Life changing event

Mandatory for so many reasons I can't even begin to list them. If you are still alive you must watch this.

Manifest

Earthquake in Sonialand

George as seen by Marty. Sigh. Love. Sigh.

Get a grip, John!

(The world/the whole) + the pen to the paper*

*or Plains - Wye Oak.

England

Lisboa

over and over and over and over and over and over

Bob Dylan - The Times they are A-changin' -1965

your slim frame, your eager eyes and your wild mane, oh they keep me where I belong, all wrapped up in wrong*

*or I beg you to blame me for the words of sad refrain.

May this moment last forever

Resuming

Punching modernity back to it's place in the past

*

They say we are the chosen few

But we're wasted

And that's why we're still waiting

On a number from the modern man

Maybe when you're older you will understand

Why you don't feel right

Why you can't sleep at night now

*

Modern Man - Arcade Fire

Tonight at the O2 Arena*

*I'm hysterical.

Empty cities/empty hearts?*

*or Celestial Bodies - Turn Into You.

The least of your worries. And we won't be young anymore.*

*or Summer Camp - Ghost Train.

((º]º)) would be 70 today.

Pelo direito à própria velocidade*

Bom hoje e agora.



*ou Wishlist.

Memory's little helper

“I remember the sound of the people outside,” Sean says. “The fires and the singing the songs and the police tape downstairs, Double Fantasy being recorded, my dad’s voice, the texture of his skin, the look of his ankle. It’s like, I awoke from a dream and I’ve never been a child since then.”

Sean Lennon dixit in 60 Minutes With Yoko Ono and Sean Lennon (New York Magazine).

Voice mail message with background music*

Hi, this is Sonia... Huh, I'm sorry I've been away. I've been working a lot. I'm doing this film, I don't know if you've heard about it, and... But everything's great, huh... How have you been? (Sigh) Well, I gotta go. Send me a text or something. Speak to you soon. Bye.



*ou Das re(/a)lações tensas entre autora e blog.

Nunca vou deixar de ser eu*

*ou "O próprio escrever perdeu a doçura para mim. Banalizou-se tanto, não só o acto de dar expressão a emoções como o de requintar frases, que escrevo como quem come ou bebe, com mais ou menos atenção, mas meio alheado e desinteressado, meio atento, e sem entusiasmo nem fulgor." Livro do Desassossego, Bernardo Soares.