Ironic
by Alanis Morissette
An old man turned 98
He won the lottery and died the next day
It's a black fly in your Chardonnay
It's a death row pardon two minutes too late
And isn't it ironic, don't you think?
It's like rain on your wedding day
It's a free ride when you've already paid
It's the good advice that you just didn't take
And who would've thought, it figures
Mr. Play It Safe was afraid to fly
He packed his suitcase and kissed his kids goodbye
He waited his whole damn life to take that flight
And as the plane crashed down, he thought
"Well, isn't this nice?"
And isn't it ironic, don't you think?
It's like rain on your wedding day
It's a free ride when you've already paid
It's the good advice that you just didn't take
And who would've thought, it figures
Well, life has a funny way of sneaking up on you
When you think everything's okay and everything's going right
And life has a funny way of helping you out
When you think everything's gone wrong and everything blows up
In your face
A traffic jam when you're already late
A no-smoking sign on your cigarette break
It's like ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife
It's meeting the man of my dreams
And then meeting his beautiful wife
And isn't it ironic, don't you think?
A little too ironic
And, yeah, I really do think
It's like rain on your wedding day
It's a free ride when you've already paid
It's the good advice that you just didn't take
And who would've thought, it figures
And, yeah, life has a funny way of sneaking up on you
Life has a funny, funny way of helping you out
Helping you out
28 fevereiro, 2021
27 fevereiro, 2021
26 fevereiro, 2021
25 fevereiro, 2021
24 fevereiro, 2021
23 fevereiro, 2021
22 fevereiro, 2021
Numa sala perto de mim #430
News of the World (2020) is an unusual western set in 1870 and tells the story of the unlikely but long lasting encounter of a confederate war captain and a lost 10 year old originally German girl, abducted by the Kiowa at age 4 and living with them ever since. Her only communication language is Kiowa, which the captain does not speak. Tom Hanks's skilled acting carries any movie, but young Helena Zengel with virtually no lines, really places the focus on everything that cannot be expressed in words.
21 fevereiro, 2021
Palavras lidas #461
For a Change
by Connie Wanek
Earth had become a job that required
constant customer support.
Humans didn’t seem to understand
the basics of their service.
Mrs. God suggested a standard message
when people first connected:
The Kingdom of God is within you.
“Honestly I think it gives them
a sense of agency,” she said.
But God thought the problem stemmed
from a confusing owners’ manual.
“Some of these translations are inscrutable,”
he said, paging through the dense instructions.
“What about a series of drawings,
where steps would be illustrated with a
puzzled little angel, sort of like IKEA?
And of course an extensive
FAQ on the website.”
“It’s worth a try,” said Mrs. God. “The most
important thing is that people know
they’re getting accurate information.”
“For a change,” said God.
by Connie Wanek
Earth had become a job that required
constant customer support.
Humans didn’t seem to understand
the basics of their service.
Mrs. God suggested a standard message
when people first connected:
The Kingdom of God is within you.
“Honestly I think it gives them
a sense of agency,” she said.
But God thought the problem stemmed
from a confusing owners’ manual.
“Some of these translations are inscrutable,”
he said, paging through the dense instructions.
“What about a series of drawings,
where steps would be illustrated with a
puzzled little angel, sort of like IKEA?
And of course an extensive
FAQ on the website.”
“It’s worth a try,” said Mrs. God. “The most
important thing is that people know
they’re getting accurate information.”
“For a change,” said God.
Etiquetas:
Palavras lidas,
Poesia-Poetry
20 fevereiro, 2021
Ditto #468
The word dysfunction has, I think, served its purpose and now has lost its meaning. Every family, like every person, is imperfect, after all. The idea that there is a Family somewhere who functions is an odd concept. In my youth I was running from my family to try to find out who I was — their influence distracted me. Now I see what a powerful hold they have, no matter what.
--Susan Minot
--Susan Minot
19 fevereiro, 2021
18 fevereiro, 2021
17 fevereiro, 2021
Foi neste dia #370 (1904)
"It was on this day in 1904 that Puccini’s opera Madame Butterfly had its premiere at La Scala Theater in Milan, Italy. The audience hated it so much they hissed and booed. Puccini closed it after one night, revised it, and opened it later the same year. The second time around it was such a hit that there were five encores, and Puccini had to come out in front of the curtain 10 times."
Parece que estou a ouvir #328
Caravan of love
The Housemartins
Are you ready
Are you ready
Are you ready
Are you ready
Are you ready for the time of your life?
It's time to stand up and fight
It's alright
It's alright
Hand in hand we take a caravan to the motherland
One by one we gonna stand up with pride
One that can't be denied
Stand up
Stand up
From the highest mountain, valley low
We'll join together with hearts of gold
Now the children of the world can see
This is a better place for us to be
The place in which we were born
So neglected and torn apart
Every woman every man
Join the caravan of love
(Stand up) stand up
Stand up
Everybody take a stand
Join the caravan of love
(Stand up) stand up
Stand up
I'm your brother
I'm your brother don't you know
She's my sister
She's my sister don't you know
We'll be living in a world of peace
And the day when everyone is free
We'll bring the young and the old
Won't you let your love flow, from your heart
The Housemartins
Are you ready
Are you ready
Are you ready
Are you ready
Are you ready for the time of your life?
It's time to stand up and fight
It's alright
It's alright
Hand in hand we take a caravan to the motherland
One by one we gonna stand up with pride
One that can't be denied
Stand up
Stand up
From the highest mountain, valley low
We'll join together with hearts of gold
Now the children of the world can see
This is a better place for us to be
The place in which we were born
So neglected and torn apart
Every woman every man
Join the caravan of love
(Stand up) stand up
Stand up
Everybody take a stand
Join the caravan of love
(Stand up) stand up
Stand up
I'm your brother
I'm your brother don't you know
She's my sister
She's my sister don't you know
We'll be living in a world of peace
And the day when everyone is free
We'll bring the young and the old
Won't you let your love flow, from your heart
Every woman every man
Join the caravan of love
(Stand up) stand up
Stand up
Every body take a stand
Join the caravan of love
(Stand up) stand up
Stand up
Join the caravan of love
(Stand up) stand up
Stand up
Every body take a stand
Join the caravan of love
(Stand up) stand up
Stand up
I'm your brother
I'm your brother don't you know
She's my sister
She's my sister don't you know
I'm your brother don't you know
She's my sister
She's my sister don't you know
So are you ready (he's coming)
Are you ready (he's coming)
Are you ready (he's coming)
Are you ready (he's coming on the caravan)
Are you ready (he's coming)
Are you ready (he's coming)
Are you ready (he's coming on the caravan)
You better get ready (go for it)
You better get ready (go for it)
You better get ready (go for it)
You better get ready
You better get ready (go for it)
You better get ready (go for it)
You better get ready
13 fevereiro, 2021
12 fevereiro, 2021
11 fevereiro, 2021
Palavras lidas #460
Bell Bottoms and Platform Shoes
by Maria Mazziotti Gillan
A friend sends me a picture of herself
from the 70s—bell bottoms, platform shoes
a patterned button down shirt,
hair puffed up from a perm.
I can see the outline of the person she is now
and she reminds me of myself in the 70s—
married for eight years to a man
I knew I loved the moment I saw him,
two children who seem to me exquisitely
beautiful because they look like my husband
and not me.
The picture reminded me of all those evenings
When I dressed in bell bottoms and silky patterned shirts
and shoes with chunky heels. Those evenings
we’d invite friends over for drinks and conversation,
our children asleep upstairs. Those clothes, the perm
I got, because I wanted to be cool, though my hair
was already kinky, so the perm made me look
like I’d stuck my finger in a light socket.
I look at a picture of us from that time—Dennis and I
standing together at the head of the dining room table,
friends seated around us. Dennis’s face is flushed,
his eyes shining. I wonder if he is tipsy.
He is wearing a fitted shirt with little flowers on it.
I am grinning and looking up at him. I might as well be
wearing a neon sign that says I love you.
Looking back at us. I would like to tell
my younger self—look how fortunate you are,
the man you love beside you, your children sleeping
in their safe beds, your friends around you.
Listen, be grateful for the moments
caught in these photographs,
the world full of possibility,
the sky not yet darkened.
by Maria Mazziotti Gillan
A friend sends me a picture of herself
from the 70s—bell bottoms, platform shoes
a patterned button down shirt,
hair puffed up from a perm.
I can see the outline of the person she is now
and she reminds me of myself in the 70s—
married for eight years to a man
I knew I loved the moment I saw him,
two children who seem to me exquisitely
beautiful because they look like my husband
and not me.
The picture reminded me of all those evenings
When I dressed in bell bottoms and silky patterned shirts
and shoes with chunky heels. Those evenings
we’d invite friends over for drinks and conversation,
our children asleep upstairs. Those clothes, the perm
I got, because I wanted to be cool, though my hair
was already kinky, so the perm made me look
like I’d stuck my finger in a light socket.
I look at a picture of us from that time—Dennis and I
standing together at the head of the dining room table,
friends seated around us. Dennis’s face is flushed,
his eyes shining. I wonder if he is tipsy.
He is wearing a fitted shirt with little flowers on it.
I am grinning and looking up at him. I might as well be
wearing a neon sign that says I love you.
Looking back at us. I would like to tell
my younger self—look how fortunate you are,
the man you love beside you, your children sleeping
in their safe beds, your friends around you.
Listen, be grateful for the moments
caught in these photographs,
the world full of possibility,
the sky not yet darkened.
Etiquetas:
Palavras lidas,
Poesia-Poetry
10 fevereiro, 2021
09 fevereiro, 2021
08 fevereiro, 2021
Parece que estou a ouvir #327
T-minus fifteen seconds, guidance is okay}
When I look back upon my life
It's always with a sense of shame
I've always been the one to blame
For everything I long to do
No matter when or where or who
Has one thing in common, too
It's a, it's a, it's a, it's a sin
It's a sin
Everything I've ever done
Everything I ever do
Every place, I've ever been
Everywhere I'm going to
It's a sin
I've always been the one to blame
For everything I long to do
No matter when or where or who
Has one thing in common, too
It's a, it's a, it's a, it's a sin
It's a sin
Everything I've ever done
Everything I ever do
Every place, I've ever been
Everywhere I'm going to
It's a sin
At school they taught me how to be
So pure in thought and word and deed
They didn't quite succeed
For everything I long to do
No matter when or where or who
Has one thing in common, too
It's a, it's a, it's a, it's a sin
It's a sin
Everything I've ever done
Everything I ever do
Every place I've ever been
Everywhere I'm going to
It's a sin
So pure in thought and word and deed
They didn't quite succeed
For everything I long to do
No matter when or where or who
Has one thing in common, too
It's a, it's a, it's a, it's a sin
It's a sin
Everything I've ever done
Everything I ever do
Every place I've ever been
Everywhere I'm going to
It's a sin
Father, forgive me, I tried not to do it
Turned over a new leaf, then tore right through it
Whatever you taught me, I didn't believe it
Father, you fought me, 'cause I didn't care
And I still don't understand
Turned over a new leaf, then tore right through it
Whatever you taught me, I didn't believe it
Father, you fought me, 'cause I didn't care
And I still don't understand
So I look back upon my life
Forever with a sense of shame
I've always been the one to blame
For everything I long to do
No matter when or where or who
Has one thing in common, too
It's a, it's a, it's a, it's a sin
It's a sin
Everything I've ever done
Everything I ever do
Every place I've ever been
Everywhere I'm going to, it's a sin
It's a, it's a, it's a, it's a sin
It's a, it's a, it's a, it's a sin
Forever with a sense of shame
I've always been the one to blame
For everything I long to do
No matter when or where or who
Has one thing in common, too
It's a, it's a, it's a, it's a sin
It's a sin
Everything I've ever done
Everything I ever do
Every place I've ever been
Everywhere I'm going to, it's a sin
It's a, it's a, it's a, it's a sin
It's a, it's a, it's a, it's a sin
Confiteor Deo omnipotenti vobis fratres, quia peccavi nimis cogitatione
Verbo, opere et omissione, mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa
Verbo, opere et omissione, mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa
06 fevereiro, 2021
04 fevereiro, 2021
Parece que estou a ouvir #326
U2
Green light, Seven Eleven
You stop in for a pack of cigarettes
You don't smoke, don't even want to
Hey now, check your change
Dressed up like a car crash
Your wheels are turning but you're upside down
You say when he hits you, you don't mind
Because when he hurts you, you feel alive
Is that what it is
Red lights, gray morning
You stumble out of a hole in the ground
A vampire or a victim
It depends on who's around
You used to stay in to watch the adverts
You could lip sync to the talk shows
And if you look, you look through me
And when you talk, you talk at me
And when I touch you, you don't feel a thing
If I could stay
Then the night would give you up
Stay and the day would keep its trust
Stay and the night would be enough
Faraway, so close
Up with the static and the radio
With satellite television
You can go anywhere
Miami, New Orleans
London, Belfast and Berlin
And if you listen I can't call
And if you jump, you just might fall
And if you shout, I'll only hear you
If I could stay
Then the night would give you up
Stay then the day would keep its trust
Stay with the demons you drowned
Stay with the spirit I found
Stay and the night would be enough
Three o'clock in the morning
It's quiet and there's no one around
Just the bang and the clatter
As an angel runs to ground
Just the bang
And the clatter
As an angel
Hits the ground
03 fevereiro, 2021
Sem título #155
General Oberstabsarzt Ulrich Baumgärtner:
"One people cannot cope with this alone, we have to stand together"
General Oberstabsarzt Ulrich Baumgärtner:
"Um país não consegue resolver sozinho, temos de ajudar"
Etiquetas:
Imprensa-Press,
Sem Título
02 fevereiro, 2021
Palavras lidas #459
Biscuits
by Willa Schneberg
Mostly when I’m vacuuming the carpet
in Mr. Besdine’s office
I don’t worry, just do the work
and know I’ll be sleeping in my own bed
when all the desks in all them offices
will have people sitting around them.
Sometimes I don’t hear the vacuum cleaner
and I’m quiet like when I play
Praise God From Whom All Blessings Flow
in the Mission Baptist Church.
There are other times I imagine fixing biscuits
unrolling my cloth from the coffee can,
flour still on it from the last time,
smoothing it out on the counter,
cloth white, flour white.
My mother’s biscuit cutter
made from an old Pet Milk can,
not a tack of rust on it,
presses in easy as a body to a hammock.
Some like biscuits and gravy,
I myself fancy biscuits with my homemade
muscadine jelly that comes from the
muscadine grape that grows wild.
by Willa Schneberg
Mostly when I’m vacuuming the carpet
in Mr. Besdine’s office
I don’t worry, just do the work
and know I’ll be sleeping in my own bed
when all the desks in all them offices
will have people sitting around them.
Sometimes I don’t hear the vacuum cleaner
and I’m quiet like when I play
Praise God From Whom All Blessings Flow
in the Mission Baptist Church.
There are other times I imagine fixing biscuits
unrolling my cloth from the coffee can,
flour still on it from the last time,
smoothing it out on the counter,
cloth white, flour white.
My mother’s biscuit cutter
made from an old Pet Milk can,
not a tack of rust on it,
presses in easy as a body to a hammock.
Some like biscuits and gravy,
I myself fancy biscuits with my homemade
muscadine jelly that comes from the
muscadine grape that grows wild.
Etiquetas:
Palavras lidas,
Poesia-Poetry
01 fevereiro, 2021
Ditto #466
We tell ourselves stories in order to live.
--Joan Didion, at the start of the book The White Album (1979)
--Joan Didion, at the start of the book The White Album (1979)
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