Vegas - John Stammers

Vegas

The whole world fell in two and the night flipped open.
I pulled you from the wreckage of the day into the casino.

We threw seven all night and laughed ourselves to sleep.

John Stammers 

CHVRCHES - The mother we share

Noite é Dia - Sérgio Godinho

Um dia 

o inverno chega

desacompanha a manhã.

Noite é dia noutro mundo.

Tanto se fecham as madrepérolas

como se rasgam nas palmas das mãos

as seguintes vitórias.

Não as escolhemos por acaso

mas por acaso foram elas que escolhemos.

Rebenta-te, granada

diz a consciência ao suicida.

Mas lembre-se dos outros,

dêem causa dos outros: porque

se matam os que nem causa têm?

A honra perdida flutua por longe

com nenhum destroço válido se dá à costa

casar está fora de hipótese

ei-la, a noite sem desconto

a descoberto: 

Antes de ela ir, com sorte, à lua

e assim mostrar,

vai-se morrer ao sol,

e desta feita.

Noite é dia noutro mundo.

O Sangue por um Fio. Lisboa: Assírio & Alvim, 2009.  

Mac DeMarco - Chamber of Reflection

Porque às vezes também é preciso saber ouvir umas quantas vezes até a coisa entrar.

Conselho do meu amigo Duds. Esta é, sem dúvida, uma excelente música.

Man Ray

Vampire Weekend - Everlasting Arms

Robert Mappethorpe - Self Portrait

Self-Portrait, 1980

Let's Go Surfing - The Drums

War Photographer - Carol Ann Duffy

In his dark room he is finally alone
with spools of suffering set out in ordered rows.
The only light is red and softly glows,
as though this were a church and he
a priest preparing to intone a Mass.
Belfast. Beirut. Phnom Penh. All flesh is grass.

He has a job to do. Solutions slop in trays
beneath his hands, which did not tremble then
though seem to now. Rural England. Home again
to ordinary pain which simple weather can dispel,
to fields which don’t explode beneath the feet
of running children in a nightmare heat.

Something is happening. A stranger’s features
faintly start to twist before his eyes,
a half-formed ghost. He remembers the cries
of this man’s wife, how he sought approval
without words to do what someone must
and how the blood stained into foreign dust.

A hundred agonies in black and white
from which his editor will pick out five or six 
for Sunday’s supplement. The reader’s eyeballs prick
with tears between the bath and pre-lunch beers.
From the aeroplane he stares impassively at where
he earns his living and they do not care.
New Selected Poems (1984-2004), Picador, 2004.