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March 24th, 2019

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I just wanna love you
I didn't want all this trouble
I just wanna be your baby sometimes too.

January 16th, 2019

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I lay back in salt
please forgive my name
I won't speak at all
just to sing again.

January 3rd, 2019

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Sempre que a tristeza profunda se apodera de mim, volto a esta música do David.
Como se eu própria fosse uma casa assombrada.

If you no longer love me, then why should it matter?

December 11th, 2018



If you need from me, to be anything
I could be everything you need
every monument, every memory
and I've never put flowers by the street.

December 9th, 2018

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I just got nothing
nothing left to say.

December 8th, 2018

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Once I married Susie, I set about trying to capture her. To write about Susie feels like trying to break a code that is constantly rearranging itself. Most of the time, I fail. My songs end up as scraps of paper rustling around the feet of a sixty-foot woman.

I never show her a lyric before it is recorded. This is a matter of survival. I don’t show anybody, anything, actually. I write the lyric, record it with the Bad Seeds, and then offer up the finished songs.

Playing the completed record to Susie for the first time is part pleasure, part terror for both of us. It is difficult to exaggerate how much I care what she thinks and, of course, she knows that I do. I suspect the pressure on her at this moment is immense as she navigates the terminal insecurities of her husband.

Yet the music plays, and the songs come to the rescue and Susie falls inside them and loses herself and sometimes they even get the tears rolling. And there is the pleasure! I suspect some of those tears are tears of relief. Mine are.

Love, Nick


The Red Hand Files

December 2nd, 2018

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But every time I feel the quiet
it echoes you.

November 12th, 2018

Found home.

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And danger will follow me everywhere I go
angels will call on me and take me to my home.

November 4th, 2018

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Behind this emotion
my sensible heart.



Talvez a minha maior qualidade: o meu coração sensato e sensível. Ainda que muitas vezes me queiram fazer crer que não.
Mas lamento, não há de errado em não ser rancorosa, em não ficar ressentida, em querer ouvir o coração dos outros, em ter empatia e compaixão. Não esquecendo, naturalmente, o que sinto.
Lamento, mas não. Cada um vive e sente a vida, a verdade à sua maneira. E não vos vou dizer que estão certos ou errados, que há formas de sentir ou lidar com as situações mais legítimas que outras. Cada um sabe do seu coração.
Eu sei do meu. E sei que no dia que isto deixar de ser assim, será o dia que estará tudo perdido. Para mim.

Sensible Heart

November 1st, 2018

Like coming home

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Who's gonna give a shit
who's gonna take the call
when you find out that the road ahead
is painted on a wall
and you're turned up to top volume
and you're just sitting there in pause
with your feral little secret
scratching at you with its claws.



Há bocado lembrei-me da Ani, há tempos que não a ouvia. Soube bem, tão bem, quase como voltar a casa. Voltamos sempre, não é?
E esta sempre foi das minhas preferidas.

October 30th, 2018

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Who or what is the monster under your bed?

Dear Brian,

I guess, if I were to look under the bed for monsters, I might expect to find some Islamic terrorists, some man-hating feminists, Trump, some rampant AI, some cyber criminals, some neo-Marxist left-wing radicals, some chemical weapons, some right-wing Nazis, Putin, a nuclear explosion, a meteor, a melted ice cap, heaps of murdered farm animals, Roger Waters, and some very, very bad weather – but actually I think what I would probably find, staring back at me, is myself, because most monsters I have ever had to deal with were usually a product of bad thinking, and generally of my own making. Maybe my greatest fear is that there is nothing under the bed at all, just a vast and monstrous vacancy – dustballs, a child’s lost sock, and the ashy residue of dreams. Sometimes, I would rather not look.

Nick Cave
tudo aqui

October 28th, 2018

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para dar certo,
o nosso amor
deveria ser escondido,
secreto,
sem o julgamento dos outros,
mas não contávamos
com a vaidade da nossa alegria.


Fabrício Carpinejar

October 26th, 2018

Vai e volta.

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Dia 26 de Outubro marca o dia que abandono um vício e comportamento meu que não é saudável, e não me serve mais. Vocês dirão, "se é vício, é mau". Não, há vícios bons, muito bons. Mas não é realmente o caso. E se não é o caso, o melhor é tentar fazer diferente.
Marca também o dia que volto aqui, e que digo que quero voltar e dar um pouco mais de mim a este espaço, com maior regularidade. Mas, neste caso, é somente uma tentativa, e não uma promessa.

Vamos ver.




webstatistics

August 12th, 2018

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All I got today is some sweet nothing.

July 19th, 2018

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People have scars in all sorts of unexpected places. Like secret road maps of their personal histories, diagrams of all of their old wounds. Most of our old wounds heal, leaving nothing behind but a scar. But some of them, don’t.
Some wounds, we carry with us everywhere… and though the cut is long gone, the pain still lingers.
What’s worse? New wounds, which are so horribly painful, or old wounds, which should have healed years ago, and never did? Maybe our old wounds teach us something. They remind us where we’ve been, and what we’ve overcome. They teach us lessons about what to avoid in the future. That’s what we like to think.
But that’s not the way it is, is it? Some things we just have to learn over and over and over… again.


Grey's Anatomy

July 16th, 2018

Não vai estar, pois não?

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Hey baby, where were you back there
when I needed your help?
I thought that if I stuck my neck out
I'd get you out of your shell.


(e um mar de lágrimas a acompanhar.)

July 15th, 2018

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Could it be that I'm your
Could it be that you are my majesty?

June 28th, 2018

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I'm like you, just like you
eyes of secrets, storm and story
show and tell, we'll make it through.

May 29th, 2018

Desabafo

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Foda-se, há pessoas mesmo ridículas. Temo que seja uma doença crónica.

May 24th, 2018

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Can't you just fix it for me, I'll pay you well
Fuck, I'll pay you anything if you can end this
Hello, I love you, will you tell me your name?
Hello, I'm good for nothing - will you love me just the same?

May 15th, 2018

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Yours is the only version of my desertion that I could ever subscribe to
that is all that I can do.

May 1st, 2018

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Baby, why'd you have to run?
looking after number one
Baby, why'd you have to go?
why'd you have to phone?
somethin' you're afraid to show?
is there someone else you'd rather phone?

April 17th, 2018

Just trust.

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I know places we can go, babe
coming home, come unfold, babe.

April 3rd, 2018

(no subject)

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Não penses que perdoei
só por te abraçar assim
nem vás pensar que chorei:
foi a vidraça por mim.

March 19th, 2018

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A última cena de I, Tonya é forte: Tonya cai no tapete do ringue, com a boca ensanguentada, atordoada. Abre os olhos, respira, fala e levanta-se. A luta ainda não acabou. É a metáfora perfeita para a vida até ali retratada. Para todos os murros que literalmente levou.
Convenhamos, todos nós vamos ao tapete de quando a quando, e nos levantamos quando temos força para isso. Mas aquela resiliência, aquela não é para todos. Tonya tinha uma motivação: patinar. E parece-me que muitas vezes nos falta uma verdadeira motivação para andar por cá.
Qual é a vossa motivação? E, por favor, não respondam viver e/ou sobreviver. Viver não é suficiente, gente. Ninguém, depois de cair inúmeras vezes, se levanta do tapete por sobrevivência. Quando no tapete até se sobrevive bem.
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