Ricardo Araújo Pereira, «Contra o corte cego da consoante muda»



Ricardo Araújo Pereira. «Contra o corte cego da consoante muda». Visão. 14 de Setembro de 2011. p. 114.



Henrik Lange, Excerto de "90 Livros Clássicos para Pessoas com Pressa"



Henrik Lange (2009). 90 Livros Clássicos para Pessoas com Pressa (Maria de Carvalho, Trad.). Lisboa: Editorial Presença.



Nuno Markl, Excerto de "A Caderneta de Cromos Contra-Ataca"



Nuno Markl (2011). A Caderneta de Cromos Contra-Ataca. Carnaxide: Objectiva. pp. 52-53



Roddy Doyle, Excerto de "the woman who walked into doors"

Ask me. Ask me. Ask me.

Here goes.

    Broken nose. Loose teeth. Cracked ribs. Broken finger. Black eyes. I don’t know how many; I once had two at the same time, one fading, the other new. Shoulders, elbows, knees, wrists. Stitches in my mouth. Stitches on my chin. A ruptured eardrum. Burns. Cigarettes on my arms and legs. Thumped me, kicked me, pushed me, burned me. He butted me with his head. He held me still and butted me; I couldn’t believe it. He dragged me around the house by my clothes and by my hair. He kicked me up and he kicked me down the stairs. Bruised me, scalded me, threatened me. For seventeen years. Hit me, thumped me, raped me. Seventeen years. He threw me into the garden. He threw me out of the attic. Fists, boots, knee, head. Bread, knife, saucepan, brush. He tore out clumps of my hair. Cigarettes, lighter, ashtray. He set fire to my clothes. He locked me out and he locked me in. He hurt me and hurt me and hurt me. He killed parts of me. He killed most of me. He killed all of me. Bruised, burnt and broken. Bewitched, bothered and bewildered. Seventeen years of it. He never gave up. Months went by and nothing happened, but it was always there – the promise of it.

     Leave me alone!

     Don’t hit my mammy!

     I promise!

     I promise!

     I promise!

     For seventeen years. There wasn’t one minute when I wasn’t afraid, when I wasn’t waiting. Waiting for him to go, waiting for him to come. Waiting for the fist, waiting for the smile. I was brainwashed and brain-dead, a zombie for hours, afraid to think, afraid to stop, completely alone. I sat at home and waited. I mopped up my own blood. I lost all my friends, and most of my teeth. He gave me a choice, left or right; I chose left and he broke the little finger on my left hand. Because I scorched one of his shirts. Because his egg was too hard. Because the toilet seat was wet. Because because because. He demolished me. He destroyed me. And I never stopped loving him. I adored him when he stopped. I was grateful, so grateful, I’d have done anything for him. I loved him. And he loved me.

     I promise!

     I promise!

     Don’t hit my mammy!

(…)

Roddy Doyle (1998). the woman who walked into doors.

London: Vintage. pp. 175-177.

Amnesty International page on Gender Violence: http://www.amnesty.org/en/campaigns/stop-violence-against-women

José Gomes Ferreira, "Acordai"

Acordai
acordai
homens que dormis
a embalar a dor
dos silêncios vis
vinde no clamor
das almas viris
arrancar a flor
que dorme na raiz

Acordai
acordai
raios e tufões
que dormis no ar
e nas multidões
vinde incendiar
de astros e canções
as pedras e o mar
o mundo e os corações

Acordai
acendei
de almas e de sóis
este mar sem cais
nem luz de faróis
e acordai depois
das lutas finais
os nossos heróis
que dormem nos covais
Acordai!

José Gomes Ferreira, "Acordai"

José de Almada Negreiros, Excerto de "Manifesto anti-Dantas"

Basta pum basta!!!

Uma geração que consente deixar-se representar por um Dantas é uma geração que nunca o foi. É um coio d'indigentes, d'indignos e de cegos! É uma resma de charlatães e de vendidos, e só pode parir abaixo de zero!

Abaixo a geração!

Morra o Dantas, morra! Pim!

Uma geração com um Dantas a cavalo é um burro impotente!

Uma geração com um Dantas ao leme é uma canoa em seco!

O Dantas é um cigano!

O Dantas é meio cigano!

O Dantas saberá gramática, saberá sintaxe, saberá medicina, saberá fazer ceias pra cardeais, saberá tudo menos escrever que é a única coisa que ele faz!

O Dantas pesca tanto de poesia que até faz sonetos com ligas de duquesas!

O Dantas é um habilidoso!

O Dantas veste-se mal!

O Dantas usa ceroulas de malha!

O Dantas especula e inocula os concubinos!

O Dantas é Dantas!

O Dantas é Júlio!

Morra o Dantas, morra! Pim!

O Dantas fez uma soror Mariana que tanto o podia ser como a soror Inês ou a Inês de Castro, ou a Leonor Teles, ou o Mestre d'Avis, ou a Dona Constança, ou a Nau Catrineta, ou a Maria Rapaz!

E o Dantas teve claque! E o Dantas teve palmas! E o Dantas agradeceu!

O Dantas é um ciganão!

Não é preciso ir pró Rossio pra se ser pantomineiro, basta ser-se pantomineiro!

Não é preciso disfarçar-se pra se ser salteador, basta escrever como o Dantas! Basta não ter escrúpulos nem morais, nem artísticos, nem humanos! Basta andar com as modas, com as políticas e com as opiniões! Basta usar o tal sorrisinho, basta ser muito delicado, e usar coco e olhos meigos! Basta ser Judas! Basta ser Dantas!

Morra o Dantas, morra! Pim!

[Excerto] Texto integral em http://www.triplov.com/almada_negreiros/anti_dantas.htm

Bob Dylan, "The Times They Are A-Changin'"

Come gather 'round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You'll be drenched to the bone
If your time to you
Is worth savin'
Then you better start swimmin'
Or you'll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin'.

Come writers and critics
Who prophesize with your pen
And keep your eyes wide
The chance won't come again
And don't speak too soon
For the wheel's still in spin
And there's no tellin' who
That it's namin'
For the loser now
Will be later to win
For the times they are a-changin'.

Come senators, congressmen
Please heed the call
Don't stand in the doorway
Don't block up the hall
For he that gets hurt
Will be he who has stalled
There's a battle outside
And it is ragin'
It'll soon shake your windows
And rattle your walls
For the times they are a-changin'.

Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don't criticize
What you can't understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is
Rapidly agin'
Please get out of the new one
If you can't lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin'.

The line it is drawn
The curse it is cast
The slow one now
Will later be fast
As the present now
Will later be past
The order is
Rapidly fadin'
And the first one now
Will later be last
For the times they are a-changin'.

Bob Dylan (1964). The Times They Are A-Changin'. Retrieved November 2011, from http://www.lyricsfreak.com/b/bob+dylan/the+times+they+are+a+changin_20021240.html

Bob Dylan - The Times they are A-changin' -1965