A short film by Wes Anderson

A velocidade da luz - Manuel Gusmão

Há uma rotação do teu corpo
ou de um aparte dele que está pelo todo
e fora dos eixos do mundo. 
Rodas a partir da cintura, estendes um braço,
há um músculo que se ilumina, uma onda
vertical em que tu própria te subisses;
então uma perna flecte-se, e o outro pé fica em 
ponta
oblíquo sobre o mundo que nesse instante 
se suspende.

Teatros do Tempo. Editorial Caminho, 2001.

Parks, Squares and Alleys - We're not just friends

Aminé - Caroline

A poem by Andrés Neuman

El Jardinero

Aprendí con mi abuelo a plantar árboles.
«Los sauces necesitan
más agua, Andrés, que tú,
y sus raícesal principio no son
demasiado profundas.
A veces crecen rápido 
y otras veces se estancan en la tierra,
asustados del aire.» 

Hoy no existe ni abuelo ni país
ni tampoco ese niño, pero queda
aquel sauce encorvado al que –me digo–
Andrés, hay que cuidar,
estas raíces frágiles,
este miedo a la altura de la vida. 

Retrieved from here.

Andrew Bird - Pulaski at Night

Leonard Cohen

Leonard Cohen,
Stranger Music: Selected Poems and Songs. 1993. 

Piers Faccini - My Wilderness

A Southern Wind - Rickey Laurentiis

Quiet as a seed, and as guarded,
our walking took the shape of two people
uneasy together. I had the feeling
that on the anxious incline of that hill we gave the hill
a reason to be. What loneliness, what
privacy was in that? Hey, I said. Race me to the top?
The is when I nearly tripped on the sly earth,
an earth shaping to itself again. A stone?
But, no, picking it up, bringing the wormed-through
black flesh of it to my height, I knew it for 
an apple and gnashed and let the juices freak and down
my face. Don't ask me why I did it. I know. 
I know there are poisons like these we have 
to feed each other, promises we try to hold--
though how can they be contained? I wanted to give you 
what I could of me. To be personal, without 
confession. I wanted to believe in the constancy of that hill.
Daylight was tiring. The air, secret, alone.
I won, you said. You did, I said. So we stood there.

Lambchop - NIV

Edward Weston

Edward Weston, Hot Coffee, 1937, Mojave Desert.

The Shins - Dead Alive