domingo, 17 de agosto de 2008

ao homem dos tamancos


A solidão dos além mares bate a minha porta. Repercurso. Revontade. ReJulia.


Em um momento bem menininha, bem diário virtual, posto uma canção:
****
You must have fallen from the sky
Glen Hansard & Marketa Irglova




"You must have fallen from the sky

You must have shattered on the wrong way

You brought so many to the light

And now you're by yourself

There comes a point in every fight

Where giving up seems the only way

When everyone has said goodbye

And now you're on your own

And if you need somewhere to fall apart

Somewhere to fall apart.

When the rules of Cain

The rights you made

The hours did crawl

For those to blame

The broken glass

The fool that asked

The moving arrow to stop

You must have fallen from the sky

You must have come here in the pouring rain

You took so many through the light

And now you're on your own

And if you need somewhere to fall apart

Somewhere to fall apart.


Well the ruins of man

The bloody rag

Be the fool the bull

The powdered hag

The nights that make

The rattle rag

The wolves that follow the ousted man

The falling star

The way we are Divine

The rules that never ever multiply

You must have fallen from the sky

You must have come here on the wrong way

You came among us every time

But now you're on your own

And if you need somewhere to fall apart

Somewhere to fall apart


Well they call you saint

The basket case

The rules of thumb

You have to break
The raging skull
The rag to the bull
The nails that drag
In either hand
Well I will make
My work of that
I know this place
I know this task
You must have fallen from the sky

****

Quedas, tropeços e a vontade de virar um astro...cruzar os céus, correndo, voando. Vontade de virar um tubérculo, criando raízes fundas, fundas, comendo tudo da terra, entrando na terra, me sujando de terra, aspirando terra. Vontade de virar éter e entorpecer-me de mim mesma e desaparecer em euforia, em êxtase, em ausência.


Vontade de ser espelho, daqueles quebrados, consumindo às gargalhadas 7 anos de azar.



o pacote carregou uma alma quietinha