rt muay thai

ex animo dicere CXVII

Recorte das cartas de dois estudantes da Polytechnique, antes e depois do massacre.


Lado M.
"Forgive the mistakes. I had 15 minutes to write this. Would you note that if I commit suicide today it is not for economic reasons, for I have waited until I exhausted all my financial means, even refusing jobs, but for political reasons. Because I have decided to send the feminists, who have always ruined my life, to their maker. For 7 years life has brought me no joy, and being totally blase, I have decided to put an end to those viragos. I tried in my youth to enter the forces as an officer cadet, which would have allowed me possibly to get into the arsenal and precede Lortie in a raid. They refused me because... antisocial. I therefore had to wait until this day to execute my plans. In the meantime, I continued my studies in a haphazard way for they never really interested me, knowing in advance my fate. Which did not prevent me from obtaining very good marks despite my policy of not handing in work and the lack of studying before exams. Even though the media will label me a "mad killer", I consider myself a rational individual who has been pushed to take extreme measures only by the arrival of the grim reaper. For why persevere to exist just to please the government? Being a backwards-looking thinker by nature, except for when it comes to science, I have always been enraged by feminists. They cling to women's benefits, like cheap insurance, maternity leave, preventative leave, while seizing for themselves those of men. Thus it is an obvious truth that if the olympic games removed the men-women distinction, there would be women only in the graceful events. So the feminists are not fighting to remove that barrier. They are so opportunistic that they never fail to profit from the knowledge accumulated by men through the ages. They always try to misrepresent them every time they can. Thus, the other day, I heard they were honouring the Canadian men and women who fought at the frontlines during the world wars. How can that be when women were not authorized to go to the frontlines? Will we hear of Caesar's female legions and female galley slaves who of course took up 50% of the ranks of history, though they never existed? Real Casus Belli. Sorry for this too brief letter."


Lado F.
"As I write this letter, I know it will never be read. We don't know each other but we are closely connected. I'm writing you because today, for the second time in my life, I am afraid. The first time was when I faced your son. Your son opened my eyes to how much hatred can be in this world. And it scarred me for life. He's dead, I'm alive. He's free, I'm not. Everyone tells me how strong I am. I've had enough of being strong. Sometimes I want to shout from the roof tops how I've been hurt and not just physically. I want to curl up in a ball and hide. Everyday I think of Stephanie who died in my arms. I think of all my friends who died and were hurt that day. I think of all women of all ages who were hurt in their soul. All this thinking, it weighs on me and I'm tired of carrying that weight. Love has brought me a gift: A child grows inside me. I want with all my heart for this child to be happy, but I'm afraid. And I'm tired of being afraid. I have to learn to have faith again, and give life another chance... so I can stand on my own. And I will stand on my own. If I have a boy, I'll teach him how to love. If I have a girl, I'll tell her the world is hers."

Post-scriptum: Armas são para aqueles que querem ter razão. As palavras, não.

* imagens: divulgação.


Alors, c'est intense!

ex animo dicere CXVI

Desd'As Luzes de um Verão que Tran Anh Hung é meu queridinho. Daí em diante (cof-cof, não fiquei mais ou menos gay), apenas voltei no tempo: 1993, O Cheiro da Papaia Verde e 1995, O Ciclista. Depois revi As Luzes outras três vezes e... e lá se foram oito anos sem que o diretor lançasse filme algum. Mas o clichê m'espera, e ele quer qu'eu diga que sim, o jejum valeu a pena. Em Eu Venho com a Chuva o vietnamita consegue fazer carinho no meu cérebro. Neste caso de mimo especial, não farei/serei spoiler comentando o plot "thriller of redemption" ou afirmando, sem medo de estar certo, que a atriz Tran Nu Yên-Khê (presente em todos os filmes - obviamente por se tratar da esposa - de Hung citados aqui) está péssima no papel de "mulher de bandido". No máximo compararei este Eu Venho ao húngaro "bizarre for redemption" Taxidermia em termo de excentricidade. Em outras palavras, vou me ater às referências porque aqui elas são várias e boas.
Esta análise pode soar duvidosa, mas incluo dois atores na lista de referência considerando a personalidade por eles construída em outros filmes: Elias Koteas e Lee Byung-hun. O primeiro, o doente, em Crash. O segundo, o cruel, em O Gosto da Vingança. Outro que aparece (com obras) é Francis Bacon: para quem assiste, fica bem evidente a inspiração que os "Estudos para figuras na base de uma crucificação" trouxeram. A trilha é muito especial para quem é babaca e tempo morto ao mesmo tempo. Estão presentes Radiohead e os post-rockers: Explosions in the Sky, Godspeed You! Black Emperor, A Silver Mt. Zion e Polmo Polpo. A sacada foi dar boa ênfase às cenas com trilha destacando-as como vídeo clips dentro do filme. Ah, na cena do verme no olho (acima) senti uma vaga lembrança d'O Ciclista. E, por último, há a intermitente referência de imagem religiosa:


"- Tu padre me envió para llevarte a casa.

- ¿Mi padre?"

Enfim, agora é só aguardar mais um pouco para o lançamento de Norwegian Wood, adaptação da grande obra de Haruki Murakami. Acho que depois disso Hung pode pensar em se aposentar.


* imagens: screen gods.



Alors, il vient avec la pluie!

ex animo dicere CXII, CXIII, CXIV, CXV

O negócio aqui é "mariposar" em torno de all tomorrow's family values. Grande mixórdia de temas com cobertura de polêmica surreal, e sangue, cuja função, assim creio, é gerar no telespectador aquilo que geralmente acontece quando vemos um simples comercial. Pretz sumô? Dio cane! Sentimentos doentes de famílias perfeitamente anormais, investigações da memória através das perversões dos traumas, repetição de códigos de conduta adulterados, seduções religiosamente engendradas no absurdo etc. Qualquer semelhança sádica e cínica e genial entre Sion Sono e Sabu (Hiroyuki Tanaka) não é mera coincidência nipônica. A diferença está no ápice de Sono: sua forma é dada pelo conjunto das obras, como Wong Kar-Wai. Enquanto que em Sabu podemos fazer as mais habituais leituras individuais sem prejudicar o conhecimento de. Enfim, a realidade é realmente outra, e em Sono a ficção é pura realidade.

> 2002, Suicide Club (Jisatsu Saakuru)

"- I want to die as beautifully as Joan of Arc inside a Bresson film. Because the dead shine all night long", canta o ser incubado em Hedwig.
"- Are you related to you?", rá, surge aqui a pergunta que ecoa nos demais filmes.

> 2005, Noriko's Dinner Table (Noriko no Shokutaku)


"- We have to relate to each other like stray cats do", sim, é a melhor e mais aceitável resposta a pergunta misteriosa.
"- The world is full of lies that people can't play their roles convincingly. They fall as husbands, wives, fathers, mothers, children etc. So, the only way to figure out what we can be is to lie openly and pursue emptiness", eis um dos escolhidos discursando e recebendo a ovação do público camarada, lembrando o episódio final de Evangelion.
"- Who do you admire?
- Tangerine", ah, agora está explicado o apelido!

> 2005, Strange Circus (Kimyô na Sâkasu)


"I was sentenced to death at birth. Or maybe my mother was to be executed, and we switched places. As far back as I can remember... I've been surrounded by guillotines. [...] That's nothing. When Mom and Dad had sex, they made me watch. Felt like I was having sex. Whenever I closed my eyes, I would hear a squeaking sound. That noise. [...] Again. Dad touched both Mom and me. The difference between us was that she seemed happy. [...] I was convinced that I was Mom and Mom was me. Dad touched me, and I became Mom. And I even began to enjoy sex. 'Cause I was Mom."



> 2008, Love Exposure (Ai no Mukidashi)


"- Jesus, I approve of you as the only cool man besides Kurt Cobain", declara a poderosa Maria (Hikari Mitsushima) de calcinha branca que odeia homens.


"- It's holier than a hard-on", bem, isso já é mais que uma oração, Miss Scorpion.

* imagens: screen shots, divulgações e print-canalhices.



Alors, Nos Enfants nous Accuseront!

ex animo dicere CXI

Esse Fuck (2005) de Steve Anderson não chega a ser um documentário imparcial, mas - diante de tal absurdo - há a tentativa de. Ao menos o fator diversão está garantido.

"It's a pretty useful word", Steven Bochco, writer/producer.
"It sounds exactly what it is", Billy Connolly, comedian.
"If you can't say 'fuck' you can't say 'fuck the government!'", Lenny Bruce.


* imagens: screen shots.



Fuck, alors. ( :

ex animo dicere CIX, CX

Que pancada! Dois filmes dirigidos por mulheres extremamente competentes que souberam trabalhar lindamente a semi-vastidão de personagens envolvidos na narrativa cinematográfica.

Respectivamente:
Diane Bertrand - 1996 - Un Samedi sur la Terre. Dá-lhe Elsa Zylberstein.
Lone Scherfig - 2000 - Italiano para Principiantes. E dá-lhe Dogma 95.
Então é isso? Dogma 95? Ok. Esses passaram satisfatoriamente pelo crivo:

Daí que nada.


* imagens: screen shots, divulgações e print-canalhices.



Alors, adopter le projet de loi contre le sexisme! (lol)

rt crônicas desenterradas pro museu da minha mãe

www.diariodecuiaba.com.br/detalhe.php?cod=312412
www.diariodecuiaba.com.br/detalhe.php?cod=314955
www.diariodecuiaba.com.br/detalhe.php?cod=315991
www.diariodecuiaba.com.br/detalhe.php?cod=318599
www.diariodecuiaba.com.br/detalhe.php?cod=374316 *

* onde estou ghost writer de Protinha & onde o título era: a utilidade dos cardápios.

ex animo dicere CVIII

The Bear
by Galway Kinnell

1
In late winter
I sometimes glimpse bits of steam
coming up from
some fault in the old snow
and bend close and see it is lung-colored
and put down my nose
and know
the chilly, enduring odor of bear.

2
I take a wolf’s rib and whittle
it sharp at both ends
and coil it up
and freeze it in blubber and place it out
on the fairway of the bears.

And when it has vanished
I move out on the bear tracks,
roaming in circles
until I come to the first, tentative, dark
splash on the earth.

And I set out
running, following the splashes
of blood wandering over the world.
At the cut, gashed resting places
I stop and rest,
at the crawl-marks
where he lay out on his belly
to overpass some stretch of bauchy ice
I lie out
dragging myself forward with bear-knives in my fists.

3
On the third day I begin to starve,
at nightfall I bend down as I knew I would
at a turd sopped in blood,
and hesitate, and pick it up,
and thrust it in my mouth, and gnash it down,
and rise
and go on running.

4
On the seventh day,
living by now on bear blood alone,
I can see his upturned carcass far out ahead, a scraggled,
steamy hulk,
the heavy fur riffling in the wind.

I come up to him and stare at the narrow-spaced, petty eyes,
the dismayed
face laid back on the shoulder, the nostrils
flared, catching
perhaps the first taint of me as he
died.

I hack
a ravine in his thigh, and eat and drink,
and tear him down his whole length
and open him and climb in
and close him up after me, against the wind,
and sleep.

5
And dream
of lumbering flatfooted
over the tundra,
stabbed twice from within,
splattering a trail behind me,
splattering it out no matter which way I lurch,
no matter which parabola of bear-transcendence,
which dance of solitude I attempt,
which gravity-clutched leap,
which trudge, which groan.

6
Until one day I totter and fall—
fall on this
stomach that has tried so hard to keep up,
to digest the blood as it leaked in,
to break up
and digest the bone itself: and now the breeze
blows over me, blows off
the hideous belches of ill-digested bear blood
and rotted stomach
and the ordinary, wretched odor of bear,
blows across
my sore, lolled tongue a song
or screech, until I think I must rise up
and dance. And I lie still.

7
I awaken I think. Marshlights
reappear, geese
come trailing again up the flyway.
In her ravine under old snow the dam-bear
lies, licking
lumps of smeared fur
and drizzly eyes into shapes
with her tongue. And one
hairy-soled trudge stuck out before me,
the next groaned out,
the next,
the next,
the rest of my days I spend
wandering: wondering
what, anyway,
was that sticky infusion, that rank flavor of blood, that poetry, by which I lived?

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[Galway Kinnell's work ] "is a ritual filled with the dual awareness of the regrettability and the necessity of death."

"The agony of that knowledge — the knowledge or at least the conviction that all must be consumed in order to be reborn, must be reduced to ash in order to be redeemed — gives Galway Kinnell's poetry its astonishing resonance."



Alors, tirez sur le chasseur!

rt sob a ursa maior de kinnell

rt revista sina

rt pasolini no sesc arsenal

quod erat demonstrandum XXI

=

quod erat demonstrandum XX

(2005)