The Jesus and Mary Chain have chosen for this epic masterpiece the name that best 'explains the extraordinarily history of their music in my life and the history of their music.
If this was clearly a common gift, I would not be here to fretting in front of the blank screen of a laptop ( I've never thought I'd say Those words - cit.) Fail to explain what the series of concerts will put in the next month: dEUS, Sigur Ros, Lemonheads, Lightning Bolt, Nouvelle Vague and Mercury Rev (but even if I had wanted to see, three years ago), taking out the Cansei de Ser Sexy as October 27 (omitted), I Ladytron at Lux and Thievery Corporation because it overlapped with dEUS, Barman and the fork I chose the first nanosecond of doubt, they could catch the Porcupine Tree (nientepopodimento) but being that this is going to Almada during the week, it wobbles, it lacks a little less than 30 degrees on September 28, the film lacks what I've seen and will see these days (Orson Welles marathon this afternoon), what is lacking Sporting to lose matches like last night.
is that I had always wanted to talk about things, giving harmony to paint reality, romantic decadence, enormous efforts in gestures dictated by pure feelings, the only worthy of being called human, even if lying was necessary to give Nadais involvement, or Nuno Ribeiro, when he talks about football.
To explain, for example, because the jam has a heart more 'big that of chocolate.
What, then, that happened to me, where I lost the desire, strength, above all the courage to tell it? To decorate what I feel and what I see? The apparent clarity, pepper, intriguing, eloquent phrases sums of accidents? I've lost too many lessons of that science, which no one, guiltily, he writhes, which studies the explanation of concepts.
I would not suffer the consequences too, I know that living in Portugal to look for a stop or cause-effect logic in the events, but I was interrogated at length, for example, last night, what could be called a pair of lovers who sat two tables after the mine in a dark room and the Bolshevik and that I could see through the cracks that bystanders side created naturally discussing among themselves, kissed, slapped you, you ribaciavano, she tried to kiss him, he avoids it, then ducked her and then ribaciavano. Keep talking. Complicated, controversial, intricate, so as to have a lot of charm, but until recently the dialogues of the two of them were clearly heard by my imagination, I now it is quite difficult. As I
becomes difficult, as I know, find the conversation with an elderly barber entertained in one of the historic streets of Lisbon from the windows yellowed, the designs in copper enamel of their windows, the wooden architecture austere but comfortable 70 Interior, in which stands a huge fan of the wall and fixed seats upholstered in dark brown, I noticed, sitting on the bench in front of the sidewalk, a certain irony of the customer. I would not have succeeded Salazar almost hard to imagine a defense of the haughty old man, as the barber who emigrated from the poor north, the province of Bragança, perhaps, was an unseemly effort to contain the evil that wanted to blow up his mouth, he in life has always voted communist, and that when he heard of the strikes of '68 ever wondered when the nightmare would end, and when did life would be miserable in his Lusitania. He loved a girl Ana Rita was called at that time, if he remembers his red hair when he was still the boy Zé Felipe Rua do Almada, and she went up and down twice a day until Calçada do Combro. Elder
customer rather thought that his father had just bought the estate of Evora, in those days, and weekends spent in walking to the wheat fields with the niece of the ambassador of Canada, but now without the damn stick, even managed to reach the cave out of this grim time barber.
had the clarity of the imagination, I would not be here to question me, wondering what on earth is to think, what ever should fail, what ever invented for refuge yet.
will be the language, will be a little 'inviolability of endemic that is strengthened in comparison with a different world.
Pero 'I feel more and more' distant from what 'I wanted to be.
Saramago has taught us that life is eternal supercazzola.
Write it on my grave.
