belongings from the cell I have been in until now, and I am transferred to your cell. Again we are alone for a moment. You lie on the bed and ask how long I've been in detention and how I am getting along. Immediately you tell me that yours is probably an important case and therefore you will not be able to count on an easy outcome. Again I advise you under no circumstances to admit anything for which no evidence exists. "Yes, that preliminary examination before the Gestapo," you answer. "But there are so many things that they may be able to find." Steps approach the cell door, you are taken away for interrogation, I am sent to my work.
*
It is now close to three o'clock. Various other students, men and women, are brought in, but some of them are dismissed after a brief examination. Your brother Hans is already being interrogated. What may those men "up there" meanwhile have discovered in the way of incriminating evidence? It is six o'clock. Supper is brought, and you are conducted back to the cells, but separately. A servant, likewise a prisoner, brings warm soup and bread when the phone rings: "The two Scholls are not to have anything to eat: the examination will resume in half an hour." But down here we wouldn't think of withholding the food from you, and so you are both somewhat strengthened for the next interrogation. It is eight o'clock, and I have finished my last task, the prison roster. Several more unfortunates have come to this house of suffering. About ten o'clock I go to bed and wait for your return. I lie awake and stare anxiously out into the clear, starry night. I try to pray for you in order to calm my nerves. In the evenings the officials whisper secretively with one another. Seldom does that foretell anything good. Hour after hour goes by, and you do not return. Toward morning I am exhausted and fall asleep.
*
At 6:30 the servant brings in coffee. Usually at this time I am informed if anything has happened. Soon my hope that you might have been released after all is dashed. I learn that the two of you were under interrogation all night long, and toward morning you confessed; that the weight of evidence in their hands had brought you to this, after you denied everything for hours. Totally depressed, I go about my melancholy duties. I am fearful about the state of your spirit when you come down, and I hardly believe my eyes when, toward eight o'clock, you stand there absolutely calm, though tired. There, in the receiving room, I give you breakfast, and you tell me that they gave you real coffee during the questioning. Then you are taken back to the cell, and I go along under the pretext that I have forgotten something. Before they have time to fetch me back, I have found out a number of things. You kept denying your complicity for a long time, but after all, at the university they found the text of a leaflet in Hans' pocket. Of course he had torn it up immediately and stated that it come from a student whose name he didn't know. But the Gestapo agents had already made a thorough search of your rooms. They carefully pieced together the torn paper and found the handwriting to be the same as that of a friend of yours. Then the two of you knew that all was lost, and that moment on all your thoughts were: We will take the blame for everything, so that no other person is put in danger. They let you alone for a few hours, and you sleep well and deeply. I begin to be amazed at you. These many hours of interrogation have no effect on your calm, relaxed manner. Your unshakable deep faith gives you the strength to sacrifice yourself for the sake of others.
*
Friday evening. The whole afternoon you had to submit to many questions and frame your answers, but you are not in the least fatigued. You tell me about the impending invasion, which must occur in eight weeks at the latest. Then Germany will receive blow upon blow, and at last we will be released from tyranny. Of course I am ready to believe you, but I am troubled by the fear that you will no longer be with us. You doubt that you will live to see that day, but when I tell you how long they have held my brother without bringing him to trail --- more than a year now --- you begin to have hope. In your case it will certainly take a long time. Gain time and you gain everything.
*
Today you tell me how often you scattered leaflets at the university, and in the face of the gravity of the situation, we laugh when you tell how once on the way home from a "scattering tour" you went up to a cleaning woman who wanted to gather up the leaflets from the steps and said to her. "Why do you pick up those sheets? Just let them lie there; the students are supposed to read them." Then again: how well you knew at all times that if ever the agents of the Gestapo caught one of you, it would cost your life. I can understand that often you were in exultant high spirits when you had completed a night's work, hanging banners in the streets or placing a stack of letters of The White Rose in mailboxes to await their delivery. If you happened to have a bottle of wine, you opened it in celebration of one of your successes.
*
You also describe for me your last action together. You and Hans have scattered the greater part of the leaflets in the university hall and are standing with your suitcase out in the Ludwigstrasse again when you decide that it ought to be possible to empty the bag before you go home. On the spur of the moment, you turn around, go back into the hall and up to the top of the stairs, and fling the remaining sheets down the light well. Naturally, this causes a commotion, and the Gestapo officers order all the doors locked. Every person has to show his papers. All of a sudden the corridors are completely empty. As you come down the staircase, the custodian Schmiedel [sic] comes toward you, to hand you over to the Gestapo. On this evening we talk until late at night. I am unable to get to sleep, but you are breathing deep and rhythmically.
*
Saturday morning brings you more hours of interrogation. And when I come in at noon, glad to be able to tell you that now you will be left in peace until Monday morning, it doesn't please you at all. You find the questioning stimulating, interesting. At least you have the good fortune to have one of the few likable investigators. He --- Mohr is his name --- gave you a long lecture this morning about the meaning of National Socialism, the Führer principle, German honor, and how grievously you had compromised Germany's armed security by your deeds. Perhaps he wants to offer you one more chance when he asks, "Fraulein Scholl, if you had known and thought over all these things that I have explained to you, you certainly would have never let yourself be swept along into acts of this kind, would you?" And what is your answer, you courageous, honest girl? "You are wrong. I would do exactly the same next time, for it is you, not I, who have the mistaken Weltanschauung."
*
On this Saturday and Sunday we are served meals by prisoners detailed to these tasks. I have the utensils for brewing tea and coffee, and each of us contributes his bit. In our little cell we quickly accumulate the rarest riches --- cigarettes, cookies, sausages, and butter. From our stocks we can also send things upstairs to your brother, about whom you worry so. We also send Willi Graf a cigarette with "Freedom" written on it.
*
Sunday morning brings you a great shock. At breakfast they whisper to me, "Last night another one of the principals in this action arrived." I tell you, and you thing of none other than Alexander Schmorell. When at ten o'clock I am fetched for duty in the office, the entries for the previous night have already been registered, and the cards are already filed. I look them up and read: "Christoph Probst. Treason." For two hours I am happy, knowing I'll be able to tell you that it isn't Alex whom they have caught, but I read horror in your face when I mention Christl's name. For the first time I see you upset. Christl --- the good, true friend, father of three small children, the man who for the sake of his family you expressly did not want to involve --- has now been drawn into the whirlpool because of this one leaflet. But you get hold of yourself again; at most they can give Christl a prison sentence, and he will soon have that behind him. At noon the investigator comes, and he brings fruit, cookies, and a couple of cigarettes, and asks me how you are feeling. Surely he is expressing pity, for he knows better than anyone else the black clouds that have gathered over your head. In the afternoon we sit together in our cell, until you are summoned (it is about three o'clock) to receive the notice of indictment. I am told that the proceeding against the three of you will begin tomorrow. The dreaded People's Court is in session here, and Freisler and his brutal accomplices are determined to pronounce the sentence of death.
*
Dear, dear Sophie, your fate has already been decided. After a few minutes you come back, pale and very upset. Your hand trembles as you begin to read the bulky indictment. But the further you read, the calmer your expression becomes, and by the time you reach the end, your nervousness is dispelled. "Thank God," is all that you say. Then you ask me whether I can read the document with impunity, without risking some unpleasantness. Even in this hour you do not want anyone to risk danger on your account. You dear, pour soul, how I have come to love you in these last few days!
*
Outside it is a sunny February day. People pass by these walls happy and cheerful, not suspecting that once again three courageous, honest Germans are being handed over to their death. We have lain down on our beds, and in a soft, calm voice you begin to reminisce. "It is such a splendid, sunny day, and I have to go. But how many have to die on the battlefield in these days, how many young, promising lives.... What does my death matter if by our acts thousands of people are warned and alerted. Among the student body there will certainly be a revolt." Oh, Sophie, you haven't learned how cowardly the human herd is! "After all, I could die of illness, but would that mean the same thing?" I try to hold out to you the hope that it might very well happen that you'll get by with a long prison sentence. But you, my faithful sister, will not let me talk about that. "If my brother is sentenced to death, then I must not and ought not to receive a lighter sentence. My guilt is exactly the same as his." You explain this also to your defense counsel, who has been brought in as a formality. He asks you whether you have any request. As if a puppet of his sort could see to it that any request was granted! No, you want only to have him confirm the fact that your brother has a right to execution by firing squad, for after all, he has been a front-line soldier. But even on this point he is unable to give you a definite answer, and he is horrified at your further question, as to whether you are likely to be publicly hanged or are to die on the guillotine. That sort of question, asked in such a calm way, and by a young girl --- he hadn't expected this. Where ordinarily strong men who are used to battle would tremble, you remain quiet and composed. But naturally he gives you evasive answers.
*
Mohr stops in again to advise you to write your letters to your loved ones today if possible, since in Stadelheim Prison they'll let you write only brief notes. Are his intentions kindly, or do they hope to obtain new evidence from the letters? In any case, your family have never been allowed to read as much as a line of those letters. After ten o'clock we go to bad. You continue to tell me about your parents and brothers and sisters. Concern for your mother oppresses you. To lose two children at the same moment, and the other brother on duty somewhere in Russia! "Father has a better understanding of what we did." All night long the light is kept on, and every half-hour an officer comes to see that everything is still in order. These people have no conception of your deep faith, your trust in God! The night stretches out endlessly for me, while you sleep soundly as always.
*
Shortly before seven o'clock I have to wake you for this difficult day. You wake at once and tell me, still seated on the bed, about your dream: On a beautiful sunny day you brought a child in a long white dress to be baptized. The way to the church was up a steep mountain, but you carried the child safely and firmly. Unexpectedly there opened up before you a crevice in the glacier. You had just time enough to lay the child safely on the other side before you plunged into the abyss. You interpreted your dream this way: "The child in the white dress is our idea; it will prevail in spite of all obstacles. We were permitted to be pioneers, but we must die early for the sake of that idea." I will have to go to the office soon. How I hope for your safety, how my thoughts will constantly be with you, you undoubtedly know. I promise you that later, in quieter times, I will tell your parents about our days together. Then a last handshake: "God be with you, Sophie"; and I am called away.
*
Shortly after nine o'clock they take you in a private car, accompanied by two officials, to the Palace of Justice. As you pass, you send me one last glance. Your brother Hans and Christoph Probst, both handcuffed, are also brought out and taken in another car.
*
Down here the prison seemed deserted today. Instead of the coming and going of many people of the last days there is oppressive silence. After two o'clock we receive the frightful news from the headquarters: all three sentences to death!
*
Paralyzed with fear, I hear the frightful report. Poor, dear Sophie, I wonder how you are bearing up. They say you were brave and not intimidated at the trial. May God give you the strength to hold out. Perhaps a plea for mercy will now succeed after all! Your friends and loved ones will try every possible means of saving you. Again I begin to hope a little. But the People's Court can set aside any and every traditional right.
*
At 4:30 Mohr comes in. He is still in his hat and coat, white as chalk. I am the first to ask, "Herr Mohr, is it really true that all three will die?" He only nods, himself still shaken by the experience. "How did she take the sentence? Did you have a chance to talk to Sophie?" In a tired voice he answers, "She was very brave; I talked with her in Stadelheim Prison. And she was permitted to see her parents." Fearfully I ask, "Is there no chance at all for a plea of mercy?"
*
He looks up at the clock on the wall and says softly, in a dull voice, "Keep her in your thoughts during the next half hour. By that time she will have come to the end of her suffering."
*
These words fall like bludgeon blows on all of us. We are stunned to learn that three good, innocent persons have to die because they dared to rise against an organized band of murders, because they wanted to help to end this senseless war. I should like to scream these things at the top of my lungs, and I have to sit there silent. "Lord, have mercy on them, Christ, have mercy on them, Lord have mercy on their souls," is all I can think. The minutes stretch to an eternity. I want to push the hands of the clock ahead, faster, fast, so that the heaviest task will be behind you. But one minute creeps slowly after the other.
*
Finally it is five o'clock; 5:04; 5:08.
*
You have returned into the light. May the Lord give you eternal rest, and may the eternal light shine upon you.
*
Else Gebel
*
November, 1946"

11/21/05 02:02 pm - What Creation Records band are you?

My Bloody Valentine
You Are...My Bloody Valentine.

You tend to be a bit distant and reclusive. You are
a leader as opposed to being a follower. You
are a perfectionist and pay very close
attention to detail. You have the tendency to
be lazy, which sometimes get's in the way of
you achieving whatever it is you may be trying
to perfect. You don't really care about what's
typically looked upon as the norm. You really
don't care about what people think about you at
all, or at least so you try and make it seem.
You care most about just being yourself.


what Creation Records band are you? (complete with text and images)
brought to you by Quizilla

10/13/05 01:09 pm - Bush Superstar (by this funny guy called RX)

Bush as a superstar...um gajo decidiu fazer umas remisturas de músikas pops exclusivamente baseando-se nuns diskursos do WCbush e estão simplesmente geniais...vah..clikem...divirtam-se..."Take a walk on the wild side"...

http://www.thepartyparty.com/

9/21/05 02:46 pm - How Is my Inner Child?

Your Inner Child Is Surprised

You see many things through the eyes of a child.
Meaning, you're rarely cynical or jaded.
You cherish all of the details in life.
Easily fascinated, you enjoy experiencing new things.
How Is Your Inner Child?

9/21/05 02:16 am - Which fucked-up genius composer am I?

you are Joe Strummer!
Joe Strummer... you've been through the cleansing
fire of punk, only to pick up a few venerial
diseases along the way. You're more of an
optimist when it comes to fucked-up genius.
But you can write wicked-deadly riffs and lycs.


Which fucked-up genius composer are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

9/20/05 01:18 pm - Enjoy this too..

Dead Meadow

http://www.deadmeadow.com/iloveyoutoo.mp3

http://www.deadmeadow.com/thewhirlings.mp3

http://www.deadmeadow.com/sleepysilverdoor.mp3

http://www.deadmeadow.com/dustynothing.mp3

http://www.deadmeadow.com/everythingsgoingon.mp3

Joy Division

http://scorch2000.com/~meshko/mp3-h/Rock/Joy_Division/joy%20division%20-%20heart%20&%20soul.mp3
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