24.2.13
21.2.13
Perda.
"La nuit fait éclore dans la ville des milliers de lumières qui scintillent et paraissent se déplacer. On dirait des étoiles tombées à terre et qui cherchent à s'envoler de nouveau vers le ciel. Mais elles ne peuvent le faire. On ne peut jamais s'envoler vers ce qu'on a perdu"
- Philippe Claudel
- Philippe Claudel
Ego.
La faculté que nous avons de nous manipuler nous-mêmes pour que ne vacille point le socle de nos croyances est un phénomène fascinant.
- L'élégance du hérisson
- L'élégance du hérisson
Recados.
"When I first met you, I felt a kind of contradiction in you. You’re seeking something, but at the same time, you are running away for all you’re worth."
— Haruki Murakami
(Re)moinho de vida.
O que nos faz ver tudo enevoado.
Perder as cores nítidas dos sonhos?
Continuar só por ir continuando.
16.2.13
She is fascinated by the interface between our public lives and our private selves. This has led her to investigate patterns of behaviour using techniques akin to those of a private investigator, a psychologist, or a forensic scientist. It has also led her to investigate her own behaviour so that her life, as lived and as imagined, has informed many of her most interesting works.
14.2.13
13.2.13
12.2.13
6.2.13
5.2.13
Lita Cabellut. She is something.
The most beloved thing that I have I paint.
You
I paint you on the edges of sharpened knives.
In the trapeze swings
where balance is a duel
between death and bravery.
In the theaters
where they applaud with the soles of their feet,
our hands are tied
to the back of the chair.
We don't reach what we see
we don't touch what we desire,
possessively
I paint you
with your mouth shut tight
and your nose wide like a bull
breathing bravery
and holding in tenderness
a shout that scares the brightness of the colors.
Sometimes I paint you
with pain of anguish
and without forgiving
I leave you
with the indigos and violets
I close the door
I go out
searching for another color
I return
in the same
with the contrast
between
death
and you,
You
I paint you on the edges of sharpened knives.
In the trapeze swings
where balance is a duel
between death and bravery.
In the theaters
where they applaud with the soles of their feet,
our hands are tied
to the back of the chair.
We don't reach what we see
we don't touch what we desire,
possessively
I paint you
with your mouth shut tight
and your nose wide like a bull
breathing bravery
and holding in tenderness
a shout that scares the brightness of the colors.
Sometimes I paint you
with pain of anguish
and without forgiving
I leave you
with the indigos and violets
I close the door
I go out
searching for another color
I return
in the same
with the contrast
between
death
and you,
my life
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)