"The sea's only gifts are harsh blows,and, occasionally,the chance to feel strong. Now, I don't know much about the sea, but I do know that that's the way it is here. And I also know how important it is in life not necessarily to be strong, but to feel strong, to measure yourself at least once,to find yourself at least once in the most ancient of human conditions,facing the blind, deaf stone alone with nothing to help you but your hands and your own head." (Bear Meat by Primo Levi)
Said by Christopher McCandless aka Alexander Supertramp in the movie Into The Wild.
terça-feira, 16 de junho de 2009
domingo, 31 de maio de 2009
Vícios
Como se sabe que está viciado em alguma coisa?
Quando você faz (ou consome ou vê ou whatever) muito aquela coisa? Como se diferencia paixão por algo de vício por algo?
Acho que os vícios de consumo negativos tipo bebidas e cigarro são mais fáceis de identificar. Mas e se você gosta muito de uma comida de um restaurante e toda vez que você vai lá vc come a mesma comida é sinal de que vc está viciado? Ou, se vc gosta muito de um filme e já o assistiu mais de 20 vezes, isso é vicio? Obsessão? Ou se vc ama um livro, que te faz ter sensações gostosas, cria imagens legais na sua cabeça e vc o lê inúmeras vezes, é vicio?
Talvez seja vicio quando vc começa a deixar de fazer outras coisas pra fazer apenas aquela coisa que vc gosta muito. Tipo, vc deixa de comer com a sua mãe em casa pq vc quer ir no restaurante comer novamente aquela comidinha maravilhosa. Será que é isso?
E pq as pessoas se viciam nas coisas? É falta de algo? Vazio interno a ser preenchido?
Perguntas que não querem calar...
Quando você faz (ou consome ou vê ou whatever) muito aquela coisa? Como se diferencia paixão por algo de vício por algo?
Acho que os vícios de consumo negativos tipo bebidas e cigarro são mais fáceis de identificar. Mas e se você gosta muito de uma comida de um restaurante e toda vez que você vai lá vc come a mesma comida é sinal de que vc está viciado? Ou, se vc gosta muito de um filme e já o assistiu mais de 20 vezes, isso é vicio? Obsessão? Ou se vc ama um livro, que te faz ter sensações gostosas, cria imagens legais na sua cabeça e vc o lê inúmeras vezes, é vicio?
Talvez seja vicio quando vc começa a deixar de fazer outras coisas pra fazer apenas aquela coisa que vc gosta muito. Tipo, vc deixa de comer com a sua mãe em casa pq vc quer ir no restaurante comer novamente aquela comidinha maravilhosa. Será que é isso?
E pq as pessoas se viciam nas coisas? É falta de algo? Vazio interno a ser preenchido?
Perguntas que não querem calar...
terça-feira, 26 de maio de 2009
More quotes
... from the Dead Poets Society:
John Keating: Now we all have a great need for acceptance, but you must trust that your beliefs are unique, your own, even though others may think them odd or unpopular, even though the herd may go...[imitating a goat]
John Keating: "that's baaaaad." Robert Frost said, "Two roads diverged in the wood and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference."
John Keating: Now we all have a great need for acceptance, but you must trust that your beliefs are unique, your own, even though others may think them odd or unpopular, even though the herd may go...[imitating a goat]
John Keating: "that's baaaaad." Robert Frost said, "Two roads diverged in the wood and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference."
segunda-feira, 25 de maio de 2009
Run for your life - part 7
(...)
There wasn't a commotion around that act. It was certainly significant, regardless. She was very excited and happy that she could will her thumb to move, but the people around wasn't so happy. The act made the people soft the demandings a little and the merciful man was as happy as she was, but these reactions didn't last too much. She moved the thumb only one time and after that she lost her concentration and her body returned to the stone state.
The events started to have a cycling movement: the people demanding sharp comments, the merciful man remained quiet at her side and once and a while she moved some part of her body. The movements became steadier, but didn't dazzle anybody at the audience, neither herself. Even she wasn't impressed with her improvements and the depression hit her again like a high speed monster truck.
To be continued
There wasn't a commotion around that act. It was certainly significant, regardless. She was very excited and happy that she could will her thumb to move, but the people around wasn't so happy. The act made the people soft the demandings a little and the merciful man was as happy as she was, but these reactions didn't last too much. She moved the thumb only one time and after that she lost her concentration and her body returned to the stone state.
The events started to have a cycling movement: the people demanding sharp comments, the merciful man remained quiet at her side and once and a while she moved some part of her body. The movements became steadier, but didn't dazzle anybody at the audience, neither herself. Even she wasn't impressed with her improvements and the depression hit her again like a high speed monster truck.
To be continued
sexta-feira, 22 de maio de 2009
Run for your life - part 6
(...)
A million and fourty-five heartbeats after she heard the first voices, they started to fade away. Apparently, some of the people lost their intrest in her, since she didn't express any change in her condition. Some of them remained, though, and the demandings didn't slow their flowing. They continued on and on, snapping accusations at her face.
The mercyful remained at her side, but she started to fear that he - after some time she noticed that the voice was from a man - would lose his intrest too. So she tried even harder to move any part of her body.
The effort wasn't doing any progress, so she changed her path. She directed all her will on moving her hand. All her strenth, all her thoughts were concentrated on her right hand. She concentrated on lifting one finger. She tried hard for some hundreds of heartbeats until she could lift the tip of her thumb.
To be continued
A million and fourty-five heartbeats after she heard the first voices, they started to fade away. Apparently, some of the people lost their intrest in her, since she didn't express any change in her condition. Some of them remained, though, and the demandings didn't slow their flowing. They continued on and on, snapping accusations at her face.
The mercyful remained at her side, but she started to fear that he - after some time she noticed that the voice was from a man - would lose his intrest too. So she tried even harder to move any part of her body.
The effort wasn't doing any progress, so she changed her path. She directed all her will on moving her hand. All her strenth, all her thoughts were concentrated on her right hand. She concentrated on lifting one finger. She tried hard for some hundreds of heartbeats until she could lift the tip of her thumb.
To be continued
segunda-feira, 18 de maio de 2009
Run for your life - part 5
(...)
She tried to answer, but she couldn't. It was like she was lost in some corner of her own mind. She listened hard trying to decifer the voices around.
Some of them demanded why she was there, why wasn't she responding. They accused her of giving up. They said that she was young, she could fight harder, she could stand up, hold on into something. They said that this situation was her fault and that only her could manage to get out of it. They kept calling her name over and over again.
She felt guilty, although knowing that she could´t try harder than she already was. She tried to speak, to move her body in some way that someone could see that she was listening but not even one finger moved with all the concentration that she'd put on it.
Other voices were more mercyful. These didn't talk much. They only said that she had gone through much and would eventually find a way to get out of it.
Her head was all puzzled. Where did these people came from? Who were they? Why was she feeling gloomy about there judment on her, if she didn't know who they were? Why wasn't her voice coming out? Why wasn't she moving? For how long was she lying there? And where was she lying?
She analized everything that was being said. Tried to distingish the people behind the voices, but didn't recognized anyone in particular. She only could tell that the repremending voices came from a lot of people and the mercyful came from only one. The repremending voices weren't always the same. They changed from time to time, but the mercyfull was always there, beside her stone body.
The thoughts bounced around inside her skull like a disoriented swarm of bees. The buzz were almost deafing because they were all mixed with the sharp external voices.
She was bewildered and angry. She wanted to get up and tell everyone to butt out. All she needed was to be alone. The eager was to be alone fisically and mentally. If she could, she'd've erased even her thoughts and would stay there in a blank, peacefull silence. But the spiraling voices inside and outside didn't seem to tune out no metter how hard she tried.
To be continued
She tried to answer, but she couldn't. It was like she was lost in some corner of her own mind. She listened hard trying to decifer the voices around.
Some of them demanded why she was there, why wasn't she responding. They accused her of giving up. They said that she was young, she could fight harder, she could stand up, hold on into something. They said that this situation was her fault and that only her could manage to get out of it. They kept calling her name over and over again.
She felt guilty, although knowing that she could´t try harder than she already was. She tried to speak, to move her body in some way that someone could see that she was listening but not even one finger moved with all the concentration that she'd put on it.
Other voices were more mercyful. These didn't talk much. They only said that she had gone through much and would eventually find a way to get out of it.
Her head was all puzzled. Where did these people came from? Who were they? Why was she feeling gloomy about there judment on her, if she didn't know who they were? Why wasn't her voice coming out? Why wasn't she moving? For how long was she lying there? And where was she lying?
She analized everything that was being said. Tried to distingish the people behind the voices, but didn't recognized anyone in particular. She only could tell that the repremending voices came from a lot of people and the mercyful came from only one. The repremending voices weren't always the same. They changed from time to time, but the mercyfull was always there, beside her stone body.
The thoughts bounced around inside her skull like a disoriented swarm of bees. The buzz were almost deafing because they were all mixed with the sharp external voices.
She was bewildered and angry. She wanted to get up and tell everyone to butt out. All she needed was to be alone. The eager was to be alone fisically and mentally. If she could, she'd've erased even her thoughts and would stay there in a blank, peacefull silence. But the spiraling voices inside and outside didn't seem to tune out no metter how hard she tried.
To be continued
sexta-feira, 15 de maio de 2009
Inspiração
Tem filmes que não me canso de assistir e, por mais que seja a milionésima quinta vez, não deixo de me emocionar.
É o caso de Sociedade dos Poetas Mortos, que acabei de re-assistir e chorar ao som de "Oh, Captain, my Captain!!" de novo.
A cada vez que assisto uma parte diferente prende a minha atenção, me emociona, mexe comigo. Deixo aqui uma citação do maravilhoso professor Keating, que me marcou especialmente dessa vez.
"
We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, "O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?" Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play *goes on* and you may contribute a verse.
What will your verse be? "
É o caso de Sociedade dos Poetas Mortos, que acabei de re-assistir e chorar ao som de "Oh, Captain, my Captain!!" de novo.
A cada vez que assisto uma parte diferente prende a minha atenção, me emociona, mexe comigo. Deixo aqui uma citação do maravilhoso professor Keating, que me marcou especialmente dessa vez.
"
We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, "O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?" Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play *goes on* and you may contribute a verse.
What will your verse be? "
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