tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80263792009-12-03T02:20:00.289-03:00sentir só, o sentir nada.Da Matahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15956559638189419318noreply@blogger.comBlogger96125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026379.post-40382706153449119212009-12-02T23:50:00.002-03:002009-12-03T00:05:41.065-03:00vida: vida: próximo ano<br />vida: próximo mês<br />quando: no próximo dia<br />onde?<br />talvez.<br /><br />Ando sobre as rasas datas<br />Sonho sob doce música<br />Penso, e logo digo, nada<br />Como?<br />seduz.<br /><br />Sorte, breve medo tarda<br />Calo intensivamente<br />Crime: destino ser semente<br />Por que?<br />Mentes.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026379-4038270615344911921?l=damata.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Da Matahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15956559638189419318noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026379.post-57830039259990295282009-05-02T16:32:00.003-03:002009-05-02T16:36:47.403-03:00Viva! a bobagem do mundo<br />nas boas confusões dos estados<br />humor sobre o passado<br />passos avante!<br />Nem silêncio, nem insipidez<br />a bobagem séria dos desejos<br />incontidos<br />fortes em cheiros e<br />tímidos<br />em origem<br /><br />Bobos! sorrisos... sentido e sem sentido<br />direto ou entre atalhos<br />Vivo! a passagem dos estados<br />as pendulações das horas<br />Não quero ser estanque de pesares:<br />bobagem não se deixar ingênuo<br />novamente.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026379-5783003925999029528?l=damata.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Da Matahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15956559638189419318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026379.post-18036792271577707362009-03-10T23:24:00.003-03:002009-03-11T00:04:22.417-03:00<span style="font-family:arial;">Como linhas borradas em rosa<br />as nunvens desmanchavam-se longe<br />palavras encantavam prosas<br />sentidos e horizontes<br />Pautas imaginadas<br />sopro do rio entrengue<br />almas desacompanhadas<br />olhavam o aparecer do sol<br />Frente ao correr das águas<br />o não acontecer:<br />beijos roubados amarelavam<br />em sua plenitude de quase ser.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;color:#999999;">[Nathalia da Mata]</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026379-1803679227157770736?l=damata.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Da Matahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15956559638189419318noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026379.post-62331240648242004782009-02-27T16:26:00.003-03:002009-02-27T16:31:56.043-03:00É carnaval... diga logo<br />se gosta de mim...<br /><br />amanhã tudo volta ao normal<br /><br />[no dia, no exterior mundo<br />na cegueira<br />o céu se acalma...<br />também eu... e o tempo<br />passou<br />deixou seu peso<br />e mais nada.]<br /><br />Na frente do céu todos confessam.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026379-6233124064824200478?l=damata.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Da Matahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15956559638189419318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026379.post-70371980708406171102009-01-04T16:36:00.002-03:002009-01-04T16:42:10.258-03:00<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fhz2K_78v7k/SWEQO62gIPI/AAAAAAAAABU/T_af7YwlMAU/s1600-h/DSC00410.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287525286011740402" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fhz2K_78v7k/SWEQO62gIPI/AAAAAAAAABU/T_af7YwlMAU/s320/DSC00410.JPG" /></a> <span style="font-family:arial;">...</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"<span style="font-size:85%;">O rio da minha aldeia não faz pensar em nada."</span></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">...</span></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">(Alberto Caeiro)<br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026379-7037198070840617110?l=damata.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Da Matahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15956559638189419318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026379.post-81008528866898141412007-03-12T02:52:00.000-03:002008-12-11T18:24:30.873-03:00<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fhz2K_78v7k/RfTr9sHnE5I/AAAAAAAAAAU/TksQC8eMfho/s1600-h/delacroix_mlle+rose+1817-1820.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5040913327982056338" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fhz2K_78v7k/RfTr9sHnE5I/AAAAAAAAAAU/TksQC8eMfho/s200/delacroix_mlle+rose+1817-1820.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;color:#993399;"><br /></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;color:#993399;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;color:#993399;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;color:#993399;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;color:#993399;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;color:#993399;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;color:#993399;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#993399;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">*(Delacroix, Eugène)<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />----------------------------------------------------------------------<br /></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>respirando no intenso encanto do silêncio<br />paira meu medo.<br /></strong>[Da Mata]<br /></span></div></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026379-8100852886689814141?l=damata.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Da Matahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15956559638189419318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026379.post-90665758726402591772007-03-20T01:31:00.000-03:002008-12-11T18:24:30.343-03:00<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fhz2K_78v7k/Rf9oLp9HbTI/AAAAAAAAAAc/ta23-CTzVfA/s1600-h/Labyrinth+I.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5043864657128287538" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fhz2K_78v7k/Rf9oLp9HbTI/AAAAAAAAAAc/ta23-CTzVfA/s200/Labyrinth+I.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;color:#993399;">*Labyrinth I - Dali</span><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong></strong></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong></strong></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong></strong></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong></strong></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong></strong></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong></strong></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong></strong></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong></strong></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong></strong></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong></strong></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong></strong></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong></strong></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong></strong></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Oisive jeunesse</strong></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>À tout asservie,</strong></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>Par délicatesse</strong></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>J'ai perdu ma vie!</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#993399;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Rimbaud</span></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;">-------------------------------------</span></div><br /><div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;color:#993399;">(Pra ti, Kleber!)</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026379-9066575872640259177?l=damata.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Da Matahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15956559638189419318noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026379.post-7299410410778344502007-12-15T18:06:00.000-03:002008-12-11T18:24:30.103-03:00<div><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"><strong>quero ir e deixar de ir</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"><strong>onde o vento não vem</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"><strong>e vai</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"><strong>outro longe</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"><strong>longo olhar</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"><strong>meu</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"><strong>e silêncio</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"><strong>desentendido de tudo</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"><strong>o caminho segue</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"><strong>não pode deixar de ir</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"><strong>simplemente</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"><strong>não pode. Mente.</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#666666;">[daMata]</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"></span></div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fhz2K_78v7k/R2RJK-mLoLI/AAAAAAAAAAk/KokMKhdaQA8/s1600-h/escher_daynight.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5144317127314612402" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fhz2K_78v7k/R2RJK-mLoLI/AAAAAAAAAAk/KokMKhdaQA8/s200/escher_daynight.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#999999;">Escher</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026379-729941041077834450?l=damata.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Da Matahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15956559638189419318noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026379.post-34223914408643695042008-05-03T23:17:00.008-03:002008-12-11T18:24:29.948-03:00<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#666666;"><strong>...</strong></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#666666;"><strong>... ... ... ... a idéia de Natureza resulta da prioridade dada ao infinito sobre o</strong></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#666666;"><strong>finito."</strong></span><br /><br /><span style="color:#999999;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#666666;"><strong>Merleau-Ponty</strong></span><br /></span><span style="color:#999999;">----------------------</span> <br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fhz2K_78v7k/SB0faW8xJyI/AAAAAAAAAAs/toDtpL1zj4c/s1600-h/DSC00364.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196344082752939810" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fhz2K_78v7k/SB0faW8xJyI/AAAAAAAAAAs/toDtpL1zj4c/s200/DSC00364.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#999999;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>[Em meu/seu quarto, Aristóteles dorme e</strong></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>pensa.]</strong></span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026379-3422391440864369504?l=damata.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Da Matahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15956559638189419318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026379.post-88961560578561650792008-11-09T00:28:00.002-03:002008-11-09T00:43:27.377-03:00parece-me que a vida não está aqui<br />parece-me sem sopro<br />sem medida<br />sem vontade<br />à tarde, folhas queimadas no campo amarelo<br />o portão bate ao vento<br />entre meu mentir<br />e sentir<br />: medo de saber demais e não adiantar,<br />medo de nada saber<br />de saber o sem sentido<br />e pensar não sentir<br />parece-me dormente as pontas dos dedos<br />parece-me o peito<br />sem anseio<br />os sonhos, bem tarde, se foram<br />entreaberto o portão<br />faz soar<br />e dormir<br />meus demônios preferidos<br />: sorte e destino<br />prestes a fingir<br />choro sem saber.<br /><br />[Nathalia da Mata]<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026379-8896156057856165079?l=damata.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Da Matahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15956559638189419318noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026379.post-6148218622110053252008-08-29T16:01:00.002-03:002008-08-29T16:05:31.904-03:00<span style="font-family:arial;color:#666666;">São exatos 4 anos do poema "A Roda"</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#666666;">4 anos dos copos de "recordação" no Antigo<br />pelo brinde à amizade!</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#666666;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;color:#999999;">(para ler o poema clicar em arquivo 08.04)</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026379-614821862211005325?l=damata.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Da Matahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15956559638189419318noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026379.post-1093806512659124722004-08-29T16:04:00.001-03:002008-08-29T15:57:31.158-03:00<span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="color:#999999;"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">A poesia foi para nós</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">uma vez só</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">na volta de uma roda</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">Como vai a vida</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">no sentido das linhas</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">que não se explicam</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">Como são os beijos</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">quase entregues</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">Como são os olhares</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">na compreensão do imperceptível</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">Tudo foi uma noite</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">as garrafas, as batidas</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">o inesperado sossego da multidão</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">Na roda do tempo</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">as ruas dos encontros,</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">os copos de recordação</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">A cantiga foi ouvida</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">no mesmo compasso dos sorrisos</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">E quando a velha roda</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">nos deixar</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">A poesia será para nós</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">sempre!</span></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#999999;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;color:#666666;">[Nathalia da Mata]</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026379-109380651265912472?l=damata.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Da Matahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15956559638189419318noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026379.post-46875660407197741942008-08-29T01:36:00.013-03:002008-08-29T15:47:30.705-03:00<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fhz2K_78v7k/SLd90Qfj9qI/AAAAAAAAAA0/DxoPJOUhxq4/s1600-h/DSC00247.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5239795028202878626" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fhz2K_78v7k/SLd90Qfj9qI/AAAAAAAAAA0/DxoPJOUhxq4/s200/DSC00247.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#666666;">O absurdo preso ao tempo<br />do quadro</span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#666666;">afasta-se a pertubação do vento</span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#666666;">em agosto o rápido é lento</span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#666666;">o céu, intenso e </span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#666666;">os castelos suspensos</span></div><div><span style="color:#666666;"><span style="font-family:arial;">em sonhos. </span></span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#666666;"><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></span></span><br /><p><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#666666;"><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#666666;"><span style="font-family:arial;">[daMata]</p></span></span></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />------------------------------------<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Imagem - Dalì</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026379-4687566040719774194?l=damata.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Da Matahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15956559638189419318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026379.post-63459675109492360052008-04-09T12:01:00.003-03:002008-04-09T12:07:35.742-03:00<span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="color:#000000;"><strong><span style="font-size:85%;">Um pálido rápido</span></strong><br /></span></span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="color:#000000;"><strong><span style="font-size:85%;">reencanto de mundo: Mudo<br /></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:85%;">num grito louco</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:85%;">abraço as cores</span></strong><br /></span></span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="color:#000000;"><strong><span style="font-size:85%;">do outono<br /></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:85%;">E corro</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:85%;">pelo espaço sem tempo</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:85%;">pelas linhas sem pontos</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:85%;">pela alma sem corpo</span></strong><br /><br /><strong><span style="font-size:85%;">Ontem, já amanheceu: Durmo.</span></strong><br /></span></span><span style="font-family:arial;color:#666666;"><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#999999;"><strong>[Nathalia da Mata]</strong></span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026379-6345967510949236005?l=damata.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Da Matahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15956559638189419318noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026379.post-86978190374059788872007-08-06T01:12:00.000-03:002007-08-06T01:18:20.401-03:00<span style="font-family:verdana;"><strong>À Palo Seco<br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />(Belchior)</span></strong></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#000000;"><strong>Se você vier me perguntar por onde andei</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#000000;"><strong>No tempo em que você sonhava<br />De olhos abertos lhe direi<br />Amigo eu me desesperava<br /><br />Sei que assim falando pensas<br />Que esse desespero é moda em 76</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#000000;"><strong>Eu ando mesmo descontente</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#000000;"><strong>Desesperadamente eu grito em português<br /></strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#000000;"><strong>Tenho 25 anos de sonho e de sangue </strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#000000;"><strong>E de América do Sul</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#000000;"><strong>Mas por força desse destino</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#000000;"><strong>Um tango argentino</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#000000;"><strong>Me vai bem melhor que um blues<br /></strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#000000;"><strong>Sei que assim falando pensas</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#000000;"><strong>Que esse desespero é moda em 76</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#000000;"><strong>Eu quero é que esse canto torto feito faca</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#000000;"><strong>Corte a carne de vocês </strong></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026379-8697819037405978887?l=damata.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Da Matahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15956559638189419318noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026379.post-42364451894015458922007-06-18T09:53:00.000-03:002007-06-18T09:57:09.386-03:00<span style="color:#999999;"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>Certas coisas nos deixam livres</strong></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>ao sabermos que fomos capazes de sentir</strong></span></span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026379-4236445189401545892?l=damata.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Da Matahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15956559638189419318noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026379.post-7195083303913745772007-06-13T09:53:00.001-03:002007-06-13T10:02:19.754-03:00<span style="font-family:arial;"><strong><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#999999;">-<span style="font-family:verdana;"> Quem vai lavar os pratos hoje?</span></span></span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="color:#999999;"><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">a palavra transparente...<br />(divagações de poetas sobre o <em>nós</em>)</span></span></span></strong></span><br /><strong><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#999999;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#999999;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#999999;"></span></strong><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026379-719508330391374577?l=damata.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Da Matahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15956559638189419318noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026379.post-1876751854524903642007-06-06T09:08:00.000-03:002007-06-06T09:54:36.939-03:00<span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#999999;"><strong>"Todos os referênciais misturam os seus discursos numa compulsão circular,<br />moebiana. Sexo e trabalho foram, não há muito tempo, termos ferozmente opostos:<br />hoje em dia resolvem-se ambos no mesmo tipo de pretensão."</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><strong><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#c0c0c0;">[Baudrillard]</span><br /></strong><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong></strong></span></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong></strong></span></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>A negatividade do ser</strong><br /><br /><span style="color:#999999;"><strong>Meu outro reflexo<br />transforma-se em cópia<br />cega<br />plena<br />O oposto que é prova<br />doutro<br />mas não é<br />senão outro – vazio<br />Em dimensão inconsciente<br />trava-se o reconhecimento<br />impossível<br />e triste.</strong></span></span></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#c0c0c0;"><strong>Nathalia da Mata</strong></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026379-187675185452490364?l=damata.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Da Matahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15956559638189419318noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026379.post-26727872170394585682007-06-05T10:36:00.000-03:002007-06-05T10:48:28.301-03:00<span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"><strong>o ponto leva o ponto</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"><strong>do ponto afasta-se o ponto</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"><strong>no ponto o encontro</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"><strong>do desencontro</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"><strong>não há</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"><strong>destino</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"><strong>sem giro.<br /><br /><span style="color:#c0c0c0;">Nathalia da Mata</span></strong></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026379-2672787217039458568?l=damata.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Da Matahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15956559638189419318noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026379.post-1566800910017269822007-04-09T00:29:00.000-03:002007-04-09T00:40:18.884-03:00<span style="color:#3366ff;"><strong>quando teus passos</strong><br /><strong>não repousam em mim</strong><br /><strong>fica impresso em meu espaço</strong><br /><strong>minha quietude</strong><br /><strong>meu desejo só</strong><br /><strong>mesquinho</strong><br /><strong>estreito</strong><br /><strong>de estar contigo a sós</strong><br /><strong>num canto largo</strong><br /><strong>pálido</strong><br /><strong>e teu</strong><br /><br /><strong>roubaste meu querer</strong><br /><strong>de compainha</strong><br /></span><span style="color:#3366ff;"><strong>e o vazio da liberdade<br /></strong><br /></span><span style="color:#3366ff;"><strong>levaste minhas ruas<br /></strong><br /><strong>os sentidos traidores</strong><br /><strong>do que não sentiria</strong><br /><strong>estão</strong><br /><strong>quando teus olhos</strong><br /></span><span style="color:#3366ff;"><strong>não repousam em mim<br /></strong><br /><strong>roubaste meu pensar</strong><br /><strong>outros mundos</strong><br /><strong>minha vontade de calar a sós</strong><br /><strong>num canto parco</strong><br /><strong>opaco</strong><br /><strong>e meu.</strong><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><strong>[Nathalia da Mata]</strong></span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026379-156680091001726982?l=damata.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Da Matahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15956559638189419318noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026379.post-70727989772599114162007-03-18T03:46:00.000-03:002007-03-18T04:28:34.079-03:00<p><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="color:#993399;"><strong>"O poeta torna-se vidente através de um longo desregramento de todos os sentidos".<br /><br /></strong>Rimbaud<br />--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</span><br /></span><br /><strong><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;">um certo cinismo indigesto<br />próprio de gente alheia,<br />de gente esperta<br />pra quem o resto do mundo é<br />de gente besta<br />ou paciente demais<br />esse cinismo me tira o sangue-frio<br />as veias, o verbo<br />tira a calma dos olhos<br />dos dentes<br />mas desregra os sentidos!<br /></span></strong></p><p><span style="color:#993399;"><strong>Na anti-poesia é possível ver a poesia.<br /></strong><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Da Mata</span></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026379-7072798977259911416?l=damata.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Da Matahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15956559638189419318noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026379.post-27663315217340328492007-03-15T02:43:00.000-03:002007-03-15T02:47:41.814-03:00<span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>qualquer coisa se parte</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>dentro de meus olhos</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>enquanto seco</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>conscientemente.</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>[nada como o não sentir]<br /></strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;">-----------------------------------</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;">Da Mata<br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026379-2766331521734032849?l=damata.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Da Matahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15956559638189419318noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026379.post-13866550868258073592007-03-15T02:26:00.000-03:002007-03-15T02:33:48.554-03:00<span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>azedo, doente</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>sem tempo</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>com fome, saudade</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>sem sono</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>armado, magro</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>sem foda</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>vermelho, quente</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>sem carro</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>com sede, aspirinas</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>sem cigarro</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>olhou o céu</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>não havia</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>só teto e cortinas</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>a vida</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>flores de plástico</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>morfo</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>livros empilhados</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>fiolosofias</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>sobre o devir</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>e o barulho insuportável</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>das goteiras.<br />as goteiras</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>as goteiras</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>as goteiras<br /></strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>[sofre sem ter-me</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>ainda deixado</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#993399;"><strong>saudades minha!]<br />----------------------------------------------</strong></span><br /><br /><strong><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;color:#993399;"></span></strong><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026379-1386655086825807359?l=damata.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Da Matahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15956559638189419318noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026379.post-1169276267994646932007-01-20T03:48:00.000-03:002007-03-12T02:52:46.503-03:00houve cometas no céu<br />e a vida repleta<br />de passados<br />onde se caminha entre encontros<br />não se procura plantar<br />apenas e apenas<br />colher!<br />plantas ansiosas pelo vento<br />flores dormentes em compaixão<br />e a vida<br />indo e voltando<br />sem parecer que já sabia de algo<br />e não queria revelar<br />que as palavras, apenas<br />palavras,<br />e o passado, passado,<br />deitavam<br />perto do sol.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026379-116927626799464693?l=damata.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Da Matahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15956559638189419318noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026379.post-1158486149740116342007-03-12T00:39:00.000-03:002007-03-12T00:47:36.725-03:00<div align="left"><span style="color:#993399;"><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><strong>"- ... tenho um recado pras pessoas que<br />não acreditam em nada: elas estão certas!"<br /></strong></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">(anônimo)</span></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026379-115848614974011634?l=damata.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Da Matahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15956559638189419318noreply@blogger.com0