Espaço Vazio

Os fins de semana a bordo são uma seca.

Tirando os momentos em que se está a trabalhar, que por vezes são prolongados mas nem sempre, uma pessoa está constantemente a tentar imaginar o que estará o resto do mundo a fazer...

Claro que, quando a isso se junta o belo do verão, o desejo irreprimível de estar na esplanadinha ou na praia, na companhia de amigos ou familiares intensifica-se até o expoente máximo da loucura!!!

Quero dizer... Normalmente, não me incomodam nada os momentos de maior solidão, pois até sou daquelas pessoas que se entretêm perfeitamente uma tarde inteira de volta de um simples livro e/ou jornal do dia, com uma musiquinha à maneira (e, pronto, uma bejeca) a acompanhar.

Mas, agora não me apetece! Não me apetece mesmo nada!

Portanto, pare-se a guerra imediatamente, que aqui o menino quer mimo! Quero já todos (vocês sabem quem são...) a fazerem login freneticamente nos vossos MSN's, quero janelas a saltar com aquele som característico com todos os últimos cochichos e novidades, quero teclar até todos os meus 10 dedos das mãos me doerem - se for preciso os dos pés também ajudam no teclado - quero estabelecer novas conexões, restabelecer as velhas, recordar bons momentos, e - porque não? - os maus também, quero discutir o presente planear o futuro, debater tão apaixonadamente os benefícios do TGV como a gravidade de estarmos limitados no espaço-tempo, ou a relatividade dos acontecimentos absolutamente determinados... Qualquer coisa!!!

Mas, por muita força que faça... Por muito que eu o deseje... Nada acontece!

Ora bolas...

Divirtam-se, todos, pois... Eu, ficarei aqui... Eternamente esperando...





Ou não!

:-)




"What Shall We Do Now"

What shall we use to fill the empty spaces
Where waves of hunger roar?
Shall we set out across the sea of faces
In search of more and more applause?
Shall we buy a new guitar?
Shall we drive a more powerful car?
Shall we work straight through the night?
Shall we get into fights?
Leave the lights on?
Drop bombs?
Do tours of the east?
contract diseases?
Bury bones?
Break up homes?
Send flowers by phone?
Take to drink?
Go to shrinks?
Give up meat?
Rarely sleep?
Keep people as pets?
Train dogs?
Race rats?
Fill the attic with cash?
Bury treasure?
Store up leisure?
But never relax at all
With our backs to the wall.



Doctor Doctor what is wrong with me
This supermarket life is getting long
What is the heart life of a colour TV
What is the shelf life of a teenage queen
Ooh western woman
Ooh western girl
News hound sniffs the air
When Jessica Hahn goes down
He latches on to that symbol
Of detachment
Attracted by the peeling away of feeling
The celebrity of the abused shell the belle
Ooh western woman
Ooh western girl
And the children of Melrose
Strut their stuff
Is absolute zero cold enough
And out in the valley warm and clean
The little ones sit by their TV screens
No thoughts to think
No tears to cry
All sucked dry
Down to the very last breath
Bartender what is wrong with me
Why am I so out of breath
The captain said excuse me ma'am
This species has amused itself to death
Amused itself to death
Amused itself to death
We watched the tragedy unfold
We did as we were told
We bought and sold
It was the greatest show on earth
But then it was over
We ohhed and aahed
We drove our racing cars
We ate our last few jars of caviar
And somewhere out there in the stars
A keen-eyed look-out
Spied a flickering light
Our last hurrah
And when they found our shadows
Grouped around the TV sets
They ran down every lead
They repeated every test
They checked out all the data on their lists
And then the alien anthropologists
Admitted they were still perplexed
But on eliminating every other reason
For our sad demise
They logged the only explanation left
This species has amused itself to death
No tears to cry no feelings left
This species has amused itself to death

(Switch Channels)
[Alf Razzell:]
"Years later, I saw Bill Hubbard's name on the memorial to the missing
at Aras[?]. And I...when I saw his name I was absolutely transfixed; it
was as though he was now a human being instead of some sort of
nightmarish memory of how I had to leave him, all those years ago.
And I felt relieved, and ever since then I've felt happier about it,
because always before, whenever I thought of him, I said to myself,
'Was there something else that I could have done?'
[Background: "I'd rather die, I'd rather die..."]
And that always sort of worried me. And having seen him, and his
name in the register - as you know in the memorials there's a little safe,
there's a register in there with every name - and seeing his name and
his name on the memorial; it sort of lightened my...heart, if you like."
(Woman) "When was it that you saw his name on the memorial?"
"Ah, when I was eighty-seven, that would be a year, ninete...eighty-
four, nineteen eighty-four."