<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945</id><updated>2011-04-21T16:35:44.291-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Sardas Nas Pálpebras</title><subtitle type='html'>I am un chien andalusia</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>102</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-5836097247567755856</id><published>2008-07-14T02:35:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2008-07-14T02:38:05.772-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Via todos esses vultos e rostos ligados entre si por milhares de relações, cada qual a acudir o outro, a amá-lo, a odiá-lo, a destruí-lo, a pari-lo de novo. (...) E todos esses rostos repousavam, flutuavam, geravam-se mutuamente, esvaíam-se e confundiam-se. &lt;br /&gt;Sidarta [Herman Hesse]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-5836097247567755856?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/5836097247567755856/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=5836097247567755856&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/5836097247567755856'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/5836097247567755856'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2008/07/via-todos-esses-vultos-e-rostos-ligados.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-8073691598210768791</id><published>2008-05-26T00:14:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2008-05-26T00:17:59.556-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Ya las lustrales aguas de la noche me absuelven de los muchos colores y de las muchas formas. Ya en el jardín las aves y los astros exaltan el regreso anhelado de las antiguas normas del sueño y de la sombra. Ya la sombra ha sellado los espejos que copian la ficción de las cosas. Mejor lo dijo Goethe: Lo cercano se aleja. Esas cuatro palabras cifran todo el crepúsculo. En el jardín las rosas dejan de ser las rosas quieren ser la Rosa.  La tarde  Las tardes que serán y las que han sido son una sola, inconcebiblemente.&lt;br /&gt;La joven noche [Borges]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-8073691598210768791?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/8073691598210768791/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=8073691598210768791&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/8073691598210768791'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/8073691598210768791'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2008/05/ya-las-lustrales-aguas-de-la-noche-me.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-1025677228309218187</id><published>2008-05-19T20:00:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-05-26T01:18:45.201-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Tenho uma tigelinha azul que nasceu aqui em casa. Antes, só tinha uma grande ― esta, adquiri já adulta. Deve ter chegado grávida, pois a outra surgiu sem aviso, minúscula, emborcada num canto de prateleira. O mesmo azul transparente, a mesma aba na borda. Estranhei o tamanho a princípio, pois nela não cabia sequer um terço das pipocas que cabiam na outra. Mas como não sou de dar crédito à memória, convenci-me tratar-se da antiga. Afinal, até a aba na borda era idêntica. Para minha surpresa, meses depois encontrei a mãe toda empoeirada dentro de um armário. Procurei a menor e só tirei a prova quando vi as duas na mesa, dispostas lado a lado. Agora elas vivem juntas, uma dentro da outra. Estranho a pequena não ter crescido mais. Deve ser anã, por isso ficou assim tão miúda.&lt;br /&gt;Tigelas azuis transparentes [David Pádua]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-1025677228309218187?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/1025677228309218187/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=1025677228309218187&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/1025677228309218187'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/1025677228309218187'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2008/05/tenho-uma-tigelinha-azul-que-nasceu.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-8414544874152490899</id><published>2008-05-12T12:55:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-05-12T12:59:34.372-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Cada vez gosto mais de ler &lt;a href="http://adobradura.blogspot.com/"target="_blank"&gt;essa moça&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-8414544874152490899?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/8414544874152490899/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=8414544874152490899&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/8414544874152490899'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/8414544874152490899'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2008/05/cada-vez-gosto-mais-de-ler-essa-moa_12.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-7957001138559393610</id><published>2008-03-18T01:54:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-03-18T01:59:03.684-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>... que às vezes se possa dizer que é doce não contradiz sua violência; muitos dizem que o açúcar é doce; mas eu o acho, o açúcar, violento. &lt;br /&gt;[Roland Barthes]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-7957001138559393610?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/7957001138559393610/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=7957001138559393610&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/7957001138559393610'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/7957001138559393610'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2008/03/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-7796484652308409349</id><published>2008-02-05T12:23:00.001-02:00</published><updated>2008-05-19T20:03:20.482-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Então, que seja doce. Repito todas as manhãs, ao abrir as janelas para deixar entrar o sol ou o cinza dos dias, bem assim: que seja doce. Quando há sol, e esse sol bate na minha cara amassada do sono ou da insônia, contemplando as partículas de poeira soltas no ar, feito um pequeno universo, repito sete vezes para dar sorte: que seja doce que seja doce que seja doce e assim por diante. Mas, se alguém me perguntasse o que deverá ser doce, talvez não saiba responder. Tudo é tão vago como se fosse nada.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Os dragões não conhecem o paraíso [Caio Fernando Abreu]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-7796484652308409349?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/7796484652308409349/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=7796484652308409349&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/7796484652308409349'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/7796484652308409349'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2008/02/ento-que-seja-doce.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-8965851809190606194</id><published>2007-12-02T19:47:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2007-12-04T21:36:23.108-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Era uma vez um monstro que desejou ser um homem. Esse era um monstro muito esperto -- e também muito obstinado -- de modo que em pouco tempo já conseguira moldar seu corpo no feitio de um homem. "Agora sou um homem" pensou. E era uma pessoa completa: mesmo os dedos dos pés tinham unhas e ele não esquecera nem daquela carninha vermelha no canto dos olhos nem dos dentes lá de trás.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Parecia mesmo um homem completo. Mas que tipo de homem ele era? Isso ele ainda não sabia. Isso não tinha resolvido. Resolveu então o monstro -- já travestido de homem -- observar os homens. Com sua nova pele misturou-se às pessoas nas ruas e constatou feliz que seu disfarce não era percebido. Pôs-se a estudar os vários tipos de gentes, de modo a decidir qual melhor lhe servisse. "Sou um homem jovem" raciocinou, "não me cabem os modos de um velho ou de uma mulher."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Então, esquecendo-se de que não tinha pais (uma vez que não era uma pessoa de verdade) desejou ser um jovem de quem os pais se orgulhassem. Tornou-se então um amante do conhecimento, aplicou-se aos estudos e se fez um filho exemplar -- ou teria sido um filho exemplar se fosse filho de alguém que não ele mesmo. De todo modo, os mais velhos o admiravam e perguntavam a seus filhos por que não eram como o monstro. Mas os filhos, os jovens, esses não lhe davam importância e riam-se dele. Ele tinha o respeito dos velhos mas ele era um homem jovem e isso não bastava.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Então ele desejou ter amigos. E da mesma maneira que moldara seu corpo monstruoso na forma de um homem, ele agora moldaria seu caráter na forma de um jovem popular. Tornou-se assim festeiro e freqüentador dos mais diversos círculos. Fez inúmeros amigos e conquanto hoje os velhos o considerem má influência, os filhos destes o adoram e procuram sempre sua companhia. Se o monstro tivesse pais, eles estariam desconsolados.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mas um dia também este brinquedo o cansará, como o cansaram outros. Pois antes de ser gente o monstro foi muitas coisas e nenhuma delas o satisfez por muito tempo. Muitas coisas o monstro já foi e muitas coisas será e o que lhe enfada é mesmo ser monstro. Mas destino do monstro é não ser coisa alguma. O destino do monstro é ser monstro.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Um Monstro [Juliana Coelho]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-8965851809190606194?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/8965851809190606194/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=8965851809190606194&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/8965851809190606194'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/8965851809190606194'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2007/12/um-monstro-era-uma-vez-um-monstro-que.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-3054894854616494720</id><published>2007-10-22T13:51:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2007-10-22T13:52:35.323-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>E se me achar esquisita, respeite também, até eu fui obrigada a me respeitar.&lt;br /&gt;[Clarice Lispector]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-3054894854616494720?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/3054894854616494720/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=3054894854616494720&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/3054894854616494720'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/3054894854616494720'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2007/10/e-se-me-achar-esquisita-respeite-tambm.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-6889646516419336632</id><published>2007-10-01T12:02:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2007-10-22T13:36:15.132-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>lo cercano se aleja [Goethe]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-6889646516419336632?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/6889646516419336632/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=6889646516419336632&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/6889646516419336632'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/6889646516419336632'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2007/10/lo-cercano-se-aleja-goethe.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-5943358689833842873</id><published>2007-07-15T23:00:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2007-07-25T13:14:49.471-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Olha só, que cara estranho que chegou&lt;br /&gt;Parece não achar lugar&lt;br /&gt;no corpo em que Deus lhe encarnou&lt;br /&gt;Tropeça a cada quarteirão&lt;br /&gt;não mede a força que já tem&lt;br /&gt;exibe à frente o coração &lt;br /&gt;que não divide com ninguém&lt;br /&gt;Tem tudo sempre às suas mãos&lt;br /&gt;mas leva a cruz um pouco além&lt;br /&gt;talhando feito um artesão &lt;br /&gt;a imagem de um rapaz de bem&lt;br /&gt;Olha ali quem está pedindo aprovação&lt;br /&gt;Não sabe nem pra onde ir &lt;br /&gt;se alguém não aponta a direção&lt;br /&gt;Periga nunca se encontrar&lt;br /&gt;Será que ele vai perceber &lt;br /&gt;que foge sempre do lugar&lt;br /&gt;deixando o ódio se esconder&lt;br /&gt;Talvez se nunca mais tentar &lt;br /&gt;viver o cara da TV&lt;br /&gt;que vence a briga sem suar&lt;br /&gt;e ganha aplausos sem querer&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Faz parte desse jogo&lt;br /&gt;dizer ao mundo todo&lt;br /&gt;que só conhece o seu quinhão ruim&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;É simples desse jeito&lt;br /&gt;quando se encolhe o peito&lt;br /&gt;e finge não haver competição&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;É a solução de quem não quer&lt;br /&gt;perder aquilo que já tem&lt;br /&gt;e fecha a mão pro que há de vir&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cara Estranho [Marcelo Camelo]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-5943358689833842873?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/5943358689833842873/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=5943358689833842873&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/5943358689833842873'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/5943358689833842873'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2007/07/olha-s-que-cara-estranho-que-chegou.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-5874770254526900462</id><published>2007-06-12T12:21:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2007-06-12T12:23:49.129-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Look into my eyes &lt;br /&gt;You see trouble every day &lt;br /&gt;It’s on the inside of me &lt;br /&gt;So don’t try to understand &lt;br /&gt;I get on the inside fo you &lt;br /&gt;You can blow all away &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Such a slightest breath &lt;br /&gt;And I know who I am &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Look into my eyes &lt;br /&gt;Hear the words I can’t say &lt;br /&gt;Words that defy &lt;br /&gt;And they scream it out loud &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get on the inside of you &lt;br /&gt;You can wave it all away &lt;br /&gt;Such a slightest thing &lt;br /&gt;It’s just the rise of your hand &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And there’s trouble every day &lt;br /&gt;There’s trouble every day &lt;br /&gt;There’s trouble every day &lt;br /&gt;There’s trouble every day &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I want you back &lt;br /&gt;I could get away &lt;br /&gt;Before the sunshine leaves your eye &lt;br /&gt;But I need to know &lt;br /&gt;How to find a place &lt;br /&gt;Before the days become nights &lt;br /&gt;Before the years become lies &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And there’s trouble every day &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know that I love again &lt;br /&gt;Please make it start again &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There’s trouble every day &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know that I’ll always hear &lt;br /&gt;The words that you never say &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There’s trouble every day &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This time it’s startling me &lt;br /&gt;The words I can never say &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There’s trouble every day &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know that I’ll always hear &lt;br /&gt;The words that you never say &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Look into my eyes &lt;br /&gt;Hear the words I can’t say &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know that I’ll always hear &lt;br /&gt;The words that you never say&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Trouble Every Day [Tindersticks]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-5874770254526900462?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/5874770254526900462/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=5874770254526900462&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/5874770254526900462'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/5874770254526900462'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2007/06/look-into-my-eyes-you-see-trouble-every.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-117494377530850593</id><published>2007-03-26T19:14:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2007-05-31T20:46:54.906-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"Hoje o chão passa rápido e perto do futuro me distancio daqui pra lembrar que estarei no amanhã.&lt;br /&gt;A memória resiste ao que o tempo insiste em acabar.&lt;br /&gt;Quem se lembra, quem se lembra onde queria chegar?&lt;br /&gt;Ninguém sabe, ninguém sabe onde tudo vai dar."&lt;br /&gt;Faz Tempo [Nação Zumbi]&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-117494377530850593?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/117494377530850593/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=117494377530850593&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/117494377530850593'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/117494377530850593'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2007/03/hoje-o-cho-passa-rpido-e-perto-do.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-114926574039165743</id><published>2006-06-02T13:27:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2006-06-02T13:29:00.403-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Não entendo de sonhos, mas uma vez anotei um que me parecia, mesmo sem eu o &lt;br /&gt;entender, querer me dizer alguma coisa.&lt;br /&gt;Como eu fechara a porta ao sair, ao voltar esta se tinha emendado nas paredes e já estava até com os contornos apagados. Entre procurá-los tateando pelas paredes sem &lt;br /&gt;marcas, ou cavar outra entrada, pareceu-me menos trabalhoso cavar. Foi o que fiz, &lt;br /&gt;procurando abrir uma passagem. Mal porém foi rachada a primeira abertura, percebi &lt;br /&gt;que por ali nunca ninguém tinha entrado. Era a primeira porta de alguém. E, embora &lt;br /&gt;essa estreita entrada fosse na mesma casa, vi a casa como não a conhecia antes. E &lt;br /&gt;meu quarto era como o interior de um cubo. Só agora eu percebia que antes vivera &lt;br /&gt;dentro de um cubo.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;O Sonho [Clarice Lispector]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-114926574039165743?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/114926574039165743/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=114926574039165743&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/114926574039165743'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/114926574039165743'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2006/06/no-entendo-de-sonhos-mas-uma-vez.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-114540325201917224</id><published>2006-04-18T20:31:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2006-04-18T20:34:12.030-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"O riso descompassou a respiração, desinflou as narinas, tropeçou o passo duro, agora não mais duro só um passo, normal."&lt;br /&gt;Só Porque Sim [Gedilha]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-114540325201917224?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/114540325201917224/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=114540325201917224&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/114540325201917224'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/114540325201917224'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2006/04/o-riso-descompassou-respirao-desinflou.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-114481327561104960</id><published>2006-04-12T00:38:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2006-04-13T19:45:17.386-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-114481327561104960?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/114481327561104960/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=114481327561104960&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/114481327561104960'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/114481327561104960'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2006/04/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-113926488921018857</id><published>2006-02-06T20:23:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2006-02-06T20:28:09.220-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Yes&lt;br /&gt;[Mc Almont and Butler]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-113926488921018857?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/113926488921018857/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=113926488921018857&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/113926488921018857'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/113926488921018857'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2006/02/yes-mc-almont-and-butler.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-113709762837273358</id><published>2006-01-12T18:25:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2006-01-12T18:27:08.373-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>" O musgo recobre o salgueiro como couro.&lt;br /&gt;  O manto dos Ogilvie é puro ouro."&lt;br /&gt;The honour of Israel Gow [Gilbert K. Chesterton]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-113709762837273358?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/113709762837273358/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=113709762837273358&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/113709762837273358'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/113709762837273358'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2006/01/o-musgo-recobre-o-salgueiro-como-couro.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-113648356795122405</id><published>2006-01-05T15:51:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2006-01-12T18:24:40.080-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I was dancing when I was twelve&lt;br /&gt;I was dancing when I was aaah&lt;br /&gt;I danced myself right out the womb&lt;br /&gt;Is it strange to dance so soon&lt;br /&gt;I danced myself right out the womb&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was dancing when I was eighty&lt;br /&gt;Is it strange to dance so late&lt;br /&gt;I danced myself into the tomb&lt;br /&gt;Is it strange to dance so soon&lt;br /&gt;I danced myself into the tomb&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is it wrong to understand&lt;br /&gt;The fear that dwells inside a man&lt;br /&gt;What's it like to be a loon&lt;br /&gt;I liken it to a balloon&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I danced myself out of the womb&lt;br /&gt;Is it strange to dance so soon&lt;br /&gt;I danced myself into the tomb&lt;br /&gt;But when again once more&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I danced myself out of the womb&lt;br /&gt;Is it strange to dance so soon&lt;br /&gt;I danced myself out of the womb&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;COSMIC DANCER [T-Rex]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-113648356795122405?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/113648356795122405/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=113648356795122405&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/113648356795122405'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/113648356795122405'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2006/01/i-was-dancing-when-i-was-twelve-i-was.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-113622221404090355</id><published>2006-01-02T15:16:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2006-01-02T15:20:05.926-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.pontuais.blogspot.com" target="_blank"&gt;Pontuais&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-113622221404090355?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/113622221404090355/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=113622221404090355&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/113622221404090355'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/113622221404090355'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2006/01/pontuais.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-113580425373295520</id><published>2005-12-28T19:09:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2005-12-28T19:41:49.886-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>" O pensamento tem sempre sua eficácia e todo incidente admirável, sua moral."&lt;br /&gt;Wakefield [Nathaniel Hawthorne]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-113580425373295520?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/113580425373295520/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=113580425373295520&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/113580425373295520'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/113580425373295520'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/12/o-pensamento-tem-sempre-sua-eficcia-e.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-113528396597724808</id><published>2005-12-22T18:37:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2005-12-22T18:39:25.993-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"So I went out&lt;br /&gt;To find out what I was looking for&lt;br /&gt;Found the key&lt;br /&gt;The key to all the doors."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Smile [Telepopmusik]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-113528396597724808?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/113528396597724808/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=113528396597724808&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/113528396597724808'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/113528396597724808'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/12/so-i-went-out-to-find-out-what-i-was.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-113467607523783942</id><published>2005-12-15T17:44:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2005-12-15T17:47:55.246-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>" Era a hora em que o lusco-fusco abraça a Terra. Era a hora em que as coisas mais disparatadas ganham significado, as árvores superam em majestade a pompa dos monarcas e as criaturas tímidas furtam seu alimento; e os predadores ainda se entregam aos sonhos, inofensivos, a Terra emite um suspiro e é noite."&lt;br /&gt;Carcassonne [Lord Dunsany]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-113467607523783942?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/113467607523783942/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=113467607523783942&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/113467607523783942'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/113467607523783942'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/12/era-hora-em-que-o-lusco-fusco-abraa.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-113397533538877843</id><published>2005-12-07T15:05:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2005-12-07T15:08:55.386-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"Para qualquer coisa: consulte um músico."&lt;br /&gt;[Desconhecido do Mercado São José]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-113397533538877843?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/113397533538877843/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=113397533538877843&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/113397533538877843'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/113397533538877843'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/12/para-qualquer-coisa-consulte-um-msico.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-113397504394282792</id><published>2005-12-07T14:56:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2005-12-07T15:04:03.956-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"Dizem que sua casa em Arn era alta e desmedida, com o teto pintado de azul; e , ao cair da noite, subia-se em escadas para acender as miríades de velas penduradas em finas cadeias."&lt;br /&gt;Carcassonne [Lord Dunsany]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-113397504394282792?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/113397504394282792/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=113397504394282792&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/113397504394282792'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/113397504394282792'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/12/dizem-que-sua-casa-em-arn-era-alta-e.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-113260145671925976</id><published>2005-11-21T17:28:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2005-11-21T17:30:56.730-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Tá cansada, senta.&lt;br /&gt;Se acredita, tenta.&lt;br /&gt;Se tá frio, esquenta.&lt;br /&gt;Se tá fora, entra.&lt;br /&gt;Se pediu, agüenta.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Se sujou, cai fora.&lt;br /&gt;Se dá pé, namora.&lt;br /&gt;Tá doendo, chora.&lt;br /&gt;Tá caindo, escora.&lt;br /&gt;Não tá bom, melhora.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Se aperta, grite.&lt;br /&gt;Se tá chato, agite.&lt;br /&gt;Se não tem, credite.&lt;br /&gt;Se foi falta, apite.&lt;br /&gt;Se não é, imite.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Se é do mato, amanse.&lt;br /&gt;Trabalhou, descanse.&lt;br /&gt;Se tem festa, dance.&lt;br /&gt;Se tá longe, alcance.&lt;br /&gt;Use tua chance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Se tá puto, quebre.&lt;br /&gt;Tá feliz, requebre.&lt;br /&gt;Se venceu, celebre.&lt;br /&gt;Se tá velho, alquebre.&lt;br /&gt;E corra atrás da lebre.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Se perdeu, procure.&lt;br /&gt;Se é seu, segure.&lt;br /&gt;Se tá mal, se cure.&lt;br /&gt;Se é verdade, jure.&lt;br /&gt;Quer saber, apure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Se sobrou, congele.&lt;br /&gt;Se não vai, cancele.&lt;br /&gt;Se é inocente, apele.&lt;br /&gt;Escravo, se rebele.&lt;br /&gt;Nunca se atropele.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Se escreveu, remeta.&lt;br /&gt;Engrossou, se meta.&lt;br /&gt;Quer dever, prometa.&lt;br /&gt;Pra moldar, derreta.&lt;br /&gt;E não se submeta.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do it [Lenine]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-113260145671925976?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/113260145671925976/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=113260145671925976&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/113260145671925976'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/113260145671925976'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/11/t-cansada-senta.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-113234644252604871</id><published>2005-11-18T18:32:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2005-11-18T18:40:42.536-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"...rostros que realmente son máscaras..."&lt;br /&gt;Cierva de un sólo lado [J.L.Borges]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Nunca saberemos o que é uma parede, uma faca, uma fonte, uma tartaruga, porque delas só temos a imagem (uma percepção sensorial) e a idéia (uma abstração intelectual), ou seja, máscaras, interfaces com as quais dialogamos sem saber se algo mais se esconde por trás delas."&lt;br /&gt;Posfácio de Contos Fantásticos no Labirinto de Borges [Braulio Tavares]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-113234644252604871?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/113234644252604871/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=113234644252604871&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/113234644252604871'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/113234644252604871'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/11/blog-post_18.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-113209410399710522</id><published>2005-11-15T20:26:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2005-11-15T20:35:04.006-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Vou fazer a louvação&lt;br /&gt;Louvação, louvação&lt;br /&gt;Do que deve ser louvado&lt;br /&gt;Ser louvado, ser louvado&lt;br /&gt;Meu povo, preste atenção&lt;br /&gt;Atenção, atenção&lt;br /&gt;Repare se estou errado&lt;br /&gt;Louvando o que bem merece&lt;br /&gt;Deixo o que é ruim de lado&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;Louvo quem espera sabendo&lt;br /&gt;Que pra melhor esperar&lt;br /&gt;Procede bem quem não pára&lt;br /&gt;De sempre mais trabalhar&lt;br /&gt;Que só espera sentado&lt;br /&gt;Quem se acha conformado&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vou fazendo a louvação&lt;br /&gt;Louvação, louvação&lt;br /&gt;Do que deve ser louvado&lt;br /&gt;Ser louvado, ser louvado&lt;br /&gt;Quem estiver me escutando&lt;br /&gt;Atenção, atenção&lt;br /&gt;Que me escute com cuidado&lt;br /&gt;Louvando o que bem merece&lt;br /&gt;Deixo o que é ruim de lado&lt;br /&gt;Louvo agora e louvo sempre&lt;br /&gt;O que grande sempre é&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;Louvo a amizade do amigo&lt;br /&gt;Que comigo há de morrer&lt;br /&gt;Louvo a vida merecida&lt;br /&gt;De quem morre pra viver&lt;br /&gt;Louvo a luta repetida&lt;br /&gt;Da vida pra não morrer&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vou fazendo a louvação&lt;br /&gt;Louvação, louvação&lt;br /&gt;Do que deve ser louvado&lt;br /&gt;Ser louvado, ser louvado&lt;br /&gt;De todos peço atenção&lt;br /&gt;Atenção, atenção&lt;br /&gt;Falo de peito lavado&lt;br /&gt;Louvando o que bem merece&lt;br /&gt;Deixo o que é ruim de lado&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;Louvo o jardim que se planta&lt;br /&gt;Pra ver crescer a roseira&lt;br /&gt;Louvo a canção que se canta&lt;br /&gt;Pra chamar a primavera&lt;br /&gt;Louvo quem canta e não canta&lt;br /&gt;Porque não sabe cantar&lt;br /&gt;Mas que cantará na certa&lt;br /&gt;Quando enfim se apresentar&lt;br /&gt;O dia certo e preciso&lt;br /&gt;De toda a gente cantar&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E assim fiz a louvação&lt;br /&gt;Louvação, louvação&lt;br /&gt;Do que vi pra ser louvado&lt;br /&gt;Ser louvado, ser louvado&lt;br /&gt;Se me ouviram com atenção&lt;br /&gt;Atenção, atenção&lt;br /&gt;Saberão se estive errado&lt;br /&gt;Louvando o que bem merece&lt;br /&gt;Deixando o ruim de lado &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Louvação [Gilberto Gil/Torquato Neto]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-113209410399710522?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/113209410399710522/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=113209410399710522&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/113209410399710522'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/113209410399710522'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/11/vou-fazer-louvao-louvao-louvao-do-que.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-113139395764032310</id><published>2005-11-07T16:34:00.001-02:00</published><updated>2005-11-07T18:07:19.446-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Eu vou ouvir uma música assim:&lt;br /&gt;Que expurgue água e verme&lt;br /&gt;Que zuna um ruido leve&lt;br /&gt;Que zombe a rua do eco&lt;br /&gt;Que eu perca de cor&lt;br /&gt;Que se preste ao calor&lt;br /&gt;Que me faça calar&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Uma que sirva na luz&lt;br /&gt;da manhã de domingo&lt;br /&gt;E que o domingo seja agora&lt;br /&gt;E que agora não demore&lt;br /&gt;Domingo, demais.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[Eliza Alves]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-113139395764032310?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/113139395764032310/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=113139395764032310&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/113139395764032310'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/113139395764032310'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/11/eu-vou-ouvir-uma-msica-assim-que.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-113139015888205483</id><published>2005-11-05T16:34:00.001-02:00</published><updated>2005-11-07T17:56:40.403-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>1- O põe.tu de parto.ída&lt;br /&gt;Quando você olhar para algum corpo que não seja tão perfeito.&lt;br /&gt;Olhe direito, pois todo olhar contém seu defeito.&lt;br /&gt;É estranho, né? Mas a realidade é que ninguém sabe o verdadeiro conceito de um preconceito.&lt;br /&gt;Já imaginou se algum dia num final de tarde, alguém chegar ao seu lado , bem devagarzinho e lhe falar bem baixinho. O quanto você é feio? Você vai chorar? Vai cantar? Vai se rebolar ou pedir penico?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2- A mente.ira&lt;br /&gt;Olhar e não enxergar cansa.&lt;br /&gt;Eu acredito na simplicidade do ser humano que vive à procura da verdade, que se embola, fede, crê ou pede esmola e que nas tardes de domingo se reúne com a galera para jogar bola. Uma personalidade bem mais sólida.&lt;br /&gt;Mas é isso aí macho rei, deixa para lá. A máscara, a mentira e o cansaço, todos fazem parte de sua vida como uma ferida, conviva com isso, mas não me incomode. Por que eu estou na paz, eu só quero a paz e neste momento só te peço que me esqueças.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cidadão Instigado [Fernando Catatau]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-113139015888205483?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/113139015888205483/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=113139015888205483&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/113139015888205483'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/113139015888205483'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/11/1-o-pe_05.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-113096033085550199</id><published>2005-11-02T17:35:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2005-11-02T17:44:30.396-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Achei que estava deixando o menino entediado. &lt;br /&gt;Disse que precisava dar uma passada no banheiro, me mostre onde fica, boy. &lt;br /&gt;Segunda porta à esquerda. &lt;br /&gt;Fiquei alguns minutos sentada no vaso, hipnotizada pelos sapatos vermelhos. &lt;br /&gt;Talvez muito arrumados pra ocasião. &lt;br /&gt;É pena, eu sei, esperava uma outra atmosfera. &lt;br /&gt;Nada de salão branco com grandes bolas decorativas. &lt;br /&gt;Nada de calça tweed, nem Martini. Je suis desolée. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quando saí do corredor, o menino me esperava de pé em seu suéter. &lt;br /&gt;As mãos nos bolsos da calça. &lt;br /&gt;O nervosismo estampado. &lt;br /&gt;Então, vamos? &lt;br /&gt;Ele falou sem jeito, feito os meninos de 17 anos que colecionam peixes em aquário. Me veio um branco total. &lt;br /&gt;Não me lembrava mais o motivo daquela visita, o quê diabos eu estava fazendo na casa do menino, de onde nos conhecíamos, será que ele esperava que eu lecionasse francês e literatura? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Recolhi a minha bolsa de paetês no sofá e lhe dei um beijo na bochecha. &lt;br /&gt;Preciso ir. &lt;br /&gt;Me leve até a porta, boy. &lt;br /&gt;Cara de pastel, mané, bocó, gente que não come abobrinha. &lt;br /&gt;Vamos, boy, não seja mal educado e me leve até a porta. &lt;br /&gt;Sorri doce e cinicamente. &lt;br /&gt;Tchauzinho pelo vidro do elevador. &lt;br /&gt;Não suporto essa acne dos rapazes. &lt;br /&gt;Adeus, boy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[Alice Sant'Anna]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-113096033085550199?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/113096033085550199/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=113096033085550199&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/113096033085550199'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/113096033085550199'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/11/achei-que-estava-deixando-o-menino.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-113019696347428670</id><published>2005-10-24T21:34:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2005-10-24T21:36:03.480-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Leve na lembrança&lt;br /&gt;A singela melodia que eu fiz&lt;br /&gt;Pra ti, ó bem amada&lt;br /&gt;Princesa, olhos d'água&lt;br /&gt;Menina da lua&lt;br /&gt;Quero te ver clara&lt;br /&gt;Clareando a noite intensa deste amor&lt;br /&gt;O céu é teu sorriso&lt;br /&gt;No branco do teu rosto&lt;br /&gt;A irradiar ternura&lt;br /&gt;Quero que desprendas&lt;br /&gt;De qualquer temor que sintas&lt;br /&gt;Tens o teu escudo&lt;br /&gt;O teu tear&lt;br /&gt;Tens na mão, querida&lt;br /&gt;A semente&lt;br /&gt;De uma flor que inspira um beijo ardente&lt;br /&gt;Um convite para amar &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Menina da Lua [Renato Mota]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-113019696347428670?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/113019696347428670/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=113019696347428670&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/113019696347428670'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/113019696347428670'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/10/leve-na-lembrana-singela-melodia-que.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-112630106374131573</id><published>2005-09-09T18:22:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-09-09T18:24:23.746-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>You can have it all [Yo La Tengo]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-112630106374131573?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/112630106374131573/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=112630106374131573&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/112630106374131573'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/112630106374131573'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/09/you-can-have-it-all-yo-la-tengo.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-112604396906553168</id><published>2005-09-06T18:57:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-09-06T18:59:29.070-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Será que é o tempo que lhe falta pra perceber?&lt;br /&gt;Será que temos esse tempo pra perder?&lt;br /&gt;E quem quer saber?&lt;br /&gt;A vida é tão rara &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mesmo quando tudo pede um pouco mais de calma&lt;br /&gt;Mesmo quando o corpo pede um pouco mais de alma&lt;br /&gt;Eu sei, a vida não para&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Será que é tempo que me falta pra perceber?&lt;br /&gt;Será que temos esse tempo pra perder?&lt;br /&gt;E quem quer saber?&lt;br /&gt;A vida é tão rara&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mesmo quando tudo pede um pouco mais de calma&lt;br /&gt;Até quando o corpo pede um pouco mais de alma&lt;br /&gt;Eu sei, a vida não para&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Paciência [Lenine]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-112604396906553168?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/112604396906553168/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=112604396906553168&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/112604396906553168'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/112604396906553168'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/09/ser-que-o-tempo-que-lhe-falta-pra.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-112550593103575316</id><published>2005-08-29T23:57:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-08-31T13:32:11.036-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"Eu sei que o mundo pode acabar em grande hecatombe nuclear.&lt;br /&gt;Não vai me atingir.&lt;br /&gt;Meu quarto de dormir é um planeta muito distante na galáxia perdida que é a rua&lt;br /&gt;onde moro, na constelação sem rumo da cidade onde eu vivo."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[Jarbas Medeiros]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-112550593103575316?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/112550593103575316/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=112550593103575316&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/112550593103575316'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/112550593103575316'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/08/eu-sei-que-o-mundo-pode-acabar-em_29.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-112419958335023426</id><published>2005-08-16T10:37:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-08-16T10:39:43.356-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"...existe pois uma relação estreita entre as flores e os forçados. A fragilidade, a delicadeza das primeiras são da mesma natureza que a brutal insensibilidade dos outros. Se eu tiver de representar um forçado __ ou um criminoso __ irei enfeitá-lo com tantas flores que ele mesmo, desaparecendo debaixo delas, há de parecer uma outra, gigante, nova."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Diário de um Ladrão [Jean Genet]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-112419958335023426?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/112419958335023426/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=112419958335023426&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/112419958335023426'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/112419958335023426'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/08/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-112368052440738904</id><published>2005-08-10T10:26:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-08-10T10:28:44.413-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Aprendi quando criança que além de tudo&lt;br /&gt;Balança&lt;br /&gt;Esse nosso mundo cão&lt;br /&gt;Aprendi que quem não dança, já dançou na sua infância&lt;br /&gt;Senão rock foi baião&lt;br /&gt;Aprendi da importância de não dar muita importância&lt;br /&gt;Ficar com os meus pés no chão&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;Aprendi que a desavença é por que sempre&lt;br /&gt;Alguém pensa &lt;br /&gt;Que ninguém mais tem razão&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;Aprendi que tudo passa, tomando chá ou cachaça&lt;br /&gt;Tomando champanhe ou não&lt;br /&gt;Aprendi que a descrença, a desconfiança e a doença&lt;br /&gt;São partes da maldição&lt;br /&gt;Aprendi que a ignorância, a sordidez e a ganância&lt;br /&gt;São lavas desse vulcão&lt;br /&gt;Aprendi que essa fumaça a minha janela embaça&lt;br /&gt;Por fora, por dentro, não.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aprendiz de feiticeiro [Itamar Assumpção]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-112368052440738904?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/112368052440738904/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=112368052440738904&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/112368052440738904'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/112368052440738904'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/08/aprendi-quando-criana-que-alm-de-tudo.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-112336022556900447</id><published>2005-08-06T17:27:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-08-09T00:21:47.913-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Mas o mais importante, o que não dá pra fazer de jeito nenhum é pensar demais. Quem pensa demais sobre gente só viaja, se preocupa e inventa um monte de motivos malucos e coisas malucas que vai começar a pensar que a outra pessoa está fazendo ou pensando. Além disso, todos que teorizam que o ser humano é uma rede muito complexa e intrincada de motivos são idiotas. Certo que nossas atitudes são complicadas, às vezes, mas por trás de toda teia de atitudes complicadas, se você conseguir procurar certo, vai achar um motivo simples e um desejo simples, vaidade, prazer, atração, rejeição, culpa, frustração, tesão, essas coisas. Não tem erro.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://pisandro.blogspot.com/2005/08/em-se-tratando-de-gente.html" target="_blank"&gt;Em se tratando de gente (Cristovam)&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-112336022556900447?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/112336022556900447/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=112336022556900447&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/112336022556900447'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/112336022556900447'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/08/mas-o-mais-importante-o-que-no-d-pra.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-112290963582039023</id><published>2005-08-01T12:19:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-08-01T12:22:13.770-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>On a thousand islands in the sea&lt;br /&gt;I see a thousand people just like me&lt;br /&gt;A hundred unions in the snow&lt;br /&gt;I watch them walking, falling in a row&lt;br /&gt;Will it always underground&lt;br /&gt;It's going to be so quiet in here tonight&lt;br /&gt;A thousand islands in the sea&lt;br /&gt;It's a shame&lt;br /&gt;And a hundred years ago&lt;br /&gt;A sailor trod this ground I stood upon&lt;br /&gt;Take me away everyone&lt;br /&gt;When it looks down&lt;br /&gt;From my head to my toes&lt;br /&gt;From the words in the book&lt;br /&gt;I see a vision that would bring me luck&lt;br /&gt;From my head to my toes&lt;br /&gt;To my teeth, through my nose&lt;br /&gt;You get these words wrong&lt;br /&gt;Everytime&lt;br /&gt;You get these words wrong&lt;br /&gt;I just smile&lt;br /&gt;But from my head to my toes&lt;br /&gt;From my knees to my eyes&lt;br /&gt;Everytime I watch the sky&lt;br /&gt;For these last few days leave me alone&lt;br /&gt;But for these last few days leave me alone&lt;br /&gt;Leave me alone&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Leave me alone [New Order]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-112290963582039023?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/112290963582039023/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=112290963582039023&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/112290963582039023'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/112290963582039023'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/08/on-thousand-islands-in-sea-i-see.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-112204843403491193</id><published>2005-07-22T13:05:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-07-22T13:07:14.040-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>until she comes again&lt;br /&gt;i can hear the things she said&lt;br /&gt;i feel no thoughts to move my head&lt;br /&gt;until she comes again&lt;br /&gt;and with her step, i move my feet&lt;br /&gt;and with her hand, i feel my skin&lt;br /&gt;and with her need, i find i'm saved&lt;br /&gt;and with her dreams, i'm laid&lt;br /&gt;until she comes again&lt;br /&gt;the sun goes out and night comes in&lt;br /&gt;the time goes round and day grows dim&lt;br /&gt;until she comes again&lt;br /&gt;and with her step, i move my feet&lt;br /&gt;and with her hand, i feel my skin&lt;br /&gt;and with her need, i find i'm saved&lt;br /&gt;and with her dreams, i'm laid&lt;br /&gt;until she comes&lt;br /&gt;until she comes&lt;br /&gt;until she comes again&lt;br /&gt;with all my savings and my sins&lt;br /&gt;there's no good reason to begin&lt;br /&gt;until she comes again&lt;br /&gt;and with her step, i move my feet&lt;br /&gt;and with her hand, i feel my skin&lt;br /&gt;and with her need, i find i'm saved&lt;br /&gt;and with her dreams, i'm laid&lt;br /&gt;until she comes&lt;br /&gt;until she comes&lt;br /&gt;until she comes again&lt;br /&gt;with all her dreams tied in her hand&lt;br /&gt;there is no why to understand &lt;br /&gt;until she comes again&lt;br /&gt;until she comes again&lt;br /&gt;the sun goes out and night comes in&lt;br /&gt;the time goes round&lt;br /&gt;and day grows dim&lt;br /&gt;until she comes again&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until She Comes [The Psychedelic Furs]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-112204843403491193?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/112204843403491193/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=112204843403491193&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/112204843403491193'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/112204843403491193'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/07/until-she-comes-again-i-can-hear.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-112160831535166760</id><published>2005-07-17T10:50:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-07-17T10:52:38.580-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://pisandro.blogspot.com/2005/07/bilhetes.html" target="_blank"&gt;Bilhetes&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-112160831535166760?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/112160831535166760/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=112160831535166760&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/112160831535166760'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/112160831535166760'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/07/bilhetes.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-112109807966824672</id><published>2005-07-11T13:05:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-07-11T13:07:59.673-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Turn off your mind, relax and float down stream,&lt;br /&gt;It is not dying, it is not dying&lt;br /&gt;Lay down all thoughts, surrender to the void,&lt;br /&gt;It is shining, it is shining.&lt;br /&gt;Yet you may see the meaning of within&lt;br /&gt;It is being, it is being&lt;br /&gt;Love is all and love is everyone&lt;br /&gt;It is knowing, it is knowing&lt;br /&gt;And ignorance and hate may mourn the dead&lt;br /&gt;It is believing, it is believing&lt;br /&gt;But listen to the colour of your dreams&lt;br /&gt;It is not leaving, it is not leaving&lt;br /&gt;So play the game "Existence" to the end&lt;br /&gt;Of the beginning, of the beginning&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tomorrow Never Knows (Lennon/McCartney)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-112109807966824672?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/112109807966824672/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=112109807966824672&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/112109807966824672'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/112109807966824672'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/07/turn-off-your-mind-relax-and-float.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-112059033013227189</id><published>2005-07-05T16:01:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-07-05T16:07:17.116-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"Já não me preocupo&lt;br /&gt;Se eu não sei porquê&lt;br /&gt;Às vezes o que eu vejo&lt;br /&gt;Quase ninguém vê&lt;br /&gt;E eu sei que você sabe&lt;br /&gt;Quase sem querer&lt;br /&gt;Que eu quero o mesmo que você."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quase Sem Querer (Renato Russo)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-112059033013227189?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/112059033013227189/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=112059033013227189&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/112059033013227189'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/112059033013227189'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/07/j-no-me-preocupo-se-eu-no-sei-porqu-s.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-111984396728730697</id><published>2005-06-27T00:41:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-06-27T00:46:07.293-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>And if the snow buries my, my neighboorhood.&lt;br /&gt;And if my parents are crying&lt;br /&gt;Then i'll dig a tunnel from my window to yours,&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, a tunnel from my window to yours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You climb out the chimney,&lt;br /&gt;And meet me in the middle, the middle of the town.&lt;br /&gt;And since there's no one else around,&lt;br /&gt;We let our hair grow long,&lt;br /&gt;And forget all we used to know.&lt;br /&gt;Then our skin gets thicker from Living out in the snow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You change all the lead sleepin' in my head,&lt;br /&gt;as the day grows dim&lt;br /&gt;I hear you sing a golden hymn&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then we tried to name our babies&lt;br /&gt;But we forgot all the names that - The names we used to know.&lt;br /&gt;But sometimes, we remember our bedrooms,&lt;br /&gt;And our parents' bedrooms,&lt;br /&gt;And the bedrooms of our friends.&lt;br /&gt;Then we think of our parents,&lt;br /&gt;Well what ever happened to them?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You change all the lead&lt;br /&gt;Sleepin' in my head to gold,&lt;br /&gt;As the day grows dim,&lt;br /&gt;I hear you sing a golden hymn,&lt;br /&gt;The song i've been trying to say.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Purify the colours, purify my mind.&lt;br /&gt;Purify the colours, purify my mind,&lt;br /&gt;And spread the ashes of the colors,&lt;br /&gt;Over this heart of mine!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels) - The Arcade Fire&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-111984396728730697?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/111984396728730697/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=111984396728730697&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/111984396728730697'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/111984396728730697'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/06/and-if-snow-buries-my-my-neighboorhood.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-111889782967398347</id><published>2005-06-16T01:52:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-06-16T02:02:58.363-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Marie douceur c'est ainsi que tu me surnommes&lt;br /&gt;Tu crois bien sûr me connaître mieux que personne&lt;br /&gt;Marie colère existe aussi fais bien attention&lt;br /&gt;Je te l'ai déjà dit cent mille fois sur tous les tons&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Marie douceur a beaucoup beaucoup de patience&lt;br /&gt;Oui mais un jour tu verras entrer dans la danse&lt;br /&gt;Marie colère avec des éclairs dans les yeux&lt;br /&gt;Je sais lequel aura le plus peur de nous deux&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Marie douceur est avec toi bien trop gentille&lt;br /&gt;Si tu persistes à regarder les autres filles&lt;br /&gt;Marie colère ne sera plus du tout d'accord&lt;br /&gt;Et sautera sur toi toutes griffes dehors&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Marie douceur aime bien chanter des ballades&lt;br /&gt;Mais ne t'y fies pas trop un bon conseil prends garde&lt;br /&gt;Marie colère adore les éclats de voix&lt;br /&gt;Alors choisis entre les autres filles et moi&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Marie douceur c'est ainsi que tu me surnommes&lt;br /&gt;Tu crois bien sûr me connaître mieux que personne&lt;br /&gt;Marie colère est maintenant là devant toi&lt;br /&gt;Marie douceur n'est plus qu'un souvenir déjà&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Marie douceur, Marie colère - Marie Laforêt&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-111889782967398347?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/111889782967398347/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=111889782967398347&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/111889782967398347'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/111889782967398347'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/06/marie-douceur-cest-ainsi-que-tu-me.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-111694874345302499</id><published>2005-05-24T12:22:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-05-24T12:37:13.170-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"O céu estava tão estrelado e luminoso, que ao levantar os olhos para ele era-se levado involuntariamente a perguntar:é possível que sob um céu assim vivam homens irritados e caprichosos?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Noites Brancas-Dostoyevsk&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-111694874345302499?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/111694874345302499/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=111694874345302499&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/111694874345302499'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/111694874345302499'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/05/o-cu-estava-to-estrelado-e-luminoso.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-111652171195680892</id><published>2005-05-19T13:52:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-05-24T12:36:56.480-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"Eu não me lembro quem conheceu quem primeiro ou quem se apaixonou por quem primeiro. Eu só me lembro de nós sete sempre juntos. E eu tomei uma decisão... "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Trecho do filme "O Primeiro Ano do Resto de Nossas Vidas"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-111652171195680892?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/111652171195680892/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=111652171195680892&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/111652171195680892'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/111652171195680892'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/05/eu-no-me-lembro-quem-conheceu-quem.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-111600119433860647</id><published>2005-05-13T13:00:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-05-18T17:09:13.580-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Uma espécie de criatura do gênero neutro. Ele jaz na maior parte do tempo em algum canto inacessível, como se se escondesse da luz do dia, e, uma vez retirado para o seu refúgio, gruda-se ao seu canto como o caracol, ou pelo menos parece-se muito, a esse respeito, com esse curioso animal, que é ao mesmo tempo animal e casa e que se chama tartaruga.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Noites Brancas-Dostoyevsk&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-111600119433860647?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/111600119433860647/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=111600119433860647&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/111600119433860647'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/111600119433860647'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/05/uma-espcie-de-criatura-do-gnero-neutro.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-111466529790522937</id><published>2005-04-28T02:12:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-04-28T02:14:57.906-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Deve haver algum meio-termo saudável. Enquanto a gente não encontra, bebemos.&lt;br /&gt;(Ismar Tirelli Neto)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-111466529790522937?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/111466529790522937/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=111466529790522937&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/111466529790522937'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/111466529790522937'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/04/deve-haver-algum-meio-termo-saudvel.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-111264271337645695</id><published>2005-04-04T16:19:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-04-04T16:25:13.376-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Late at night, gazing out into the late at night&lt;br /&gt;I see deep in the world till I open my eyes&lt;br /&gt;Every day brakes screech outside my window&lt;br /&gt;Those crashing cars never seem to collide&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes when I'm staring out my window&lt;br /&gt;Catch the stars and watch as they go by&lt;br /&gt;I've been getting messages from outer space&lt;br /&gt;They spiral like a finger in the sky--it blows my mind&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every day I'm drawn to my window&lt;br /&gt;I can see it if I'm closing my eyes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes flashing lights seem so familiar&lt;br /&gt;I know I've seen them circling me at night&lt;br /&gt;I've been sending messages to outer space&lt;br /&gt;They spiral like a finger in the sky--it blows my mind&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every day the restlessness takes over me&lt;br /&gt;I can see it as I'm closing my eyes&lt;br /&gt;I've been sening messages to outer space&lt;br /&gt;They spiral like a finger in the sky.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like a finger in the sky...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Deeper Into Movies (Yo La Tengo)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-111264271337645695?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/111264271337645695/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=111264271337645695&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/111264271337645695'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/111264271337645695'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/04/late-at-night-gazing-out-into-late-at.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-111040545540550063</id><published>2005-03-09T18:55:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-03-09T18:57:35.406-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>--Na verdade, não sei-- ouvi-me dizer. Senti um choque profundo ao dizer isso, porque no minuto em que o fiz soube que era verdade.&lt;br /&gt;Soava verdadeiro; reconheci isso como se reconhece uma pessoa indefinida que rodeia nossa porta por séculos a fio e, de repente, entra e se apresenta como nosso verdadeiro pai, e se parece extamente conosco, de modo que sabemos que é realmente nosso pai, e aquele que a vida toda pensamos ser nosso pai é uma farsa.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A Redoma de Vidro (Sylvia Plath) Tradução: Lya Luft&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-111040545540550063?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/111040545540550063/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=111040545540550063&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/111040545540550063'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/111040545540550063'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/03/na-verdade-no-sei-ouvi-me-dizer.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-111031802036329482</id><published>2005-03-08T18:34:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-03-08T18:40:20.363-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>É tudo uma bobagem, não é mesmo ? Digo -- transplantes, anti... corpos... fabricamos genes, produzimos o nascimento ectogeneticamente, praticamente clonamos pessoas como cenouras, e metade das crianças nesse gueto ainda não foi vacinada contra a pólio. Nós criamos a maior entidade médica jamais concebida e as pessoas estão mais doentes do que nunca ! Não curamos NADA ! Não saramos NADA !&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O Hospital (Paddy Chayefsky)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-111031802036329482?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/111031802036329482/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=111031802036329482&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/111031802036329482'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/111031802036329482'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/03/tudo-uma-bobagem-no-mesmo-digo_08.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-110927818866011257</id><published>2005-02-24T17:45:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-02-24T17:49:48.660-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Quando me olhas de lado,&lt;br /&gt;alguém conspira&lt;br /&gt;no centro da ala esquerda&lt;br /&gt;do teu deserto.&lt;br /&gt;Há um acerto de erros&lt;br /&gt;no sistema de certezas&lt;br /&gt;de tuas coisas incertas.&lt;br /&gt;Quando te olho de frente&lt;br /&gt;alguém disfarça&lt;br /&gt;à minha direita&lt;br /&gt;a curva&lt;br /&gt;de tua suspeita&lt;br /&gt;em linha reta.&lt;br /&gt;Há um ajuste de contas&lt;br /&gt;na diferença da soma&lt;br /&gt;de minhas coisas secretas.&lt;br /&gt;Quando abres e fechas os olhos&lt;br /&gt;alguém confere em silêncio&lt;br /&gt;atrás do teu espelho&lt;br /&gt;o avesso de meu rosto&lt;br /&gt;no teu rosto pelo avesso.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Conchavos viscerais (Mário Chamie)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-110927818866011257?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/110927818866011257/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=110927818866011257&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/110927818866011257'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/110927818866011257'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/02/quando-me-olhas-de-lado-algum-conspira.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-110875198376607923</id><published>2005-02-18T16:36:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2005-02-18T16:39:43.766-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Ausência&lt;br /&gt;por muito tempo achei que a ausência é falta.&lt;br /&gt;E lastimava, ignorante, a falta.&lt;br /&gt;Hoje não a lastimo.&lt;br /&gt;Não há falta na ausência.&lt;br /&gt;A ausência é um estar em mim.&lt;br /&gt;E sinto-a, branca, tão pegada, aconchegada nos meus braços,que rio e danço e invento exclamações alegres,porque a ausência assimilada ninguém a rouba mais de mim.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Carbon Monoxide (...)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-110875198376607923?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/110875198376607923/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=110875198376607923&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/110875198376607923'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/110875198376607923'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/02/ausncia-por-muito-tempo-achei-que.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-110813392637365188</id><published>2005-02-11T12:57:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2005-02-11T12:58:46.373-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Leve pensamento diz&lt;br /&gt;Por muito tempo não consigo esperar&lt;br /&gt;Quase sempre ser feliz&lt;br /&gt;É um alento ou uma falta de ar&lt;br /&gt;Capaz de me fazer&lt;br /&gt;Um pouco acreditar&lt;br /&gt;Que o sonho mais perfeito&lt;br /&gt;Pode se realizar&lt;br /&gt;Quando passeio nas nuvens&lt;br /&gt;Tudo parece igual&lt;br /&gt;As sombras são as medidas&lt;br /&gt;De tantas chances perdidas&lt;br /&gt;Sem demora então&lt;br /&gt;É só acreditar&lt;br /&gt;Que o sonho mais perfeito&lt;br /&gt;Pode se realizar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nuvens (Fernanda Takai)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-110813392637365188?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/110813392637365188/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=110813392637365188&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/110813392637365188'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/110813392637365188'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/02/leve-pensamento-diz-por-muito-tempo-no.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-110736481526641881</id><published>2005-02-02T15:19:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2005-02-02T15:20:15.266-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Closer&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-110736481526641881?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/110736481526641881/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=110736481526641881&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/110736481526641881'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/110736481526641881'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/02/closer.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-110676440650526836</id><published>2005-01-26T16:31:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2005-01-26T16:33:26.506-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Someone else's date&lt;br /&gt;in someone else's door&lt;br /&gt;There's a girl with cherry Chapstick on and nothing more.&lt;br /&gt;It's such a lurid pose&lt;br /&gt;and she seems this close&lt;br /&gt;But not to me&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;Cherry Chapstick  (Yo La Tengo)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-110676440650526836?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/110676440650526836/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=110676440650526836&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/110676440650526836'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/110676440650526836'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/01/someone-elses-date-in-someone-elses.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-110658702942146826</id><published>2005-01-24T15:14:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2005-01-24T15:17:09.420-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Distribuição em sala de aula, 6ª Série.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;Angela muda de lugar o tempo todo, está claramente deslocada na sala; fala com todos, não se liga a ninguém. A cor de seus olhos ninguém guarda direito, e isto não parece importar. Tem o rosto redondo, a pele branca avermelhada e os cabelos da cor do fogo, anos e anos a fio cultivados; pensa em cortá-los num ato de proposital rebeldia pré-adolescente, mas não sabe ir ao salão sozinha. Seu toque é gelado. Todos a quem uma vez chamou de amigos ficaram na escola anterior. Sorri pouco, mas de forma genuína. Aparenta a mais absoluta convicção, mas está, ou é, terrivelmente dividida. Interessou-se, interessa-se ou se interessará, por 3 meninos de sua idade. Em dado momento serão homens mas, por hora, meninos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A Cor De Seus Olhos - Heitor Coelho&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-110658702942146826?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/110658702942146826/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=110658702942146826&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/110658702942146826'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/110658702942146826'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/01/distribuio-em-sala-de-aula-6-srie.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-110562517379807453</id><published>2005-01-13T13:04:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2005-01-14T14:16:15.003-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Sustentarei que uma qualidade predominante a ser esperada em um gene bem sucedido é o egoísmo implacável. Este egoísmo do gene geralmente originará egoísmo no comportamento individual.&lt;br /&gt;No entanto, como veremos, existem circunstâncias especiais nas quais um gene pode atingir melhor seus próprios objetivos egoístas cultivando uma forma limitada de altruísmo ao nível dos animais individuais.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;Por mais que desejemos acreditar diferentemente, o amor e bem-estar das espécies como um todo são conceitos que simplesmente não têm sentido na evolução.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;Compreendamos o que nossos próprios genes egoístas tramam, porque assim, pelo menos, poderemos ter a chance de frustar seus intentos, uma coisa que nenhuma outra espécie jamais aspirou fazer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O Gene Egoísta-Richard Dawkins&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-110562517379807453?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/110562517379807453/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=110562517379807453&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/110562517379807453'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/110562517379807453'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/01/sustentarei-que-uma-qualidade.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-110498522548120486</id><published>2005-01-06T02:15:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2005-01-06T02:25:47.576-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>o buraco do espelho está fechado&lt;br /&gt;agora eu tenho que ficar aqui&lt;br /&gt;com um olho aberto, outro acordado&lt;br /&gt;no lado de lá onde eu caí&lt;br /&gt;pro lado de cá não tem acesso&lt;br /&gt;mesmo que me chamem pelo nome&lt;br /&gt;mesmo que admitam meu regresso&lt;br /&gt;toda vez que eu vou a porta some&lt;br /&gt;a janela some na parede&lt;br /&gt;a palavra de água se dissolve&lt;br /&gt;na palavra sede, a boca cede&lt;br /&gt;antes de falar, e não se ouve&lt;br /&gt;já tentei dormir a noite inteira&lt;br /&gt;quatro, cinco, seis da madrugada&lt;br /&gt;vou ficar ali nessa cadeira&lt;br /&gt;uma orelha alerta, outra ligada&lt;br /&gt;o buraco do espelho está fechado&lt;br /&gt;agora eu tenho que ficar...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O Buraco do Espelho-Edgard Scandurra / Arnaldo Antunes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-110498522548120486?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/110498522548120486/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=110498522548120486&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/110498522548120486'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/110498522548120486'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2005/01/o-buraco-do-espelho-est-fechado-agora.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-110372440623903340</id><published>2004-12-22T13:06:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2004-12-22T12:06:46.240-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>1:500&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-110372440623903340?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/110372440623903340/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=110372440623903340&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/110372440623903340'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/110372440623903340'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/12/1500.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-110289878879266594</id><published>2004-12-12T22:44:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2004-12-12T22:46:28.793-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>l.if.e&lt;br /&gt;tem esse if no meio que deixa a gente maluco.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Carbon Monoxide&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-110289878879266594?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/110289878879266594/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=110289878879266594&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/110289878879266594'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/110289878879266594'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/12/l.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-110247074548656022</id><published>2004-12-07T23:50:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2004-12-07T23:52:25.486-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Não me pegue pelo braço.&lt;br /&gt;Detesto que me peguem pelo braço.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lisbon Revisited (Fernando Pessoa)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-110247074548656022?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/110247074548656022/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=110247074548656022&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/110247074548656022'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/110247074548656022'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/12/no-me-pegue-pelo-brao.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-110229843736426096</id><published>2004-12-05T23:59:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2004-12-06T00:00:37.363-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Lentegi 1 de mayo de 1939. Arriba España.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;uma carta de família.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-110229843736426096?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/110229843736426096/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=110229843736426096&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/110229843736426096'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/110229843736426096'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/12/lentegi-1-de-mayo-de-1939.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-110195209920440395</id><published>2004-12-01T23:45:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2004-12-01T23:48:19.203-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Can you feel it&lt;br /&gt;Sister Savior&lt;br /&gt;Drawing you into the club?&lt;br /&gt;Sister Savior's&lt;br /&gt;Past behavior&lt;br /&gt;Has me falling in love&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hey-ey-ey-ey&lt;br /&gt;Sister Savior&lt;br /&gt;Hey-ey-ey-ey&lt;br /&gt;Catholic lover&lt;br /&gt;Why'd you leave me&lt;br /&gt;For the good life?&lt;br /&gt;At least our bad times were ours&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night i had a dream&lt;br /&gt;A warm field strawberries and cream&lt;br /&gt;A poor man wearing rusty mail&lt;br /&gt;With contentment plastered on his face&lt;br /&gt;He was sipping from a bottle&lt;br /&gt;On his forehead read the motto&lt;br /&gt;"If I drink myself to death,&lt;br /&gt;At least I'll know i had a good time"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One last late night&lt;br /&gt;Sister Savior&lt;br /&gt;Before its too late&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hey-ey-ey-ey&lt;br /&gt;Sister Savior&lt;br /&gt;Hey-ey-ey-ey&lt;br /&gt;You know i love her&lt;br /&gt;Please belive me&lt;br /&gt;This is the good life&lt;br /&gt;And no more bad times could be ours&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sister Savior-The Rapture&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-110195209920440395?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/110195209920440395/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=110195209920440395&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/110195209920440395'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/110195209920440395'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/12/can-you-feel-it-sister-savior-drawing.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-110072244739348879</id><published>2004-11-17T18:12:00.001-02:00</published><updated>2004-11-18T10:25:13.660-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Ela estava com soluço. E como se não bastasse a claridade das duashoras, ela era ruiva.Na casa vazia as pedras vibravam de calor - a cabeçada meninaflamejava. Sentada nos degraus de sua casa, ela suportava. Ninguém na rua, só uma pessoa esperando inutilmente no ponto do bonde. E como senão bastasse seu olhar submisso e paciente, o soluço a interrompia de momento a momento, abalando o queixo que se apoiava conformado na mão. Que fazer de uma menina ruiva com soluço?Olhamo-nos sem palavras, desalento contra desalento. Na rua deserta nenhum sinal de bonde. Numa terra de morenos, ser ruivo era uma revolta involuntária.Que importava se num dia futuro sua marca ia fazê-la erguer insolente uma cabeça de mulher? Por enquanto ela estava sentada num degrau faiscante da porta, às duas horas. O que a salvava era uma bolsa velha de senhora, com alça partida. Segurava-a com um amor conjugal já habituado, apertando-a contra os joelhos.Foi quando se aproximou a sua outra metade neste mundo, um irmão emGrajaú. A possibilidade de comunicação surgiu no ângulo quente da esquina, acompanhando uma senhora, e encarnada na figura de um cão.Era um basset lindo e miserável, doce sob sua fatalidade. Era umbasset ruivo.Lá vinha ele trotando, à frente de sua dona,arrastando o seu comprimento. Desprevenido, acostumado, cachorro.A menina abriu os olhos pasmada. Suavemente avisado, o cachorro estacou diante dela. Sua língua vibrava. Ambos se olhavam.Entre tantos seres que estão prontos para se tornarem donos de outro ser, lá estava a menina que viera ao mundo para ter aquele cachorro.Ele fremia suavemente, sem latir. Ela olhava-o sob os cabelos,fascinada, séria. Quanto tempo se passava? Um grande soluço sacudiu-a desafinado. Ele nem sequer tremeu. Também ela passou por cima do soluço e continuou a fitá-lo.Os pêlos de ambos eram curtos, avermelhados.Que foi que se disseram? Não se sabe. Sabe-se apenas que se comunicaram rapidamente, pois não havia tempo. Sabe-se também que sem falar eles se pediam. Pediam-se com urgência, com encabulamento,surpreendidos.No meio de tanta vaga impossibilidade e de tanto sol,ali estava asolução para a criança vermelha. E no meio de tantas ruas a serem trotadas, de tantos cães maiores, de tantos esgotos secos - lá estava uma menina, como se fora carne de sua ruiva carne.Eles se fitavam profundos, entregues, ausentes de Grajaú. Mais um instante e o suspenso sonho se quebraria, cedendo talvez à gravidade com que se pediam.Mas ambos eram comprometidos.Ela com sua infância impossível, o centro da inocência que só se abriria quando ela fosse uma mulher. Ele com sua natureza aprisionada.A dona esperava impaciente sob o guarda-sol. O basset ruivo afinal despregou-se da menina e saiu sonâmbulo. Ela ficou espantada, com o acontecimento nas mãos, numa mudez que nem pai nem mãe compreenderiam. Acompanhou-o com os olhos pretos que mal acreditavam,debruçada sobre a bolsa e os joelhos, até vê-lo dobrara outra esquina.Mas ele foi mais forte que ela. Nem uma só vez olhou para trás.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tentação-Clarice Lispector&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-110072244739348879?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/110072244739348879/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=110072244739348879&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/110072244739348879'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/110072244739348879'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/11/ela-estava-com-soluo.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-110013399801680402</id><published>2004-11-10T22:44:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2004-11-10T22:46:38.016-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Nessa hora e meia, a gente vai falando do jeito da gente.Os tempos da ingenuidade. Da desatenção. Do não saber de nada. Do susto que se tomou ao se conhecer quase nada. Dos tempos da quixotada. Dos restos de amadorismo. Do amadurecimento. Da raiva. Essas coisas todas que foram transformando a gente. Que hoje tem o mesmo riso, faz a mesma algazarra, gosta de cachaça, etc... Mas, que melhorou o jogo de cintura, aprimorou o físico, desenvolveu o faro. Além de ter aprendido a prender a respiração quando o cheiro não é dos melhores. O concerto é isso aí. Devagarinho vai se levando. Pra no final, a esperança ser posta na berlinda, de novo. Esperança de vida nova. Esperança que pinta, mas já com a certeza de que a gente tem que cavar. Tem que tomar. Na marra. Rindo. Se possível.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Elis Regina.1979&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-110013399801680402?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/110013399801680402/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=110013399801680402&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/110013399801680402'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/110013399801680402'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/11/nessa-hora-e-meia-gente-vai-falando-do.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-109925375973416900</id><published>2004-10-31T17:14:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2004-10-31T17:15:59.733-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Gosto desse vago espaço no limiar da vigília, gosto de quando tudo é um pouco incerto e cada movimento pesa embebido em inconsciência.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Menina do Lado B&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-109925375973416900?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/109925375973416900/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=109925375973416900&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/109925375973416900'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/109925375973416900'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/10/gosto-desse-vago-espao-no-limiar-da.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-109767304193110527</id><published>2004-10-13T10:04:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2004-10-13T10:11:25.093-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Quando pediram para a gente escolher aquilo de que mais gostávamos, eu não consegui pensar em nada. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Tudo aquilo que eu mais gosto, acontece quando eu menos espero. Quando eu planejo as coisas, eu me desaponto.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Tudo ficou mais confuso e complicado por algum tempo, mas aí Stuart David explicou. Ele disse que essa parte era para ser como "Por que não?" É por isso que eu estou perambulando pelo Victória Park com meu cachorro Aldo. Ele costumava ser um cão-guia para pessoas cegas...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Isobel Campbell-Belle &amp;amp; Sebastian&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-109767304193110527?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/109767304193110527/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=109767304193110527&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/109767304193110527'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/109767304193110527'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/10/quando-pediram-para-gente-escolher.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-109648525471710681</id><published>2004-09-29T16:10:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2004-09-29T16:14:14.716-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Se eu juntar tudo que me resta no fim desse dia, será que alguma coisa terá mudado?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Mesmo assim terá acontecido.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Se eu olhar de novo e não me lembrar mais, terei eu que mentir a minha vida?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;E se tudo estiver diferente, quando eu voltar lá, conseguirei repetir se tudo estiver acabado?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Inventar alguma história.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Reinventar uma história para mim.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[                                                ]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Para que a necessidade de juntar esses fragamentos, sim, estes que restam em mim?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Experimentar algum sentido, diria.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dar algum sentido.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Inventar uma história que seja o bastante.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Reinventar sua história.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Olhar outra vez pra não se identificar mais.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[                                                ]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Os lugares vazios.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Deve haver.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Flávio Graff&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-109648525471710681?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/109648525471710681/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=109648525471710681&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/109648525471710681'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/109648525471710681'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/09/se-eu-juntar-tudo-que-me-resta-no-fim.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-109466571711546700</id><published>2004-09-08T14:46:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2004-09-08T15:02:42.330-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Y así amo yo&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Con rimas tan torcidas&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Buscando disonancias&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Pa mi nueva canción&lt;br /&gt;Y hasta que yo te quiera&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;¿Qué quieres que te cante ?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Y hasta que yo te quiera&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;¿Qué vale lo que cante ?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Por Eso Me Quedo-La Llorona (Lhasa)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-109466571711546700?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/109466571711546700/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=109466571711546700&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/109466571711546700'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/109466571711546700'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/09/y-as-amo-yo-con-rimas-tan-torcidas.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-109404357789562480</id><published>2004-09-01T09:58:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2004-09-01T10:01:34.786-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;"Deve haver algum sentido em mim que basta..."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Flávio Graff&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-109404357789562480?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/109404357789562480/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=109404357789562480&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/109404357789562480'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/109404357789562480'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/09/deve-haver-algum-sentido-em-mim-que.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-109387081289219199</id><published>2004-08-30T09:55:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2004-08-30T10:03:31.103-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Speed leaving without warning&lt;br /&gt;I need some place to sleep tonight&lt;br /&gt;Blowing in the rocking of the pine&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Speed leaving without warning&lt;br /&gt;The sunlight is going&lt;br /&gt;Into the mountain&lt;br /&gt;I will crawl&lt;br /&gt;Into the mountain&lt;br /&gt;Sun shines in the rusty morning&lt;br /&gt;Skyline of the olympus mons&lt;br /&gt;I think about it sometimes&lt;br /&gt;Sun shines in the rusty morning&lt;br /&gt;Once I had a good fly&lt;br /&gt;Into the mountain&lt;br /&gt;I will fall&lt;br /&gt;I will fall&lt;br /&gt;I will fall...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bird Dream of the Olympus Mons (Black Francis, 1991)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-109387081289219199?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/109387081289219199/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=109387081289219199&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/109387081289219199'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/109387081289219199'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/08/speed-leaving-without-warning-i-need.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-109327046011303229</id><published>2004-08-23T11:01:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2004-08-23T11:14:20.113-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Estouro de bolha de sabão&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Rufem os tambores de brinquedo&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;O palco é de papelão&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Alguém fez um samba enredo&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Vou levar pastel de vento&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Sanduiche de isopor&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Bolo de esquecimento&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Vou esquecer quem é meu amor                  &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Vou pensar que ainda não vi nada igual ao que estou vendo&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Nem vou mais querer olhar o firmamento                          &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Tudo o que vejo é inconsistente, nada aprendo, tudo se desmente&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Nada do mundo, desde o começo,eu não conheço, eu não entendo&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Vou querer tomar veneno&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Vou querer dissimular                                &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Vou ter crise de comportamento&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Vou sorrir querendo chorar&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;A música é feita de sons e os sons são feitos de ar e agora que a banda passou&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Nada vai ficar&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Nada vai ficar&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Nada vai ficar&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Isopor (John)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-109327046011303229?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/109327046011303229/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=109327046011303229&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/109327046011303229'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/109327046011303229'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/08/estouro-de-bolha-de-sabo-rufem-os.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-109319514648498079</id><published>2004-08-22T14:16:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2004-08-22T14:19:06.483-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;" Uma influência calmante sobre o sistema nervoso, segundo dizem, pode ser obtida das viagens pelo Volga"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J.Wortis&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-109319514648498079?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/109319514648498079/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=109319514648498079&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/109319514648498079'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/109319514648498079'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/08/uma-influncia-calmante-sobre-o-sistema.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-109234189440315528</id><published>2004-08-12T17:00:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2004-08-12T17:21:04.376-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;"Só depois que conheci meus geradores e as relações que existem entre eles é que pude entender completamente porque tenho esse grau de transcendência"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cleber Haubrichs&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;" Evolução é mudança de frequência... fenotípica, genotípica... não interessa qual, nem como..."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ademir Jr.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-109234189440315528?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/109234189440315528/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=109234189440315528&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/109234189440315528'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/109234189440315528'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/08/s-depois-que-conheci-meus-geradores-e.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-109157084600853909</id><published>2004-08-03T19:06:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2004-08-03T19:07:26.006-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;"O inseto no papel insiste...traço um círculo... só o círculo existe..."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Leminski&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-109157084600853909?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/109157084600853909/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=109157084600853909&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/109157084600853909'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/109157084600853909'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/08/o-inseto-no-papel-insiste.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-109026747262703767</id><published>2004-07-19T16:50:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2004-07-19T17:04:32.626-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Nuestro propio animal canta a la gente pa'gratis&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;Isla del encanto.&lt;br /&gt;Me voy! Me voy! Me voy!&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;Isla de Encanta (Black Francis,1987)&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-109026747262703767?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/109026747262703767/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=109026747262703767&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/109026747262703767'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/109026747262703767'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/07/nuestro-propio-animal-canta-la-gente.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-108938536657279210</id><published>2004-07-09T11:58:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2004-07-09T12:02:46.573-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;"Tudo parece tão natural, como sempre que não se sabe a verdade."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Carta a uma senhorita em Paris, do livro Bestiário - Julio Cortázar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-108938536657279210?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/108938536657279210/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=108938536657279210&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/108938536657279210'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/108938536657279210'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/07/tudo-parece-to-natural-como-sempre-que.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-108904717478705112</id><published>2004-07-05T14:01:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2004-07-05T14:06:14.786-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Deixo tudo assim...&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;Sei do incômodo &lt;br /&gt;e ela tem razão &lt;br /&gt;quando vem dizer &lt;br /&gt;que eu preciso sim &lt;br /&gt;de todo o cuidado &lt;br /&gt;E se eu fosse &lt;br /&gt;o primeiro a voltar &lt;br /&gt;pra mudar o que eu fiz, &lt;br /&gt;quem então agora eu seria? &lt;br /&gt;Tanto faz &lt;br /&gt;que o que não foi não é &lt;br /&gt;Eu sei que ainda vou voltar... &lt;br /&gt;mas eu quem será? &lt;br /&gt;Deixo tudo assim... &lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;Sei do escândalo &lt;br /&gt;e eles têm razão &lt;br /&gt;quando vem dizer &lt;br /&gt;que eu não sei medir &lt;br /&gt;nem tempo e nem medo &lt;br /&gt;E seu eu for &lt;br /&gt;o primeiro a prever &lt;br /&gt;e poder desistir &lt;br /&gt;do que for dar errado? &lt;br /&gt;Ora, se não sou eu quem mais &lt;br /&gt;vai decidir o que é bom pra mim? &lt;br /&gt;Dispenso a previsão! &lt;br /&gt;Ah, se o que eu sou é também &lt;br /&gt;o que eu escolhi ser &lt;br /&gt;aceito a condição &lt;br /&gt;Vou levando assim &lt;br /&gt;que o acaso é amigo &lt;br /&gt;do meu coração &lt;br /&gt;quando fala comigo &lt;br /&gt;quando eu sei ouvir... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O Velho e o Moço - Los Hermanos &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-108904717478705112?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/108904717478705112/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=108904717478705112&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/108904717478705112'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/108904717478705112'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/07/deixo-tudo-assim.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-108844564664209262</id><published>2004-06-28T15:00:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2004-06-28T15:02:08.626-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Ela vivia um amor de mãos atadas. Um amor sem abraços, alguns beijos e muito sexo. Ela vivia um amor assim, meio seco e encarava aquela fisionomia com cara de interrogação. Como assim? Não era como ela conhecia o amor. E apesar de estar convencida de que era um graaande amor, duvidava de tanto olhar. Procurava nas sombras de seu rosto irregular a face fresca e aveludada. Vez em quando perguntava: é você mesmo? Ele concordava balançando a cabeça. Continuava de sobretudo preto e braços cruzados. Atados na postura militar como se fossem ordens superiores. O amor não se movia. E, quanto mais ela olhava, mais duvidava. Rodeava, fazia cócega, soprava o ouvido. Ele permanecia imóvel. Em silêncio. Não o silêncio denso entre o amor e o amante. Só um silêncio. Quando ela ameaçava ir embora ele tossia. E ela voltava a olhá-lo nos olhos. Ou então ele tirava uma das mãos duras do sovaco e encaixava no queixo-maxilar-orelha-nuca dela. E era tão quente a mão que ela fechava os olhos e conseguia enxergar o amor. Mas ela vivia muito o amor de mão atadas. E quando ele parava de se dedicar a ludibria-la, ela percebia que não tinha o que fazer com aquele armário de sobre-tudo preto. Se guardava na geladeira pra não perder, se tirava do meio do caminho, se o abraçava sozinha, se sorria pra ele. E pra que serve um amor de sobretudo? Onde é que se coloca? Como é que se conserva, o que se dá de comer? Ele precisa dormir? Ele vai à escola? De toda forma, não podia se livrar. Ela estava líquida de amor e escorria a volta dele formando uma pequena poça leitosa na taboa corrida.&lt;br /&gt;Ele ficou muito tempo por lá. Meses, mais de ano. Ela chegava de noite do trabalho, dava um beijo no rosto, tomava banho e ia dormir. De manhã comentava alguma coisa do trabalho enquanto tomava café e saía. E era assim todos os dias. Ela não engravidou sem planejar. Ele envelheceu mais rápido. Enfim, eram um casal. E havia uma certa química entre eles que só era interrompida pelas duvidas a respeito da idoneidade do rapaz. Ela não dizia mais nada. Só murmurava “você vai ter que mudar” pra não ter que discutir o relacionamento e espernear de novo. Ela sabia, ele não mudou. E assentiria com a cabeça eternamente se ela perguntasse “você é mesmo o amor?”. “Você é mesmo assim?” “Eu te amo.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.anananda.blogspot.com/"target="_blank"&gt;Eliza&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-108844564664209262?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/108844564664209262/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=108844564664209262&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/108844564664209262'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/108844564664209262'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/06/ela-vivia-um-amor-de-mos-atadas.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-108843242917587408</id><published>2004-06-28T11:19:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2004-06-28T11:20:29.176-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Losing in front of your home crowd&lt;br /&gt;you wished the ground would open up&lt;br /&gt;and take you down&lt;br /&gt;and will time never pass&lt;br /&gt;will time&lt;br /&gt;never pass&lt;br /&gt;for us&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your weary wife is walking away&lt;br /&gt;your nephew is true&lt;br /&gt;well, he thinks the world of you&lt;br /&gt;and I have to close my eyes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Losing in front of your home town&lt;br /&gt;the crowd call your name&lt;br /&gt;they love you&lt;br /&gt;all the same&lt;br /&gt;the sound, the smell, and the spray&lt;br /&gt;you will take them all away&lt;br /&gt;and they'll stay till the grave&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your weary wife is walking away&lt;br /&gt;your nephew is true&lt;br /&gt;well, he thinks the world of you&lt;br /&gt;and I have to close my eyes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Losing in your home town&lt;br /&gt;Hell is the bell&lt;br /&gt;that will not ring again&lt;br /&gt;you will return one day&lt;br /&gt;oh, because of all the things&lt;br /&gt;that you see&lt;br /&gt;when your eyes close.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your weary wife walking away&lt;br /&gt;your nephew is true,&lt;br /&gt;he still thinks the world of you&lt;br /&gt;and I have to dry my eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boxers (Morrissey)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-108843242917587408?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/108843242917587408/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=108843242917587408&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/108843242917587408'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/108843242917587408'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/06/losing-in-front-of-your-home-crowd-you.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-108801706020660232</id><published>2004-06-23T15:56:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2004-06-23T15:57:40.206-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup,&lt;br /&gt;They slither while they pass, they slip away Across the Universe.&lt;br /&gt;Pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my opened mind,&lt;br /&gt;Possessing and caressing me.&lt;br /&gt;Jai Guru Deva Om&lt;br /&gt;Nothing's gonna change my world, Nothing's gonna change my world.&lt;br /&gt;Nothing's gonna change my world, Nothing's gonna change my world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Images of broken light which dance before me like a million eyes,&lt;br /&gt;They call me on and on Across the Universe.&lt;br /&gt;Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box,&lt;br /&gt;They tumble blindly as they make their way Across the Universe&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jai Guru Deva Om&lt;br /&gt;Nothing's gonna change my world, Nothing's gonna change my world.&lt;br /&gt;Nothing's gonna change my world, Nothing's gonna change my world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sounds of laughter, shades of earth are ringing&lt;br /&gt;Through my open ears inciting and inviting me.&lt;br /&gt;Limitless, undying love, which shines around me like a million suns,&lt;br /&gt;And calls me on and on Across the Universe&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jai Guru Deva Om&lt;br /&gt;Nothing's gonna change my world, Nothing's gonna change my world.&lt;br /&gt;Nothing's gonna change my world, Nothing's gonna change my world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Across The Universe(Lennon/McCartney) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-108801706020660232?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/108801706020660232/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=108801706020660232&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/108801706020660232'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/108801706020660232'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/06/words-are-flowing-out-like-endless.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-108758190121538579</id><published>2004-06-18T15:03:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2004-06-18T15:05:01.216-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Sou prata e exato. Eu não prejulgo.&lt;br /&gt;O que vejo engulo de imediato &lt;br /&gt;Tal qual é, sem me embaçar de amor ou desgosto.&lt;br /&gt;Não sou cruel, tão somente veraz —&lt;br /&gt;O olho de um deusinho, de quatro cantos.&lt;br /&gt;O tempo todo reflito sobre a parede em frente.&lt;br /&gt;É rosa, com manchas. Fitei-a tanto&lt;br /&gt;Que a sinto parte de meu coração. Mas vacila.&lt;br /&gt;Faces e escuridão insistem em nos separar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Agora sou um lago. Uma mulher se inclina para mim,&lt;br /&gt;Buscando em domínios meus o que realmente é.&lt;br /&gt;Mas logo se volta para aqueles farsantes, o lustre e a lua.&lt;br /&gt;Vejo suas costas e as reflito fielmente.&lt;br /&gt;Ela me paga em choro e agitação de mãos.&lt;br /&gt;Sou importante para ela. Ela vai e vem.&lt;br /&gt;A cada manhã sua face reveza com a escuridão.&lt;br /&gt;Em mim afogou uma menina, e em mim uma velha&lt;br /&gt;Salta sobre ela dia após dia como um peixe horrendo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ESPELHO - Sylvia Plath &lt;br /&gt;(tradução de Vinicius Dantas)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-108758190121538579?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/108758190121538579/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=108758190121538579&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/108758190121538579'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/108758190121538579'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/06/sou-prata-e-exato.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-108732000507186879</id><published>2004-06-15T14:18:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2004-06-15T14:20:05.070-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>With a little love, and some tenderness&lt;br /&gt;We'll walk upon the water&lt;br /&gt;We'll rise above the mess&lt;br /&gt;With a little peace, and some harmony&lt;br /&gt;We'll take the world together&lt;br /&gt;We'll take 'em by the hand&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Cause I've got a hand for you&lt;br /&gt;'Cause I wanna run with you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday, I saw you standing there&lt;br /&gt;Your head was down, your eyes were red&lt;br /&gt;No comb had touched your hair&lt;br /&gt;I said get up, and let me see you smile&lt;br /&gt;We'll take a walk together&lt;br /&gt;Walk the road awhile, 'cause&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Cause I've got a hand for you&lt;br /&gt;I've got a hand for you&lt;br /&gt;'Cause I wanna run with you&lt;br /&gt;Won't you let me run with you? yeah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hold my hand&lt;br /&gt;Want you to hold my hand&lt;br /&gt;Hold my hand&lt;br /&gt;I'll take you to a place where you can be&lt;br /&gt;Hold my hand&lt;br /&gt;Anything you wanna be because&lt;br /&gt;I wanna love you the best that, the best that I can&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See I was wasted, and I was wasting time&lt;br /&gt;'Till I thought about your problems, I thought about yourcrimes&lt;br /&gt;Then I stood up, and then I screamed aloud&lt;br /&gt;I don't wanna be part of your problems&lt;br /&gt;Don't wanna be part of your crowd, no&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Cause I've got a hand for you&lt;br /&gt;I've got a hand for you&lt;br /&gt;'Cause I wanna run with you&lt;br /&gt;Ah, won't you let me run with you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hold my hand&lt;br /&gt;Want you to hold my hand&lt;br /&gt;Hold my hand&lt;br /&gt;I'll take you to the promised land&lt;br /&gt;Hold my hand&lt;br /&gt;Maybe we can't change the world but&lt;br /&gt;I wanna love you the best that, the best that I can, yeah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hold my hand&lt;br /&gt;Want you to hold my hand&lt;br /&gt;Hold my hand&lt;br /&gt;I'll take you to a place where you can be&lt;br /&gt;Hold my hand&lt;br /&gt;Anything you wanna be because&lt;br /&gt;I...Oh...No, No, No, No, No&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hold my hand&lt;br /&gt;Want you to hold my hand&lt;br /&gt;Hold my hand&lt;br /&gt;I'll take you to the promised land&lt;br /&gt;Hold my hand&lt;br /&gt;Maybe we can't change the world but&lt;br /&gt;I wanna love you the best that, best that I can&lt;br /&gt;Oh, The best that I can&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hold My Hand - Hootie &amp; The Blowfish &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-108732000507186879?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/108732000507186879/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=108732000507186879&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/108732000507186879'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/108732000507186879'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/06/with-little-love-and-some-tenderness.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-108540756793119495</id><published>2004-05-24T11:02:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2004-05-24T11:07:06.960-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Meu pensamento não quer pensar&lt;br /&gt;ele está com preguiça de se levantar&lt;br /&gt;Depois de um sono tão profundo&lt;br /&gt;é duro acordar e ver que no mundo&lt;br /&gt;tudo é novidade, mas eu já conheço&lt;br /&gt;Então volto a dormir que é pra ver &lt;br /&gt;se me esqueço&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Que meu pensamento não quer pensar&lt;br /&gt;e para aprender eu vou ter que apanhar&lt;br /&gt;pois só assim que o ser humano evolui&lt;br /&gt;Só assim serei o que nunca fui&lt;br /&gt;Tudo é tão velho e eu ainda nem nasci&lt;br /&gt;O tempo nunca passou e eu nem percebi&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Que o meu pensamento não vai pensar&lt;br /&gt;enquanto eu não fizer seu coração vomitar&lt;br /&gt;toda a consciência que não o deixa em paz&lt;br /&gt;com os mesmos padrões de séculos atrás&lt;br /&gt;com as mesmas paixões por coisas &lt;br /&gt;absolutamente banais.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MEU PENSAMENTO NÃO QUER PENSAR (MOSKA)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-108540756793119495?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/108540756793119495/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=108540756793119495&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/108540756793119495'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/108540756793119495'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/05/meu-pensamento-no-quer-pensar-ele-est.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-108300194580256906</id><published>2004-04-26T14:50:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2004-04-26T15:05:29.700-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;img src="http://rioadventuretours.com/images/smSino_parquex_FIX.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pedra do Sino - Parque Nacional da Serra dos Órgãos&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Deixa ser como será quando a gente se encontrar. &lt;br /&gt;No pé o céu de um parque a nos testemunhar. &lt;br /&gt;Deixa ser como será eu vou sem me preocupar. &lt;br /&gt;E crer pra ver o quanto eu posso adivinhar... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Deixa ser como será (Marcelo Camelo/Rodrigo Amarante) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-108300194580256906?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/108300194580256906/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=108300194580256906&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/108300194580256906'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/108300194580256906'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/04/pedra-do-sino-parque-nacional-da-serra.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-108258339378722799</id><published>2004-04-21T18:25:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2004-04-21T18:40:40.123-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Você diz que não me reconhece, que não sou o mesmo de ontem&lt;br /&gt;E que tudo o que eu faço e falo não te satisfaz&lt;br /&gt;Mas não percebe que quando eu mudo é porque&lt;br /&gt;Estou vivendo cada segundo e você&lt;br /&gt;Como se fosse uma eternidade a mais&lt;br /&gt;Sou um móbile solto no furacão...&lt;br /&gt;Qualquer calmaria me dá... solidão&lt;br /&gt;Na última vez que troquei meu nome por um outro nome que não lembro mais&lt;br /&gt;Tinha certeza: ninguém poderia me encontrar&lt;br /&gt;Mas que ironia minha própria vida me trouxe de volta ao ponto departida&lt;br /&gt;Como se eu nunca tivesse saído de lá&lt;br /&gt;Sou um móbile solto no furacão &lt;br /&gt;Qualquer calmaria me dá... solidão&lt;br /&gt;Quando a âncora do meu navio encosta no fundo, no chão&lt;br /&gt;Imediatamente se acende o pavio e detona-se minha explosão&lt;br /&gt;Que me ativa, me lança pra longe pra outros lugares, pra novospresentes&lt;br /&gt;Ninguém me sente...&lt;br /&gt;Somente eu posso saber o que me faz feliz&lt;br /&gt;Sou um móbile solto no furacão &lt;br /&gt;Qualquer calmaria me dá... solidão&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Um Móbile no Furacão (Paulinho Moska)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-108258339378722799?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/108258339378722799/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=108258339378722799&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/108258339378722799'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/108258339378722799'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/04/voc-diz-que-no-me-reconhece-que-no-sou.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-108078604023217549</id><published>2004-03-31T23:19:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2004-03-31T23:28:26.123-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Essas são para minha mãe.&lt;br /&gt;31 de março de 1964 - 40 anos do Golpe Militar&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MADEIRA QUE CUPIM NÃO RÓI&lt;br /&gt;(Capiba)&lt;br /&gt;Madeira do Rosarinho&lt;br /&gt;Vem à cidade sua fama mostrar&lt;br /&gt;E traz com seu pessoal&lt;br /&gt;Seu estandarte tão original&lt;br /&gt;Não vem pra fazer barulho &lt;br /&gt;É só dizer e com satisfação&lt;br /&gt;Queiram ou não queiram os juízes&lt;br /&gt;O nosso bloco é de fato campeão&lt;br /&gt;E se aqui estamos cantando essa canção&lt;br /&gt;Viemos defender a nossa tradição&lt;br /&gt;E dizer bem alto que a injustiça dói&lt;br /&gt;Nós somos madeira de lei que cupim não rói&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MARCHA DO REMADOR&lt;br /&gt;(Antônio Almeida)&lt;br /&gt;Se a canoa não virar olê olê olá&lt;br /&gt;Eu chego lá &lt;br /&gt;Rema rema rema remador&lt;br /&gt;Quero ver depressa o meu amor&lt;br /&gt;Se eu chegar depois do sol raiar&lt;br /&gt;Ela bota outro em meu lugar&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-108078604023217549?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/108078604023217549/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=108078604023217549&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/108078604023217549'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/108078604023217549'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/03/essas-so-para-minha-me.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-108047931714751435</id><published>2004-03-28T10:02:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2004-03-28T10:12:10.263-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Mais perto da essência, o sentido respira &lt;br /&gt;mas nem sempre o ar mais puro se tem &lt;br /&gt;Mais perto da essência, o sentido respira &lt;br /&gt;consumido no perfume que vem &lt;br /&gt;Eu vou lhe dar um prato de flores &lt;br /&gt;e no seu ventre vou fazer o meu jardim &lt;br /&gt;que vai florir, que vai florir &lt;br /&gt;Quando os espinhos lançarem as dores &lt;br /&gt;no cheiro forte do jardim que não tem fim &lt;br /&gt;Que não tem fim, que não tem fim &lt;br /&gt;E o seu umbigo ainda em flor vai mexer com o tempo &lt;br /&gt;Vai matar a dor de novo. &lt;br /&gt;E os espinhos são pra quem pensa em enganar a flor &lt;br /&gt;A beleza rende a prosa da dor &lt;br /&gt;E o seu umbigo ainda em flor vai mexer com o tempo &lt;br /&gt;vai matar a dor de novo &lt;br /&gt;Eu vou lhe dar um prato de flores &lt;br /&gt;e no seu ventre vou fazer o meu jardim&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Prato de Flores - Nação Zumbi&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-108047931714751435?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/108047931714751435/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=108047931714751435&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/108047931714751435'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/108047931714751435'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/03/mais-perto-da-essncia-o-sentido.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-108031607237354892</id><published>2004-03-26T12:46:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2004-03-26T12:51:22.483-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>And she was lying in the grass&lt;br /&gt;And she could hear the highway breathing&lt;br /&gt;And she could see a nearby factory&lt;br /&gt;She's making sure she is not dreaming&lt;br /&gt;See the lights of a neighbor's house&lt;br /&gt;Now she's starting to rise&lt;br /&gt;Take a minute to concentrate&lt;br /&gt;And she opens up her eyes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The world was moving and she was right there with it (and she was)&lt;br /&gt;The world was moving she was floating above it (and she was) and she was&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And she was drifting through the backyard&lt;br /&gt;And she was taking off her dress&lt;br /&gt;And she was moving very slowly&lt;br /&gt;Rising up above the earth&lt;br /&gt;Moving into the universe&lt;br /&gt;Drifting this way and that&lt;br /&gt;Not touching ground at all&lt;br /&gt;Up above the yard&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The world was moving and she was right there with it (and she was)&lt;br /&gt;The world was moving she was floating above it (and she was) and she was&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was glad about it... no doubt about it&lt;br /&gt;She isn't sure where she's gone&lt;br /&gt;No time to think about what to tell them&lt;br /&gt;No time to think about what she's done&lt;br /&gt;And she was&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And she was looking at herself&lt;br /&gt;And things were looking like a movie&lt;br /&gt;She had a pleasant elevation&lt;br /&gt;She's moving out in all directions&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The world was moving and she was right there with it (and she was)&lt;br /&gt;The world was moving she was floating above it (and she was) and she was&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Joining the world of missing persons (and she was)&lt;br /&gt;Missing enough to feel alright (and she was)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And She Was (Talking Heads)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-108031607237354892?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/108031607237354892/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=108031607237354892&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/108031607237354892'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/108031607237354892'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/03/and-she-was-lying-in-grass-and-she.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-107990802324056720</id><published>2004-03-21T19:24:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2004-03-21T19:30:27.000-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>[hoje amanhã e depois]&lt;br /&gt;fui embora mas me esqueci&lt;br /&gt;vou ajeitar meu caminho pra encostar no teu&lt;br /&gt;me pegar de volta&lt;br /&gt;e me esquecer na volta.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://carbonmonoxide.blogspot.com/"target="_blank"&gt;...&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-107990802324056720?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/107990802324056720/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=107990802324056720&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/107990802324056720'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/107990802324056720'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/03/hoje-amanh-e-depois-fui-embora-mas-me.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-107910043858351243</id><published>2004-03-12T11:06:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2004-03-12T11:10:29.843-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>And this i know &lt;br /&gt;his teeth as white as snow &lt;br /&gt;what a gas it was to see him &lt;br /&gt;walk her every day &lt;br /&gt;into a shady place &lt;br /&gt;with her lips she said &lt;br /&gt;she said &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;hey Paul, hey Paul, hey Paul &lt;br /&gt;let's have a ball &lt;br /&gt;hey Paul, hey Paul, hey Paul &lt;br /&gt;let's have a ball &lt;br /&gt;hey Paul, hey Paul, hey Paul &lt;br /&gt;let's have a ball &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gigantic, gigantic, gigantic &lt;br /&gt;a big big love &lt;br /&gt;gigantic, gigantic, gigantic &lt;br /&gt;a big big love &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;lovely legs there are &lt;br /&gt;what a big black mask &lt;br /&gt;what a hunk of love &lt;br /&gt;he'd walk her every day into a shady place &lt;br /&gt;he's like the dark, but i'd want him &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;hey Paul, hey Paul, hey Paul &lt;br /&gt;let's have a ball &lt;br /&gt;hey Paul, hey Paul, hey Paul &lt;br /&gt;let's have a ball &lt;br /&gt;hey Paul, hey Paul, hey Paul &lt;br /&gt;let's have a ball &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gigantic, gigantic, gigantic &lt;br /&gt;a big big love &lt;br /&gt;gigantic, gigantic, gigantic &lt;br /&gt;a big big love &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gigantic, gigantic, gigantic &lt;br /&gt;a big big love &lt;br /&gt;gigantic, gigantic, gigantic &lt;br /&gt;a big big love &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gigantic (Pixies)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-107910043858351243?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/107910043858351243/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=107910043858351243&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/107910043858351243'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/107910043858351243'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/03/and-this-i-know-his-teeth-as-white-as.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-107895416975573835</id><published>2004-03-10T18:17:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2004-03-10T18:32:38.340-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;Instruções para cantar&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comece por quebrar os espelhos de sua casa, deixe cair os braços, olhe vagamente a parede, &lt;em&gt;esqueça&lt;/em&gt;. Cante uma nota só, escute por dentro. Se ouvir (mas isso acontecerá muito depois) algo como uma paisagem afundada no medo, com fogueiras entre as pedras, com siluetas seminuas de cócoras, acho que estará bem encaminhado, e do mesmo modo se ouvir um rio por onde descem barcos pintados de amarelo e preto, se ouvir um gosto de pão, um tato de dedos, uma sombra de cavalo.&lt;br /&gt;Depois compre cadernos de solfejo e uma casaca, e por favor não cante pelo nariz e deixe Schumann em paz.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Histórias de cronópios e de famas (Julio Cortázar)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-107895416975573835?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/107895416975573835/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=107895416975573835&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/107895416975573835'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/107895416975573835'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/03/instrues-para-cantar-comece-por.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-107810161477581182</id><published>2004-02-29T21:38:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2004-02-29T21:43:09.686-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.sara.fazib.nom.br/cl.htm"target="_blank"&gt;O Búfalo&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-107810161477581182?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/107810161477581182/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=107810161477581182&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/107810161477581182'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/107810161477581182'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/02/o-bfalo.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-107765689994012747</id><published>2004-02-24T18:02:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2004-02-29T21:46:15.610-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Got me a movie&lt;br /&gt;i want you to know&lt;br /&gt;slicing up eyeballs&lt;br /&gt;i want you to know&lt;br /&gt;girlie so groovy&lt;br /&gt;i want you to know&lt;br /&gt;don't know about you&lt;br /&gt;but i am un chien andalusia&lt;br /&gt;wanna grow&lt;br /&gt;up to be&lt;br /&gt;be a debaser, debaser&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;got me a movie&lt;br /&gt;ha ha ha ho&lt;br /&gt;slicing up eyeballs&lt;br /&gt;ha ha ha ho&lt;br /&gt;girlie so groovie&lt;br /&gt;ha ha ha ho&lt;br /&gt;don't know about you&lt;br /&gt;but i am un chien andalusia&lt;br /&gt;debaser&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Debaser (Pixies)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Essa é para &lt;a href="http://www.soporquesim.blogspot.com/"target="_blank"&gt;Gedilha&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-107765689994012747?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/107765689994012747/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=107765689994012747&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/107765689994012747'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/107765689994012747'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/02/got-me-movie-i-want-you-to-know.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-107734046312603644</id><published>2004-02-21T02:13:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2004-02-21T02:24:57.903-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;era por assimiliação e não por exclusão, mas sobre isso prefiro dar mais tempo.&lt;br /&gt;perhappiness. de busca infinita, de amar o amor, de amar amar. de esquecer ex-amado, sem número, preocupações.. que nunca fomos inteiros, então nunca fomos partidos por deuses, então não procuremos a outra metade.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;a href="http://carbonmonoxide.blogspot.com/"target="_blank"&gt;Dela&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-107734046312603644?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/107734046312603644/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=107734046312603644&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/107734046312603644'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/107734046312603644'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/02/era-por-assimiliao-e-no-por-excluso.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-107733905228163144</id><published>2004-02-21T01:46:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2004-02-21T02:31:13.420-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;eu não alimento nada duvidoso&lt;br /&gt;eu não dou de comer a cachorro raivoso&lt;br /&gt;eu não morro de raiva&lt;br /&gt;eu não mordo no nervo dormente&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;eu posso até não achar o seu coração&lt;br /&gt;e talvez esquecer o porquê da missão&lt;br /&gt;que me faz nessa hora aqui presente&lt;br /&gt;e se a minha balada na hora h&lt;br /&gt;atirar para o alvo cegamente&lt;br /&gt;ela é pontiaguda&lt;br /&gt;ela tem direção&lt;br /&gt;ela fere rente&lt;br /&gt;ela é surda, ela é muda&lt;br /&gt;a minha bala, ela fere rente&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;eu não alimento nenhuma ilusão&lt;br /&gt;eu não sou como o meu semelhante&lt;br /&gt;eu não quero entender&lt;br /&gt;não preciso entender sua mente&lt;br /&gt;sou somente uma alma em tentação&lt;br /&gt;em rota de colisão&lt;br /&gt;deslocada, estranha e aqui presente&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;e se a minha balada na hora então&lt;br /&gt;errar o alvo na minha frente&lt;br /&gt;ela é cega, ela é burra&lt;br /&gt;ela é explosão&lt;br /&gt;ela fere rente&lt;br /&gt;ela vai, ela fica&lt;br /&gt;a minha bala ela fere rente&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A Balada do Cachorro Louco&lt;br /&gt;(Lenine, Lula Queiroga e Chico Neves)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-107733905228163144?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/107733905228163144/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=107733905228163144&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/107733905228163144'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/107733905228163144'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/02/eu-no-alimento-nada-duvidoso-eu-no-dou.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-107690725438978441</id><published>2004-02-16T01:49:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2004-02-16T02:03:12.436-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;All my life is on me now, hail the pages turning&lt;br /&gt;And the future's on the bound, hell don't know my fury&lt;br /&gt;You're all I need, you're all I need, you're all I need&lt;br /&gt;You're all I need, you're all I need, you're all I need&lt;br /&gt;You're all I need - and maybe some faith would&lt;br /&gt;Do me good&lt;br /&gt;I don't know what I'm doing, don't know should I&lt;br /&gt;Change my mind, I can't decide, there's too many&lt;br /&gt;Variations to consider&lt;br /&gt;No thing I do don't do no thing but bring me&lt;br /&gt;More to do,&lt;br /&gt;It's true, I do imbue my blue unto myself,&lt;br /&gt;I make it bitter&lt;br /&gt;Baby, lay your head on my lap one more time&lt;br /&gt;Tell me you belong to me&lt;br /&gt;Baby say that it's all gonna be alright&lt;br /&gt;I believe that it isn't.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On The Bound (Fiona Apple)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-107690725438978441?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/107690725438978441/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=107690725438978441&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/107690725438978441'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/107690725438978441'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/02/all-my-life-is-on-me-now-hail-pages.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-107655767719424081</id><published>2004-02-12T01:42:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2004-02-12T01:51:50.343-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Eu tenho que achar um lugar pra esconder as minhas vontades. Não digo vontade magra, pequenininha, que nem tomar sorvete a toda hora, dar sumiço  da aula de matemática, comprar um sapato novo que eu não aguento mais o meu. Vontade assim todo mundo pode ver, não tô ligando a mínima. Mas as outras, as três que de repente vão crescendo e engordando toda a vida, ah, essas eu não quero mais mostrar. De jeito nenhum.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A Bolsa Amarela (Lygia Bojunga Nunes)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-107655767719424081?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/107655767719424081/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=107655767719424081&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/107655767719424081'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/107655767719424081'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/02/eu-tenho-que-achar-um-lugar-pra.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340945.post-107564884960579931</id><published>2004-02-01T13:17:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2004-02-01T13:23:37.170-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Si desaparició&lt;br /&gt;em mi aparecerá,&lt;br /&gt;creio que murió,&lt;br /&gt;pero renacerá.&lt;br /&gt;Llovió, paró, llovió...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;Epoca (Gotan Project)&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6340945-107564884960579931?l=sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/feeds/107564884960579931/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6340945&amp;postID=107564884960579931&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/107564884960579931'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6340945/posts/default/107564884960579931'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sardasnaspalpebras.blogspot.com/2004/02/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>S</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04072715635227695520</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='12' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DqTUrfUAMYo/TIxG1BTeKeI/AAAAAAAAACM/UYrbayTLcZU/S220/mucha9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
