<?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-776771400478431603</id><updated>2012-02-03T20:33:40.207+01:00</updated><title type='text'>O estrangeiro</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>333</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-4514970510428120895</id><published>2012-02-03T20:21:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2012-02-03T20:33:40.213+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Notas (6)</title><content type='html'>A&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; ideia de representar o todo, a totalidade humana&lt;/span&gt;, a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;estupidez&lt;/span&gt;, que como recorda Vargas Llosa eram sinónimos para Flaubert, é uma empresa condenada ao fracasso. É um tema frustrante, que se pode acrescentar sobre o genero humano, como ir mais alem e ainda mais longe sem descrever elipses sobre elipses e assumir uma distancia irónica, e para quê a ironia e o enfado quando bastam por si as paredes de uma casa.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-4514970510428120895?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/4514970510428120895'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/4514970510428120895'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2012/02/notas-6.html' title='Notas (6)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-2993947251917893688</id><published>2012-01-31T15:25:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2012-01-31T15:26:37.445+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Lisbon (2)</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.ionline.pt/opiniao/portugal-precisa-uma-sociedade-aberta-inclusiva"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Fala-se de fraquezas macroeconómicas, da deterioração do sistema  bancário, da sobreprotecção do emprego, de um sistema de previdência  social que, em Portugal, tal como no resto do mundo, é incomportável e  foi tomado de assalto pela classe média, da falta de crescimento. Tudo  isto são assuntos válidos e sérios, mas é a componente social e cultural  que constitui a característica decisiva. Não consta da lista da troika,  que poderá não compreender o assunto em toda a sua dimensão ou querer  envolver-se no mesmo, mas ao não lidar com esta componente Portugal  reduz-se, por escolha própria, ao nível dos países em desenvolvimento, o  que, em última análise, é sinónimo de declínio. Com esta postura, o  país não conseguirá renovar-se adequadamente, retomar o crescimento e  alcançar os outros países.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-2993947251917893688?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/2993947251917893688'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/2993947251917893688'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2012/01/lisbon-2.html' title='Lisbon (2)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-3568107902641969937</id><published>2012-01-25T17:55:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2012-01-25T18:02:28.224+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Notas (5)</title><content type='html'>&lt;span id="FSGcaller1" style="display:inline-block;width:100%;"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_texto"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Não  haverá paz para os malditos&lt;/span&gt;, diz a periodista, um erro não intencional. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Não haverá paz para os malvados&lt;/span&gt; sera uma declaração &lt;span style="padding-left:1px;" id="eL_1_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroSintatico"&gt;moral&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, virtuosa e improvavel&lt;span style="padding-left:1px;" id="eL_2_texto"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, que não haja paz para os malditos revela prudência e sensatez&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-3568107902641969937?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/3568107902641969937'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/3568107902641969937'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2012/01/notas-5.html' title='Notas (5)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-635916953458908324</id><published>2012-01-15T15:53:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2012-01-15T15:56:53.964+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Lisbon</title><content type='html'>&lt;span id="FSGcaller1" style="display:inline-block;width:100%;"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_texto"&gt;A &lt;span style="padding-left: 1px; font-style: italic;" id="eL_1_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroOrtografico"&gt;third&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="padding-left: 1px; font-style: italic;" id="eL_2_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroOrtografico"&gt;world-like&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, vem escrito na guia, as imagens que captam as &lt;span style="padding-left:1px;" id="eL_3_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroOrtografico"&gt;camaras&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;  reflex alimentam o ciclo, a pobreza é mais ou menos evidente, um  neo-realismo que interessa ao turista por estar desajustado ao seu  tempo, se sente superior e o subdesenvolvimento pode ser comovente como  uma rara planta que não &lt;span style="padding-left:1px;" id="eL_4_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroSintatico"&gt;prospera&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;  no seu mundo, foi objectivo tornar o pais moderno e rico, parece que  queriam ser europeus, houve uma serie de avanços, modernizou-se, ainda  que uma modernidade de lantejoulas e cimento, um critério &lt;span style="padding-left:1px;" id="eL_5_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroOrtografico"&gt;estetico&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; e sentimental mas economicamente sem frutos, como mostram as fachadas em abandono, as naturezas mortas em &lt;span style="padding-left:1px;" id="eL_6_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroOrtografico"&gt;ruina&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; onde o saneamento &lt;span style="padding-left:1px;" id="eL_7_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroOrtografico"&gt;estetico&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; não chega, não me interessa a leitura &lt;span style="padding-left:1px;" id="eL_8_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroSintatico"&gt;politica&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;. O turista acaba por ver o lado negativo, a velha cidade decadente, a desorganização &lt;span style="padding-left:1px;" id="eL_9_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroSintatico"&gt;publica&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, a desordem urbana, o bem comum que é um &lt;span style="padding-left:1px;" id="eL_10_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroOrtografico"&gt;santuario&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; de augustas trevas, tal como o medo, a estupidez está para o &lt;span style="padding-left:1px;" id="eL_11_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroSintatico"&gt;individuo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; está o subdesenvolvimento como condição colectiva, uma forma de exigência formal que alinha comportamentos, cria &lt;span style="padding-left:1px;" id="eL_12_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroOrtografico"&gt;codigos&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, autojustifica-se, e demonstra uma certa ausência de pudor. Há cerca de vinte anos Portugal comparava-se com Espanha e &lt;span style="padding-left:1px;" id="eL_13_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroOrtografico"&gt;Grecia&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; hoje a companhia é menos honrosa, a dignidade pátria costuma andar nas listas da &lt;span style="padding-left:1px;" id="eL_14_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroOrtografico"&gt;ocde&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; ombro a ombro com o &lt;span style="padding-left:1px;" id="eL_15_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroOrtografico"&gt;Mexico&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;  e a Turquia, 40 anos de democracia foram incapazes de civilizar o  curral, um pais de aventais para melhor servir laranjadas e tropicalismo &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-635916953458908324?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/635916953458908324'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/635916953458908324'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2012/01/lisbon.html' title='Lisbon'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-5972481004104055083</id><published>2012-01-02T14:51:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2012-01-02T14:54:48.458+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Notas (4)</title><content type='html'>Não defendo uma posição cínica nem é essa a posição no ensaio que a meio se apoia no caso Dreyfus para chegar a um ponto que me permite enredar por outro caminho. Um general se coloca do lado da vitima inocente e organiza um comité de dreyfusistas, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;união pela justiça&lt;/span&gt; e sugere adoptar mais modestamente,&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; união pela verdade&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"se pode duvidar do que é justo, mas não do que é verdadeiro"&lt;/span&gt; diz o general. Também albergo duvidas sobre o que é justo mas poucas sobre o sentido de justiça comum e a fronteira normativa da maioria, um aglomerado de &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;corcundas morais&lt;/span&gt; que fazem pagar caro testemunhos mais que oculares e convertem uma qualquer &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;verdade &lt;/span&gt;numa qualquer alucinação&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-5972481004104055083?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/5972481004104055083'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/5972481004104055083'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2012/01/notas-4.html' title='Notas (4)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-7205318444476278840</id><published>2012-01-02T14:47:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2012-01-02T14:48:35.046+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Notas (3)</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RE0p3ca5CU4/TwG1hJiGv-I/AAAAAAAAAM8/B5IUyLeKLCg/s1600/Cartas%2Bdesde%2Blas%2Bantipodas.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 202px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RE0p3ca5CU4/TwG1hJiGv-I/AAAAAAAAAM8/B5IUyLeKLCg/s320/Cartas%2Bdesde%2Blas%2Bantipodas.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693030985072295906" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Releio as &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;cartas desde las antipodas&lt;/span&gt;, há um ensaio que me segue desde que o li em julho, o ensaio fez parte de uma conferencia que tinha como tema a verdade, não as costuras internas, que não importam em si, mas a representação, e o ponto central que desempenha a imaginação, nada de confusões, a imaginação encontra-se no plano da poesia, fonte primordial, não basta o acontecimento, testemunhos, a marcha das nações, traições, deslealdade, a inveja. A realidade é a realidade, a verdade é outro assunto.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-7205318444476278840?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/7205318444476278840'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/7205318444476278840'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2012/01/notas-3.html' title='Notas (3)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RE0p3ca5CU4/TwG1hJiGv-I/AAAAAAAAAM8/B5IUyLeKLCg/s72-c/Cartas%2Bdesde%2Blas%2Bantipodas.gif' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-2252474995658733811</id><published>2012-01-02T14:32:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2012-01-02T15:30:05.063+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Notas (2)</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="FSG_texto"&gt;&lt;span style="padding-left:1px;" id="eL_1_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroSintatico"&gt;Em&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;  2011 terminei três cadernos, irrelevantes e peripatéticos - como só  pode ser a marginalidade - um "deve e haver" caótico, sem forma externa e no entanto que se mantém unido como se estivera &lt;span style="padding-left:1px;" id="eL_2_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroSintatico"&gt;cosido&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; interiormente&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-2252474995658733811?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/2252474995658733811'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/2252474995658733811'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2012/01/notas-2.html' title='Notas (2)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-5284818691840539743</id><published>2012-01-02T14:31:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2012-01-02T14:32:23.385+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Notas (1)</title><content type='html'>&lt;span id="FSGcaller1" style="display:inline-block;width:100%;"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_texto"&gt;Em 2012 continuarei calado, apático e ridículo, um português, mas um português para pior&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-5284818691840539743?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/5284818691840539743'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/5284818691840539743'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2012/01/notas-1.html' title='Notas (1)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-16395986153407227</id><published>2011-12-31T23:30:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2011-12-31T23:31:47.103+01:00</updated><title type='text'>2012</title><content type='html'>Inauguro 2012, ano novo, sem duvida, mas so isso&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-16395986153407227?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/16395986153407227'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/16395986153407227'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/12/2012.html' title='2012'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-7213874285073758065</id><published>2011-12-23T20:57:00.004+01:00</published><updated>2011-12-23T21:03:52.793+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Urtain</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9HH5b4DY634/TvTdnIMfrPI/AAAAAAAAAMw/VpogEXaELSA/s1600/JoseUrtain.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 235px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9HH5b4DY634/TvTdnIMfrPI/AAAAAAAAAMw/VpogEXaELSA/s320/JoseUrtain.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5689415893560306930" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A vida de Urtain deu origem em 2008 a uma obra de teatro, a peça é rodada em um ringue onde o género humano cai ao primeiro gongo. Urtain não foi apenas o homem que conhecera a Franco, que fez uma fotografia com Franco, que fora campeão europeu, uma fortaleza fisica. Fora de combate foi um rafeiro à deriva, figura circense nos baixos fundos de uma cidade infernal, animador de luta livre, porteiro, uma luta constante contra o que não tem emenda, tentou os negócios mas como diz uma personagem não foi feito para os negócios As suas aparições televisivas suscitavam piedade e alimentam os piores instintos, o escárnio publico. O ringue é um reflexo palido, ali não circula uma gota de ar, não há bondade e onde não há bondade não há humanidade, apenas o desconforto de uma verdade previa. Urtain acabou por sucumbir e atirou-se ao vazio de um decimo andar de Madrid&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-7213874285073758065?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/7213874285073758065'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/7213874285073758065'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/12/urtain.html' title='Urtain'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9HH5b4DY634/TvTdnIMfrPI/AAAAAAAAAMw/VpogEXaELSA/s72-c/JoseUrtain.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-8813496644943948569</id><published>2011-12-20T20:15:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2011-12-20T20:20:21.562+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Nada</title><content type='html'>Para-raios de deus como diz Ruben Dario, antítese da ordem, o trabalho e a moral, a vida esmagada contra qual os jovens casais murmuram, entendo o gozo estético, claro, tambem sou feito de identica materia que espera a aniquilação, anima-me a linguagem musical, frente ao pessimismo do tempo e os seus descalabros proporciona uma visão optimista, uma parcela de liberdade&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-8813496644943948569?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/8813496644943948569'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/8813496644943948569'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/12/nada.html' title='Nada'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-1956557632716773050</id><published>2011-12-20T20:09:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2011-12-20T20:11:16.685+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Memorias</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="FSG_texto"&gt;&lt;span style="padding-left:1px;" id="eL_1_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroSintatico"&gt;Entre&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; as &lt;span style="padding-left:1px;" id="eL_2_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroSintatico"&gt;memorias&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; falsas e as &lt;span style="padding-left:1px;" id="eL_3_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroSintatico"&gt;memorias&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="padding-left:1px;" id="eL_4_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroSintatico"&gt;autenticas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; opto sempre pelas primeiras &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-1956557632716773050?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/1956557632716773050'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/1956557632716773050'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/12/memorias.html' title='Memorias'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-6390051802277293435</id><published>2011-12-08T23:21:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2011-12-08T23:24:10.179+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Deus ex machina</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5FhxQj2aliI/TuE4lsiK2kI/AAAAAAAAAMg/AjbMFwgdqNU/s1600/Deus-ex-machina.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 265px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5FhxQj2aliI/TuE4lsiK2kI/AAAAAAAAAMg/AjbMFwgdqNU/s320/Deus-ex-machina.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5683886424979069506" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_texto"&gt;&lt;span style="padding-left:1px;" id="eL_1_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroOrtografico"&gt;Roubini&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; usou há umas semanas a expressão adequada: &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;a &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="padding-left: 1px; font-style: italic;" id="eL_2_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroOrtografico"&gt;slow-motion&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="padding-left: 1px; font-style: italic;" id="eL_3_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroOrtografico"&gt;train&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="padding-left: 1px; font-style: italic;" id="eL_4_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroOrtografico"&gt;wreck&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, um desastre em &lt;span style="padding-left:1px;" id="eL_5_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroOrtografico"&gt;camera&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; lenta&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span id="FSGcaller1" style="display:inline-block;width:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-6390051802277293435?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/6390051802277293435'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/6390051802277293435'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/12/deus-ex-machina.html' title='Deus ex machina'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5FhxQj2aliI/TuE4lsiK2kI/AAAAAAAAAMg/AjbMFwgdqNU/s72-c/Deus-ex-machina.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-5920596019217989934</id><published>2011-11-25T15:06:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2011-11-25T15:07:36.606+01:00</updated><title type='text'>doomsday clock II</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;The Economist, with its cover of a euro coming down in flames, asks 'Is    this really the end? and answers that, basically, yes it is. A senior    minister explained to me a few days ago that contingency planning is now    well under way, and takes in both preparations at home for a shock on the    banks and work with consulates and embassies abroad, specifically in the    eurozone, to anticipate social and banking disruption when it all goes    wrong. The betting in Team Dave seems to be that the game is as good as up    for the single currency. "It's in our interests that they keep playing for    time because that gives us more time to prepare," the minister told me.    Anyone who has any kind of exposure to the euro – a euro mortgage for    example, or a euro account, or euro contracts – should be taking advice now    on how to mitigate the risk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;em&gt;Contingency planning is in progress throughout Europe. From the UK  Treasury on Whitehall to the architectural monstrosity of the Bundesbank  in Frankfurt, everyone is desperately trying to figure out precisely  how bad the consequences might be. What they are preparing for is the  biggest mass default in history. There's no orderly way of doing this.  European finance and trade is too far integrated to allow for an easy  unwinding of contracts. It's going to be anarchy.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-5920596019217989934?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/5920596019217989934'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/5920596019217989934'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/11/doomsday-clock-ii.html' title='doomsday clock II'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-6846853837672350423</id><published>2011-10-24T11:19:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2011-10-24T11:22:24.278+02:00</updated><title type='text'>doomsday clock</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AOGNLMvEAQg/TqUt3NTEnaI/AAAAAAAAAMI/MQRS2vKMEic/s1600/doom.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AOGNLMvEAQg/TqUt3NTEnaI/AAAAAAAAAMI/MQRS2vKMEic/s320/doom.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666986132601347490" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.businessinsider.com/the-european-financial-crisis-in-one-graphic-the-dominoes-of-debt-2011-10"&gt;&lt;em&gt;The dominoes of debt are toppling in Europe, and there is no way to stop the forces of financial gravity.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-6846853837672350423?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/6846853837672350423'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/6846853837672350423'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/10/doomsday-clock.html' title='doomsday clock'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AOGNLMvEAQg/TqUt3NTEnaI/AAAAAAAAAMI/MQRS2vKMEic/s72-c/doom.gif' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-1105950515323920962</id><published>2011-09-25T13:39:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2011-09-25T13:45:29.827+02:00</updated><title type='text'>sobre a primeira lei de Newton</title><content type='html'>&lt;span id="FSGcaller1" style="display: inline-block; width: 100%; font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_texto"&gt;Uma partícula livre é aquela que não esta sujeita a nenhuma interacção. Rigorosamente falando, não existe tal coisa, porque toda &lt;span style="padding-left:1px;" id="eL_1_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroSintatico"&gt;partícula&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="padding-left:1px;" id="eL_2_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroSintatico"&gt;esta&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; sujeita a interacções com as demais partículas do universo. Na &lt;span style="padding-left:1px;" id="eL_3_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroSintatico"&gt;prática&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;,  entretanto, há algumas partículas que podem ser consideradas livres ou  porque estão suficientemente afastadas umas das outras e as suas  interacções são desprezíveis, ou porque as interacções com outras  partículas se anulam produzindo uma interacção nula.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-1105950515323920962?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/1105950515323920962'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/1105950515323920962'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/09/sobre-primeira-lei-de-newton.html' title='sobre a primeira lei de Newton'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-5237589320635961269</id><published>2011-09-22T12:01:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2011-09-22T12:11:16.780+02:00</updated><title type='text'>II</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8KgEBmerZqg/TnsHr33pHsI/AAAAAAAAAL8/v6gmHE6hviw/s1600/Henri_Michaux.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 285px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8KgEBmerZqg/TnsHr33pHsI/AAAAAAAAAL8/v6gmHE6hviw/s320/Henri_Michaux.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655122207406890690" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Se han aliado con la vaca, pero la vaca no se da por aludida. La vaca y el mono, los dos animales sagrados más insolentes. Hay vacas en Calcuta por todos lados. Cruzan las calles, se atraviesan en una vereda y la hacen intransitable; defecan ante el automóvil del Virrey, examinan las tiendas, amenazan el ascensor, se instalan en el descanso de la escalera, y si el hindú fuera comible ya se lo habrían comido. En su indiferencia por el mundo externo,también es superior al hindú. Visiblemente, no busca explicaciones, ni verdades en el mundo externo. &lt;/span&gt;Maya&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;, todo eso. &lt;/span&gt;Maya&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;, este mundo. Eso no cuenta. Y para comer un simple puñado de hierba, necesitan más de siete horas para meditarlo. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Michaux&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-5237589320635961269?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/5237589320635961269'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/5237589320635961269'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/09/ii.html' title='II'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8KgEBmerZqg/TnsHr33pHsI/AAAAAAAAAL8/v6gmHE6hviw/s72-c/Henri_Michaux.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-361356151489042608</id><published>2011-09-20T20:51:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2011-09-20T20:57:14.808+02:00</updated><title type='text'>I</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="FSG_texto"&gt;Longe  da impostura. O lirismo é o adequado. Incapaz de integrar a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;lógica e a  linguagem da maioria&lt;/span&gt;, ao fim ao cabo, como diz a biografia, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;elementos  essenciais à experiencia humana&lt;/span&gt;. Como &lt;span style="padding-left:1px;" id="eL_1_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroOrtografico"&gt;Vila-Matas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; prefiro o estilo sobre a trama mas obviamente isso são questões menores &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-361356151489042608?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/361356151489042608'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/361356151489042608'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/09/i.html' title='I'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-6019014650402727699</id><published>2011-09-19T11:08:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2011-09-19T11:12:23.912+02:00</updated><title type='text'>estatua em vida</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zJsxVqAVY44/TncG2hhkjtI/AAAAAAAAALQ/mla2ewWirAk/s1600/genet_jean.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 238px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zJsxVqAVY44/TncG2hhkjtI/AAAAAAAAALQ/mla2ewWirAk/s320/genet_jean.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653995390968827602" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;É um moralista, um activista moral de uma moral inversa, escreveu que escrevia para o &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;inumerável povo dos mortos&lt;/span&gt;. Foi rechaçado e condenado, é pacifico, um martir, uma atmosfera dificil de reproduzir em laboratorio ou em carnavais de marginalidade. Tranformaram-lhe em &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;estatua em vida&lt;/span&gt;, lamentou-se.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;São Genet chamou-lhe Sartre&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-6019014650402727699?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/6019014650402727699'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/6019014650402727699'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/09/estatua-em-vida.html' title='estatua em vida'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zJsxVqAVY44/TncG2hhkjtI/AAAAAAAAALQ/mla2ewWirAk/s72-c/genet_jean.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-3408252335666730356</id><published>2011-08-23T18:39:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2011-08-23T19:45:19.832+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Agosto (3)</title><content type='html'>&lt;span id="FSGcaller1" style="display:inline-block;width:100%;"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_texto"&gt;Vejo na televisão um cão a roer as barras de ferro da sua jaula. Uma paisagem impressionista do &lt;span style="padding-left:1px;" id="eL_1_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroOrtografico"&gt;extremo-oriente&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; (Vietname), um momento &lt;span style="padding-left:1px;" id="eL_2_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroOrtografico"&gt;ahistorico&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, um momento &lt;span style="padding-left:1px;" id="eL_3_texto"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_erroOrtografico"&gt;wordsworthiano&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;  cujas cores servirão outras campanhas. Um cão a roer as paredes da sua  jaula. Um cão com consciência das paredes que o separam da liberdade.  Uma consciência apurada. Não é o teu caso, não é o nosso caso.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span id="FSGcaller1" style="display:inline-block;width:100%;"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_texto"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-3408252335666730356?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/3408252335666730356'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/3408252335666730356'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/08/agosto-3.html' title='Agosto (3)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-4978728308164301288</id><published>2011-08-22T19:47:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2011-08-22T19:49:25.147+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Agosto (2)</title><content type='html'>&lt;span id="FSGcaller1" style="display:inline-block;width:100%;"&gt;&lt;div id="divFSG_texto" style="overflow-y:auto;overflow-x:hidden;"&gt;&lt;span class="FSG_texto"&gt;Alinha  observações vitais e seguras sem tomar em consideração a mais universal  de todas: as diferenças que nos separam são mínimas, mas são essas que  realmente importam. Não é só chamas e febre. Espiamos e vigiamos,  e isso é quase tudo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-4978728308164301288?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/4978728308164301288'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/4978728308164301288'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/08/agosto-2.html' title='Agosto (2)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-260587593665627460</id><published>2011-08-22T19:27:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2011-08-22T19:45:42.515+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Agosto</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kyrP3S9SWEY/TlKRwLr352I/AAAAAAAAALI/5D7ryHhRPMI/s1600/mccullerscarson.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 231px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kyrP3S9SWEY/TlKRwLr352I/AAAAAAAAALI/5D7ryHhRPMI/s320/mccullerscarson.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5643733540005209954" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;O texto nem sempre é agudo, não é de primeira linha, a América não é a América de Mailer, Kerouac, Bukowski, Capote, Carver, Salinger, ou Roth, Roth dos primeiros anos, mas proporciona uma irrebatível insinuação de tragédia patética numa corrente tarde de verão. Uma tragédia à portuguesa, a rua principal a caminho de cheehaw podia estar no interior alentejano, a caminho de Serpa e quem escreve (parece, e parece muito) escreve não sobre o que possui mas sobre o que carece. Um defeito português&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-260587593665627460?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/260587593665627460'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/260587593665627460'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/08/agosto.html' title='Agosto'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kyrP3S9SWEY/TlKRwLr352I/AAAAAAAAALI/5D7ryHhRPMI/s72-c/mccullerscarson.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-4069206094560100778</id><published>2011-08-19T21:35:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2011-08-19T21:36:34.116+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Hoje</title><content type='html'>Cedo o passado as chamas e espanto os vendilhoes do templo. Um gesto antipatico, cruel, moral e onirico.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-4069206094560100778?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/4069206094560100778'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/4069206094560100778'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/08/hoje.html' title='Hoje'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-629142802404609677</id><published>2011-08-16T19:13:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2011-08-16T19:16:49.803+02:00</updated><title type='text'>fear to tread</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Lwu9bGcX63A/Tkql0jmhbbI/AAAAAAAAALA/5uYEgyu6-zg/s1600/EMForster.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 208px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Lwu9bGcX63A/Tkql0jmhbbI/AAAAAAAAALA/5uYEgyu6-zg/s320/EMForster.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641503805563563442" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Simpatizo com quem fez da razao sistema, neutrais quando o código assim o pede, é gente cerebral, pensam que encontraram a tábua de valores universal, a pauta kantiana, e desconfiam na ausência de compromisso, vêem, crêem eles, a partir das cimas da montanha, e terminamos algumas vezes no fundo do vale&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/776771400478431603-629142802404609677?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/629142802404609677'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/629142802404609677'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/08/fear-to-tread.html' title='fear to tread'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Lwu9bGcX63A/Tkql0jmhbbI/AAAAAAAAALA/5uYEgyu6-zg/s72-c/EMForster.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-7152924287440365244</id><published>2011-08-14T15:17:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2011-08-14T15:19:21.928+02:00</updated><title type='text'>spleen (6)</title><content type='html'>Faço zapping e quando em vez cruzo-me com programas de wrestling, lucha libre, tanto a versao anglo-americana e a latino-americana. Caras de seriedades, de desafio, sabemos que nada daquilo é genuino, nós sabemos, e quem compra o bilhete sabe, mas precisamos de fingir que caras de seriedade, de desafio sao caras de seriedade, de desafio. Desde de Nietzsche está escrito que o que conta sao as aparencias e que nao há espectaculo sem espectaculo&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-7152924287440365244?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/7152924287440365244'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/7152924287440365244'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/08/spleen-6.html' title='spleen (6)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-291166145915829984</id><published>2011-08-14T14:59:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2011-08-14T15:05:42.978+02:00</updated><title type='text'>spleen (5)</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r40xHslnl2o/TkfHuHlzbjI/AAAAAAAAAK4/_NJUT3dqdlA/s1600/BigLeb.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r40xHslnl2o/TkfHuHlzbjI/AAAAAAAAAK4/_NJUT3dqdlA/s320/BigLeb.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5640696653430353458" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Gente sem causa, familia, ou vidas claras, gosto do ambiente insolito e de impostura, a arbitrariedade como regra oculta, identifico-me com as personagens que variam entre o niilismo e o materialismo, ainda que nunca serei um deles, onde estou, sei que estou a mais, sou afectado, nao sou natural, os meus gostos sao claros mas é o unico que tenho claro&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/776771400478431603-291166145915829984?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/291166145915829984'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/291166145915829984'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/08/spleen-5.html' title='spleen (5)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r40xHslnl2o/TkfHuHlzbjI/AAAAAAAAAK4/_NJUT3dqdlA/s72-c/BigLeb.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-2825596967269705789</id><published>2011-08-11T16:37:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2011-08-11T16:43:53.642+02:00</updated><title type='text'>The tongues of dying men</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Y9XDU3iEyOo/TkPpnXPb0aI/AAAAAAAAAKw/LXF-WDPVUPA/s1600/14hamlet_CA0-articleLarge.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 191px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Y9XDU3iEyOo/TkPpnXPb0aI/AAAAAAAAAKw/LXF-WDPVUPA/s320/14hamlet_CA0-articleLarge.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639608020860916130" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The tongues of dying men | Enforce attention like deep harmony. As vozes de um moribundo, nao de um morto.&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/776771400478431603-2825596967269705789?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/2825596967269705789'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/2825596967269705789'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/08/tongues-of-dying-men.html' title='The tongues of dying men'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Y9XDU3iEyOo/TkPpnXPb0aI/AAAAAAAAAKw/LXF-WDPVUPA/s72-c/14hamlet_CA0-articleLarge.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-22109571553937566</id><published>2011-08-11T16:35:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2011-08-11T16:35:44.070+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Casa</title><content type='html'>Estou cansado, esgotado, o sofrimento passou a ser a unica casa a que regresso com alguma regularidade. Para fingir-me vivo. Como se me soubesse morto.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-22109571553937566?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/22109571553937566'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/22109571553937566'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/08/casa.html' title='Casa'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-3379668703347483101</id><published>2011-08-07T19:20:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2011-08-07T19:23:41.457+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Portnoy's Complaint</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3eqXXNWBadQ/Tj7Ji24lkWI/AAAAAAAAAKg/6JlI_dGF07Q/s1600/Portnoy%2527scomplaint.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 208px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3eqXXNWBadQ/Tj7Ji24lkWI/AAAAAAAAAKg/6JlI_dGF07Q/s320/Portnoy%2527scomplaint.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638165384200032610" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Curso intensivo de Yiddish. Um proposito moral gratificante. Transtorno hibrido de. Culpa e antropomorfismo judeu, guerra de classes e outras sombras. Fauna: quem vence e quem esta vencido. Castraçao, temor ao castigo, complexo de Edipo. A importancia do coito oral. Retorcer a vida por todos os seus lados culpabilizando-a ate ao fim.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-3379668703347483101?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/3379668703347483101'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/3379668703347483101'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/08/portnoys-complaint.html' title='Portnoy&apos;s Complaint'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3eqXXNWBadQ/Tj7Ji24lkWI/AAAAAAAAAKg/6JlI_dGF07Q/s72-c/Portnoy%2527scomplaint.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-1770468922825465435</id><published>2011-07-14T21:32:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2011-07-14T21:34:33.226+02:00</updated><title type='text'>spleen (4)</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CnqgddCO50k/Th9EwOYHFDI/AAAAAAAAAKY/XCzpti24yr8/s1600/wanderinmus-vanostade.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 252px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CnqgddCO50k/Th9EwOYHFDI/AAAAAAAAAKY/XCzpti24yr8/s320/wanderinmus-vanostade.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5629293654520042546" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-1770468922825465435?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/1770468922825465435'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/1770468922825465435'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/07/spleen-4.html' title='spleen (4)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CnqgddCO50k/Th9EwOYHFDI/AAAAAAAAAKY/XCzpti24yr8/s72-c/wanderinmus-vanostade.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-7462329363042097102</id><published>2011-07-09T21:08:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2011-07-09T21:15:01.761+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Spleen (3)</title><content type='html'>O pessimismo é um estado de animo, um começo, e de vez em quando um principio, quero dizer, uma posiçao etica ou codigo. A misantropia nao é sequer um estado de animo, muito menos principio, implica um codigo, e é sempre do foro da fisiologia. Como ter uma perna mais curta&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-7462329363042097102?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/7462329363042097102'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/7462329363042097102'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/07/spleen-3.html' title='Spleen (3)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-5610482270705664456</id><published>2011-07-08T21:44:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2011-07-08T21:57:31.352+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Carl Jung</title><content type='html'>Nao sou adepto da psiquiatria, metodo que visa expulsar o homem do homem, como diz Breton, penso na analise de sonhos e penso com simpatia na personagem de Nabokov numa ala do hospicio mentindo ou num universo hermetico como a Madame Bovary e o seu amante ocultos pela cortina. Obvio ainda assim inacessivel. Simon Leys cita Jung mas ha momentos que nem uma dose extra de Rilke e de Malraux pode evitar um choque frontal com a realidade &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-5610482270705664456?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/5610482270705664456'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/5610482270705664456'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/07/carl-jung.html' title='Carl Jung'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-3685547242347873784</id><published>2011-06-29T14:49:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2011-06-29T14:55:26.015+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Spleen (2)</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yoWQW3PU6zc/TgsgZMcQ7jI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/V0_cPmtrQxA/s1600/de%2Bdioses%2By%2Bhombres1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 233px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yoWQW3PU6zc/TgsgZMcQ7jI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/V0_cPmtrQxA/s320/de%2Bdioses%2By%2Bhombres1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623624176910790194" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-3685547242347873784?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/3685547242347873784'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/3685547242347873784'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/06/spleen-2.html' title='Spleen (2)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yoWQW3PU6zc/TgsgZMcQ7jI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/V0_cPmtrQxA/s72-c/de%2Bdioses%2By%2Bhombres1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-420020576245263446</id><published>2011-05-30T11:31:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2011-05-30T15:03:26.596+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Spleen</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GYlSPDfVgKo/TeNr7Pxx-zI/AAAAAAAAAKE/IwsGFDiW4Yw/s1600/48.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 204px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GYlSPDfVgKo/TeNr7Pxx-zI/AAAAAAAAAKE/IwsGFDiW4Yw/s320/48.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612448226225552178" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O sentimento de inutilidade do dandy nao é a bandeira da sua singularidade, pose ou exibiçao, por assim dizer, mais bem consciencia da sua singularidade. E nao podia ser de outra forma&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-420020576245263446?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/420020576245263446'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/420020576245263446'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/05/spleen.html' title='Spleen'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GYlSPDfVgKo/TeNr7Pxx-zI/AAAAAAAAAKE/IwsGFDiW4Yw/s72-c/48.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-184182193348978710</id><published>2011-04-28T10:20:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2011-04-28T10:22:01.735+02:00</updated><title type='text'>A Jack in Office</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--fSH5MmdZ58/TbkjgGsQ-cI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/wsJIb_e0qQo/s1600/jackinoffice.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 241px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--fSH5MmdZ58/TbkjgGsQ-cI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/wsJIb_e0qQo/s320/jackinoffice.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600546646070983106" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The title is a slang expression for a pompous government official. It is  a pun on the principal character: a Jack Russell terrier. A critic  described how 'the well-fed and much caressed dog…keeps others from  testing the food of which it has had too much'.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-184182193348978710?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/184182193348978710'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/184182193348978710'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/04/jack-in-office.html' title='A Jack in Office'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--fSH5MmdZ58/TbkjgGsQ-cI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/wsJIb_e0qQo/s72-c/jackinoffice.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-1916185045793051680</id><published>2011-04-28T10:06:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2011-04-28T10:11:16.790+02:00</updated><title type='text'>O naufragio</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EgZw_W8Ze8s/TbkgqpHvRRI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/0RtbEqhntOk/s1600/delacroix45.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EgZw_W8Ze8s/TbkgqpHvRRI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/0RtbEqhntOk/s320/delacroix45.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600543528576828690" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;O quadro é acompanhado por um fragmento de um poema de Byron, algo como "os sobreviventes decidem quem deve ser sacrificado", o sitio de internet do museu é mais claro: The V&amp;amp;A sketch shows a scene from Byron's 1819 poem Don Juan, where the shipwreck survivors draw lots to decide 'who should die to be his fellows' food' (Canto II).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-1916185045793051680?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/1916185045793051680'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/1916185045793051680'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/04/o-naufragio.html' title='O naufragio'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EgZw_W8Ze8s/TbkgqpHvRRI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/0RtbEqhntOk/s72-c/delacroix45.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-5102357110548751788</id><published>2011-04-25T10:57:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2011-04-25T11:05:34.857+02:00</updated><title type='text'>E.M. Forster</title><content type='html'>'Why can't we be friends now? it's what I want. It's what you want'. But the horses didn't want it - they swerved apart; the earth didn't want it, sending up rocks through which riders must pass single-file; the temples, the tank, the jail, the palace, the birds, the carrion, the Guest House... they didn't want it, they said in their hundred voices, 'No, not yet', and the sky said, 'No not there'.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-5102357110548751788?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/5102357110548751788'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/5102357110548751788'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/04/em-forster.html' title='E.M. Forster'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-121048766405455096</id><published>2011-04-11T15:25:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2011-04-11T15:29:48.218+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Um país europeu?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.elpais.com/articulo/economia/politicos/ceden/mando/Portugal/elpepueco/20110410elpepieco_1/Tes"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"A lo largo de los siglos nunca creamos riqueza para pagar los lujos excesivos de una élite que vive lejos de la realidad"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Las cosas han ido de mal en peor y, a la luz de los números, la  conclusión es tremenda. Una economía estancada durante una década, que  coloca el índice de crecimiento de Portugal en el antepenúltimo lugar de  una lista de 180 países miembros del FMI, según un informe publicado  por este organismo. La crisis financiera internacional agravó la  situación, como muestran los indicadores que maneja el economista Álvaro  Santos Pereira, profesor de la Universidad canadiense Simon Fraser, que  ha estudiado durante más de un año el endeudamiento portugués.  "Portugal tiene el peor índice de crecimiento de los últimos 90 años, la  peor deuda pública de los últimos 160 años, el peor desempleo (11%) de  los últimos 30 años, la segunda gran ola migratoria en 150 años y la  peor tasa de ahorro en 50 años". No son solo cifras. Detrás de cada una  de ellas hay un ser humano, como los 600.000 que no tienen trabajo, los  700.000 que emigraron entre 1998 y 2008, o el millón largo de ciudadanos  que tiene un proceso pendiente en los tribunales.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-121048766405455096?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/121048766405455096'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/121048766405455096'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/04/um-pais-europeu.html' title='Um país europeu?'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-3187681713975369800</id><published>2011-04-10T20:49:00.005+02:00</published><updated>2011-04-14T09:34:46.130+02:00</updated><title type='text'>notas (3)</title><content type='html'>Pilatos pergunta a Jesus &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;O que é a verdade?&lt;/span&gt; O episodio é mencionado por Simon Leys. Responsavel pela ordem publica, denunciado em Roma, enfrentado pela sublevaçao, com a carreira em risco, pergunta Pilatos: O que é a verdade? Acusam-no de blasfemia. Para suportar a pena de morte acusam-no de rebeliao, de desafio a autoridade de Cesar, acusam-no de afirmar-se rei. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Pilatos interroga Jesus. Naturalmente, a ideia de reino espiritual lhe parece fantasiosa, mas perfeitamente inofensiva.&lt;/span&gt; Em outro artigo C.S. Lewis é citado: &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;A verdade é sempre acerca de algo, mas a realidade é isso de que fala a verdade&lt;/span&gt;. A inocencia nao é a questao e a resposta interessa para outros propositos. Que realidade é essa quando se fala em verdade? Que realidade é essa de que fala a mentira?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-3187681713975369800?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/3187681713975369800'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/3187681713975369800'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/04/notas-3.html' title='notas (3)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-8282356561966231685</id><published>2011-04-06T10:46:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2011-04-06T10:51:52.461+02:00</updated><title type='text'>notas (2)</title><content type='html'>Quando prevalece a natureza sobre a cultura temos um selvagem, quando prevalece a cultura, um pedante, só do equilibrio nasce o cavalheiro, diz o filosofo, com o qual estou de acordo, totalmente de acordo, concordo e nao duvido mas nao quero nada com a natureza&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-8282356561966231685?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/8282356561966231685'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/8282356561966231685'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/04/notas-2.html' title='notas (2)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-2610415705272034933</id><published>2011-04-06T10:38:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2011-04-06T10:40:14.971+02:00</updated><title type='text'>notas</title><content type='html'>É isto que define as cartas dos antipodas, a experiencia a partir da distancia, interessa-me a experiencia humana da distancia&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-2610415705272034933?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/2610415705272034933'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/2610415705272034933'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/04/notas.html' title='notas'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-554984792840763457</id><published>2011-03-27T11:14:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2011-03-27T11:20:05.188+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Lettres des Antipodes</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TCxfIVqnEEU/TY7__Tzjq5I/AAAAAAAAAJs/jiv3imX2Nrg/s1600/SImon%2BLeys.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 196px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TCxfIVqnEEU/TY7__Tzjq5I/AAAAAAAAAJs/jiv3imX2Nrg/s320/SImon%2BLeys.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588685650726726546" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;La vida nos somete a unos tests en los que hemos de improvisar respuestas instantaneas. Pero el talento de la replica no es dado a todo el mundo: unas veces respondemos algo que no tiene nada que ver, otras nos quedamos mudos; y tenia razon Valery al asimilar la totalidad de la literatura a una vasta "venganza del &lt;/span&gt;esprit de l'escalier&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;".&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-554984792840763457?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/554984792840763457'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/554984792840763457'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/03/lettres-des-antipodes.html' title='Lettres des Antipodes'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TCxfIVqnEEU/TY7__Tzjq5I/AAAAAAAAAJs/jiv3imX2Nrg/s72-c/SImon%2BLeys.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-3700482364531404631</id><published>2011-03-15T12:55:00.008+01:00</published><updated>2011-03-15T13:23:12.489+01:00</updated><title type='text'>nada (12)</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-s9vIQFikJj4/TX9UBqkMHkI/AAAAAAAAAJk/RRl7tC9K6OA/s1600/48.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 204px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-s9vIQFikJj4/TX9UBqkMHkI/AAAAAAAAAJk/RRl7tC9K6OA/s320/48.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584274450545385026" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Regresso a Baudelaire, aos cegos com as suas orbitas apagadas dirigidas aos ceus - v. 109, As flores do mal. A alegoria é boa e inutil como os olhos inclinados a um ceu vazio. Nao sei, nao conheço, nao tenho resposta ao o que é a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;verdade&lt;/span&gt;, mas a traiçao, a mentira, nunca andam longe, vem na biblia&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-3700482364531404631?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/3700482364531404631'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/3700482364531404631'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/03/nada-12.html' title='nada (12)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-s9vIQFikJj4/TX9UBqkMHkI/AAAAAAAAAJk/RRl7tC9K6OA/s72-c/48.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-5331993593525885695</id><published>2011-03-15T12:52:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2011-03-15T12:54:01.938+01:00</updated><title type='text'>A tentação da marquise 2</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://luisfilipecristovao.blogspot.com/2011/03/tentacao-da-marquise-2.html"&gt;Nunca pensar como um grupo, mesmo quando é em grupo que estamos. Nunca  pensar que as coisas têm consequências, deixam marcas. Viver como se  tudo fosse apenas uma festa. Apontar os dedos a quem escolhe outro  caminho. “Se estamos aqui, porque não somos todos o mesmo?” Ninguém  escapa à tentação de normalizar. As sensações, as descobertas. Viver  como se tudo fosse apenas o hoje.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-5331993593525885695?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/5331993593525885695'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/5331993593525885695'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/03/tentacao-da-marquise-2.html' title='A tentação da marquise 2'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-7525866477505470897</id><published>2011-03-15T12:42:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2011-03-15T12:50:37.097+01:00</updated><title type='text'>nada (11)</title><content type='html'>As frases longas e automaticas de Nadja de Breton levam me a Faulkner, ao sul de Faulkner, a Absolom, um livro de memorias, uma paisagem hermetica de memorias e um pecado original que complica a vida sem ir comer a mesa dos malditos, aquilo que fazemos tem consequencias, uma consequencia humana de materia e de energia cinetica, nada fica impune e as nossas faltas, as nossas falhas destroi a nós e destroi ao proximo, equivale no fundo a adopçao de uma moral, nao por principios nem necessariamente por uma funçao falsificadora, simplesmente um eros moral, a literatura nao substitui a religiao mas pode reclamar o lugar vazio, como farsa, como mito, como substancia moral, nenhum espaço de liberdade e segurança vive no vazio&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-7525866477505470897?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/7525866477505470897'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/7525866477505470897'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/03/nada-11.html' title='nada (11)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-7608897268025025376</id><published>2011-03-14T13:45:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2011-03-14T13:47:33.436+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Spider - David Cronenberg</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qluiP_rv0Mc/TX4OXZYgYTI/AAAAAAAAAJc/e7eLozPtHDw/s1600/spider2_w434_h_q80.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qluiP_rv0Mc/TX4OXZYgYTI/AAAAAAAAAJc/e7eLozPtHDw/s320/spider2_w434_h_q80.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583916383099445554" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-7608897268025025376?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/7608897268025025376'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/7608897268025025376'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/03/spider-david-cronenberg.html' title='Spider - David Cronenberg'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qluiP_rv0Mc/TX4OXZYgYTI/AAAAAAAAAJc/e7eLozPtHDw/s72-c/spider2_w434_h_q80.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-6496626058213120124</id><published>2011-03-01T23:49:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2011-03-01T23:55:19.211+01:00</updated><title type='text'>um novo culto</title><content type='html'>&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:worddocument&gt;   &lt;w:view&gt;Normal&lt;/w:View&gt;   &lt;w:zoom&gt;0&lt;/w:Zoom&gt;   &lt;w:hyphenationzone&gt;21&lt;/w:HyphenationZone&gt;   &lt;w:compatibility&gt;    &lt;w:breakwrappedtables/&gt;    &lt;w:snaptogridincell/&gt;    &lt;w:wraptextwithpunct/&gt;    &lt;w:useasianbreakrules/&gt;   &lt;/w:Compatibility&gt;   &lt;w:browserlevel&gt;MicrosoftInternetExplorer4&lt;/w:BrowserLevel&gt;  &lt;/w:WordDocument&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 10]&gt; &lt;style&gt;  /* Style Definitions */  table.MsoNormalTable  {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal";  mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;  mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;  mso-style-noshow:yes;  mso-style-parent:"";  mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt;  mso-para-margin:0cm;  mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;  mso-pagination:widow-orphan;  font-size:10.0pt;  font-family:"Times New Roman";} &lt;/style&gt; &lt;![endif]--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="PT"&gt;Dizia Genet que &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;ele &lt;/span&gt;tinha elevado o fetichismo a religiao, esses sao os meus votos oitocentistas a cidade. E aqui ficamos, exercendo o culto, cada um no seu sitio&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-6496626058213120124?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/6496626058213120124'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/6496626058213120124'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/03/um-novo-culto.html' title='um novo culto'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-4898075620128577743</id><published>2011-03-01T23:38:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2011-03-01T23:46:04.652+01:00</updated><title type='text'>in a fur coat</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;In a letter, Sir Philip Sassoon, the grandson of Baron Gustave de Rothschild, told an anecdote about Proust with characteristic sarcasm: "One of your most illustrious compatriots pleased me by saying, 'The biggest thrill my wife and I brought home with us from Paris was seeing Monsieur Proust.' I was very impressed, until he added, ' He was the first man we've ever seen eating in a fur coat.' " &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-4898075620128577743?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/4898075620128577743'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/4898075620128577743'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/03/in-fur-coat.html' title='in a fur coat'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-4988299002622427096</id><published>2011-02-21T14:02:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2011-02-21T15:46:02.885+01:00</updated><title type='text'>nada (10)</title><content type='html'>&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:worddocument&gt;   &lt;w:view&gt;Normal&lt;/w:View&gt;   &lt;w:zoom&gt;0&lt;/w:Zoom&gt;   &lt;w:hyphenationzone&gt;21&lt;/w:HyphenationZone&gt;   &lt;w:compatibility&gt;    &lt;w:breakwrappedtables/&gt;    &lt;w:snaptogridincell/&gt;    &lt;w:wraptextwithpunct/&gt;    &lt;w:useasianbreakrules/&gt;   &lt;/w:Compatibility&gt;   &lt;w:browserlevel&gt;MicrosoftInternetExplorer4&lt;/w:BrowserLevel&gt;  &lt;/w:WordDocument&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 10]&gt; &lt;style&gt;  /* Style Definitions */  table.MsoNormalTable  {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal";  mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;  mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;  mso-style-noshow:yes;  mso-style-parent:"";  mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt;  mso-para-margin:0cm;  mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;  mso-pagination:widow-orphan;  font-size:10.0pt;  font-family:"Times New Roman";} &lt;/style&gt; &lt;![endif]--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="PT"&gt;Uma escrita limpa e que nao significa nada, que ja nao pode significar nada e para la do compromisso, um Pequim desnecessario e um Outono irrelevante de Boris Vian, ou uma aria ao casaco, nao interessa, a causa nao esta na comunicaçao mas na esquizofrenia de comunicar-se, um dialogo com os mortos, bem entendido, uma teoria das cordas e um projecto de unificaçao das forças do absurdo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-4988299002622427096?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/4988299002622427096'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/4988299002622427096'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/02/nada-10.html' title='nada (10)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-4677927244125826532</id><published>2011-02-21T13:33:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2011-02-21T13:35:24.677+01:00</updated><title type='text'>sniffing out finds with his "nose" for the unique</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PrDJ2mPtORo/TWJcAdHksBI/AAAAAAAAAJU/gMH_2bXdAlQ/s1600/9781846272714.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 208px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PrDJ2mPtORo/TWJcAdHksBI/AAAAAAAAAJU/gMH_2bXdAlQ/s320/9781846272714.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576120451524243474" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-4677927244125826532?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/4677927244125826532'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/4677927244125826532'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/02/sniffing-out-finds-with-his-nose-for.html' title='sniffing out finds with his &quot;nose&quot; for the unique'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PrDJ2mPtORo/TWJcAdHksBI/AAAAAAAAAJU/gMH_2bXdAlQ/s72-c/9781846272714.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-1056817101971215457</id><published>2011-02-13T13:50:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2011-02-13T13:53:48.159+01:00</updated><title type='text'>nao sabe, nao responde</title><content type='html'>&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:worddocument&gt;   &lt;w:view&gt;Normal&lt;/w:View&gt;   &lt;w:zoom&gt;0&lt;/w:Zoom&gt;   &lt;w:hyphenationzone&gt;21&lt;/w:HyphenationZone&gt;   &lt;w:compatibility&gt;    &lt;w:breakwrappedtables/&gt;    &lt;w:snaptogridincell/&gt;    &lt;w:wraptextwithpunct/&gt;    &lt;w:useasianbreakrules/&gt;   &lt;/w:Compatibility&gt;   &lt;w:browserlevel&gt;MicrosoftInternetExplorer4&lt;/w:BrowserLevel&gt;  &lt;/w:WordDocument&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 10]&gt; &lt;style&gt;  /* Style Definitions */  table.MsoNormalTable  {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal";  mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;  mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;  mso-style-noshow:yes;  mso-style-parent:"";  mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt;  mso-para-margin:0cm;  mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;  mso-pagination:widow-orphan;  font-size:10.0pt;  font-family:"Times New Roman";} &lt;/style&gt; &lt;![endif]--&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="PT"&gt;Deambula pela cidade, opta pelo taxi quando podia optar pelo metro, deambula entre cidades, le os titulares dos jornais, faz isso como o faria um sonambulo. Mais ou menos consciente do absurdo, corroido pelo quotidiano e governado por, como diria Camus, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;problemas que nunca sao formulados&lt;/span&gt;. "Tens gosto pela vida?", tenta varias evasivas, pensa com humilhaçao que nao tem nada a dizer, olha para o vazio, nao sabe, nao responde, como num inquerito de rua&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-1056817101971215457?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/1056817101971215457'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/1056817101971215457'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/02/nao-sabe-nao-responde.html' title='nao sabe, nao responde'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-8711806299898438612</id><published>2011-02-13T12:53:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2011-02-13T12:55:35.298+01:00</updated><title type='text'>1925-2011</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tV2UxYLLhpM/TVfGnsgKCCI/AAAAAAAAAJM/ZOnsVLc-TGc/s1600/gcastellolopes.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 207px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tV2UxYLLhpM/TVfGnsgKCCI/AAAAAAAAAJM/ZOnsVLc-TGc/s320/gcastellolopes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5573141449157511202" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-8711806299898438612?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/8711806299898438612'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/8711806299898438612'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/02/1925-2011.html' title='1925-2011'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tV2UxYLLhpM/TVfGnsgKCCI/AAAAAAAAAJM/ZOnsVLc-TGc/s72-c/gcastellolopes.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-834406203940651024</id><published>2011-02-09T11:29:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2011-02-09T11:33:27.581+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Nada (9)</title><content type='html'>Preparas uma lista de compras, alisas o cabelo com a mao, giras a manivela do gas, desces ao supermercado, as batatas, o leite, lambrusco, rosato ou branco, levas os dois, cenouras, carne, queijo, lasagna, salmao fumado, bolacha de pao tostado, caviar, sucedaneo de caviar, 3 euros por 50 gramas, é um sucedaneo, pagas, sais, chegas a casa, ligas a tv, apuras uma copa de lambrusco rosato, escreves estas 4 linhas, o teu dia terminou&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-834406203940651024?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/834406203940651024'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/834406203940651024'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/02/nada-9.html' title='Nada (9)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-8030750455592932510</id><published>2011-02-09T11:26:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2011-02-09T11:28:07.413+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Nada (8)</title><content type='html'>Capote é superior a Mailer, Fante superior a Capote, Bukowski superior a Fante. Faulkner, o rei absolutista do teu olimpo americano&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-8030750455592932510?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/8030750455592932510'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/8030750455592932510'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/02/nada-8.html' title='Nada (8)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-6599796675497098963</id><published>2011-02-08T12:28:00.006+01:00</published><updated>2011-02-08T20:45:28.237+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Truman Capote</title><content type='html'>Truman Capote em &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Desayuno en Tiffany's&lt;/span&gt; é um prodigio, escritor de talento, de folego para a metafora de perfeiçao &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;comparavel a uma maça, uma laranja , uma dessas coisas que a natureza faz impecavelmente&lt;/span&gt;, em que um tipo falso fala com um &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;sincopado ritmo metalico, como um teletipo&lt;/span&gt;, e uma mulher indiferente, uma fenomenologia de contrastes, só alça &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;os olhos para as estrelas para calcular o seu peso quimico.&lt;/span&gt; Truman Capote em &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Una casa de flore&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;s&lt;/span&gt; é Carmen, a minha vizinha do 2º esquerdo&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-6599796675497098963?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/6599796675497098963'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/6599796675497098963'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/02/truman-capote.html' title='Truman Capote'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-5635588361000003976</id><published>2011-02-03T12:59:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2011-02-03T13:01:58.362+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Nada (7)</title><content type='html'>Chego a Capote com poucas expectativas, quatro motivos (Mailer, Gore Vidal, John Fante, Bukowski) e uma teoria. Na pagina 15, primeiro livro, primeiro round, o arbitro aproxima-se, estuda o meu estado, ko tecnico, Capote é um fenomeno&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-5635588361000003976?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/5635588361000003976'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/5635588361000003976'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/02/nada.html' title='Nada (7)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-334498506344489757</id><published>2011-01-12T13:53:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2011-01-12T13:54:07.758+01:00</updated><title type='text'>nano-conto</title><content type='html'>Nunca lutou por nada na vida, escreve 4 a 5 frases por dia, so isso, le 3 a 4 livros por semana, é um bom substituto para a vida, nao pode escrever que se dessangra o seu interesse pelo mundo, o mundo lhe interessa como lhe interessava aos 15, como interessava aos 20, como interessava aos 25, foi dito que nunca chegaria a velho, chegou, é um velho andrajoso e narcisista arrastando os pes aos 30&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-334498506344489757?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/334498506344489757'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/334498506344489757'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/01/nano-conto.html' title='nano-conto'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-8234614845072240696</id><published>2011-01-09T12:32:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2011-01-09T12:33:30.839+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Chinaski Records</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TSmdAo1PK5I/AAAAAAAAAHg/pY_XUaBHNrI/s1600/bukowski2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 294px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TSmdAo1PK5I/AAAAAAAAAHg/pY_XUaBHNrI/s320/bukowski2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560147849251859346" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-8234614845072240696?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/8234614845072240696'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/8234614845072240696'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/01/chinaski-records.html' title='Chinaski Records'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TSmdAo1PK5I/AAAAAAAAAHg/pY_XUaBHNrI/s72-c/bukowski2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-7944552033470063310</id><published>2011-01-03T20:44:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2011-01-03T20:46:47.860+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Nada (6)</title><content type='html'>Estou a ler &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;hijos sin hijos&lt;/span&gt; de Vila-Matas, um conjuntos de contos e &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;personas que han inventado una especie de indeferencia distante que les permite no estar ligadas a la realidad sino por un hilo invisible como el de la araña&lt;/span&gt;, e &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Cartero &lt;/span&gt;de Bukowski: &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;marchandote con la polla como la de un toro&lt;/span&gt;. Sempre tive um apurado faro para as simetrias&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-7944552033470063310?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/7944552033470063310'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/7944552033470063310'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2011/01/nada-6.html' title='Nada (6)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-8163896063864535462</id><published>2010-12-22T11:59:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2010-12-22T12:01:53.389+01:00</updated><title type='text'>El gordo</title><content type='html'>Nao se pode limitar a atacar com a superioridade que proporciona a verdade sobre a mentira, mentir tem os seus encantos e virtudes e a retorica dos bandos pode ser similar, como aparentemente sabia-o Mailer. A substancia agoniza mas as sombras dançam - com sentido de missao historica, e ponto a reter a sociedade é um mecanismo impessoal para a produçao de mudanças, e com suficiente ironia para incorporar-las, existem acçoes e se ha um proposito natural em si a vida humana conta para muito pouco. O vizinho do piso de cima anuncia sonoro e farejando as nalgas da historia o El gordo (79250), e uma vez ao ano encontra o proposito natural, o proposito que anuncia-o, a si e a sua existencia e a sua luta contra o esquecimento e o regresso a nada.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-8163896063864535462?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/8163896063864535462'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/8163896063864535462'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/12/el-gordo.html' title='El gordo'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-8961100984769130719</id><published>2010-12-16T11:15:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2010-12-16T11:34:24.426+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Southwark (3)</title><content type='html'>Bodas de sangre&lt;br /&gt;Lorca&lt;br /&gt;1 euro&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Canta la hierba&lt;br /&gt;Lessing&lt;br /&gt;1 euro&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Reflections on the revolution in France&lt;br /&gt;Burke&lt;br /&gt;2.99 pounds&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hijos sin hijos&lt;br /&gt;Enrique Vila-Matas&lt;br /&gt;7.50 euros&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Proust's overcoat&lt;br /&gt;Lorenza Foschini&lt;br /&gt;9.99 pounds&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cartero&lt;br /&gt;Bukowski&lt;br /&gt;7.50 euros&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Short Cuts&lt;br /&gt;Carver&lt;br /&gt;6 euros&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Sea&lt;br /&gt;John Banville&lt;br /&gt;7.99 pounds&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="visibility: visible;" id="search"&gt;The chronicles of Riddick, escape from &lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;butcher bay&lt;/span&gt; (PC)&lt;br /&gt;fps 15-80&lt;br /&gt;Gratuito&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-8961100984769130719?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/8961100984769130719'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/8961100984769130719'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/12/southwark-3.html' title='Southwark (3)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-279443808964260126</id><published>2010-12-13T10:46:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2010-12-13T10:48:39.386+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Southwark (2)</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TQXrzE7fYVI/AAAAAAAAAHU/Pmd-6ALBwfo/s1600/P8260448.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TQXrzE7fYVI/AAAAAAAAAHU/Pmd-6ALBwfo/s320/P8260448.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550101378533122386" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Tate Modern&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-279443808964260126?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/279443808964260126'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/279443808964260126'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/12/southwark-2.html' title='Southwark (2)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TQXrzE7fYVI/AAAAAAAAAHU/Pmd-6ALBwfo/s72-c/P8260448.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-3626966121175134754</id><published>2010-11-24T20:52:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2010-11-24T20:56:06.271+01:00</updated><title type='text'>falso-positivo</title><content type='html'>Ainda que o meu gosto - gosto e nao um argumento carente de autoridade - caia numa literatura de curto-circuito, de estrada, ou melhor, pelo meio dos campos (Bergson), armies of the night é um acidente de percurso, um falso-positivo, de um cinico na trincheira errada&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-3626966121175134754?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/3626966121175134754'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/3626966121175134754'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/11/falso-positivo.html' title='falso-positivo'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-2390862593129249186</id><published>2010-11-24T20:37:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2011-01-09T12:43:00.973+01:00</updated><title type='text'>pelo meio dos campos</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;A todo o instante, uma escolha se impoe, optamos naturalmente pela conformidade com a regra. Mal temos consciencia disso, nao fazemos esforço algum. Foi traçado um caminho pela sociedade, encontramo-lo aberto a nossa frente e seguimo-lo, ser-nos-ia necessario um pouco mais de iniciativa para andarmos pelo meio dos campos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bergson&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-2390862593129249186?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/2390862593129249186'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/2390862593129249186'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/11/bergson.html' title='pelo meio dos campos'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-2111411535687576041</id><published>2010-11-22T23:33:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2010-11-22T23:35:05.232+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Southwark</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TOrwEIt3qTI/AAAAAAAAAHM/3Ln5UJKAijE/s1600/_night.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TOrwEIt3qTI/AAAAAAAAAHM/3Ln5UJKAijE/s320/_night.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542506245282834738" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-2111411535687576041?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/2111411535687576041'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/2111411535687576041'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/11/southwark.html' title='Southwark'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TOrwEIt3qTI/AAAAAAAAAHM/3Ln5UJKAijE/s72-c/_night.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-4399899125029781590</id><published>2010-11-22T23:33:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2010-11-22T23:33:34.873+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Yegelle Tezeta</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/TRGES_NC8bU?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=es_ES"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/TRGES_NC8bU?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=es_ES" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-4399899125029781590?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/4399899125029781590'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/4399899125029781590'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/11/yegelle-tezeta.html' title='Yegelle Tezeta'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-6988873893355926207</id><published>2010-11-17T21:31:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2010-11-24T20:57:52.585+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Nada (5)</title><content type='html'>Ponto inverso ao romantismo, da poesia como um mal sagrado, e o poeta  um  Prometeo, Bert Klossowski defende o poeta de gabinete, de folego   auto-biografico e sem mais tormentas que as de dentro - ele proprio   poeta de gabinete, de folego auto-biografico e sem mais tormentas que as   de dentro - escreve ensaio com ponto de partida e autoestrada o exito   sempre como merito pessoal e o fracasso uma cruz da comunidade   historica, na sua comunidade ahistorica, um ensaio triste, uma meditaçao   sobre a morte, ou a impossibilidade dela, de espaços vazios e desertos   metafisicos, Morfeo, chama-se assim o ensaio, recolhe o fruto sonhado   senao tambem o vivido, o trivial passa a plano lirico, sossego burgues e   felicidade serena a momentos e o trabalho que liberta e anula. Bert   Klossowski, derrotado pelo homem, e salvo &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;in extremis&lt;/span&gt;   por o que se pode descrever educadamente de vicio, é parente distante   de Vilem Vok - pai e mae dialectica de Enrique Vila-Matas, patronos   deste sitio sem outra ambiçao que chegar a 2 leitores por dia, eu e mais   alguem - nao se propoe a outra coisa como escreve Henry Miller &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;escribid para vuestra personal felicidad&lt;/span&gt;, eis Bert Klossowski, escrevendo para a sua felicidade, sem exito&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-6988873893355926207?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/6988873893355926207'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/6988873893355926207'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/11/nada-5_3076.html' title='Nada (5)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-112548723209555861</id><published>2010-11-13T13:50:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2010-11-13T13:53:16.087+01:00</updated><title type='text'>o melhor inicio</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TN6J3-VYW1I/AAAAAAAAAHE/E0TvLkMqM78/s1600/los-subterraneos.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 210px; height: 317px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TN6J3-VYW1I/AAAAAAAAAHE/E0TvLkMqM78/s320/los-subterraneos.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539016186430774098" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-112548723209555861?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/112548723209555861'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/112548723209555861'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/11/o-melhor-inicio.html' title='o melhor inicio'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TN6J3-VYW1I/AAAAAAAAAHE/E0TvLkMqM78/s72-c/los-subterraneos.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-1722034475797928914</id><published>2010-11-08T13:32:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2010-11-08T13:33:02.787+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Russell (2)</title><content type='html'>Uma representaçao pragmatica sem impulsos de penitencia ou da pose  estetica como em, exemplo, Faulkner, que nao contem uma ambiciosa visao  alternativa da arte de Proust, as prostitutas e o vinho barato de  Bukowski e nao te alija o convivio contigo mesmo , mas que ilustra o  acontecimento como explica Yeats entre um longo momento de inspeçao  historica e o apocalipse que chega&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-1722034475797928914?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/1722034475797928914'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/1722034475797928914'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/11/russell-2.html' title='Russell (2)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-8939438962315828788</id><published>2010-11-08T13:21:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2010-11-08T13:23:46.390+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Mallarme</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Las poluciones nocturnas de un poeta no deberian ser sino vias lacteas, y la mia solo es una desagradable mancha&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-8939438962315828788?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/8939438962315828788'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/8939438962315828788'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/11/mallarme.html' title='Mallarme'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-525885749797478255</id><published>2010-11-08T11:56:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2010-11-08T11:57:57.214+01:00</updated><title type='text'>the beauty is in the eye of Sam Cooke</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TNfXcZjvywI/AAAAAAAAAG8/PH8Gh3wqNCs/s1600/SamC.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TNfXcZjvywI/AAAAAAAAAG8/PH8Gh3wqNCs/s320/SamC.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537131149772442370" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-525885749797478255?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/525885749797478255'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/525885749797478255'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/11/beauty-is-in-eye-of-sam-cooke.html' title='the beauty is in the eye of Sam Cooke'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TNfXcZjvywI/AAAAAAAAAG8/PH8Gh3wqNCs/s72-c/SamC.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-3533219253219038855</id><published>2010-11-06T23:02:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2010-11-06T23:08:45.640+01:00</updated><title type='text'>i</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TNXRYqm7d4I/AAAAAAAAAG0/IXp0vYb66jY/s1600/kagemusha1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 174px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TNXRYqm7d4I/AAAAAAAAAG0/IXp0vYb66jY/s320/kagemusha1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536561538606528386" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As representaçoes sociais sao uma farsa mas nao ha historia sem mito e civilizaçao sem historia&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-3533219253219038855?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/3533219253219038855'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/3533219253219038855'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/11/i.html' title='i'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TNXRYqm7d4I/AAAAAAAAAG0/IXp0vYb66jY/s72-c/kagemusha1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-5693050844870401760</id><published>2010-11-04T18:33:00.006+01:00</published><updated>2010-11-08T13:30:37.798+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Piedade</title><content type='html'>Ainda que uma modalidade do fracasso o desespero so pode ser gratuito, uma desvantagem estetica e uma vantagem moral. Como diz o apresentador &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;a maioria dos combates vencem-se psicologicamente&lt;/span&gt;, muitos se perdem por piedade&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-5693050844870401760?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/5693050844870401760'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/5693050844870401760'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/11/piedade.html' title='Piedade'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-8229695575116622452</id><published>2010-11-03T19:32:00.004+01:00</published><updated>2010-11-08T13:33:45.092+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Nada (3)</title><content type='html'>O retrato social e as identidades de classe como elemento de pantomina, antecipando-se a Buñuel, significa isso mesmo, um aforismo vale mais que todo o texto e o sentido a momentos é o que menos importa&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-8229695575116622452?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/8229695575116622452'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/8229695575116622452'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/11/nada-4.html' title='Nada (3)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-6766130704373288361</id><published>2010-11-02T21:49:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2010-11-08T13:33:18.496+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Russell (1)</title><content type='html'>E um conjunto de ensaios de Russell, ensaios escritos entre 1932 e 1935, e com a marcha das naçoes para o desastre. A guerra é inevitavel - frustaçao de Russell - porque ha Fichte, porque ha Nietzsche - um ogre sem mais conflitos internos que o politico - porque estamos submetidos a historia, porque o irracional ao representar as pulsoes privadas torna inevitavel o conflito.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-6766130704373288361?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/6766130704373288361'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/6766130704373288361'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/11/nada-3.html' title='Russell (1)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-9070589076326006478</id><published>2010-11-02T12:11:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2010-11-02T13:13:04.292+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Wash, Sutpen, etc</title><content type='html'>Os seus nomes sao um rudimentar sistema de medida, re-inventado para fabricar um modelo grafico de entusiasmo e antipatia, uma hierarquia de almas co-optada e nao co-optada, uma secçao transversal da mente e um mapa que se reduz a uma so dimensao, a de uma figura unilinear traçada sobre a superficie do pensamento e finalmente expandida triunfalmente sobre outra: o tempo que proporciona abrigo a toda discussao e que é o tempo de Cioran, o tempo de Montaigne, o Tempo de Baudelaire, uma infamia, e que torna toda a discussao inutil&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-9070589076326006478?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/9070589076326006478'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/9070589076326006478'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/11/wash-sutpen-etc.html' title='Wash, Sutpen, etc'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-3610346371819103055</id><published>2010-10-17T18:19:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2010-10-17T18:25:07.148+02:00</updated><title type='text'>The situation is hopeless, but not serious</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TLsjLDJo0vI/AAAAAAAAAGs/tXGFu19sXjE/s1600/gauguin.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 251px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TLsjLDJo0vI/AAAAAAAAAGs/tXGFu19sXjE/s320/gauguin.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529051640258679538" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-3610346371819103055?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/3610346371819103055'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/3610346371819103055'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/10/situation-is-hopeless-but-not-serious.html' title='The situation is hopeless, but not serious'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TLsjLDJo0vI/AAAAAAAAAGs/tXGFu19sXjE/s72-c/gauguin.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-4090837965964866987</id><published>2010-10-10T14:26:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2010-10-10T14:28:27.583+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Cioran (II)</title><content type='html'>Viver so significa nao pedir ja nada da vida, e desde esta perpectiva o filosofo podia dizer com Baudelaire: o inferno sao os outros e com Klossowski o que a mente nao compreende e o intelecto pesa e recusa: a inutilidade da vida, a alegoria de Baudelaire, o cisne em pavimento seco em busca da agua que nao existe&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-4090837965964866987?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/4090837965964866987'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/4090837965964866987'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/10/cioran-ii.html' title='Cioran (II)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-2386837197803914260</id><published>2010-10-10T14:19:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2010-10-10T14:29:23.513+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Cioran (I)</title><content type='html'>Cioran tem me acompanhado desde 2009 e agora estou com o seu primeiro livro, um &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;livro excessivo&lt;/span&gt;, que &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;es evidente de no haberme puesto a escribir este libro a los veintiun años, me hubiese suicidado.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-2386837197803914260?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/2386837197803914260'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/2386837197803914260'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/10/cioran-i.html' title='Cioran (I)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-1905904741283871445</id><published>2010-10-10T14:11:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2010-10-10T14:15:42.572+02:00</updated><title type='text'>fenomeno capital</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TLGuS_FhkSI/AAAAAAAAAGk/JBy1e70_ecU/s1600/bronzino.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 262px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TLGuS_FhkSI/AAAAAAAAAGk/JBy1e70_ecU/s320/bronzino.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526389858955792674" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;El fenomeno capital, el desastre por excelencia es la vigilia ininterrumpida, esa nada sin tregua.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cioran&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-1905904741283871445?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/1905904741283871445'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/1905904741283871445'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/10/fenomeno-capital.html' title='fenomeno capital'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TLGuS_FhkSI/AAAAAAAAAGk/JBy1e70_ecU/s72-c/bronzino.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-250324410252037234</id><published>2010-09-27T14:33:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2010-09-27T15:17:27.352+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Nada (2)</title><content type='html'>É de noite e chove ainda que realmente nao seja de noite nem chova, é de dia, dia de Highsmith, segunda-feira, como terça é de Norman Mailer, quarta Arthur Miller, quinta, Faulkner, sexta Cioran, sabado Carson Mccullers, domingo Vila-Matas. Highsmith, Mailler, Arthur Miller, Faulkner, Cioran, Mccullers, Vila-Matas, la crisis e a conta de hotmail tomada de assalto&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-250324410252037234?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/250324410252037234'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/250324410252037234'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/09/nada-2.html' title='Nada (2)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-5430361109379471957</id><published>2010-09-20T22:34:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2010-09-20T22:35:55.061+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Noviembre</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TJfFcawf-LI/AAAAAAAAAGc/-YgQHkmwrSo/s1600/NOVIEMBRE.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 231px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TJfFcawf-LI/AAAAAAAAAGc/-YgQHkmwrSo/s320/NOVIEMBRE.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519096960375584946" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-5430361109379471957?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/5430361109379471957'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/5430361109379471957'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/09/noviembre.html' title='Noviembre'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TJfFcawf-LI/AAAAAAAAAGc/-YgQHkmwrSo/s72-c/NOVIEMBRE.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-8945771423912002548</id><published>2010-09-15T22:06:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2010-09-15T22:09:50.714+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Nada (1)</title><content type='html'>A rua de aribau de Laforet sera a momentos o escasso existencialismo espanhol, nao é apocaliptico, nem ha uma personagem que escreva uma novela em duas frases, mas compensa a minha escassa vida social com as simetrias seguras e os claro-escuros que fazem do conhecer, no sentido biblico de busca de conhecimento, um projecto eminentemente individual. Uma historia, que quase como todas, nao alimenta a virtude e nao melhora o homem, e um quase em que cabe tudo, as vitimas desconhecidas da guerra civil entre trastos, moveis, cornucopias, e a conclusao que cabe reconhecer: o desregramento de uma casa sera sintoma de um desregramento dos sentidos. Um troço da introduçao de Melchor Almargo resume: &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Los personajes de Nada vivieron la guerra desde el fondo oscuro de una burguesia en dramatica crisis economica y salieron de la prueba con el espiritu deformado, los sentimientos en un grado de tremenda exasperacion, los nervios rotos.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Recomendaçoes morais? nenhumas, vesuvio ja entrou em erupçao e a vida segue de modo pompeyano, havera mais ilusoes que realidade, citando Steinbeck, o moralista, e aqui, nesta comedia, o dificil é nao ceder a amargura. Tal como Verlaine tartamudeava incoerencias e maldiçoes e de vez em quando paria versos que pareciam milagres Carmen Laforet divide o universo conhecido entre um contrabandista de plebeio contrabando que toca Mozart e um pintor fracassado de maos na cabeça e olhos no chao. Uma novela que estica os limites da comedia e é entre gargalhadas que o primeiro suicida-se e o segundo que estava louco ao inicio acaba mais louco no fim. Isto deixa-me preocupado e nao augura nada de bom, para quem le Carver, Klossowski e tem tontinho como ocupaçao isto sob qualquer perspectiva estetica é melhor que Gore Vidal em &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;ponto por ponto&lt;/span&gt; e uma genialidade ao pe de &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Werther &lt;/span&gt;de Goethe e &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Morte em Veneza&lt;/span&gt; de Thomas Mann. Quem diz e escreve que le, realmente le?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-8945771423912002548?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/8945771423912002548'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/8945771423912002548'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/09/nada-1.html' title='Nada (1)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-3046832451501665423</id><published>2010-09-05T18:57:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2010-09-05T19:01:13.716+02:00</updated><title type='text'>la colmena</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TIPMKJIft7I/AAAAAAAAAGM/GmQp4MFuVFE/s1600/017-Cela.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TIPMKJIft7I/AAAAAAAAAGM/GmQp4MFuVFE/s320/017-Cela.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513474843453929394" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Uma sociedade de classes, classes vincadas, é a sua metafisica e a sua fisica, e uma economia de relaçoes a sua economia de libidos. O trabalho cuidadoso, analitico pode contar com o fruir como efeito secundario - um fruir sob o signo de um eros vigilante e oportunista. Personagens - Cela leu Pirandello? - que sabem que sao personagens e onde um caralho é mais que uma erecçao. Num mundo que deseja infinitamente a luta de classes é fonte infinita de estimulo erotico&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-3046832451501665423?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/3046832451501665423'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/3046832451501665423'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/09/la-colmena.html' title='la colmena'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TIPMKJIft7I/AAAAAAAAAGM/GmQp4MFuVFE/s72-c/017-Cela.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-5436387320732187497</id><published>2010-08-26T21:14:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2010-08-26T21:25:56.920+02:00</updated><title type='text'>lletres ruses</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Ufiertamos al llector asturianu una curiosa noveda: la traduccion a la llingua asturiana, directamente dende'l rusu, de doce cuentos d'otros tantos autores, llogrando una magnifica antoloxia qu'abarca tol sieglu xix y una parte del xx, deteniendose enantes del romanticismu revolucionariu sovieticu, que nun s'antologa. Como nun podia ser d'otramiente, esta seleccion entama con un cuento de Puxkin, l'autor romanticu que moderniza la llingua y la lliteratura ruses. Gogol, l'escritor ucranianu, punxo les bases de la narrativa realista, na que s'integra Turgenev. Numa antoloxia como esta num podien faltar los dos autores mas universales de les lletres ruses: Dostoyevski y Tolstoi. Leskov ye'l representante de la novela costumista y Chejov sirve de ponte xenial ente'l sieglu xix y el xx. Bunin, ya exiliau en Paris, recibio'l Premiu Nobel de Lliteratura en 1933. Sologub y Zamiatin son dos de los grandes maestros del decadentismu. Babel, de formacion xudia, acoyo con entusiasmo la revolucion, pero desapaecio ensin dexar rastru nel estalinismu. Zoxchenko, per ultimu, foi un escritor satiricu al que les autoridaes acusaron d'antisovieticu condenandolu al silenciu.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-5436387320732187497?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/5436387320732187497'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/5436387320732187497'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/08/lletres-ruses.html' title='lletres ruses'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-6321089238980693459</id><published>2010-08-09T13:11:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2010-08-09T13:18:13.504+02:00</updated><title type='text'>recherche du temps perdu (2)</title><content type='html'>Mas, o que realmente importa, os juizos podem carecer de base, a conducta justa pode nao ter garante externo, e o criterio pode ser uma ilusao&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-6321089238980693459?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/6321089238980693459'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/6321089238980693459'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/08/recherche-du-temps-perdu-2.html' title='recherche du temps perdu (2)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-150420902448398785</id><published>2010-08-09T13:01:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2010-08-09T16:15:30.242+02:00</updated><title type='text'>recherche du temps perdu</title><content type='html'>Ou aceita-se como peripecia kafkiana, e o nihilismo se consagra, ou recria-se sardonicamente a questao dreyfus de frança de fin-de-siecle e restaura-se um sentido. Um sentido humano, historico, enfim, um sentido.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-150420902448398785?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/150420902448398785'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/150420902448398785'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/08/recherche-du-temps-perdu.html' title='recherche du temps perdu'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-828403256198849960</id><published>2010-08-06T15:30:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2010-08-06T19:56:59.530+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Pirandello</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TFwOwW001oI/AAAAAAAAAGE/REpcFC62ppU/s1600/9788804492542.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 198px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TFwOwW001oI/AAAAAAAAAGE/REpcFC62ppU/s320/9788804492542.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502289068663559810" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Humanisima figura, si, porque carece de espiritu, es decir, porque es inconsciente de ser lo que es o no le preocupa explicarselo. Pero el hecho de ignorar que es personaje no la libra de serlo. Ahi esta su drama, en mi comedia.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-828403256198849960?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/828403256198849960'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/828403256198849960'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/08/pirandello.html' title='Pirandello'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TFwOwW001oI/AAAAAAAAAGE/REpcFC62ppU/s72-c/9788804492542.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-3658635537886589765</id><published>2010-07-29T22:55:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2010-07-29T23:03:49.907+02:00</updated><title type='text'>hank chinaski (II)</title><content type='html'>Reprobo como Rimbaud, miseravel como Verlaine, um Holden Caulfield working class, um Boccaccio cercado pela peste, e peste é dizer pouco, uma peste que se extende invisivel, uma peste que é toda uma filologia, uma filologia reduzida aos baixos fundos. Se ha aqui uma teoria, hiperbolizada e inconsciente, esta é a sua gloria. Ler-lhe a biografia - o seu teatro privado em livro; ham on rye, factotum - é ler-lhe os tumbos (assim em portugues?) que foi dando pela vida - no duplo sentido da palavra - e o desconsolo da derrota de quem ja nasceu anulado, nascer para perder desparafraseando born to kill de full metal jacket, sem ambiguidades. Todo um ceu nocturno iluminado pelas chamas de um inferno metaforico&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;De tudo o que li do que vai de ano, muito e em excesso, isto é o melhor&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-3658635537886589765?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/3658635537886589765'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/3658635537886589765'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/07/hank-chinaski-ii.html' title='hank chinaski (II)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-6996567747753031604</id><published>2010-07-25T12:27:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2010-07-25T12:30:26.916+02:00</updated><title type='text'>hank chinaski</title><content type='html'>Os deserdados, as prostitutas, o vinho barato e no meio turguenev, lawrence, shaw. O ir e vir a deriva, a inclinaçao enfatica para a ruina, e a expressao exacta como pede leon cladel. A vida continua absurda como sempre&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-6996567747753031604?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/6996567747753031604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/6996567747753031604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/07/hank-chinaski.html' title='hank chinaski'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-4171911847459607008</id><published>2010-07-08T21:27:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2010-07-08T21:28:42.302+02:00</updated><title type='text'>nada</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TDYmn3IP4uI/AAAAAAAAAF8/KkD_iEG0CiM/s1600/bukowski.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 290px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TDYmn3IP4uI/AAAAAAAAAF8/KkD_iEG0CiM/s320/bukowski.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491619261880197858" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;A civilizaçao, uma causa perdida, a politica, uma absurda charada, o trabalho, um chiste cruel.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-4171911847459607008?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/4171911847459607008'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/4171911847459607008'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/07/nada.html' title='nada'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TDYmn3IP4uI/AAAAAAAAAF8/KkD_iEG0CiM/s72-c/bukowski.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-4280132389901027707</id><published>2010-06-28T20:08:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2010-06-28T20:11:55.044+02:00</updated><title type='text'>disgrace (2)</title><content type='html'>No entanto propoe-se a acompanhar os lamentos de Teresa ao ceu e a Byron com um cao. Num patio desolado de africa um cao é a unica audiencia, um cao que quase emociona-se, um cao que morre como joseph k. Como nao cais rendido?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-4280132389901027707?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/4280132389901027707'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/4280132389901027707'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/06/disgrace-2.html' title='disgrace (2)'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-3006214918695052572</id><published>2010-06-27T14:00:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2010-06-27T14:16:21.847+02:00</updated><title type='text'>disgrace</title><content type='html'>Segundo Coetzee, ele nao actua por principios, senao por impulsos, a fonte dos impulsos permanece na obscuridade, um louco do coraçao. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Contrahecho&lt;/span&gt;, e que diz o dicionario de castelhano: &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;deformidad&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Sugere Byron que nao sera possivel amar-lo, ou ao menos no sentido mais profundo e humano do termo. Esta condenado a solidao&lt;/span&gt;. Ha algo de tragico em tentar a vida normal e falhar. A personagem do homem que dorme de Perec, tenta o contrario, falha. No fundo do desespero, no fundo do odio, no fundo da decadencia etilica, o paraiso foi feito para pecadores como diz Nietzsche. Mas voltemos a Coetzee, O professor de disgrace cai em desgraça, o erudito leva consigo o escandalo, mas nao nasceu em desgraça, o discipulo de Wordsworth nao é Cioran, ainda que uivando como um paria é apenas um paria, é um &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;pecador&lt;/span&gt;, nao é a desgraça, um filme dos irmao Marx, um quadro de Grosz&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-3006214918695052572?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/3006214918695052572'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/3006214918695052572'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/06/disgrace.html' title='disgrace'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-7930624925456268833</id><published>2010-06-27T13:55:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2010-06-27T14:06:25.092+02:00</updated><title type='text'>nada</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;...des &lt;/span&gt;&lt;em style="font-style: italic;"&gt;jeunes filles&lt;/em&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;, lesquelles &lt;/span&gt;&lt;em style="font-style: italic;"&gt;avaient l'air de ne pas me voir&lt;/em&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;em style="font-style: italic;"&gt;mais sans aucun doute n'en étaient pas moins en train de porter sur moi un jugement ironique&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-7930624925456268833?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/7930624925456268833'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/7930624925456268833'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/06/nada.html' title='nada'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-6848257868266558700</id><published>2010-06-22T20:29:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2010-06-22T20:32:03.643+02:00</updated><title type='text'>A rua</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TCEBlPMhP6I/AAAAAAAAAF0/Y5Ayux5fe2w/s1600/Grosz.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 246px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TCEBlPMhP6I/AAAAAAAAAF0/Y5Ayux5fe2w/s320/Grosz.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485667560359804834" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-6848257868266558700?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/6848257868266558700'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/6848257868266558700'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/06/rua.html' title='A rua'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ko53bx8thoo/TCEBlPMhP6I/AAAAAAAAAF0/Y5Ayux5fe2w/s72-c/Grosz.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-3595411829908643029</id><published>2010-06-20T13:57:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2010-06-20T13:58:44.348+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Alegaçoes finais IV</title><content type='html'>Fora do espirito do tempo, fora de todos os tempos, trata de situar-se fora, ver-se como um outro, estuda-se, espia-se, carrega todo o peso, luta com o apreço de saber algo em falta, fracassa. Estar em fuga, nao haver fuga, uma ma hora, uma hora sem fim, um estudo sem fim. Ha aqui uma ironia que vive para nao estar a sua altura. Estar mais perdido que achado pede a virtude da humildade. Obrigado a quem escolheu um lado&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-3595411829908643029?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/3595411829908643029'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/3595411829908643029'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/06/alegacoes-finais-iv.html' title='Alegaçoes finais IV'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-3101552393535244505</id><published>2010-06-20T13:32:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2010-06-20T13:33:53.105+02:00</updated><title type='text'>merdas</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Este caminho provavelmente inutil, este dia provavelmente perdido, esta esperança provavelmente va&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-3101552393535244505?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/3101552393535244505'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/3101552393535244505'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/06/merdas_20.html' title='merdas'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-3952447589491113008</id><published>2010-06-18T20:51:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2010-06-18T20:53:00.409+02:00</updated><title type='text'>A fama</title><content type='html'>Ainda que largamente imaginada nao entendo a subita fama. Parece que é uma historia tragica - hamletiana, ibseniana - uma nova viagem ao fim da noite. Faltava-lhe um pouco de humor. Abraços. Danke&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-3952447589491113008?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/3952447589491113008'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/3952447589491113008'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/06/fama.html' title='A fama'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-75124169109278634</id><published>2010-06-17T20:10:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2010-06-17T21:08:36.431+02:00</updated><title type='text'>do consolo</title><content type='html'>Zweig - uma boa alma como Popper - está a milhas do judaismo literario de Nova York, e escreve isto sobre Montaigne, um consolo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Se ha entrincherado en su torre, ha colocado el muro de sus mil libros entre el y el tumulto.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-75124169109278634?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/75124169109278634'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/75124169109278634'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/06/do-consolo.html' title='do consolo'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-776771400478431603.post-4380657457358168864</id><published>2010-06-17T20:02:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2010-06-17T20:10:23.790+02:00</updated><title type='text'>merdas</title><content type='html'>I&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A humilhaçao tem a vantagem de certo modo saberes vivo, e a desvantagem, por assim dizer, de que melhor nao estiveras. A inepcia para a vida é uma fonte de vida.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;II&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Em media uma humilhaçao deixa de o ser no espaço de tres semanas, algumas insistem em acordar contigo cada manha.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/776771400478431603-4380657457358168864?l=centuriao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/4380657457358168864'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/776771400478431603/posts/default/4380657457358168864'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://centuriao.blogspot.com/2010/06/merdas.html' title='merdas'/><author><name>David Lourenço Mestre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00015012139655776548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry></feed>
