ahhhhh! eso decía!!

ok, una pieza musical que creeps the creeps out of me - O FORTUNA - pero nunca supe que decía... la música en sí ya me causaba sensaciones de terror - y leyendo la letra...mmm... bueno, digamos que no es muy feliz...
sin más, aquí va:

nota: no sé latin como para traducir el tema yo misma, pero hay que decir que quien lo haya traducido hizo un trabajo detestable... anyway, para darme una idea de sobre qué va el tema, sirve.

O Fortuna,

como la luna

cambiante,

siempre creciendo

y decreciendo;

detestable vida

primero oprimes

y luego alivias

a tu antojo;

pobreza

y poder

derrites como el hielo.

Destino monstruoso

y vacío,

tu rueda da vueltas,

perverso,

vano es el bienestar

y siempre se disuelve en nada,

sombrío

y velado

me mortificas a mi también;

ahora por el juego

traigo mi espalda desnuda

para tu villanía.

El Destino está contra mi

en la salud

y la virtud,

empujado

y lastrado,

siempre esclavizado.

A esta hora

sin demora

toca las cuerdas vibrantes;

puesto que el Destino

derrota al más fuerte,

llorad todos conmigo!

if looks could kill

me encanta esta banda ochentera de mujeres enojadas rocking their hearts out!

Caught you in the act - can't put up with that
messing where you shouldn't be
I wanna hear you say you're sorry
Cause nobody takes advantage of me

You're missing the mark - shooting in the dark
I'm pulling the wool from my eyes
baby don't you push me further
It's gonna hurt you if it happens twice

If looks could kill
you'd be lying on the floor
you'd be begging me please please
baby don't hurt me no more
If looks could kill
you'd be reeling from the pain
and you'd never lie again
If looks could kill

You're living on the edge - hanging by a thread
I'm watching every move you make
you don't want to see my anger
so don't you make another mistake

Love is on the line - I ain't about to be kind
that's a promise and a threat
if I was you I'd really cool it
or risk a night you'll never forget

If looks could kill
you'd be lying on the floor
you'd be begging me please please
darlin don't hurt me no more
If looks could kill
you'd be reeling from the pain
and you'd never lie again
If looks could kill

I was a fool to believe in you
a sucker for every line
I'm a little less blind
than I was before
I can see right through your design

If looks could kill
you'd be lying on the floor
you'd be begging me please please
baby don't hurt me no more
If looks could kill
you'd be reeling from the pain
and you'd never lie again
If looks could kill
You'd be lying on the floor

You'd be begging me please please
Baby don't hurt me no more
If looks could kill
you'd be reeling from the pain
and you'd never lie again
If looks could kill
If looks could kill

i miss you, bitch!

¡vuelve!

¡volvé!

come back!

no one has dragged me to do something useless and stupid (yet fun) since you've been gone!
this is not right....

come back whenever it is that you're supposed to come back, but fyi: i miss you bitch!

:o

where troubles melt like lemondrops

hay tantas versiones de esta canción, creo que todo el mundo la cantó, desde israel kamakawiwo (gastada ya), katherine mcphee de american idol (her-mosa versión), me first and the gimme gimmes en una versión punk, jewel ( :S ), pero la verad es que la versión de judy garland sigue siendo my all time favorite... es tan inocente! i love it.

Somewhere over the rainbow
Way up high
There's a land that I heard of once in a lullaby

Somewhere over the rainbow
Skies are blue
And the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true

Someday I'll wish upon a star
And wake up where the clouds are far behind me
Where troubles melt like lemon drops
A way above the chimney tops
That's where you'll find me

Somewhere over the rainbow
Blue birds fly
Birds fly over the rainbow
Why then oh why can't I?

If happy little blue birds fly beyond the rainbow
Why oh why can't I?

boy (tales of childhood) - terminado

(...) i began to realize how simple life could be if one had a regular routine to follow with fixed hours and fixed salary and very little original thinking to do. the life of a writer is absolute hell compared with the life of a businessman. the writer has to force himself to work. he has to make his own hours and if he doesn't go to his desk at all there is nobody to scold him. if he is a writer of fiction he lives in a world of fear. each new day demands new ideas and he can never be sure whether he is going to come up with them or not. two hours of writing fiction leaves this particular writer absolutely drained. for those two hours he has been miles away, he has been somewhere else, in a different place with totally different people, and the effort of swimming back into normal surroundings is very great. it is almost a shock. the writer walks out of his workroom in a daze. he wants a drink. he needs it. it happens to be a fact that nearly every writer of fiction in the world drinks more whisky than is good for him. he does it to give himself faith, hope and courage. a person is a fool to become a writer. his only compensation is absolute freedom. he has no master except his own soul, and that, i am sure, is why he does it. -Roald Dahl

good book.

the beach

"First! If I had to get shot, then tenth, eleventh, twelfth - fine. But first. I couldn't believe it. I'd miss out on everything." Richard.- The Beach


terminé the beach. en un par de años lo vuelvo a leer.

book update

como terminé con el juguete rabioso tenía que empezar otro libro, no sea (oh! desgracia!) que me quede con solo dos libros para leer.

empecé a leer un libro que se llama historia argentina con drama y humor, porque hace mucho que vivo en este país de locos que viven, sufren, matan y lloran por una historia que (y lo digo con vergüencita) no conozco… qué hizo cada hombre o mujer que ahora es el nombre de una calle (frase trillada si las hay): no tengo idea.

entonces ése es mi objetivo: averiguarlo.

por otra parte, tengo bastante abandonado el príncipe de maquiavelo por razones prácticas, lo estaba leyendo en la compu pero me quedo ciega, así que lo continuaré cuando lo tenga en versión papel, lo cual espero sea pronto.

con the beach me enfermé mal, al punto de querer encontrar la playa en el mapa. need i say more?

y luego, como un alumno me pidió que le recomiende un librito para leer en su viaje, encontré en el instituto un libro autobiográfico de roald dahl que se llama boy (tales of childhood) y por ahora parece lindo, rápido de leer, infantil (pero bien), así que me parece que we have a winner… recomendable (no lo terminé todavía, obvio, pero va bien)

Canção do Exílio, Gonçalves Dias

Minha terra tem palmeiras,
Onde canta o sabiá;
As aves, que aqui gorjeiam,
Não gorjeiam como lá.

Nosso céu tem mais estrelas,
Nossas várzeas tem mais flores,
Nossos bosques tem mais vida,
Nossa vida mais amores.

foto: sabiá

señales

es una señal. me acabo de iluminar. tal vez toda esta mierda es una señal de que hay que cambiar, hay que hacer algo, tirar una bomba, aunque sea chiquita… es una señal ¿creo en las señales? no estoy segura pero sí sé que nada es casualidad. pero eso no significa que porque algo tenga que pasar vamos a recibir avisos. no, las señales no están conectadas con los eventos en el sentido de la casualidad o no. algo puede no ser casualidad pero sí ser sorpresa….no, no tienen nada que ver una con la otra. me fui de tema…