Elisa Lucinda

na próxima encarnação eu quero nascer formiga trabalho duro no verão que sonho não enche barriga no inverno descansar e então cigarras cantem por comida migalhas dou por sua canção minha vingança de formiga

Não espere saber tudo para agir. A própria ação desenvolve o saber.

Sua falta de fé é perturbadora.

Marcos, Novo Testamento, MC, 8:9

Marcos, MC, 8:9, Eram cerca de quatro mil homens. Então Jesus os despediu.

Jeremias, Antigo Testamento, JR, 20:5

Jeremias, JR, 20:5, Também entregarei toda a riqueza desta cidade, todo o fruto do seu trabalho e todas as suas coisas preciosas; sim, entregarei todos os tesouros dos reis de Judá nas mãos de seus inimigos, os quais hão de saquear, pegar e levar tudo para a Babilônia.

Ezequiel, Antigo Testamento, EZ, 27:5

Ezequiel, EZ, 27:5, Fabricaram todos os seus conveses de ciprestes de Senir; trouxeram cedros do Líbano para fazer o seu mastro.

⁠" Essa pequena viagem… Nunca foi sobre eu e vc… Sempre foi sobre mim… Eu me vi tanto em vc… Que acabei me perdendo... Então precisei retornar… E quando me reencontrei… Eu te perdi".

Acho que tenho um pretendente, mas ainda não me acostumei direito com ele. É incrivelmente charmoso e me faz corte com refeições deliciosas, mas às vezes acho que prefiro pretendentes nos livros em vez daqueles de carne e osso.

Conheça todas as coisas, e você compreenderá o todo.

I stand in the ring in the dead city and tie on the red shoes. Everything that was calm is mine, the watch with an ant walking, the toes, lined up like dogs, the stove long before it boils toads, the parlor, white in winter, long before flies, the doe lying down on moss, long before the bullet. I tie on the red shoes. They are not mine. They are my mother’s. Her mother’s before. Handed down like an heirloom but hidden like shameful letters. The house and the street where they belong are hidden and all the women, too, are hidden. All those girls who wore the red shoes, each boarded a train that would not stop. Stations flew by like suitors and would not stop. They all danced like trout on the hook. They were played with. They tore off their ears like safety pins. Their arms fell off them and became hats. Their heads rolled off and sang down the street. And their feet – oh God, their feet in the market place - their feet, those two beetles, ran for the corner and then danced forth as if they were proud. Surely, people exclaimed, surely they are mechanical. Otherwise… But the feet went on. The feet could not stop. They were wound up like a cobra that sees you. They were elastic pulling itself in two. They were islands during an earthquake. They were ships colliding and going down. Never mind you and me. They could not listen. They could not stop. What they did was the death dance. What they did would do them in.