SOBRE AS MORAIS

Admite, por um pequeno instante, a inocência do vir-a-ser.

Que um ser não erra, não mente, nem é bondoso ou malévolo.

Agora turva o mundo com miragens, reinterpreta-o para adaptá-lo

Aos teus limites.

E esquece-te, com toda a força, da incomensurável inexistência

De motivos.

No fundo, tudo é ausência, tudo é instinto ou impulso.

Raoul Hausmann

There is a wind that seeks the crevice
under my heart
the way insects file at night
beneath a doorway

Its edges are rough, it slits
the cords. It trips my steady breathing.
When it comes there is no one
I can trust.

It seems, at times, I have designed
too well this vision of you
I cannot survive your eyes
when they are scarred with a need
for some lesser form of love.

I admit to this conceit.
And though you will not accept it
You love it nonetheless

It is just like you. Our desires
will always be kept sharp
by a kind of perversity. A need
to be each forever alone...

Its color is violet, like lips
that have been smashed by nights
or robbed of blood by lack of breath,
The wind I was speaking of does this.

I can feel it now.

Jack Kerouac, Selected Poems

Sante Scaldaferri

Henri Cartier Bresson

Quero dormir durante

vinte anos

e ir acordando

a meio da noite.

"De um livro o início ao fim, o todo como o visualizamos conceptualmente, de pouco vale à obra de Vian. "Outono em Pequim" é lido para nos deixar navegando. Para nos tornarmos irreconhecíveis aos nossos, o hoje ao amanhã, a genealogia da presença e a lógica dos factos. Vian lê-se porque à partida deveremos ter presente que, as intermináveis tentativas serão de louvar, que a ordem de ideias atingida é possivelmente decomposta, isolada, ironizada. Uma determinada forma de nós não nos cinge em relação associativa, seremos pois, o ridículo do que escondemos, e na leitura de "Outono em Pequim" todos os embaraços se expõem à prova de uma total indiscrição, salvaguarda contra o óbvio. E aí se espraia o intento de Boris Vian, desmantelador ilógico e livre anexo da moral, faz brincar os personagens como se a vida reportada aos factos se iludisse a si mesma, e talvez este intento seja, na verdade, o mais crítico e construtuvista dos valores, onde o óbvio desaparece para libertar da segurança sistemática que o código desses mesmos valores impõe, o Homem certo e capaz de se retroceder analiticamente, sem se tomar por louco. O óbvio é um hábito facilmente adquirido, tal como a sanidade."

Chema Madoz, Elogio de la sombra

I believe the moment is at hand when, by a paranoiac and active advance of the mind, it will be possible (simultaneously with automatism and other passive states) to systematize confusion and thus to help to discredit completely the world of reality. In order to cut short all possible misunderstandings, it should perhaps be said: "immediate" reality. Paranoia uses the external world in order to assert its dominating idea and has the disturbing characteristic of making others accept this idea's reality. The reality of the external world is used for illustration and proof, and so comes to serve the reality of one's mind. In the special 'Surrealist Intervention' number of Documents 34, under the title 'Philosophic Provocations', Dali undertakes today to give his thought a didactic turn. All uncertainty as to his real intentions seems to me to be swept away by these definitions:

Paranoia: Delirium of interpretation bearing a systematic structure.

Paranoiac-critical activity: Spontaneous method of "irrational knowledge" based on the critical and systematic objectification of delirious associations and interpretations.

Painting: Handmade colour "photography" of "concrete irrationality" and of the imaginative world in general.

Sculpture: Modelling by hand of "concrete irrationality" and of the imaginative world in general.

André Breton, What is Surrealism 1934

Uncle vernon, uncle vernon, independent as a hog on ice
Hes a big shot down there at the slaughterhouse
Plays accordion for mr. weiss
Uncle biltmore and uncle william
Made a million during world war two
But theyre tightwads and theyre cheapskates
And theyll never give a dime to you
Auntie mame has gone insane
She lives in the doorway of an old hotel
And the radio is playing opera
All she ever says is go to hell
Uncle violet flew as a pilot
And there aint no pretty girls in france
Now he runs a tiny little bookie joint
They say he never keeps it in his pants
Uncle bill will never leave a will
And the tumor is as big as an egg
He has a mistress, shes puerto rican
And I heard she has a wooden leg
Uncle phil cant live without his pills
He has emphysema and hes almost blind
And we must find out where the money is
Get it now before he loses his mind
Uncle vernon, uncle vernon, independent as a hog on ice
Hes a big shot down there at the slaughterhouse
He plays accordion for mr. weiss

Tom Waits, Cemetery Polka

Pegue um jornal.
Pegue a tesoura.
Escolha no jornal um artigo do tamanho que você deseja dar a seu poema.
Recorte o artigo.
Recorte em seguida com atenção algumas palavras que formam esse artigo e meta-as num saco.
Agite suavemente.
Tire em seguida cada pedaço um após o outro.
Copie conscienciosamente na ordem em que elas são tiradas do saco.
O poema se parecerá com você.
E ei-lo um escritor infinitamente original e de uma sensibilidade graciosa, ainda que incompreendido do público.

Tristan Tzara, Manifesto Dadaísta