nenhuma morte é possível

No Sorriso Louco das Mães

No sorriso louco das mães batem as leves
gotas de chuva. Nas amadas
caras loucas batem e batem
os dedos amarelos das candeias.
Que balouçam. Que são puras.
Gotas e candeias puras. E as mães
aproximam-se soprando os dedos frios.
Seu corpo move-se
pelo meio dos ossos filiais, pelos tendões
e órgãos mergulhados,
e as calmas mães intrínsecas sentam-se
nas cabeças filiais.
Sentam-se, e estão ali num silêncio demorado e apressado
vendo tudo,
e queimando as imagens, alimentando as imagens
enquanto o amor é cada vez mais forte.
E bate-lhes nas caras, o amor leve.
O amor feroz.
E as mães são cada vez mais belas.
Pensam os filhos que elas levitam.
Flores violentas batem nas suas pálpebras.
Elas respiram ao alto e em baixo. São
silenciosas.
E a sua cara está no meio das gotas particulares
da chuva,
em volta das candeias. No contínuo
escorrer dos filhos.
As mães são as mais altas coisas
que os filhos criam, porque se colocam
na combustão dos filhos, porque
os filhos estão como invasores dentes-de-leão
no terreno das mães.
E as mães são poços de petróleo nas palavras dos filhos,
e atiram-se, através deles, como jactos
para fora da terra.
E os filhos mergulham em escafandros no interior
de muitas águas,
e trazem as mães como polvos embrulhados nas mãos
e na agudeza de toda a sua vida.
E o filho senta-se com a sua mãe à cabeceira da mesa,
e através dele a mãe mexe aqui e ali,
nas chávenas e nos garfos.
E através da mãe o filho pensa
que nenhuma morte é possível e as águas
estão ligadas entre si
por meio da mão dele que toca a cara louca
da mãe que toca a mão pressentida do filho.
E por dentro do amor, até somente ser possível
amar tudo,
e ser possível tudo ser reencontrado por dentro do amor.

Herberto Hélder (1930 – 2015)

of being a woman vol. 02

Oddný Eir

Björk: I was really curious, after you heard my new album for the first time last night, how you felt its themes might mirror your new book?   

Oddný Eir: Similar desires and challenges appear in your lyrics and in my book, for sure. It has a lot to do with trust. Devotion and trust. I really felt my last three books were nurtured by our discussions over the years. Because we haven’t just been chatting about boys – well, that as well (laughs) – but we started at the moment of the financial crisis in Iceland and somehow I feel like we were in a personal crisis, as well. We were dealing with our relationships and we really wanted to make things right. So I made a diagram, just for fun, to visualise some of these dualities and the urge to overcome them.

Björk &  Oddný Eir, Dazed Digital

§

Jessa tattooed me; “Negative Impact on Public Health,” quoted from the 9th circuit’s decision to uphold Measure B. The catalyst for both my politics and my writing, under my skin. I think it’s important to remember—how I felt reading that ruling, that to parts of the world I and all sex workers will always be reduced to inhuman vectors of disease and societal ill.

Stoya, Graphic Descriptions

§

No noticiário, uma jornalista diz que a presidente da República dá trabalho e inventa muita coisa para o seu ministério porque não é casada nem tem filho para cuidar. A invisibilidade da regra aqui está na pressuposição de que existe um modelo a ser seguido, o da mulher dona de casa e mãe, cuja prioridade “normal” deve ser a família e os filhos. O trabalho, mesmo que seja a tarefa de presidir um país, estaria necessariamente em segundo lugar. Não por acaso, os ataques da oposição são xingamentos pessoais. Uma mulher – mesmo que seja presidente da República – está sempre exposta a essa violência por razões de gênero, para usar a expressão jurídica e me referir ao projeto de lei que acaba de tornar a violência contra a mulher um tipo de agravante no direito penal.

Carla Rodrigues, Blog do IMS

§

Quando você faz parte de um grupo cisgênero (se identifica com o gênero que lhe foi atribuído no nascimento), você já sai no privilégio; então, é apenas natural ignorar as problemáticas de pessoas que não se encaixam no padrão. Enquanto isso, as estatísticas continuam a indicar que o Brasil segue em primeiro lugar no ranking de assassinatos de travestis e transexuais, que essas pessoas ainda são marginalizadas pelo fato de não conseguirem modificar seu nome sem passar pela justiça, sendo, consequentemente, excluídas de oportunidades de emprego, saúde e moradia.

Marie Declercq, VICE Brasil

of being a woman vol. 01

anna_big

You Will Hear Thunder

You will hear thunder and remember me,
And think: she wanted storms. The rim
Of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson,
And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire.

That day in Moscow, it will all come true,
when, for the last time, I take my leave,
And hasten to the heights that I have longed for,
Leaving my shadow still to be with you.

 Anna Akhmatova

§

 It occurred to me as I was unloading the dishwasher, flipping fish fingers under the grill, and placating my son with an episode of Thomas the Tank Engine while he beat his tiny toddler fists upon the high chair in a Mariah-sized fit of pique. I’m happy. I enjoy being the boss of this boring scene of domesticity. Forgive me Betty Friedan, but I love being a housewife.

Chitra Ramaswamy, The Guardian

§

At least one in four women in America now takes a psychiatric medication, compared with one in seven men. Women are nearly twice as likely to receive a diagnosis of depression or anxiety disorder than men are. For many women, these drugs greatly improve their lives. But for others they aren’t necessary. The increase in prescriptions for psychiatric medications, often by doctors in other specialties, is creating a new normal, encouraging more women to seek chemical assistance. Whether a woman needs these drugs should be a medical decision, not a response to peer pressure and consumerism.

Julie Holland, The New York Times

§

Mas a opressão ainda mostra um fôlego estarrecedor. Dados da Central de Atendimento à Mulher Ligue 180, do órgão federal Secretaria de Políticas para as Mulheres, alertam que as denúncias de violência sexual no Brasil aumentaram mais de 40% no ano passado em relação a 2013, com o estupro no topo das acusações. E tem mais: em 81% dos casos, os autores das agressões são pessoas próximas da vítima e com algum vínculo afetivo. Sabe aquela história de ninguém meter a colher em briga de marido e mulher? Pois é. E muitas ainda acabam em morte.

Mariana Tramontina, UOL Tab

coisinhas

lawrence weiner macba

Alguns objetos de desejo
+
Alguns objetos necessários
+
Alguns objetos sem interesse
-
Aquelas coisas que nos escapam
÷
Uma força maior
=
Algumas coisas

Lawrence Weiner, Coleção MACBA
Dez/2014

exílio & carnaval

sans toit ni loi

Captura de Tela 2015-02-06 às 17.50.57

Although many have shared our time, how many have truly known us?

notes on the melody of things

I.   We are right at the start, do you see.

As though before everything. With
a thousand and one dreams behind us and
no act.

II.   I can imagine no knowledge holier
than this:
that you must become a beginner.
Someone who writes the first word after a
centuries-long
dash.

III.   That occurs to me: when I observe: that we still always paint people against a gold background, like the Italian Primitives. People stand before something indefinite—sometimes gold, sometimes gray. Sometimes they stand in the light, and often with an unfathomable darkness behind them.

IV.   That makes sense. To know people we have to isolate them. But after experiencing them for a long time we have to put these isolated observations back into a relationship with each other, and follow their broader gestures with a fully ripened gaze.

V.    Compare a painting with a gold background from the trecento to one of the countless later compositions of the Italian old masters, where the figures find themselves in a Santa Conversazione in front of a radiant landscape in the light air of Umbria. The gold background isolates each figure; the landscape shines behind them like a common soul from which they draw their smiles and their love.

VI.    Then think about life itself. Remember that people have many, puffed-up gestures and unbelievably grand words. If only they spent a little time being as rich and peaceful as the beautiful saints of Marco Basaiti, then you would be able to find behind them too the landscape they have in common.

VII.   There are, in fact, moments when a person stands out from his grandeur in clarity and silence before you. These are rare festive pleasures that you never forget. You love this person from then on. In other words, you work to retrace with your own tender hands the outlines of the personality that you came to know in this hour.

VIII.    Art does the same thing. For art is a farther reaching, more immodest love. It is God’s love. It cannot stop with an individual, who is only the portal of life itself: it must move through that individual. It cannot tire. To fulfill its destiny, it has to appear where everyone is—a someone. Then it bestows its gifts on this someone, and boundless riches come over everyone.

IX.    How far art really is from this calling we can see in the theater, for theater does say, or try to say, how it sees life itself: not the individual’s life in its ideal stillness but the movement and interaction of many individuals. In the process, though, it simply puts people next to each other, as in the trecento, and leaves it up to them to get to know each other in front of the background of gray or gold.

X.    So that becomes how it is. They try to reach each other with words and gestures. They almost tear their arms out of their sockets, because the reach of their gesticulations is much too short. They never stop trying to throw syllables at each other, but they are extraordinarily bad at this game: they cannot catch. And so time passes, while they stoop over and hunt around for the ball—just like in life.

XI.   This art has accomplished nothing, except to show us the confusion in which most of us find ourselves already. It has frightened us, rather than making us quiet and peaceful. It has shown us that we all live on different islands, only the islands are not far enough apart for us to stay solitary and untroubled. Someone on one island can pester someone on another, or terrorize him, or hunt him with spears—the only thing no one can do to anyone else is help him.

XII.   There is only one way to journey from isle to isle: dangerous leaps in which more than one’s feet are endangered. The result is an eternal hopping back and forth, with accidents and absurdities, for it sometimes happens that two people jump toward each other at the same time so that they encounter each other only in midair and after taking all that trouble they are just as far apart, one from the other, as they were before changing places.

XIII.   This is by no means strange, because in actual fact the bridges to each other we cross so beautifully and festively are not in us, but rather behind us, exactly as in the landscapes of Fra Bartolomeo or Leonardo. Life truly does gather to a point in individual personalities. But from peak to peak the footpath runs through broad valleys.

XIV.   When two or three people come together, that does not automatically mean they are with each other. They are like marionettes whose strings lie in different hands. Only when one hand guides them all do they have something in common, which can compel them to bow to the ground or start clobbering each other. Their power resides there too, in the reigning hand that holds the ends of all the strings.

XV.   They find each other only in the common hour, in the common storm, in the one room where they encounter each other. Only when a background lies behind them do they start to interact with each other. After all, they have to have a single home to appeal to. They have to show each other their valid credentials at the same time, the passports they carry with them, all containing all the signs and seals of the same prince.

XVI.   Whether it be the singing of a lamp or the voice of a storm, whether it be the breath of an evening or the groan of the ocean — whatever surrounds you, a broad melody always wakes behind you, woven out of a thousand voices, where there is room for your own solo only here and there. To know when you need to join in: that is the secret of your solitude: just as the art of true interactions with others is to let yourself fall away from high words into a single common melody.

XVII.   If the saints of Marco Basaiti had had anything to confide to each other aside from their holy proximity side by side, they would not reach out their thin, soft hands up at the front of the pictures they live in. They would pull back, growing smaller and smaller, and, deep in the listening countryside, approach each other across the tiny bridges.

XVIII.   We in front are exactly the same. Sanctifying desires. Our fulfillments take place deep in the radiant backgrounds. There, in the background, is motion, and will. There play out the histories; we are only the dark headlines. There is our reconciliation and our leavetaking, our consolation and sorrow. There, we are, while here in the foreground we only come and go.

XIX.    Remember the people with whom you found yourself without there being a common hour enveloping you. For example, relatives who see each other at the deathbed of someone they truly loved. One lives in this deep memory, the other in that. Their words pass each other by, knowing nothing of each other. Their hands miss each other at first, in the confusion. —Until the pain behind them broadens out. They sit down, sink their foreheads, and say nothing. It rustles above them like a forest. They are close to each other, as never before.

XX.    In other cases, when there is no difficult, heavy pain to make people equally silent, one of them hears more of the powerful melody of the background, the other hears less. Many no longer hear it at all. They are like trees that have forgotten their roots and now think that the rustling of their branches is their power and their life. Many people don’t have time to hear it. They are impatient with every hour enveloping them. These poor, homeless people have lost the meaning of existence. They strike the keyboard of their days and play the same, monotonous, lost note over and over again.

XXI.   If, then, we want to be initiates of life, we must keep two things in mind:

First, the great melody, in which things and scents, feelings and pasts, twilights and desires, all play their parts; —

and second: the individual voices which augment and complete this full chorus.

And to lay the foundation for a work of art—that is, an image of deeper life, of our more than daily, always possible experience—we have to put both voices, the voice of this hour and the voice of a group of people within that hour, into a proper relationship and reconcile them. 

Rilke