light, in the absence of eyes, ...

we can undo only what others have already forgotten

We are not what we remember of ourselves.
We can undo only what others have already forgotten.
Learn from your mistakes, so that one day you can repeat them precisely.


In, "Aeon Flux" (1995).

like Prometheus we are bound

another season in this hell

(…)

Give me sixty-nine years,
Another season in this hell.
It's all sex and death as far as I can tell.

Like Prometheus we are bound,
Chained to this rock of a brave new world,
Our godforsaken lot.
And I feel that's all we've ever needed to know,
'Til worlds end and the seas run cold.

Give me sixty-nine years,
Another season in this hell.
There is sex and death


(…)


Black Sun, Dead Can Dance, Aion, 1990

two witches (i)

two witches (ii)

Art Sabotage

ART SABOTAGE STRIVES TO be perfectly exemplary but at the same time retain an element of opacity--not propaganda but aesthetic shock--apallingly direct yet also subtly angled-- action-as-metaphor.
Art Sabotage is the dark side of Poetic Terrorism--creation- through-destruction--but it cannot serve any Party, nor any nihilism, nor even art itself. Just as the banishment of illusion enhances awareness, so the demolition of aesthetic blight sweetens the air of the world of discourse, of the Other. Art Sabotage serves only consciousness, attentiveness, awakeness.
A-S goes beyond paranoia, beyond deconstruction--the ultimate criticism--physical attack on offensive art-- aesthetic jihad. The slightest taint of petty ego-icity or even of personal taste spoils its purity & vitiates its force. A-S can never seek power--only release it. Individual artworks (even the worst) are largely irrelevant- -A-S seeks to damage institutions which use art to diminish consciousness & profit by delusion. This or that poet or painter cannot be condemned for lack of vision--but malign Ideas can be assaulted through the artifacts they generate. MUZAK is designed to hypnotize & control--its machinery can be smashed.

From:

The Temporary Autonomous Zone, Ontological Anarchy, Poetic Terrorism

By Hakim Bey

ghost (i)

that which defines perception itself

Avatars of chaos act as spies, saboteurs, criminals of amour fou, neither selfless nor selfish, accessible as children, mannered as barbarians, chafed with obsessions, unemployed, sensually deranged, wolfangels, mirrors for contemplation, eyes like flowers, pirates of all signs & meanings.

Here we are crawling the cracks between walls of church state school & factory, all the paranoid monoliths. Cut off from the tribe by feral nostalgia we tunnel after lost words, imaginary bombs.

The last possible deed is that which defines perception itself, an invisible golden cord that connects us: illegal dancing in the courthouse corridors. If I were to kiss you here they'd call it an act of terrorism--so let's take our pistols to bed & wake up the city at midnight like drunken bandits celebrating with a fusillade, the message of the taste of chaos.

From:

The Temporary Autonomous Zone, Ontological Anarchy, Poetic Terrorism

By Hakim Bey

Furacão Mitra

FURACÃO MITRA

FURACÃO MITRA
10 a 20 de Dezembro
na INTERPRESS
Rua Luz Soriano, 67 Bairro Alto
Exposições, Concertos, Novidades Editoriais, Feira Laica.
Horário: 4ªFeira a Sábado das 19h às 00h00
dias:10,11,12 e 13 & 17,18,19 e 20
INAUGURAÇÃO
DIA 10 Dez às 19h
com concertos de
Traumático Desmame e Mamede
entrada livre

if hope has flown away

Très vite dans ma vie il a été trop tard

Très vite dans ma vie il a été trop tard. À dix-huit ans il était déjà troptard. Entre dix-huit et vingt-cinq ans mon visage est parti dans unedirection imprévue. À dix-huit ans j'ai vieilli. Je ne sais pas si c'est tout lemonde, je n'ai jamais demandé. Il me semble qu'on m'a parlé de cettepoussée du temps qui vous frappe quelquefois alors qu'on traverse lesâges les plus jeunes, les plus célébrés de la vie. Ce vieillissement a été brutal.

Marguerite Duras, L'Amant (1984)

I can't see the future

You don't need to see it if you know it's there

Emily: I want you to tell me if there's a future for me and you.
Bill: A future, huh?
Emily: Yes.
Bill: How can I answer that?
Emily: Yes or no.
Bill: I can't see the future.
Emily: [annoyed] You don't need to see it if you know it's there.



Hal Hartley, Flirt (1995)

ghost girl (once more)

a counsel of despair

"You will argue that this is a counsel of despair. What of the anarchist dream, the Stateless state, the Commune, the autonomous zone with duration, a free society, a free culture? Are we to abandon that hope in return for some existentialist acte gratuit? The point is not to change consciousness but to change the world." (The Temporary Autonomous Zone, Ontological Anarchy, Poetic Terrorism, by Hakim Bey)

ghost girl (again)

architectural indigestion: (page 75)

The almost obsessive need to live in a 'cool' architectural environment. Frequent related objects of fetish include framed black-and-white art photography (Diane Arbus is a favorite); simplistic pine furniture; matte black high-tech items such as TVs, stereos, and telephones; low-wattage ambient lighting; a lamp, chair, or table that alludes to the 1950s; cut flowers with complex name. (Douglas Coupland's Generation X Neo-logisms)

In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none,

très vite dans ma vie il a été trop tard

Très vite dans ma vie il a été trop tard. À dix-huit ans il était déjà troptard. Entre dix-huit et vingt-cinq ans mon visage est parti dans unedirection imprévue. À dix-huit ans j'ai vieilli. Je ne sais pas si c'est tout lemonde, je n'ai jamais demandé. Il me semble qu'on m'a parlé de cettepoussée du temps qui vous frappe quelquefois alors qu'on traverse lesâges les plus jeunes, les plus célébrés de la vie. Ce vieillissement a étébrutal.

Marguerite DURAS, L'Amant (1984)

ghost girl

sirens rising across the sky

The beauty of her, under electric light
The beauty of her, under electric light
Tears my heart out every time

Dawn There waiting, right outside
Dawn There waiting, right outside
She tears my heart out every time

Siren rising across the sky
Sirens rising across the sky
Tears my heart out every time



“Electric Light”, Polly Jean Harvey
(Is this desire?, 1998)

do you know who you're sketching for?

the broken umbrellas like dead birds

Well it's ninth and hennepin
All the doughnuts have names that sound like prostitutes
And the moon's teeth marks are on the sky
Like a tarp thrown all over this
And the broken umbrellas like dead birds
And the steam comes out of the grill
Like the whole goddamn town's ready to blow...
And the bricks are all scarred with jailhouse tattoos
And everyone is behaving like dogs

(…)

And all the rooms they smell like diesel
And you take on the dreams of the ones who have slept here
And i'm lost in the window, and i hide in the stairway
And i hang in the curtain, and i sleep in your hat...
And no one brings anything small into a bar around here
They all started out with bad directions
And the girl behind the counter has a tattooed tear
"one for every year he's away", she said
Such a crumbling beauty, ah
There's nothing wrong with her that a hundred dollars won't fix
She has that razor sadness that only gets worse
With the clang and the thunder of the southern pacific going by

(…)

And i've seen it all, i've seen it all
Through the yellow windows of the evening train...



“9th & hennepin”, Tom Waits (Rain dogs, 1985)

Children No More

we’ve only just begun

We never seem to find peace of mind
We’re always on the run away from the sun
And we’ve only just begun.

You say we’ve overcome nothing is wrong
You say our job is done the battle is won
But we’ve only just begun.

You say our job is done the battle is won
But we’ve only just begun.



Koop, "Waltz for Koop"
(Waltz for Koop, 2001)

Mortal my friend must be

MY friend must be a bird

MY friend must be a bird,
Because it flies!
Mortal my friend must be,
Because it dies!
Barbs has it, like a bee.
Ah, curious friend,
Thou puzzlest me!



Emily Dickinson (1830–86).
Complete Poems. 1924

You “will not find God or salvation in a dark brick building built by dead men”.

There is no magic any more

There is no magic any more,
We meet as other people do,
You work no miracle for me
Nor I for you.

You were the wind and I the sea —
There is no splendor any more,
I have grown listless as the pool
Beside the shore.

But though the pool is safe from storm
And from the tide has found surcease,
It grows more bitter than the sea,
For all its peace.


Sara Teasdale, After Love
(In, http://www.poets.org/)

reality tunnel

Who is the master who makes the grass green?

“Well, the brain receives billions of signals every minute and out of them we select a small portion and make a picture which we project outside and consider reality. That’s our reality tunnel” (R. Anton Wilson, in “Who is the master who makes the grass green?”, a film by Edgar Pêra, 1996)

I wanna watch it all go down

meteor showers and tidal waves

(...)

Cuz I'm praying for rain
And I'm praying for tidal waves
I wanna see the ground give way.
I wanna watch it all go down.

(...)


Tool, "Aenema"

futures that will never happen

a fluidity we cannot achieve

On hearing the striped contralto of guinea fowl,
its mock opera quivers the parsley atop its head --


The song makes its imprint
in the air, making itself felt,
a felt world. Here, there,
the stunned silence
of knowing I will not remember
what I heard;


futures
that will never happen,
a fluidity we cannot achieve
except as a child
creating possibility.


This is the untranslatable song
hidden in the earth.


From My Father and Miro, by Claudia Reder.

when your heart grows cold

now I stand here waiting...

How does it feel to treat me like you do?
When you've laid your hands upon me
And told me who you are
I thought I was mistaken
I thought I heard your words
Tell me, how do I feel
Tell me now, How do I feel

(...)

And I still find it so hard
To say what I need to say
But I'm quite sure that you'll tell me
Just how I should feel today

(...)

I stand here waiting...

I thought I told you to leave me
While I walked down to the beach
Tell me how does it feel
When your heart grows cold



New Order, "Blue Monday"

... soon the music's over

one last dance

Let's dance little stranger
Show me secret sins
Love can be like bondage
Seduce me once again

Burning like an angel
Who has heaven in reprieve
Burning like the voodoo man
With devils on his sleeve

Won't you dance with me
In my world of fantasy
Won't you dance with me
Ritual fertility

Like an apparition
You don't seem real at all
Like a premonition
Of curses on my soul

The way I want to love you
Well it could be against the law
I've seen you in a thousand minds
You've made the angels fall

Won't you dance with me
In my world of fantasy
Won't you dance with me
Ritual fertility

Come on little stranger
There's only one last dance
Soon the music's over
Let's give it one more chance

(...)

Take a chance with me
In my world of fantasy
Won't you dance with me
Ritual fertility



"dance with me", by
The Lords of the New Church

to bring you my love (a very old drawing)

Hell and high water

I was born in the desert
I been down for years
Jesus, come closer
I think my time is near
And i've traveled over
Dry earth and floods
Hell and high water
To bring you my love

Climbed over mountains
Traveled the sea
Cast down off heaven
Cast down on my knees
I've lain with the devil
Cursed god above
Forsaken heaven
To bring you my love

(...)


PJ Harvey, To bring you my love
To bring you my love, 1995

why are we alive?

wherever runs the breathless sun

Il faut être très patient

You will now listen to my voice

You will now listen to my voice. My voice will help you and guide you still deeper into Europa. Every time you hear my voice, with every word and every number, you will enter into a still deeper layer, open, relaxed and receptive. I shall now count from one to ten. On the count of ten, you will be in Europa. I say: one. And as your focus and attention are entirely on my voice, you will slowly begin to relax. Two, your hands and your fingers are getting warmer and heavier. Three, the warmth is spreading through your arms, to your shoulders and your neck. Four, your feet and your legs get heavier. Five, the warmth is spreading to the whole of your body. On six, I want you to go deeper. I say: six. And the whole of your relaxed body is slowly beginning to sink. Seven, you go deeper and deeper and deeper. Eight, on every breath you take, you go deeper. Nine, you are floating. On the mental count of ten, you will be in Europa. Be there at ten. I say: ten.

From: Europa (1991), Lars von Trier

até o Sol chegar

não parti

Não parti, mas já não sei voltar.
Ando às voltas a esquecer quem sou.
Bebo a noite até o Sol chegar.
Ele sempre me encontrou.

(...)

Não sei viver sem ter de viver.
O que me dão já não sei gostar.
Não se perde o que não se quer ter.
Cada vez mais sem esperar.

(...)


Rádio Macau
Acordar

details...do they matter?

again

(...)

I've done it before and I'll do it again
Charged with a life that'll burn 'til the end
How can it be that we're so far apart
I want it to feel like it did at the start

(...)

New Order
Primitive Notion

Run around in the radiation

So still

So still, so dark all over Europe
And I ride down the highway, 101
By the side of the ocean, headed for sunset
For the kingdom come for the

Black
Black planet
Black
Black world

(...)


The Sisters Of Mercy
Black Planet