quinta-feira, novembro 30, 2017

sonhos de merda

"A merda é um problema teológico mais difícil do que o mal. Deus ofereceu a liberdade ao homem, e portanto, pode admitir-se que ele não é responsável pelos crimes da humanidade. Mas a responsabilidade pela existência da merda incumbe inteiramente àquele que criou o homem, e só a ele."

Milan Kundera, "A Insustentável Leveza do Ser"


terça-feira, novembro 28, 2017

everybody hurts

"Artie Bucco: The cobwebs are now removed.
Tony Soprano: What the fuck are you talking about? 
Artie Bucco:You saw this whole thing, didn't you? You knew exactly what was gonna happen. You can see 20 moves down the road. Please, I don't blame you, I envy you. It's like an instinct, like a hawk sees a little mouse moving around a cornfield, from a mile up.
Tony Soprano: You think it's my fault you're fucking lying in here?! 
Artie Bucco: It's just that somebody mentions $50,000 to bankroll a French digestif, and your mind goes through all the permutations at, like, internet speed and realizes: "Worst case scenario: I eat for free.
Tony Soprano: You fucking suicide! You're disgraceful! 
Artie Bucco: I'm sorry..."

segunda-feira, novembro 27, 2017

sometimes i feel like paulie

Os tiques marcam as minhas frases como sinais de pontuação, em movimentos ásperos de quem tem a mão pesada. Rodaria anéis nos dedos se os tivesse. Como o Paulie! Eu não sou o Paulie, mas às vezes sinto-me como o Paulie. Faço-me entender? Sobretudo, quando atravesso sozinho a paisagem suburbana e desinteressante da minha cidade natal, que me viu nascer e há de ver morrer, como homem da velha escola que sou. Na tentativa de marcar posição, tento destacar-me na forma mais astuta que consigo. Seja no estilo, ou na ausência de misericórdia. Para dar uma lição a qualquer um. Acredito que investir num imagem própria, com personalidade, ainda que de gosto duvidoso, me fará parecer respeitável. O xunga há de ser o novo fixe. Senão, até um relógio parado acerta duas vezes por dia. . Além disso, gosto de ser o street wise guy, de quem ninguém faz farinha. Porreiro para toda a gente, com a frase simples mais assertiva e universal na ponta da língua. Mesmo os homens humildes aspiram a filósofos. Tento chegar ao fim dos meus dias de costas direitas, zelando pelos meus, fiel aos meus princípios e a um certo modo de estar, que pode ser incompreensível, mas que me restaura a fé na ordem natural das coisas. Essa estabilidade, segura o barco quando é necessário abaná-lo, ou fintar as próprias regras. Ninguém vive feliz sendo um cínico, mas sendo aldrabão vai-se vivendo a felicidade possível. Tenho isto em mente para ponderar o suficiente, mas não hesitar demasiado. Está tudo sob controlo. Até me olhar ao espelho. Ou olhar para trás. Ou olhar em volta. Apercebo-me de que ninguém vê um homem respeitável. Ninguém vê alguém implacável, ou de bom coração. Apenas alguém regular, fiável enquanto for útil, porque previsível. O que o denuncia automaticamente quando mente. Por isso nunca vai mentir, e se o fizer é apanhado, e manipulado outra vez. No fundo, apenas vêem um puto irrequieto e assustado. Que conta piadas, atrás de piadas, para se sentir relevante numa dialéctica social que não domina.
Sem dúvida, sinto-me como o Paulie. Pelo amor de Deus, nós até vastos cabelos brancos temos como imagem de marca!

quinta-feira, novembro 23, 2017

eat your manigot

"Silvio Dante: I don't know what you're so hot about. They discriminate against all Italians as a group when they disallow Columbus...
Tony Soprano: Will you fucking stop? "Group"! What the fuck happened to Gary Cooper? That's what I'd like to know.
Silvio Dante: He died. You mean..., 'cause he fought the Sioux in all those westerns? 
Tony Soprano: Fuck that. Gary Cooper. Now there was an American. The strong, silent type. He did what he had to do. He faced down the Miller gang when none of those other assholes would lift a finger to help him. And did he complain? Did he say, "I come from this poor Texas-Irish illiterate fucking background or whatever the fuck, so leave me the fuck out of it, because my people got fucked over"? 
Silvio Dante: T, not for nothing but you're getting a little confused here. A: That was a movie.
Tony Soprano: What a fuck difference does that make? Columbus was so long ago, he might as well have been a fucking movie. Images, you said...
Silvio Dante: The point is, Gary Cooper the real Gary Cooper or anybody named Cooper, never suffered like the Italians. A madigan like him, they fucked everybody else. The Italians, the Polacs, the Blacks.
Tony Soprano: All right, even if he was a madigan around nowadays he'd be a member of some victims' group. The fundamentalist Christians, the abused cowboys, the gays, whatever the fuck!
Chritopher Moltisanti: He was gay, Gary Cooper?
Tony Soprano: No! Are you listening to me? 
Silvio Dante: Hey, people suffered.
Tony Soprano: Did you? Except, for maybe, the feds?
Silvio Dante: My grandparents got spit on because they were from Calabria.
Tony Soprano: Let me ask you a question. All the good things you got in your life did they come to you 'cause you're Calabrese? I'll tell you the answer. The answer is no. You got a smart kid at Lackawanna College. You got a wife who's a piece of ass. At least she was when you married her.
You own one of the most profitable topless bars in North Jersey. Did you get all this 'cause you're Italian? No, you got it 'cause you're you, 'cause you're smart, 'cause you're whatever the fuck.Where the fuck is our self-esteem? That shit doesn't come from Columbus, or The Godfather, or Chef fucking Boyardee. "

terça-feira, novembro 07, 2017

"When all the soul falls out from the cold"


"Este repentino desejo de Franz faz-nos lembrar qualquer coisa; faz-nos lembrar o filho de Estaline a lançar-se de encontro ao arame farpado electrificado, porque não podia suportar que os pólos da existência humana estivessem tão próximos a ponto de se tocar, a ponto de já não haver diferença entre o nobre e o objecto, entre o anjo e a mosca, entre Deus e a merda."

Milan Kundera, "A Insustentável Leveza do Ser"

quinta-feira, outubro 26, 2017

O inferno é um pub irlandês.

"Christopher Moltisanti: I'm going to hell, T.
Anthony 'Tony' Soprano Sr.: You're not going anywheres but home.
Christopher Moltisanti: I crossed over to the other side.
Anthony 'Tony' Soprano Sr.: You what?
Christopher Moltisanti: I saw the tunnel. And the white light. I saw my father in hell.
Paulie 'Walnuts' Gualtieri: Get the fuck outta here!
Christopher Moltisanti: And the bouncer said that I'd be there, too, when my time comes.
Paulie 'Walnuts' Gualtieri: What bouncer?
Christopher Moltisanti: The Emerald Piper. That's our hell. It's an Irish bar where it's St. Patrick's Day every day forever."

"Anthony 'Tony' Soprano Sr.: Excuse me, let me tell you something... When America opened up the floodgates and let all us Italians in, what do you think they were doing it for? 'Cause they were trying to save us from poverty? No, they did it because they needed us. They needed us to build their cities and dig their subways, and to make them richer. The Carnegies and The Rockerfellers: they needed worker bees and there we were. But some of us didn't want to swarm around their hive and lose who we were. We wanted to stay Italian and preserve the things that meant something to us: honor and family and loyalty... and some of us wanted a piece of the action. Now we weren't educated like the Americans, but we had the BALLS to take what we wanted! And those other folks, those other... the, the JP Morgans, they were crooks and killers too, but that was the business right? The American Way."

Paulie 'Walnuts' Gualtieri: That bouncer that sent you back, did he have horns on his head? 
Christopher Moltisanti: No. He was just some big irish goon in old fashioned clothes.
Paulie 'Walnuts' Gualtieri: Did anybody there have horns or buds for horns, those goat bumps? 
Christopher Moltisanti: Paulie, it was fucking hell, okay? My father said he looses every hand of cards he plays. And every night at midnight they whack him the same way he was whacked in life and it's painful, night after night. Does that sound like fucking heaven to you? 
Paulie 'Walnuts' Gualtieri: Was it hot? 
Christopher Moltisanti: Yeah... i don't know.
Paulie 'Walnuts' Gualtieri: What the fuck? The heat would've been the first thing you noticed. Hell is hot. That's never been disputed by anybody. You didn't go to hell. You went to purgatory, my friend.
Christopher Moltisanti: I forgot all about purgatory.
Paulie 'Walnuts' Gualtieri: Purgatory, a little detour on the way to paradise.
Christopher Moltisanti: How long you think we gotta stay there? 
Paulie 'Walnuts' Gualtieri: That's different for everybody. You add up all your mortal sins, multiply that number by 50, then you add up all your venial sins and multiply that by 25. You add them together, and that's your sentence. I figure i'm gonna have to do about 6, 000 years before i get accepted into heaven. And 6, 000 years is nothing in eternity terms."

"Priest: It's divination, it's the devil. They're completely unsanctioned by the church. Psychics are heretics and thieves who practice witchcraft. There's no validity to anything he told you. Your problem's a spiritual matter.
Paulie 'Walnuts' Gualtieri: Maybe. But irregardless, i should've had immunity to all of this shit. I should've been covered by my donations. When the organ needed a reed job who was there? When the priest and the alter boys needed new whites, who picked up the tab? 
Priest: You should've come to me first and none of this would've happened. But don't worry, Paul, i'm here. I can help you.
Paulie 'Walnuts' Gualtieri: It's too late. You've been slacking off on me and you left me unprotected. I'm cutting you off for good. You ain't never gonna see another dime from me."

sábado, outubro 21, 2017

lost dreams.

Tu não me amas. Não te convenças disso. Não comeces, sequer, a ponderá-lo. Quem ama, sofre. Eu já vivi luas suficientes para saber como estas histórias acabam, antes de acabar. Mulheres como tu, mais ou menos ingénuas, mais ou menos voluptuosas, mais ou menos promiscuas, do que tu, entraram pela  vida minha dentro com uma aura imaculada de salvação. O meu escudo de recusas, ou a minha paixão em riste, repeliram-nas a todas em pouco mais do que umas semanas. O Sun Tzu devia ter-me estudado a mim. Porque o meu coração é facilmente atíngivel, mas intransponível. Não achas suspeito que alguém sobreviva sozinho e sem esperança estes anos todos? Por isso, não me ames. Não penses como seria: já o fiz, e já voltei. Foi lindo, mas acabará mal.