heartbeats

A pedido de muitas famílias (leia-se prà G.), cá vai :-D



Mas não deixes de ver este também, momentos de rara beleza...

A Cultura

Um ano e meio depois de o ter começado finalmente o acabei.

O melhor do livro é sem dúvida todo o capítulo em que o autor nos dá umas dicas para utilizar a cultura (e a incultura) em público. Enfim, uma mancheia de considerações cómicas sobre arrogância e racismo cultural pela qual normalmente identificamos pessoas tão cultas como uma cabra maltesa.

Se estou mais culto, não tenho dúvidas. Em quê, não sei. Mas cito:
"Eu esqueço a maior parte do que li tal como não me lembro do que comi; mas tenho a certeza que ambas estas actividades contribuem para o sustento do meu espírito e do meu corpo." Georg Lichtenberg

The bike.

It was a quiet and mild saturday morning and nothing made us predict what we were about to experience. We were on the track of two female suspects (the taller with nice rounded curves below blond hair, the shorter was more like a bumpy road with no side protection, a place to avoid unless you are a 4x4 heavy truck) that quite convincingly were heading to the bar or, if we were lucky, to the library, but we had just lost them in the corner between the launderette and Fritz’s hot dogs (24/7, sausages for everyone, salads for the girls, beer for the lads).

Next thing we saw was an empty square. The way that the sun beams were reflecting in the mirrored building in front of us was somehow frightening and made us instantly suspicious of the whole set. Who was behind this scenario? Where are the female suspects we were cunningly chasing disguised as Franciscan monks? Who or what is orchestrating our steps?
Mr. Adam said “We lost them. Could they be hiding in that fountain” I immediately replied “Sssssssch, don’t let the echo of your words compromise us, let us head quietly to the fountain and pretend that Fritz’s bratwurst this time had more mustard that usual, we must wash our gowns”. In our decided pace, we arrived at the fountain in no time but there were no sign of the girls, just some metal glowing light that almost blinded us.
As we moved closer there it was, the bike. “I thought they were walking”, mr. Adam said. “And they were”, said I, “this is a clear sign, my young assistant, a sign that next week we will be here, same time, same place, and they will rejoin us.” This is a sign”, I continued, “that all our efforts are about to be rewarded.” Mr. Adam’s expression gave no space for doubts, he was lost in my words but at same time curious about such reward to come.

“Think about what we are seeing here, my young and beardless assistant. A sunken bicycle, look!, perfect, a fish just sprang between the seats and the wheels… see?” He smiled and looked at me with glowing eyes almost crying of joy. “So next week, same time?” I knew he had got it.

We both shouted to the sun in pure bliss “A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.”