domingo, 28 de fevereiro de 2010


Procuram-se figurantes de diversas idades para o espectáculo do Teatro Praga: OIL AIN´T ALL JR, com estreia a 23 de Março na Blackbox do CCB.

Datas dos ensaios: dias 16, 17, 18, 22 e 23 de Março das 20h às 23h30
Dias e horários do espectáculo: 23, 25, 26, 29 e 30 de Março às 21h00
27 de Março às 18h00
28 de Março às 17h00

A todos os que estiverem interessados, enviem-nos um mail com fotografias de corpo inteiro para ou contactem Pedro Pires – 91 854 70 50.

sábado, 27 de fevereiro de 2010

Hoje (se a cidade entretanto não for levada com o vento)

Nos últimos anos, o musical tem conhecido um renascimento surpreendente em Portugal, assim como, na cena internacional. É fundamentalmente um fenómeno comercial, que obedece a um formato tradicional. Mas há criadores que optam pela implosão do género. É preciso destruir o musical para o fazer reviver? Tentamos responder a partir de três exemplos recentes: Demo – um musical do Teatro Praga, a revista Maria mata-os dos Primeiros Sintomas e o trabalho do encenador húngaro Béla Pintér. 

Sábado 27 Fevereiro 17h30
MM Café, Teatro Maria Matos
Entrada livre
foto: Tatiana Macedo

domingo, 21 de fevereiro de 2010


Fitter, happier, more productive,
not drinking too much,
regular exercise at the gym
(3 days a week),
getting on better with your associate employee contemporaries ,
at ease,
eating well
(no more microwave dinners and saturated fats),
a patient better driver,
a safer car
(baby smiling in back seat),
sleeping well
(no bad dreams),
no paranoia,
careful to all animals
(never washing spiders down the plughole),
keep in contact with old friends
(enjoy a drink now and then),
will frequently check credit at
(moral) bank (hole in the wall),
favors for favors,
fond but not in love,
charity standing orders,
on Sundays ring road supermarket
(no killing moths or putting boiling water on the ants),
car wash
(also on Sundays),
no longer afraid of the dark or midday shadows
nothing so ridiculously teenage and desperate,
nothing so childish - at a better pace,
slower and more calculated,
no chance of escape,
now self-employed,
concerned (but powerless),
an empowered and informed member of society
(pragmatism not idealism),
will not cry in public,
less chance of illness,
tires that grip in the wet
(shot of baby strapped in back seat),
a good memory,
still cries at a good film,
still kisses with saliva,
no longer empty and frantic
like a cat
tied to a stick,
that's driven into
frozen winter shit
(the ability to laugh at weakness),
healthier and more productive
a pig
in a cage
on antibiotics.
Sample looping in background:
[This is the Panic Office, section nine-seventeen may have been hit. Activate the following procedure.]

quinta-feira, 18 de fevereiro de 2010

love the dove

não consigo postar de outra maneira.

terça-feira, 16 de fevereiro de 2010

dear Contra

Don't call me a Contra

I had a feeling once
That you and I
Could tell each other everything
For two months
But even without hope
With truth on our side
When you turn away from me
It's not right

I think you're a Contra
I think you're a Contra
And dear Contra
I think you're a Contra

My revolution thoughts
Live in lies of desire
I wanna trace them to the source
And the wire
But it's not useful now
Since we both made up our minds
You gotta watch out for yourself
So will I

I think you're Contra
I think that you lie
Don't call me Contra
Till you've tried

You wanted good schools
And friends with pools
You're not a Contra
You wanted Rock' n' Roll,
Complete control
Well, I don't know

Never pick sides
Never choose between two
But I just wanted you
Never pick sides
Never choose between two
But I just wanted you

I think you're Contra
I think that you lie
Don't call me Contra
Till you've tried

Vampire Weekend, I Think Ur a Contra

segunda-feira, 15 de fevereiro de 2010

This is it!

That there
That's not me
I go
Where I please
I walk through walls
I float down the Liffey
I'm not here
This isn't happening
I'm not here
I'm not here

In a little while
I'll be gone
The moment's already passed
Yeah it's gone
And I'm not here
This isn't happening
I'm not here
I'm not here

Strobe lights and blown speakers
Fireworks and hurricanes
I'm not here
This isn't happening
I'm not here
I'm not here

How To Disappear Completely, Radiohead

sábado, 13 de fevereiro de 2010

Children, Kinder, enfants

The Teaches of Marcus Junius Brutus, John Wilkes Booth and Timothy McVeigh

The Teaches of Timothy McVeigh

"His only sustaining relief from his unsatisfied sex drive was his even stronger desire to die"

According to his authorized biography

The Teaches of Pekka-Eric Auvinen

Hate, Im so full of it and I love it. That is one thing I really love. 

And remember that this is my war, my ideas and my plans. Don’t blame anyone else for my actions than myself. Don’t blame my parents or my friends. I told nobody about my plans and I always kept them inside my mind only. Don’t blame the movies I see, the music I hear, the games I play or the books I read. No, they had nothing to do with this.

Eine deutsche Kindergeschichte

The Teaches of Chesterton

The whole modern world has divided itself into Conservatives and Progressives. The business of Progressives is to go on making mistakes. The business of the Conservatives is to prevent the mistakes from being corrected.

sexta-feira, 12 de fevereiro de 2010

As long as I'm breathing

Physical trauma, especially to the head, can radically alter a person's beliefs.

The Bubble

Fundamentalism refers to a belief in a strict adherence to a set of basic principles (often religious in nature), sometimes as a reaction to perceived doctrinal compromises with modern social and political life.

Fundamentalism is a movement through which the adherents attempt to rescue religious identity from absorption into modern, Western culture, where this absorption appears to the enclave to have made irreversible progress in the wider religious community, necessitating the assertion of a separate identity based upon the fundamental or founding principles of the religion.
This formation of a separate identity is deemed necessary due to a perception that the religious community has surrendered its ability to define itself in religious terms. The "fundamentals" of the religion have been jettisoned by neglect, lost through compromise and inattention, so that the general religious community's explanation of itself appears to the separatist to be in terms that are completely alien and fundamentally hostile to the religion itself.

quinta-feira, 11 de fevereiro de 2010

I can't live without Gonzo

Gonzo journalism is a style of journalism which is written subjectively, often including the reporter as part of the story via a first person narrative. The style tends to blend factual and fictional elements to emphasize an underlying message and engage the reader. The word Gonzo was first used in 1970 to describe an article by Hunter S. Thompson, who later popularized the style. The term has since been applied to other subjective artistic endeavors.
Gonzo journalism tends to favor style over accuracy and often uses personal experiences and emotions to provide context for the topic or event being covered. It disregards the 'polished' edited product favored by newspaper media and strives for the gritty factor. Use of quotations, sarcasm, humor, exaggeration, and even profanity is common. The use of Gonzo journalism suggests that journalism can be truthful without striving for objectivity.

oil is shit Jamar

but it makes nice things .
this should be shown on a tv when i die
The Residents - Die in Terror

oil ain't fuckin all, JR

The Residents - Act Of Being Polite
and off we go into the wilderness. saving the forests,
one checkpoint at a time.


FATHER Do you know what a saddle is?
DAUGHTER Are you serious?
FATHER Do you know what a horse is?
DAUGHTER You are serious.
FATHER A horse is an animal. You’re an animal, too. The horse is your horse. And you’re his animal.
DAUGHTER Are you talking about sex?
FATHER What did you say?
DAUGHTER Are you talking about sex?
FATHER Jesus! What’s wrong with you, kiddo? Ever since we got away you’ve been acting strange.
DAUGHTER It’s this silence.
FATHER What’s wrong with it?
DAUGHTER Don’t know. Gives me the creeps.
FATHER Haven’t I taught you not to fear?
DAUGHTER You did, dad.
FATHER I’m going to teach how to shoot then. That’ll make you braver.

quarta-feira, 10 de fevereiro de 2010

oil ain't all JR


joão diogo atrofia na golegã


Na madrugada do dia seguinte já tinham percorrido umas dez milhas. Caminharam com o sol a subir e comeram as sanduíches que o Father tinha trazido de casa e ao meio-dia pararam para beber água de um riacho que atravessaram. Desceram então um desfiladeiro seco seguindo o trilho do gado até chegarem a um campo de algodão. Havia gado abrigado por baixo das árvores que se levantou quando eles se aproximaram e ficou a olhar para eles afastando-se em seguida.
Deitaram-se na erva seca por baixo das árvores e taparam o peito com o casaco e os olhos com o chapéu.

FATHER What did you bring to shoot?
disse o Father.
DAUGHTER Just Grandad’s old thumb-buster.
FATHER Can you hit anything with it?
O pai franziu o sobrolho.
DAUGHTER We done it, didnt we?
DAUGHTER You think they’ll be hunting us?
FATHER What for?
DAUGHTER I don’t know. Just seems too damn easy in a way.
FATHER I’ll tell you what..
FATHER I dont give a damn.
A filha sentou-se e retirou o tabaco do bolso da camisa e pôs-se a fazer um cigarro.
DAUGHTER About what?.
Ela molhou o cigarro e colocou-o na boca e agarrou na sua caixa de fósforos e acendeu o cigarro e apagou o fósforo com o fumo. Voltou-se e olhou para o pai mas o pai adormecera.

Teach Me Tiger

"He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man."

Dr. Johnson

All the pretty horses

By noon the day following they’d made some forty miles. Still in country they knew. Crossing the old Mark Fury ranch in the night where they’d dismounted at the crossfences for John Grady to pull the staples with a catspaw and stand on the wires while Rawlins led the horses through and then raise the wires back and beat the staples into the posts and put the catspaw back in his saddlebag and mount up to ride on.
How the hell do they expect a man to ride a horse in this country? said Rawlins.
They don’t, said John Grady.
They rode the sun up and ate the sandwiches John Grady had brought from the house and at noon they watered the horses at an old stone stocktank and walked them down a dry creekbed among the tracks of cattle and javelina to a stand of cottonwoods. There were cattle bedded under the trees that rose at their approach and stood looking at them and then moved off.
They lay in the dry chaff under the trees with their coats rolled up under their heads and their hats over their eyes while the horses gazed in the grass along the creekbed.
What did you bring to shoot? said Rawlins.
Just Grandad’s old thumb-buster.
Can you hit anything with it?
Rawlins grinned. We done it, didnt we?
You think they’ll be hunting us?
What for?
I don’t know. Just seems too damn easy in a way.
They could hear the wind and they could hear the sound of the horses cropping.
I’ll tell you what, said Rawlins.
Tell me.
I dont give a damn.
John Grady sat up and took his tobacco from his shirtpocket and began making a cigarette. About what? he said.
He wet the cigarette and put it in his mouth and took out his matches and lit the cigarette and blew the match out with the smoke. He turned and looked at Rawlins but Rawlins was asleep.

Cormac McCarthy, All the pretty horses

Oil Ain't All Bush JR

This is going to be a very expensive war, and Victory is not guaranteed - for anyone, and certainly not for anyone as baffled as George W. Bush. All he knows is that his father started the war a long time ago, anf that he, the goofy child-president, has been chosen by Fate and the global Oil industry to finish it Now."

Hunter S. Thompson, from "Kingdom of Fear", written September 12, 2001


"I am surrounded by lunatics here, people screeching every time I pull a trigger, yelling about my blood-soaked shirt, packs of queers waiting to do me in, so many creditors that I've lost count, a huge Doberman on the bed, a pistol by the desk, time passing, getting balder, no money, a great thirst for all the world's whiskey, my clothes rotting in the fog, a motorcycle with no light, a landlady who's writing a novel on butcher-paper, wild boar in the hills and queers on the roads, vats of homemade beer in the closet, shooting cats to ease the pressure, the jabbering of Buddhists in the trees, whores in the canyons, Christ only knows if I can last it out."

Hunter S. Thompson, from "The Proud Highway", letter from Big Sur, August 4, 1961

I've got to get my act together

"So we shall let the reader answer this question for himself: Who is the happier man, he who has braved the storm of life and lived, or he who has stayed securely on shore and merely existed?"

from "Security" by Hunter S. Thompson, age seventeen, 1955

miraculously saved

Daddy Be Good To Me

Demo Lesson

segunda-feira, 8 de fevereiro de 2010

Morreu pintora e cenógrafa Vera Castro

Sentada na plateia “x” foca um pequeno quadrado de pano que não é exactamente o que ainda agora focou, ou não parece, ou qualquer coisa de imperceptível mudou. Aguarda, e há alguma expectativa para que chegue o momento de a luz se apagar e do ruído de fundo também. Enfim, a memória de um ritual que sabe reconhecer desde há muito.
Do outro lado do quadrado que ainda agora focou, “y” pode espreitar sem ser vista por um pequeno buraco, os olhares que não tarda muito se irão cravar sobre si, e isso cria-lhe uma certa tensão. Se calhar, aquele ali vai morrer de tédio, mas talvez aquele outro até a vá desejar e o do lado esboce um certo sorriso. Ah, se pudesse ver como a vão olhar... mas ainda bem que não, pois seria um desastre.

sábado, 6 de fevereiro de 2010


The true believers, thou shall be saved

Esta noite no Maxime tocaram ao vivo Os Velhos, grande nome... Os restantes cúmplices da editora Amor Fúria não ficam atrás em originalidade onomástica: os famosos Os Golpes, Os Quais, o Almirante Ramos. A nova portugalidade anda mesmo à solta mas na noite do Maxime preocupou-me que já não se consiga distinguir um um ex-aluno da António Arroio de um ex-aluno do Colégio São João de Brito... Sim, porque se os famosos senhores Flor Caveira são benfiquistas, pastores presbiterianos, monogâmicos e têm barbas da Carbonária, os senhores Amor Fúria são do Sporting, acólitos na missa católica, andaram no São João de Brito, não são tão virgens como gostariam ser e orgulham-se da pouca barba que têm.
São todos amigos, diz-me a Joana dos Espíritos. Eu acredito. Eles acreditam. A lição é mesmo esta. É melhor acreditarmos todos. Ou pelo menos suspender temporariamente o clássico e gasto disbelief. Para ganhar autonomia, como diz o Gabriel... Oil ain't all JR. There is also faith!
Os ateus estão out! Viva o Leap of Faith! Viva o Padre António Vieira! Viva o São João de Brito!

dá-me o teu coração e o teu sangue também, porque o meu coração já o tens na mão. (Os Velhos)

sexta-feira, 5 de fevereiro de 2010

Start learning and give yourself a big hand

Line Dancing

Western Canada High School- Western Week


The worrying kind

The best place, to me, was the largest remnant of this plateau that dates from the tertiary age. It's kind of rolling country, not flat, and when you get to the edge of it you find these ravines that cut very steeply in to cliff-like drop-offs and there was even a waterfall there. It was about a two days hike from my cabin. That was the best spot until the summer of 1983. That summer there were too many people around my cabin so I decided I needed some peace. I went back to the plateau and when I got there I found they had put a road right through the middle of it. (His voice trails off; he pauses, then continues) You just can't imagine how upset I was. It was from that point on I decided that, rather than trying to acquire further wilderness skills, I would work on getting back at the system. Revenge.

Theodore Kaczynski

Du fyller mine sanser

norwegian cowboys

Perché avevo paura

- Maybe you were a man once, in my grandma's time. Now you play it safe and shoot a guy in the back 'cause you don't like risk.

- 'Cause I know what risk is.

- You just plunge ahead. You think you're invincible. You can't see 10 feet ahead of you.

- I see every pebble, every hole that could send us sky-high. I've died 50 times since last night. I can see the explosion up here. I see myself blown to bits. 'Cause I've got brains in my head!

- If only you had balls too.

- Keep talking. Yours'll be hanging from a tree, like a couple of cherries.
The Wages of Fear (Henri-Georges Clouzot)

quinta-feira, 4 de fevereiro de 2010

Hey, cowboy!

Alle mine drømmar é åbne!!!!

best play ever man!

Sin Miedo a Nada

- It's funny. Yesterday we were like other people, just like everyone else. We had fun, we slept, we ate. We knew men and women. And now there's nobody. Just us two.

- Two's enough. Enough to drive a truck.

- But I like to be with people. Sitting outside in the evening, drinking wine and talking.

- About what?

- I don't know. Whatever comes into my head. Then you take a girl into the corner, give her a tickle. Don't you like women?

- No.

- You've had too easy a life.

- You think so?

- You were daddy's little boy. What does your father do?

- I'm an orphan.

- How old are you?

- A hundred.

- A hundred? Come on!

- Just takes a few months to get to be a hundred... if you're in the right place at the right time. Not even time for coffee.

The Wages of Fear (Henri-Georges Clouzot)

quando eu era a mulher que dormia com ele no mesmo quarto de joelho verde cantei uma serenata ao meu amor (o do frio)

morning glory

The cowboy enters the saloon and asks for a chocolate milkshake. He has been reading a lot of Kafka lately and there he learned that breakfast is the most important meal of the day.

And then the coloured glass goes:
 Doo do doo do doo do do doo.
Drink me, drink me
I want to feel your body
Your heart beat next to mine
Drink me, drink me now...

quarta-feira, 3 de fevereiro de 2010

terça-feira, 2 de fevereiro de 2010

Great Singing Attitude

Green Room Reaction 13

La Chambre Verte
, François Truffaut

In The Birth of Tragedy, Friedrich Nietzsche describes Greek tragedy as the cataclysmic fusion between the Apollinian force that is governed by reason, and the Dionysian force that is governed by emotion. In opera, it is embodied in the liebestod of Richard Wagner's Tristan und Isolde: a celebration of profound love eternally locked in the embrace of death. In literature, it is the unspoken motivation behind the meticulous von Aschenbach's irrational attachment to the cherubic Tadzio in Thomas Mann's novella, Death in Venice (adapted to film by Luchino Visconti in 1971). And then, there is The Green Room (1978), a thoughtful, reverent adaptation of Henry James' The Altar of the Dead, an atypically static and somber film by François Truffaut.

The parallels between von Aschenbach, the tragic hero of Death in Venice, and the impassive Julien Davenne, reflect their innately similar human nature. As von Aschenbach's attraction to Tadzio (or more specifically, to the boy's physical embodiment of youth, energy, and beauty) precipitates his liebestodic death in Death in Venice, so too does Julien's obsession lead to his demise in The Green Room. 
Von Aschenbach, an intellectual who has never been governed by emotion, finds himself reluctantly succumbing to his suppressed passion. Despite a ravaging cholera epidemic, von Aschenbach is unable to leave Venice for fear of losing his beloved Tadzio. Figuratively, like Julien, von Aschenbach is surrounded by the pervasive specter of death. Aschenbach's desire to reclaim his lost youth and vitality are transferred to the ideal image of Tadzio, and he is inevitably consumed by that desire.

segunda-feira, 1 de fevereiro de 2010

E si scioglierà il ghiaccio

SAVITRI Porque é que tens os ombros encolhidos?! Desencolhe, parte a merda dos vidros, desata-te! Atira-te ao mundo! Mergulha mais fundo!
TOURO Estive a dormir e agora acordei.
Com o corpo em acção, vou mudar a lei.
Fazer a limpeza tratamento profundo.
Homem contra o tempo, eu atiro-me ao mundo!
SAVITRI + TOURO Perfeição à tona, excedente no fundo! 2 x

in DEMO, by Teatro Praga

desenho: Pedro Lourenço

cea mai bună actriţă

one day every actor will perform like Aurora Cornu in Claire's Knee (Rohmer) and say lines like this: 

It's too beautiful here to get any work done.

my winter is slowly ending!

In December, drinking horchata
I'd look psychotic in a balaclava
Winter's cold is too much to handle
Pincher crabs that pinch at your sandals

In December, drinking horchata
Look down your glasses at that aranciata
With lips and teeth to ask how my day went
Boots and fists to pound on the pavement

Here comes a feeling you thought you'd forgotten
Chairs to sit and sidewalks to walk on

You'd remember drinking horchata
You'd still enjoy it with your foot on Masada

But winter's cold is too much to handle
Pincher crabs that pinch at your sandals
Years go by and hearts start to harden
Those palms and firs that grew in your garden
Are falling down and nearing the rosebeds
The roots are shooting up through the tool shed
Those lips and teeth that asked how my day went
Are shouting up through cracks in the pavement

Here comes a feeling you thought you'd forgotten
Chairs to sit and sidewalks to walk on
Oh you had it but oh no you lost it
You understood so you shouldn't have fought it.

Vampire Weekend, Horchata

and don't you dare say this isn't a great "second album"!!!!

view from Masada