<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927</id><updated>2012-01-03T17:37:10.661Z</updated><title type='text'>Noctalia</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>108</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-8312759206817043441</id><published>2012-01-03T17:37:00.001Z</published><updated>2012-01-03T17:37:10.732Z</updated><title type='text'>This is a test</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;and it is successful. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-pa9WBHR_rfk/TwM8vd9u4QI/AAAAAAAAOGk/drthStkXAhA/s1600-h/P1100108%25255B8%25255D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto" title="P1100108" border="0" alt="P1100108" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-PbG7ZQgF7LM/TwM8w981exI/AAAAAAAAOGs/X5LTaXhjcWs/P1100108_thumb%25255B6%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="244" height="164" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-8312759206817043441?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/8312759206817043441'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/8312759206817043441'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2012/01/this-is-test.html' title='This is a test'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://lh4.ggpht.com/-PbG7ZQgF7LM/TwM8w981exI/AAAAAAAAOGs/X5LTaXhjcWs/s72-c/P1100108_thumb%25255B6%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-2378749465166011626</id><published>2011-05-28T19:47:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2011-05-28T20:03:53.005+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Dear diary,</title><content type='html'>today was a day of "first times":&lt;br /&gt;I striped my first &lt;a href="http://hubstripping.wordpress.com/hub-stripping-tips/"&gt;internal-gear hub&lt;/a&gt; start to finish, including cleaning, lubricating and test-riding. It's a Sachs Pentasport from the 80's; made me feel as though I had a &lt;a href="http://static.zooomr.com/images/7002732_d0f6e253f9_o.jpg"&gt;very large dick&lt;/a&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;Later I prepared my first pizza and it made me feel like a &lt;a href="http://www.kino-radeberg.de/graphiken/bilder/aktuell/Lady-Georgiana-Spencer_Devonshire-uxor.jpg"&gt;lady&lt;/a&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm so proud of myself, I'd fuck me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-2378749465166011626?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/2378749465166011626'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/2378749465166011626'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2011/05/dear-diary.html' title='Dear diary,'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-3728067805112718522</id><published>2011-03-13T19:22:00.003Z</published><updated>2011-03-13T19:33:57.924Z</updated><title type='text'>Der Untergang</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;"(...) It is always, apparently, a matter of ideals, moral principles, social philosophies or religious beliefs. But to a soldier staring down at his severed legs, or holding his entrails in his hands, it means only one thing: a wasted life. The reason why it was so easy to get him into that position was that he is not only a potentially aggressive animal, but also an intensely co-operative one. All that talk of defending the principles of his (...) tribe got through to him because it became a question of helping his friends. Under the stress of war, under the direct and visible threat from the out-group, the bonds between him and his battle companions became immensely strengthened. He killed, more not to let them down than for any other reason. The ancient tribal loyalties were so strong that, when the final moment came, he had no choice."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Morris, The Human Zoo&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Go play with your friends.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-3728067805112718522?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3728067805112718522'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3728067805112718522'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2011/03/der-untergang.html' title='Der Untergang'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-94785736700573929</id><published>2011-03-09T21:49:00.002Z</published><updated>2011-03-09T22:49:15.356Z</updated><title type='text'>The Orion belt</title><content type='html'>&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 262px; height: 400px;" src="http://www.twanight.org/newTWAN/photos/3001779.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had the most wonderful dream today(night). Of an orgy!&lt;br /&gt;Everyone was there. Everyone who matters. Men &amp; women from my life. Happy, quiet, enjoying themselves. And me.&lt;br /&gt;It was a disturbing dream. But one of those to miss when the alarm goes off.&lt;br /&gt;It was not about &lt;u&gt;sex&lt;/u&gt;, lust or perversion: it was about love. A curious form of love, like friendship mixed with blind trust and respect. Boy, was that a wonderful dream; like Ken Park's final scenes. Friends having sex and sharing the best in them.&lt;br /&gt;In the world of the awake, friends having a cold drink in a dark bar after 11pm would be the corresponding situation. I suppose: that's not my world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Living reality is harder after such dreams; dreams free of prejudice and full of rich warm feelings; feelings of unity with the universe.&lt;br /&gt;Of all the people in the world, I'm the one feeling those. How ironic is that? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But this wasn't about sex, no: there was no &lt;em&gt;morning wood&lt;/em&gt;. On&lt;b&gt;ly&lt;/b&gt; melancho&lt;b&gt;ly&lt;/b&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;This was about a world out of this world. And I'll miss it. More than I miss anything in the...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-94785736700573929?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/94785736700573929'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/94785736700573929'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2011/03/orion-belt.html' title='The Orion belt'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-9160067972887902261</id><published>2010-11-18T19:21:00.001Z</published><updated>2010-11-18T19:24:42.799Z</updated><title type='text'>On this side, nothing new</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;"This idea that the whole world is wired together is mass death. Every biologist knows that small groups in isolation evolve fastest.  You put a thousand birds on an ocean island and they’ll evolve very fast. You put ten thousand on a big continent, and their evolution slows down. Now, for our own species, evolution occurs mostly through our behavior.  We innovate new behavior to adapt. And everybody on earth knows that innovation only occurs in small groups.  Put three people on a committee and they may get something done.  Ten people, and it gets harder. Thirty people, and &lt;b&gt;nothing happens&lt;/b&gt;.  Thirty million, it becomes impossible. That’s the effect of mass media – it keeps anything from happening.  Mass media swamps diversity. It makes every place the same.  Bangkok or Tokyo or London: there’s a McDonald’s on one corner, a Benneton on another, a Gap across the street. Regional differences vanish.  All differences vanish. In a mass-media world, there’s less of everything except the top ten books, records, movies, ideas. People worry about losing species diversity in the rain forest. But what about intellectual diversity – our most necessary resource?  That’s disappearing faster than trees. But we haven’t figured that out, so now we’re planning to put five billion people together in cyberspace. And it’ll freeze the entire species. Everything will stop dead in its tracks. Everyone will think the same thing at the same time. Global uniformity..."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;M.C.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-9160067972887902261?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/9160067972887902261'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/9160067972887902261'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2010/11/on-this-side-nothing-new.html' title='On this side, nothing new'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-6951834683325129439</id><published>2010-06-28T20:46:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2010-06-28T20:49:04.983+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Norwegian Wood</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;"If you only read the books that everyone else is reading, you can only think what everyone else is thinking. That's the world of hicks and slobs. Real people would be ashamed of themselves doing that."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;p align=right&gt;H Murakami&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-6951834683325129439?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/6951834683325129439'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/6951834683325129439'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2010/06/norwegian-wood.html' title='Norwegian Wood'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-5257397689664516875</id><published>2010-06-24T14:18:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2010-06-24T14:43:40.115+01:00</updated><title type='text'>O que nos faz gostar de uma pessoa?</title><content type='html'>Não sei.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-5257397689664516875?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/5257397689664516875'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/5257397689664516875'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2010/06/o-que-nos-faz-gostar-de-uma-pessoa.html' title='O que nos faz gostar de uma pessoa?'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-4683936894459859418</id><published>2010-04-25T22:41:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2010-04-25T22:44:42.009+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Saramago sem pontos e sem acentos</title><content type='html'>"... a mais segura diferenca que poderiamos estabelecer entre as pessoas nao seria dividi-las em espertas e estupidas, mas em espertas e demasiado espertas, com as estupidas fazemos o que quisermos, com as espertas a solucao e po-las ao nosso servico, ao passo que as demasiado espertas, mesmo quando estao do nosso lado sao intrinsecamente perigosas, nao o conseguem evitar, o mais curioso e que com os seus actos estao constantemente a dizer-nos que tenhamos cuidado com elas, em geral nao damos atencao aos avisos e depois aguentamos as consequencias,..."&lt;p align= right&gt;Saramago - Ensaio sobre a Lucidez&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-4683936894459859418?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/4683936894459859418'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/4683936894459859418'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2010/04/saramago-sem-pontos-e-sem-acentos.html' title='Saramago sem pontos e sem acentos'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-3628763733018255813</id><published>2010-03-23T21:43:00.001Z</published><updated>2010-03-23T21:47:17.408Z</updated><title type='text'>2D</title><content type='html'>&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 392px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/S6k2ca2AcwI/AAAAAAAAJUc/bwNFNJ5GBnY/s400/hopper-edward-the-night-window-1928-3500730.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451948685778776834" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Por várias vezes abro a janela e tento falar-lhe. Nunca sai um som.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-3628763733018255813?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3628763733018255813'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3628763733018255813'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2010/03/2d.html' title='2D'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/S6k2ca2AcwI/AAAAAAAAJUc/bwNFNJ5GBnY/s72-c/hopper-edward-the-night-window-1928-3500730.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-3580806847895737342</id><published>2010-02-04T16:41:00.001Z</published><updated>2010-02-04T16:49:18.212Z</updated><title type='text'>Dúvidas e mais dívidas</title><content type='html'>... a questao é: qual delas é importante vencer?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-3580806847895737342?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3580806847895737342'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3580806847895737342'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2010/02/duvidas-e-mais-dividas.html' title='Dúvidas e mais dívidas'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-7780333658942881313</id><published>2010-02-03T22:20:00.000Z</published><updated>2010-02-03T22:22:38.093Z</updated><title type='text'>Crying over Bristol</title><content type='html'>&lt;img style="margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 437px; height: 67px;" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/2c/Panorama_of_Bristol.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Somehow the same as being impaled?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-7780333658942881313?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/7780333658942881313'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/7780333658942881313'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2010/02/crying-over-bristol.html' title='Crying over Bristol'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-706794344531989220</id><published>2010-02-03T21:43:00.000Z</published><updated>2010-02-03T21:44:40.490Z</updated><title type='text'>Rocks from Monaco</title><content type='html'>Nao crescemos; Tornamo-nos adultos involuntariamente.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-706794344531989220?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/706794344531989220'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/706794344531989220'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2010/02/rocks-from-monaco.html' title='Rocks from Monaco'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-720483182746970153</id><published>2010-02-01T20:34:00.003Z</published><updated>2010-02-03T22:03:43.579Z</updated><title type='text'>Correctly adequate intimate hygiene maintenance</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;I try to define myself as a lover or friend.&lt;br /&gt;Somehow I can never find the words for it. There are quite a few books that manage to put down what I can't grasp. I just look like a fool when trying. But I try still. Like now. I want to be an established fool.&lt;br /&gt;It all boils down to continuity. Or the absence of it to be more precise. Continuity. I just don't believe in it. We play in different teams. I don't have it. I don't know how to use it.&lt;br /&gt;Time is continuous. But can one say that the moments which make it are also continuous? Moments are there. They exist. They have a reason to be and eventually go away just like they came. Then comes another one. Continuity. No such a thing. I don't have it. And my feelings don't have it either. Those feelings connected to love, friendship, hate... They have no continuity. They come. They go. They are as meaningful as they can get. There's &lt;u&gt;real&lt;/u&gt; hate in me sometimes. And there's fucking real love too!&lt;br /&gt;Strong feelings. Like yours. Except they come without continuity. They come, survive for a while, then vanish again. Like tree leaves in Spring... and in Autumn. I love Autumn. But it's not a continuous thing. Sometimes I don't even remember that Autumn exists. Still I love it. Yes I do.&lt;br /&gt;Same for lovers. Same for friends. Same for enemies. Same for you.&lt;br /&gt;Am I a monster? Because I can't hold my feelings? Because I can "choose" to abandon a feeling at anytime?&lt;br /&gt;Because I love you but go out and only come back after 10 years?...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;p align=right&gt;2009&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-720483182746970153?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/720483182746970153'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/720483182746970153'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2010/02/correctly-adequate-intimate-hygiene.html' title='Correctly adequate intimate hygiene maintenance'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-3336066664781936977</id><published>2010-02-01T20:32:00.001Z</published><updated>2010-02-01T20:34:10.477Z</updated><title type='text'>Citizen K.</title><content type='html'>Breves momentos intemporais.&lt;br /&gt;Sol mar e neve e um desejo irreal. Cumplicidades inconsequentes. Angústias efémeras.&lt;br /&gt;Foda-se.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-3336066664781936977?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3336066664781936977'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3336066664781936977'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2010/02/citizen-k.html' title='Citizen K.'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-5769455798490973954</id><published>2010-02-01T11:00:00.002Z</published><updated>2010-02-01T11:04:57.384Z</updated><title type='text'>I am a whore</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;It's you that I adore&lt;br /&gt;You'll &lt;b&gt;never&lt;/b&gt; be my whore&lt;br /&gt;You'll be a mother to my child&lt;br /&gt;And a child to my heart&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We must &lt;b&gt;always&lt;/b&gt; be apart&lt;br /&gt;We must &lt;b&gt;always&lt;/b&gt; be apart&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lovely girl, you're the beauty in my world&lt;br /&gt;Without you, there aren't reasons left to find&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And you'll pull your crooked teeth&lt;br /&gt;You'll be perfect just like me&lt;br /&gt;You'll be a lover in my bed&lt;br /&gt;And a gun to my head&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We must &lt;b&gt;always&lt;/b&gt; be apart&lt;br /&gt;We must &lt;b&gt;always&lt;/b&gt; be apart&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lovely girl, you're the murder in my world&lt;br /&gt;Dressing coffins for the souls I've left to die&lt;br /&gt;Drinking mercury to the mystery&lt;br /&gt;Of all that you should ever seek to find&lt;br /&gt;In time&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In you I see dirty&lt;br /&gt;In you I count stars&lt;br /&gt;In you I feel so pretty&lt;br /&gt;In you I taste God&lt;br /&gt;In you I feel so hungry&lt;br /&gt;In you I crash cars&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We must &lt;b&gt;always&lt;/b&gt; be apart&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Drinking mercury to the mystery&lt;br /&gt;Of all that you should ever seek to find&lt;br /&gt;Lovely girl, you're the murder in my world&lt;br /&gt;Dressing coffins for the souls I've left behind&lt;br /&gt;In time&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We must &lt;b&gt;always&lt;/b&gt; be apart&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And you'll &lt;b&gt;never&lt;/b&gt; be my whore&lt;br /&gt;'Cause you're the one that I adore&lt;br /&gt;And you'll pull your crooked teeth&lt;br /&gt;You'll be perfect just like me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In you I feel so dirty&lt;br /&gt;In you I crash cars&lt;br /&gt;In you I feel so pretty&lt;br /&gt;In you I taste God&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We must &lt;b&gt;always&lt;/b&gt; be apart&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-5769455798490973954?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/5769455798490973954'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/5769455798490973954'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2010/02/i-am-whore.html' title='I am a whore'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-7017255587457262215</id><published>2009-12-11T15:14:00.004Z</published><updated>2009-12-11T16:00:07.674Z</updated><title type='text'>The invisible cities</title><content type='html'>&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 277px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/SyJiEiE333I/AAAAAAAAGz0/xeUBwiysfdM/s320/1233695550KcVDZ4G.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413997532059000690" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As a teenager coming from the agrarian suburbs, I had the idea that those people from the suburbs - like me - were all alike. They thought alike, they spoke alike, they dressed alike and they behaved alike. Besides this, they opposed &lt;u&gt;&lt;em&gt;change&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/u&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;On the other hand, I believed that those living in the cities were original, creative, different, innovative and strove for change.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 223px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/SyJpzt_CX_I/AAAAAAAAGz8/rZgnFJy1UGg/s320/Berlin+City+by+Nite_edited.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414006039290994674" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But it was all wrong.&lt;br /&gt;The city &lt;em&gt;boys&lt;/em&gt; are all alike; they think the same, they speak the same, they dress the same, they behave the same and they oppose &lt;u&gt;&lt;em&gt;change&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/u&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And even more than their fellow countrymen, they're unaware of it.&lt;br /&gt;Fights are fought, for liberty and freedom. But every single one of them remains a slave incarcerated in the city and unable to question his choices.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vegetarian, environment friendly, against war, for tolerance, selfish, desperately craving for originality... None of them could grow the fucking tomatoes they need to survive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, then again, is it tomato or tomato?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-7017255587457262215?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/7017255587457262215'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/7017255587457262215'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2009/12/invisible-cities.html' title='The invisible cities'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/SyJiEiE333I/AAAAAAAAGz0/xeUBwiysfdM/s72-c/1233695550KcVDZ4G.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-5559232232005215642</id><published>2009-11-05T09:30:00.001Z</published><updated>2009-11-05T09:31:53.815Z</updated><title type='text'>Trick(y/s)</title><content type='html'>&lt;p align=center&gt;&lt;em&gt;Don't wanna stay&lt;br /&gt;Don't wanna stay&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't really care or share with you&lt;br /&gt;I would rather walk alone&lt;br /&gt;I'm forgetting where I was&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't really think it's fair of you&lt;br /&gt;I would rather stay at home&lt;br /&gt;I'm forgetting just because&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't wanna stay or lay with you&lt;br /&gt;Don't want another day&lt;br /&gt;Day with you&lt;br /&gt;Don't wanna stay or lay with you&lt;br /&gt;Don't want another day&lt;br /&gt;Day with you&lt;br /&gt;Don't wanna stay&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No don't try to manipulate&lt;br /&gt;I would rather take control&lt;br /&gt;I'm knowing where I was&lt;br /&gt;Don't you ever try to feel my hate&lt;br /&gt;I would rather feel nothing&lt;br /&gt;I know we're losing love&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't wanna stay or lay with you&lt;br /&gt;Don't want another day&lt;br /&gt;Day with you&lt;br /&gt;Don't wanna stay or lay with you&lt;br /&gt;Don't want another day&lt;br /&gt;Day with you&lt;br /&gt;Don't wanna stay&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't really care or share with you&lt;br /&gt;I would rather walk alone&lt;br /&gt;I'm forgetting where I was&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't really think it's fair of you&lt;br /&gt;I would rather stay at home&lt;br /&gt;I'm forgetting just because&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't wanna stay&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't wanna stay with you&lt;br /&gt;Don't wanna stay with you&lt;br /&gt;Don't want another day&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't wanna stay or lay with you&lt;br /&gt;Don't want another day&lt;br /&gt;Day with you&lt;br /&gt;Don't wanna stay or lay with you&lt;br /&gt;Don't want another day&lt;br /&gt;Day with you&lt;br /&gt;Don't wanna stay&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-5559232232005215642?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/5559232232005215642'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/5559232232005215642'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2009/11/trickys.html' title='Trick(y/s)'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-6911336830140655535</id><published>2009-10-29T08:41:00.003Z</published><updated>2009-10-29T08:58:24.935Z</updated><title type='text'>Well, it's about marriage, I guess...</title><content type='html'>The &lt;em&gt;thing&lt;/em&gt; with feelings is that they are not immutable but are often taken as such.&lt;br /&gt;When one says &lt;em&gt;"I love you"&lt;/em&gt; or &lt;em&gt;"I hate you"&lt;/em&gt; it is just the same as when one says &lt;em&gt;"I feel cold"&lt;/em&gt;. It's a feeling. It's the statement of a fact, so far one's knowledge.&lt;br /&gt;But it's not immutable.&lt;br /&gt;The cold goes away, the love goes away, the hatred goes away... and new, authentic feelings replace them, &lt;em&gt;ad infinitum&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;If it was not so, we'd all still hate that kid who pierced our bicycle tire once.&lt;br /&gt;We don't. And we're praised for it: for having left the mother*ucker live to become another bureaucratic deject.&lt;br /&gt;But I digress...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You won't be praised if you stop loving. Remember that, and choose carefully your feelings and your legal contracts. But, above all - above everything else - have fun and don't become a bum.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-6911336830140655535?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/6911336830140655535'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/6911336830140655535'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2009/10/well-its-about-marriage-i-guess.html' title='Well, it&apos;s about marriage, I guess...'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-136068677763877577</id><published>2009-10-27T21:13:00.004Z</published><updated>2009-10-27T21:18:15.862Z</updated><title type='text'>Uprising - pt. 2</title><content type='html'>I was wrong when assuming that human beings were intelligent.&lt;br /&gt;I am no more.&lt;br /&gt;They are rational, yes. But they are stupid and not even their god knows why...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If this is the kind of world that will be to our children, we'd better stick to anal.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-136068677763877577?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/136068677763877577'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/136068677763877577'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2009/10/uprising-pt-2.html' title='Uprising - pt. 2'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-1298071892807252768</id><published>2009-10-20T18:49:00.007+01:00</published><updated>2009-10-21T13:50:59.529+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Seize the day, carpe diem and other contemporary clichés</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;"Life is short, you ought to make the most of it!"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What the hell is wrong with the rational being that articulates this words?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Life is short, face it.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's about it. If you ought to make the most of it you're already forcing it into being something it is not and, consequently, not making the most of it! It's not its purpose to be enjoyed to the fullest. Its purpose is to be lived. Exactly: just the way you're doing it now. You're making the most of it and you're doing exactly what you ought to do.&lt;br /&gt;Living to the fullest? Since when is living not enough? Since the Internet generation or since the iPhone generation?&lt;br /&gt;As is commonly said: get a life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-1298071892807252768?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/1298071892807252768'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/1298071892807252768'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2009/10/seize-day-carpe-diem-and-other.html' title='Seize the day, &lt;em&gt;carpe diem&lt;/em&gt; and other contemporary clichés'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-3851673890158447163</id><published>2009-08-27T15:12:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2009-08-27T15:18:32.967+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Uprising - pt. 1</title><content type='html'>Your god will kill you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-3851673890158447163?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3851673890158447163'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3851673890158447163'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2009/08/uprising-pt-1.html' title='Uprising - pt. 1'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-7347282675369753146</id><published>2009-08-26T13:38:00.004+01:00</published><updated>2009-08-26T14:54:56.812+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Prelude to change</title><content type='html'>Once in a while - usually at lunch time - the idea strikes me, that I am wasting my life. Together with those remains of rice and scarcely touched vegetables.&lt;br /&gt;I realize that making plans to turn life into something purposeful is in itself a waste of life's time...&lt;br /&gt;John Lennon put it nicely. Thankfully I only quote writers.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-7347282675369753146?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/7347282675369753146'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/7347282675369753146'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2009/08/prelude-to-change.html' title='Prelude to change'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-4785637698985965587</id><published>2009-08-26T09:04:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-08-26T09:17:17.068+01:00</updated><title type='text'>On time and the meaning of life</title><content type='html'>Is the meaning of a relationship measured by its long term potential? Or can a one night relationship be an intense and successful experience; maybe even &lt;em&gt;the best&lt;/em&gt; relationship one ever had?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-4785637698985965587?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/4785637698985965587'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/4785637698985965587'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2009/08/on-time-and-meaning-of-life.html' title='On time and the meaning of life'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-7901336649377308208</id><published>2009-08-24T13:03:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2009-08-24T13:05:06.091+01:00</updated><title type='text'>I say: there's nothing more to see here.</title><content type='html'>A Portuguese, coming from Berlin, reading the &lt;em&gt;New York trilogy&lt;/em&gt; in Prague.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-7901336649377308208?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/7901336649377308208'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/7901336649377308208'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2009/08/i-say-theres-nothing-more-to-see-here.html' title='I say: there&apos;s nothing more to see here.'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-8133222640517154983</id><published>2009-08-24T13:00:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-08-24T13:03:20.626+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Mathematical statement</title><content type='html'>É 25 vezes mais fácil transformar amor em ódio do que em amizade.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-8133222640517154983?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/8133222640517154983'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/8133222640517154983'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2009/08/mathematical-statement.html' title='Mathematical statement'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-5644210233351318185</id><published>2009-08-11T13:40:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2009-08-11T13:59:02.061+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Maybe he's an amoralist!</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;"Honesty is speaking truth and creating trust in minds of others. This includes all varieties of communication, both verbal and non-verbal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;u&gt;Honesty implies a lack of deceit. A statement can be strictly true and still be dishonest if the intention of the statement is to deceive its audience.&lt;/u&gt; Similarly, a falsehood can be spoken honestly if the speaker actually believes it to be true.&lt;br /&gt;Conversely, dishonesty can be defined simply as behavior that is performed with intent to deceive. Lying by commission, lying by omission, fraud, and plagiarism are all examples of this sort of behavior. Other examples can be doing one thing and telling the other, as if you are hiding something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Honesty is typically considered virtuous behavior, and has strong positive connotations in most situations.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(...)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While there are a great many moral systems, generally speaking, honesty is considered moral and dishonesty is considered immoral.&lt;br /&gt;There are several exceptions, such as hedonism, which values honesty only insofar as it improves ones own sense of pleasure, and moral nihilism, which denies the existence of objective morality outright.&lt;br /&gt;Additionally, even in moral systems which approve in general of honesty over dishonesty, &lt;u&gt;there are situations in which dishonesty may be preferable&lt;/u&gt;."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Honesty&gt; Wikipedia article&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now... isn't that MAJESTIC!&lt;br /&gt;How easily an anonymous online article can undermine 20 years of education and belief.&lt;br /&gt;I love the human brain. So much that I'll end up eating some, under a bridge, in a summer night, yelling sarcastic quotes and amoral thoughts...&lt;br /&gt;But then I'll brush my teeth. Promise.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-5644210233351318185?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/5644210233351318185'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/5644210233351318185'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2009/08/maybe-hes-amoralist.html' title='Maybe he&apos;s an amoralist!'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-6306391237759067181</id><published>2009-08-07T09:35:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-08-07T09:54:43.446+01:00</updated><title type='text'>I loose myself</title><content type='html'>Sometimes I loose control.&lt;br /&gt;I let go.&lt;br /&gt;Just go where the world takes me. Wherever it takes me. With whomever it takes me.&lt;br /&gt;It never takes me where I want to go.&lt;br /&gt;Because I never take the time to decide where I want to go.&lt;br /&gt;I accept the world's ride and engage in beautifully irrelevant conversations along the way.&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes the world stops to empty its bowels, though.&lt;br /&gt;And then, amidst the smell of the world's shit, I have a second - the  world is a quick &lt;em&gt;shitter&lt;/em&gt; - I have a second to notice where I'm going, with whom I'm going.&lt;br /&gt;And I notice, I didn't decide. I didn't chose the path or the company.&lt;br /&gt;I'm being taken.&lt;br /&gt;By the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I want to win back control. I want to take the wheel; decide where to go; take whomever I want to take with me. Well, not taking anyone, actually.&lt;br /&gt;I want to decide.&lt;br /&gt;The world takes me through beautiful paths; shows me interesting places; tells me of interesting subjects.&lt;br /&gt;But, hey!&lt;br /&gt;Nothing lives forever.&lt;br /&gt;The world will stop.&lt;br /&gt;Will leave me at some point.&lt;br /&gt;Abandoned, alone, without directions.&lt;br /&gt;Why?&lt;br /&gt;Because that's how the world is.&lt;br /&gt;It gives the company and the ride from A to B.&lt;br /&gt;But then it's just over.&lt;br /&gt;And the world doesn't leave a mobile number. Nor an email address. Not even, gOD forbid!, a Skype contact.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's how it is.&lt;br /&gt;It's called life. It's called &lt;em&gt;being taken by your feelings&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;Takes a LOT to gain back control.&lt;br /&gt;To decline the world's ride. To run away if it force's me to accept it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Takes so much, that I can't do it.&lt;br /&gt;I'm being taken.&lt;br /&gt;I let go.&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes I loose control.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I look for the antidote to life. I (still) look for the ultimate reasoning.&lt;br /&gt;I belong to nothing and to nobody.&lt;br /&gt;I am I.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Não há vento favorável para aquele que não sabe a que porto se dirige."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-6306391237759067181?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/6306391237759067181'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/6306391237759067181'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2009/08/i-loose-myself.html' title='I loose myself'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-5884742913593463590</id><published>2009-06-29T14:50:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2009-06-29T15:01:52.630+01:00</updated><title type='text'>There's evil inside me (besides gases in the digestive tract)</title><content type='html'>&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 122px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/SkjH3tPjLjI/AAAAAAAAFzU/hxuXSM-2z2w/s200/Clipboard02.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352747916981382706" /&gt;My eyebrows look like Fritzl's...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Time to get a &lt;a href=http://www.eons.com/blogs/entry/374174-Getting-Burned-in-Turkey&gt;turkish haircut&lt;/a&gt;:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;“What happened to your eyebrows?” my girlfriend, Ana, asked me the other day.&lt;br /&gt;“My eyebrows?” I asked.&lt;br /&gt;“Yes, your eyebrows—half of them are missing.”&lt;br /&gt;Like most guys, I don’t spend a lot of time looking at myself in a mirror, so this was news to me. I went into the bathroom and darn if she wasn’t right. The outside edges of both my eyebrows were gone.&lt;br /&gt;Must have been that haircut I got two weeks earlier in that village in Turkey.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-5884742913593463590?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/5884742913593463590'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/5884742913593463590'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2009/06/theres-evil-inside-me-besides-gases-in.html' title='There&apos;s evil inside me (besides gases in the digestive tract)'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/SkjH3tPjLjI/AAAAAAAAFzU/hxuXSM-2z2w/s72-c/Clipboard02.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-2929849132688646541</id><published>2009-06-28T21:03:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-06-28T21:11:09.415+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Frau mit männer Apparat</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;&lt;b&gt;E a tísica? Fechada, e com o ferro aceso!&lt;br /&gt;Ignora que a asfixia a combustão das brasas,&lt;br /&gt;Não foge do estendal que lhe humedece as casas,&lt;br /&gt;E fina-se ao desprezo!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mantém-se a chá e pão! Antes entrar na cova.&lt;br /&gt;Esvai-se; e todavia, à tarde, fracamente,&lt;br /&gt;Oiço-a cantarolar uma canção plangente&lt;br /&gt;Duma opereta nova!&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perfeitamente. Vou findar sem azedume.&lt;br /&gt;Quem sabe se depois, eu rico e noutros climas,&lt;br /&gt;Conseguirei reler essas antigas rimas,&lt;br /&gt;Impressas em volume?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nas letras eu conheço um campo de manobras;&lt;br /&gt;Emprega-se a "réclame", a intriga, o anúncio, a "blague",&lt;br /&gt;E esta poesia pede um editor que pague&lt;br /&gt;Todas as minhas obras...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E estou melhor; passou-me a cólera. &lt;b&gt;E a vizinha?&lt;br /&gt;A pobre engomadeira ir-se-á deitar sem ceia?&lt;br /&gt;Vejo-lhe a luz no quarto. Inda trabalha. É feia...&lt;br /&gt;Que mundo! Coitadinha!&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align=right&gt;Cesário Verde - Contrariedades&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O Cesário era fixe. Infelizmente não marcava muitos golos e foi afastado da equipa. Mas ficará sempre na minha mente. De cada vez que pego no ferro de engomar é da &lt;b&gt;&lt;em&gt;tísica&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/b&gt; que me lembro. Malditos poetas...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-2929849132688646541?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/2929849132688646541'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/2929849132688646541'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2009/06/frau-mit-manner-apparat.html' title='Frau mit männer Apparat'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-4318330820210334325</id><published>2009-06-27T15:17:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2009-06-27T15:25:02.035+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Auf Deutsch schreiben...</title><content type='html'>Warum ist es immer so, dass man nach einer gewaltigen WC-Reinigung pinkeln muss?!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-4318330820210334325?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/4318330820210334325'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/4318330820210334325'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2009/06/auf-deutsch-schreiben.html' title='Auf Deutsch schreiben...'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-1357191711462347935</id><published>2009-06-27T08:37:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-06-27T08:44:22.362+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Break the Rules</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;"I have thought for a long time now that if, some day, the increasing efficiency for the technique of destruction finally causes our species to disappear from the earth, it will not be cruelty that will be responsible for our extinction and still less, of course, the indignation that cruelty awakens and the reprisals and vengeance that it brings upon itself... but the docility, the lack of responsibility of the modern man, his base subservient acceptance of every common decree. The horrors which we have seen, the still greater horrors we shall presently see, are not signs that rebels, insubordinate, untameable men are increasing in number throughout the world, but rather that &lt;b&gt;there is a constant increase in the number of obedient, docile men.&lt;/b&gt;"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;p align=right&gt;George Bernanos, (through M Rosenberg)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-1357191711462347935?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/1357191711462347935'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/1357191711462347935'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2009/06/break-rules.html' title='Break the Rules'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-8373361731690166173</id><published>2009-03-31T11:38:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-03-31T11:44:30.217+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Adaptação de Tolstoi</title><content type='html'>Fitava a &lt;em&gt;morte&lt;/em&gt; e sentia um frio &lt;em&gt;mortal&lt;/em&gt; a penetrá-lo. Ora essa...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-8373361731690166173?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/8373361731690166173'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/8373361731690166173'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2009/03/adaptacao-de-tolstoi.html' title='Adaptação de Tolstoi'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-2513277638201400286</id><published>2009-03-17T10:00:00.002Z</published><updated>2009-03-17T10:06:15.843Z</updated><title type='text'>Do it or die trying</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/Sb92DfB6qCI/AAAAAAAAEd4/hmMw4llPLgc/s1600-h/love-anyway-black-emotion.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 276px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/Sb92DfB6qCI/AAAAAAAAEd4/hmMw4llPLgc/s320/love-anyway-black-emotion.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314095887561697314" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just found a new motto...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-2513277638201400286?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/2513277638201400286'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/2513277638201400286'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2009/03/do-it-or-die-trying.html' title='Do it or die trying'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/Sb92DfB6qCI/AAAAAAAAEd4/hmMw4llPLgc/s72-c/love-anyway-black-emotion.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-6378883087211225702</id><published>2009-03-08T23:46:00.001Z</published><updated>2009-03-08T23:48:38.470Z</updated><title type='text'>From theory to practice</title><content type='html'>Love is infinite but time is not.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-6378883087211225702?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/6378883087211225702'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/6378883087211225702'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2009/03/from-theory-to-practice.html' title='From theory to practice'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-1952892131770966589</id><published>2009-02-26T08:44:00.003Z</published><updated>2009-02-26T09:08:11.485Z</updated><title type='text'>Carta aberta</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;"I like people who manage to suprise me! doesnt happen often..."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me too!&lt;br /&gt;It's the second time I hear it.&lt;br /&gt;Doesn't surprise me anymore...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-1952892131770966589?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/1952892131770966589'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/1952892131770966589'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2009/02/carta-aberta.html' title='Carta aberta'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-6838691296112338297</id><published>2009-02-19T20:18:00.003Z</published><updated>2009-02-19T20:33:39.232Z</updated><title type='text'>O Senhor não era casado com a Virgem</title><content type='html'>Fala-se por aí do casamento dos gueis.&lt;br /&gt;Vou lançar alguma luz sobre o assunto.&lt;br /&gt;Era uma vez o homem, a mulher e o Estado (com letra grande, sim). O homem gostava de ir lá, a mulher gostava de ir às compras e o Estado queria putos para fazer guerra.&lt;br /&gt;Vai daí um deles teve uma ideia (concerteza enquanto cagava, pois é quando surgem as melhores): assinamos um papel entre os dois em que afirmam que se aturarão um ao outro e que foderão (só) para ter putos. Para os convencer, damos-lhes vantagens fiscais!&lt;br /&gt;E pronto, casaram-se, viveram felizes enquanto viveram e pariram muito.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nestas merdas, como em toda a merda digna desse nome, há um paneleiro (não tem nada a ver com inclinação sexual) que tem uma ideia e os outros burros adoptam-na logo. Para quê pensar? 'Bora beber uma cerveja!&lt;br /&gt;E os burros adoptaram.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Agora há outros burros que também são paneleiros e, no papel de burros, querem adoptar a ideia do outro.&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;Em vez de casamento entre gueis porque não abolir o casamento de uma vez por todas?&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;É um PRECONCEITO que estes gueis e estes casados têm contra os solteiros: que culpa têm aqueles que nunca encontram alguém para assentar de... nunca conseguirem assentar?&lt;br /&gt;Porque raio há-de haver os favorecidos e os outros?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Há merdas revoltantes. E esta é uma delas. Faz lembrar a história dos vegetarianos:&lt;br /&gt;"Só como soja!" Mas a puta da soja tem que vir num prato chamado "Francesinha vegetariana"!&lt;br /&gt;E depois os gueis:&lt;br /&gt;"Só como pila!" Mas a puta da pila tem que vir dentro de uma lingerie rosa!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vegetariano que é vegetariano, come soja crua. E guei que é guei, fode com o Senhor Carlos depois de um turno de 8 horas à volta da betoneira da Martifer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Que mania de imitar...&lt;br /&gt;Abaixo o casamento.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-6838691296112338297?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/6838691296112338297'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/6838691296112338297'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2009/02/o-senhor-nao-era-casado-com-virgem.html' title='O Senhor não era casado com a Virgem'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-7808897502407774997</id><published>2009-02-01T14:46:00.003Z</published><updated>2009-02-01T14:53:40.283Z</updated><title type='text'>Scheißegal ou: "Sou filho do papá. Posso ser comunista?"</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;"In linken Szenekreisen wird derweil schon diskutiert, ob man den antikapitalistischen Kurs ernsthaft verfolgt, wenn man versicherte Luxuskarossen anzündet und damit den Kapitalismus-Kreislauf weiter bedient."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No &lt;em&gt;Berliner Morgenpost&lt;/em&gt;. Eu não conseguia escrever isto.&lt;br /&gt;Como se diz na gíria do meu "círculo": mama aí &lt;em&gt;Linke&lt;/em&gt;!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-7808897502407774997?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/7808897502407774997'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/7808897502407774997'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2009/02/scheiegal-ou-sou-filho-do-papa-posso.html' title='Scheißegal ou: &quot;Sou filho do papá. Posso ser comunista?&quot;'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-3001789849867833801</id><published>2009-01-16T09:57:00.003Z</published><updated>2009-01-16T10:18:03.332Z</updated><title type='text'>O cardeal (se bem que um bispo também caía bem)</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/SXBa8gK-2FI/AAAAAAAAEVo/ToYHMcl2GUo/s1600-h/bispo.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/SXBa8gK-2FI/AAAAAAAAEVo/ToYHMcl2GUo/s320/bispo.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291829557634979922" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fig 1.1. Um bispo na confeitaria dos Clérigos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dizem por aí que o cardeal, o pai de nós todos, &lt;em&gt;"apelava - mesmo que involuntariamente - à xenofobia"&lt;/em&gt; (em negrito).&lt;br /&gt;Fui ver o que é um "apelo". Não tem nada a ver com sobrancelhas. É um &lt;em&gt;"pedido de auxílio, solicitação, convocação"&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;E eu pergunto-me: quem escreve e se apercebe (e foram muitos caraças, ó se foram!) que o homem "apela à xenofobia", não tem um bocadinho de inteligência de sobra para repudiar esse apelo?&lt;br /&gt;Eu acho que sim.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E se compreendem que é um "mau apelo", e se têm inteligência para o repudiar, porque caralho se manifestam?&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;Ah, já sei, porque há outros que não têm esse resto de inteligência e vão responder ao apelo.&lt;br /&gt;Eh pá, estaremos afirmar que há quem seja menos inteligente que nós, porque não se "apercebe"? E que deveremos ajudar estes... coitadinhos sem inteligência?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Como é bela a lógica: Para prevenir a xenofobia é preciso primeiro actuar junto daqueles que são inferiores a nós e que não se previnem por si mesmos.&lt;br /&gt;Que linda conclusão.&lt;br /&gt;Xenófobos nunca! Presunçosos, um bocadinho.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aqui não há presunção nem comentários ao cardeal. Apenas saudades do &lt;a href="http://www.fabricoproprio.net/bolos-cakes/bispo/"&gt;bispo&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-3001789849867833801?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3001789849867833801'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3001789849867833801'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2009/01/o-cardeal-se-bem-que-um-bispo-tambm-caa.html' title='O cardeal (se bem que um bispo também caía bem)'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/SXBa8gK-2FI/AAAAAAAAEVo/ToYHMcl2GUo/s72-c/bispo.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-3478501183346552868</id><published>2009-01-07T21:28:00.000Z</published><updated>2009-01-07T21:31:32.902Z</updated><title type='text'>Anarcas</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;"A liberdade é a obediência à lei que prescrevemos para nós mesmos."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align=right&gt;Rousseau&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-3478501183346552868?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3478501183346552868'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3478501183346552868'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2009/01/anarcas.html' title='Anarcas'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-3458779240827275246</id><published>2008-12-12T21:57:00.003Z</published><updated>2008-12-12T22:02:45.642Z</updated><title type='text'>Mete lá o dedo e lambe, para saberes se tens febre</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;"Um dia, tu e eu havemos de descer juntos uma avenida ao pôr-do-sol e vasculhar nos caixotes do lixo.&lt;br /&gt;_ Queres dizer que vamos acabar como velhos vagabundos?&lt;br /&gt;_ E porque não, pá? É claro que vamos, se quisermos, e tudo isso. Não há mal nenhum em acabar assim. Passas uma vida inteira sem interferires com os desejos dos outros, incluindo a classe dos políticos e dos ricos, e ninguém te chateia e tu fazes da tua vida aquilo que quiseres.&lt;br /&gt;Concordei com ele. Ele chegava às suas resoluções tão do modo mais simples e directo."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align=right&gt;J Kerouac&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-3458779240827275246?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3458779240827275246'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3458779240827275246'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2008/12/mete-l-o-dedo-e-lambe-para-saberes-se.html' title='Mete lá o dedo e lambe, para saberes se tens febre'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-6798409974038916888</id><published>2008-12-12T11:55:00.000Z</published><updated>2008-12-12T11:57:02.136Z</updated><title type='text'>Ministra da educação</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/SUJROFCfsMI/AAAAAAAAEAw/6jc8lczp4QU/s1600-h/PICT1101b.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 480px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/SUJROFCfsMI/AAAAAAAAEAw/6jc8lczp4QU/s320/PICT1101b.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278871015544303810" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ahh... ainda dizem que estudar é isto e aquilo. Bons velhos tempos.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-6798409974038916888?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/6798409974038916888'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/6798409974038916888'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2008/12/ministra-da-educao.html' title='Ministra da educação'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/SUJROFCfsMI/AAAAAAAAEAw/6jc8lczp4QU/s72-c/PICT1101b.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-8118319532487033342</id><published>2008-12-12T11:43:00.001Z</published><updated>2008-12-12T11:53:44.043Z</updated><title type='text'>Toma lógica!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/SUJOpFXwXfI/AAAAAAAAEAo/o8dniCQ9m0M/s1600-h/20050312.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 316px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/SUJOpFXwXfI/AAAAAAAAEAo/o8dniCQ9m0M/s320/20050312.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278868180955061746" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;http://www.smbc-comics.com/&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-8118319532487033342?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/8118319532487033342'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/8118319532487033342'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2008/12/toma-lgica.html' title='Toma lógica!'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/SUJOpFXwXfI/AAAAAAAAEAo/o8dniCQ9m0M/s72-c/20050312.gif' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-5115083319307236411</id><published>2008-12-11T15:48:00.003Z</published><updated>2008-12-11T16:14:14.099Z</updated><title type='text'>Quem tolera a intolerância?...</title><content type='html'>Com tantos &lt;a href="http://lealdadefeminina.blogspot.com/"&gt;blogs&lt;/a&gt; a venerar a mulher... qualquer dia crio um a venerar o homem.&lt;br /&gt;Foda-se, sinto-me mesmo descriminado por ter nascido com pila. E não é que tenha algo contra quem não a tem. Gosto da variedade.&lt;br /&gt;Mas TODAS estas lutas por "algo" me fazem pensar nas Cruzadas; envergando a sua cruz - melhor que a do outro! - espalhando a fé, lá vão eles. A única coisa que os sustém na luta é a consciência de que os outros - os pupilos - não sabem e precisam de ser ensinados...&lt;br /&gt;Odeio esta merda.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Já o Wilde dizia: &lt;em&gt;"The only thing that sustains one through life is the consciousness of the immense inferiority of everyone else."&lt;/em&gt; (Passível de conter erros.)&lt;br /&gt;E é mesmo isso. Mas em tantos milénios, apenas um teve coragem de o exteriorizar.&lt;br /&gt;E esses que tanto gostam de Wildes, Sartres e filosofia barata, espalham a sua fé como se essa fosse a luz que vai iluminar o nosso mundo e fazer descer os preços da gasolina.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lamentamos, mas a duração de uma vida não é suficiente para a propagação de uma nova "fé"; ides morrer todos antes da vossa obra ter chegado ao fim. E, lá no leito onde paira a sombra da foice, nessas cabecinhas aéreas, idealistas, ingénuas, incompletas, girará o pensamento: &lt;em&gt;"terá valido a pena?"&lt;/em&gt;. E a resposta será &lt;em&gt;Sim!&lt;/em&gt;, claro! Admitir a derrota, jamais. Isso é para os fracos.&lt;br /&gt;Então, boa morte. E boa vida até lá. São os meus desejos.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-5115083319307236411?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/5115083319307236411'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/5115083319307236411'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2008/12/quem-tolera-intolerncia.html' title='Quem tolera a intolerância?...'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-3781407784212254144</id><published>2008-12-10T12:57:00.004Z</published><updated>2008-12-12T22:04:02.375Z</updated><title type='text'>Tira o pé do chão!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://livingindryden.org/images/schools/sidewalk06042004B.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://livingindryden.org/images/schools/sidewalk06042004B.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Agora usa sapatos de sola grossa para não sentir os passeios da vida."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align=right&gt;J. Kerouac - On the road&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-3781407784212254144?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3781407784212254144'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3781407784212254144'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2008/12/tira-o-p-do-cho.html' title='Tira o pé do chão!!'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-5901804889371551183</id><published>2008-12-06T00:07:00.006Z</published><updated>2008-12-06T00:12:26.314Z</updated><title type='text'>Stadt voller Affen*</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/STnCQ60qcMI/AAAAAAAAD-c/qursz3PkzWA/s1600-h/081205-monkey-photo_big.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 245px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/STnCQ60qcMI/AAAAAAAAD-c/qursz3PkzWA/s400/081205-monkey-photo_big.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276462034365083842" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Este é um macaco no Vietname. Ganz genau.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;E eu aqui, neste nosso mundo, cheio de responsabilidades e fogos-fátuos.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(*)&lt;em&gt; Puta da cidade cheia de macacos!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-5901804889371551183?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/5901804889371551183'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/5901804889371551183'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2008/12/stadt-voller-affen.html' title='Stadt voller Affen*'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/STnCQ60qcMI/AAAAAAAAD-c/qursz3PkzWA/s72-c/081205-monkey-photo_big.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-4835108029789006464</id><published>2008-12-01T09:12:00.002Z</published><updated>2008-12-01T09:18:10.223Z</updated><title type='text'>Dois Raskolnikovs por dia, nem sabes o bem que te fazia</title><content type='html'>O &lt;em&gt;Paranoid park&lt;/em&gt; é um &lt;em&gt;Crime e Castigo&lt;/em&gt; com personagens púberes. Espectáculo.&lt;br /&gt;O &lt;em&gt;Gus&lt;/em&gt; ainda é dos gajos que vai valendo a pena...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-4835108029789006464?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/4835108029789006464'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/4835108029789006464'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2008/12/dois-raskolnikovs-por-dia-nem-sabes-o.html' title='Dois Raskolnikovs por dia, nem sabes o bem que te fazia'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-162084374725140055</id><published>2008-11-29T23:53:00.003Z</published><updated>2008-11-30T00:03:16.568Z</updated><title type='text'>O nativo sul-americano atirou a biblia ao chão</title><content type='html'>"I used to think that if I died in an evil place, than my soul wouldn't be able to go to heaven. Now... Fuck..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/STHWGlBbdvI/AAAAAAAAD5g/-jSR837ATM4/s1600-h/2664644474_dbcdafda62.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/STHWGlBbdvI/AAAAAAAAD5g/-jSR837ATM4/s400/2664644474_dbcdafda62.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274232047133226738" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Fig. 1.1.&lt;/b&gt; Imagem alusiva à religião. A luz é o senhor (ou o pirilampo...) e o puto representa a família e a vontade que temos de foder. A árvore é a força do tal senhor. O pôr-do-sol e o Photoshop dão o tom amarelado que despersonaliza as personagens e permite que qualquer palerma se identifique com a imagem. Não a do senhor! A da família.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E assim vai o mundo. Novidades... só surgem 3 gerações depois.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-162084374725140055?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/162084374725140055'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/162084374725140055'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2008/11/o-nativo-sul-americano-atirou-biblia-ao.html' title='O nativo sul-americano atirou a biblia ao chão'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/STHWGlBbdvI/AAAAAAAAD5g/-jSR837ATM4/s72-c/2664644474_dbcdafda62.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-6525684919386965948</id><published>2008-10-18T18:21:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2008-10-18T18:31:38.314+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Autómatos</title><content type='html'>Porque só me convidam para mer..., cenas que não gosto?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Heute gibt es eine Semesterparty. Kommst du mit? Wenn du willst, kannst du mitkommen. Wir treffen uns um 20:30."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Porque não me convidam para ir pisar as folhas do outono, para ver o lago com promessa de silêncio quando lá nos encontrarmos, para correr no parque 'a noite, para roubar pão no supermercado, para tirar fotos nus 'as 5 da manhã em frente a igrejas...&lt;br /&gt;Não... convidam-me para sair "'a noite", para "beber um copo" (com bebida alcoólica, naturalmente), para "partying with my friends"...&lt;br /&gt;Mas...&lt;br /&gt;Mas...&lt;br /&gt;Quando é que a originalidade passou de moda?...&lt;br /&gt;Levem-me aonde haja ursos. Quero ver-me livre das pessoas produzidas em série...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.nickcloke.co.uk/shared/america/Chicago/Partying%20at%20Cabaret.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px;" src="http://www.nickcloke.co.uk/shared/america/Chicago/Partying%20at%20Cabaret.JPG" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-6525684919386965948?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/6525684919386965948'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/6525684919386965948'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2008/10/autmatos.html' title='Autómatos'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-7141335549052073832</id><published>2008-10-18T12:40:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2008-10-18T18:32:23.747+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Rien de rien: uma enxada em vez de um livro</title><content type='html'>Será que há dois tipos de pobreza? Uma pura e uma suja? A pobreza de quem não conhece a riqueza, não a inveja, não se lamenta... E aquela de quem vive no meio da riqueza, sempre consciente da sua pobreza, constantemente relembrado da sua posicão. Uma pobreza que cria raiva, inveja, fúria, ódio, e outra que é fonte de forca, criatividade, esperanca.&lt;br /&gt;Quando desejo ser pobre é desta última que me lembro.&lt;br /&gt;A pobreza das cidades não preenche o meu sonho idílico.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-7141335549052073832?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/7141335549052073832'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/7141335549052073832'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2008/10/rien-de-rien-uma-enxada-em-vez-de-um.html' title='Rien de rien: uma enxada em vez de um livro'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-8281914088388220368</id><published>2008-09-30T08:46:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2008-09-30T08:53:45.078+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Sem acentos, perto de si</title><content type='html'>Foi a primeira namorada quem despertou a minha atencao para o Outono. Quando as arvores choram as suas lagrimas amarelas pelo Verao que finda...&lt;br /&gt;É talvez a melhor heranca que dela recebi. E que vai ficar para sempre.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Amanha comeca Outubro. Parte do planeta inica a Primavera. E eu aqui. Com um mundo de possibilidades e capaz de todas ludibriar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Foi a primeira namorada quem despertou a minha atencao para o outono. Quando as arvores choram as suas lagrimas amarelas pelo verao que finda...&lt;br /&gt;É talvez a melhor heranca que dela recebi. E que vai ficar para sempre.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Amanha comeca outubro. Parte do planeta inica a primavera. E eu aqui. Com um mundo de possibilidades e capaz de todas ludibriar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;(*) O novo acordo ortográfico diz que os meses e estacoes se escrevem com letra pequena... Seja como for.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-8281914088388220368?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/8281914088388220368'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/8281914088388220368'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2008/09/sem-acentos-perto-de-si.html' title='Sem acentos, perto de si'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-1975724362984588325</id><published>2008-06-27T11:30:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2008-06-27T11:33:32.957+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Joi de vivre</title><content type='html'>Disseram-me que sou pessimista. Isso deixou-me deprimido.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/SGTBlZ7pPII/AAAAAAAABy8/59tLHjO6cEE/s1600-h/suicida_patetico1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/SGTBlZ7pPII/AAAAAAAABy8/59tLHjO6cEE/s320/suicida_patetico1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216507116762250370" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Descaradamente roubado daqui: &lt;a href="http://odeiocoisas.blogspot.com/"&gt;As coisas que eu odeio&lt;/a&gt;)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-1975724362984588325?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/1975724362984588325'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/1975724362984588325'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2008/06/joi-de-vivre.html' title='Joi de vivre'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/SGTBlZ7pPII/AAAAAAAABy8/59tLHjO6cEE/s72-c/suicida_patetico1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-3734734306770902340</id><published>2008-06-27T08:38:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2008-06-27T08:39:54.935+01:00</updated><title type='text'>34 de Maio de 1348</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;O diário de um louco&lt;/em&gt; do Gogol é um livro fenomenal.&lt;br /&gt;Um dia gostei de escrever um blogue assim.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-3734734306770902340?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3734734306770902340'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3734734306770902340'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2008/06/34-de-maio-de-1348.html' title='34 de Maio de 1348'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-5072175366230333314</id><published>2008-06-25T14:24:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2008-06-25T14:28:48.555+01:00</updated><title type='text'>"O fim desta merda toda"</title><content type='html'>Há-de chegar o dia em que todos perderão o controlo dos seus esfíncteres.&lt;br /&gt;Eu, estou-me a cagar para isso.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-5072175366230333314?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/5072175366230333314'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/5072175366230333314'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2008/06/o-fim-desta-merda-toda.html' title='&quot;O fim desta merda toda&quot;'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-3662521798277403124</id><published>2008-06-22T12:25:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2008-06-22T12:48:51.646+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Reading the classics...</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;A vida é uma sucessão de malogros quase nunca declarados, mas quase sempre nascidos sob os emplastros dos compromissos. Com o simples facto de nascer atribuímo-nos um empenho que não podemos satisfazer - às vezes nem com a morte.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;A virilidade, menos que nos heróis, é o malogro da juventude; a velhice o malogro da virilidade; a morte, quase sempre, a declaração de falência de toda a vida.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Todos os &lt;a href="http://www.amordonuno.blogspot.com/"&gt;grandes espíritos&lt;/a&gt; são, no fundo do coração, anárquicos, porque têm em si lei e domínio: seriam igualmente rectos e puros mesmo sem ordens e dirigentes exteriores. Mas sabem que a restrição é necssária à maioria e renunciam livremente à liberdade.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;O homem não é conhecível a si próprio, porque a sua vida consiste em esforços &lt;a href="http://www.odanielferreira.blogspot.com"&gt;alternados&lt;/a&gt; para ser o que não é, e essa transposição e substituição contínuas de almas irreais e estranhas fazem com que aquilo na verdade é (...) pareça o que nunca é. Mesmo no mais pobre de nós existem pelo menos sete homens.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Disseram-me que sou filho do homem e da mulher", escreve um &lt;a href="http://www.escarradordedavidmotta.blogspot.com"&gt;louco&lt;/a&gt;. "Isso surpreende-me... julgava ser mais alguma coisa..."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Os camponeses são um imenso povo antigo condenado à inferioridade para alimentar um povo moderno que, salvo raras excepções, é composto por inferiores.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Assim que muitos homens se encontram juntos, perdem-se.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Nas multidões, a união é constituída pelos inferiores e fundada nas partes inferiores de todas as almas. São florestas em que os ramos altos não se entrelaçam, mas apenas, em baixo na escuridão, as raízes terrosas. &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://pt.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ju%C3%ADzo"&gt;Todos perdem o que os torna diferentes e melhores&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, enquanto o antigo rústico - que, entre obstáculos, mordaças e açaimos, parecia aniquilado - acorda e muge.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Giovanni Papini&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-3662521798277403124?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3662521798277403124'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3662521798277403124'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2008/06/reading-classics.html' title='Reading the classics...'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-6446056534044172447</id><published>2008-06-15T13:29:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2008-06-15T13:36:42.030+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Sympathy for lady...</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Quando percebe que o avião está a cair, V. abre os olhos.&lt;br /&gt;"Vou morrer", diz.&lt;br /&gt;E, de um momento para o outro, não é medo o que sente, mas uma profunda, espantosa tristeza.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J.L.P.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-6446056534044172447?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/6446056534044172447'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/6446056534044172447'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2008/06/sympathy-for-lady.html' title='Sympathy for lady...'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-5198457168130874294</id><published>2008-06-11T09:30:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2008-06-11T09:37:34.053+01:00</updated><title type='text'>És sempre o mesmo</title><content type='html'>Há tempos, &lt;a href="http://www.ehow.com/how_6026_format-hard-drive.html"&gt;for-matou-se-me&lt;/a&gt; o computador com todas as &lt;a href="http://www.pornobrutal.com"&gt;fotos&lt;/a&gt; que lá tinha. Uma grande foda, sim.&lt;br /&gt;Mas, há tempos (menores que os anteriores), reparei que o ávatar do skaipe é uma dessas fotos, uma que me traz recordações e me diz (quando falamos): naquele tempo eras feliz. E eu, por mui estúpido que ache o facto de uma fotografia me vir dizer o que é a felicidade, concordo. Naquele tempo, naquele fim-de-semana, era feliz. Nem muito, nem pouco. O suficiente para gostar de olhar a foto e ter recordações.&lt;br /&gt;É pena que as merdas que me acontecem só se revelem depois de terem acontecido. De outro modo, ter-me-ia preparado para elas.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-5198457168130874294?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/5198457168130874294'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/5198457168130874294'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2008/06/s-sempre-o-mesmo.html' title='És sempre o mesmo'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-2706228076893595101</id><published>2008-06-11T09:03:00.004+01:00</published><updated>2008-06-22T13:21:22.903+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Toma que é doce</title><content type='html'>Creio que a minha escala do sentir é maior do que a dos outros meninos.&lt;br /&gt;Vejo a facilidade com que outros chegam ao extremo das suas escalas, ora extremamente felizes, ora extremamente tristes, e invejo-os por sentirem com tanta força.&lt;br /&gt;No meu caso, nunca me alegro até ao limite, nem nunca me entristeço até ao limite. Tudo me faz sentir um pouco mais feliz ou um pouco mais triste... nada mais que isso. Como se a minha escala de sensações fosse infinita e nunca conseguisse chegar a uma sensação limite, num extremo.&lt;br /&gt;Será também por isso que o LSD me cativa. Um novo mundo, com emoções por descobrir. Os mesmos sentidos de sempre mas com diferentes descodificações daquilo que sentem. Talvez a única forma de sentir "o bastante" seja essa. Um ácido sintético em doses moderadas. Mas esta &lt;a href="http://laundrylst.blogspot.com/"&gt;sociedade anti-democrática, mononormativa, hiper-consumista e egoísta&lt;/a&gt;, não deixa. Uma sociedade com tantos defeitos e, no entanto, capaz de me impedir de tomar um comprimido. Se fosse um &lt;a href="http://www.pdqc-blog.blogspot.com"&gt;supositório&lt;/a&gt;, faziam fila (ou &lt;a href="http://euclaudio.blogspot.com/"&gt;bicha&lt;/a&gt;) para assistir.&lt;br /&gt;Voltando ao tema. Sinto que tenho que encolher a minha escala. Mas não nas pontas; no centro. Manter os extremos e facilitar-lhes o acesso.&lt;br /&gt;A única merda que me faz rir, hoje em dia, é o humor cínico e as poucas que me fazem chorar são os filmes (os franceses, em particular. Embora prefira francesas).&lt;br /&gt;Já estive mais longe da loucura. E sinto que é desta que a apanho e lhe parto os dentes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-2706228076893595101?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/2706228076893595101'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/2706228076893595101'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2008/06/toma-que-doce.html' title='Toma que é doce'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-3080612575725016447</id><published>2008-04-13T17:51:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2008-04-13T17:53:43.680+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Tomates</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.germes-online.com/direct/dbimage/50317734/Tomatoes.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px;" src="http://www.germes-online.com/direct/dbimage/50317734/Tomatoes.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Envelhecer não é motivação suficiente para viver.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-3080612575725016447?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3080612575725016447'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3080612575725016447'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2008/04/tomates.html' title='Tomates'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-8616802994330920447</id><published>2008-03-21T21:35:00.004Z</published><updated>2008-03-24T17:31:29.298Z</updated><title type='text'>No pain, no subject</title><content type='html'>Não posso querer realizar a minha vida pela função remuneratória que ela toma. Ainda que a tome frequentemente. Na simplista divisão do tempo pessoal, esta ocupa a terceira posição, depois do tempo "livre" e do tempo de sono. Se quero uma vida realizada, devo começar pois por actuar sobre estes factores: tempo livre bem aproveitado (se me faz sorrir, é bem aproveitado) e um bom colchão (e companhia para dormir). O trabalho representa no máximo 22% das oportunidades de realização pessoal. Não gosto de trabalhar. Associo trabalho a obrigação e, qualquer que ele seja, o prazer que contém é anulado pela obrigação. Sou assim. Indaptado, preguiçoso e irresponsável. Adiante.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-8616802994330920447?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/8616802994330920447'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/8616802994330920447'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2008/03/no-pain-no-subject.html' title='No pain, no subject'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-6912749615617941568</id><published>2008-03-21T21:29:00.003Z</published><updated>2008-03-24T17:29:15.296Z</updated><title type='text'>Tear my world apart (*)</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R-fkxX8u1UI/AAAAAAAABR0/sgp4fLVeljI/s1600-h/tears.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R-fkxX8u1UI/AAAAAAAABR0/sgp4fLVeljI/s400/tears.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181361433206510914" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(*) With manual zoom.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-6912749615617941568?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/6912749615617941568'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/6912749615617941568'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2008/03/tear-my-world-apart.html' title='Tear my world apart (*)'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R-fkxX8u1UI/AAAAAAAABR0/sgp4fLVeljI/s72-c/tears.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-8276821698894539211</id><published>2008-03-21T21:24:00.003Z</published><updated>2008-03-24T17:26:06.256Z</updated><title type='text'>Sweet sucsex</title><content type='html'>As coisas mudam de um momento para o outro. Embora se planeie um acontecimento durante anos, esse acontecimento pode ser definido pelo preciso momento em que tem início.&lt;br /&gt;A mudança tem um carimbo temporal bem definido.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-8276821698894539211?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/8276821698894539211'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/8276821698894539211'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2008/03/sweet-sucsex.html' title='Sweet sucsex'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-2794298229654817049</id><published>2008-03-21T21:09:00.003Z</published><updated>2008-03-24T17:25:35.500Z</updated><title type='text'>zwei Stunden</title><content type='html'>Enquanto caminhava absorto no que gosto de chamar "os meus problemas", cruzei-me com uma gaja deficiente. Como pessoa sensível que sou, pensei: "ainda julgas que tens problemas, seu palerma do caralho?". Dois passos adiante pensei de novo - correndo o risco de cãimbras cerebrais: "No entanto ela tinha uma expressão mais feliz do que tu". Fiquei fodido... e não da maneira que gosto.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-2794298229654817049?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/2794298229654817049'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/2794298229654817049'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2008/03/zwei-stunden.html' title='zwei Stunden'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-3075853676085416670</id><published>2008-03-17T08:47:00.000Z</published><updated>2008-03-17T08:48:18.703Z</updated><title type='text'>Atum(*)</title><content type='html'>Sou um conservador do caralho. Ich bin ein konservativ do caralho.&lt;br /&gt;Juro que nunca pensei ver uma mulher de saia esvoaçante a andar de bicicleta e a fumar ao mesmo tempo! E não foi preciso ir a qualquer país exótico como a India, o Botswana ou o arquipélago dos Açores. Passou-se na Alemanha! Um país do Velho Continente que faz fronteira com países tão banais como a Dinamarca (capital: Copenhaga), Polónia (capital: Varsóvia), República Checa (Praga), França (Paris) e Holanda (Leiria).&lt;br /&gt;Desejo ser liberal e não reparar nestas coisas. Afinal, é normal. Se fosse de mini-saia e botas já era outra história...&lt;br /&gt;E que história! Aliás, vou contá-la agora:&lt;br /&gt;A miúda saiu do comboio, desceu as escadas com a bicicleta na mão e eu feito tolinho (como é meu costume à Terça-feira, desde que aboliram o travestismo) atrás dela, para ver como era... E foi giro. Garanto que foi giro. Isso sim, uma história digna de se contar. Mas não vou fazê-lo.&lt;br /&gt;Mit freundlichen grüssen,&lt;br /&gt;Pedro.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(*) de conserva&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-3075853676085416670?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3075853676085416670'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3075853676085416670'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2008/03/atum.html' title='Atum(*)'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-8399188670051489098</id><published>2008-03-14T14:45:00.002Z</published><updated>2008-03-14T14:49:45.150Z</updated><title type='text'>H. (2)</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;No Fight Club, a certa altura, o Brad Pitt diz:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"When I graduated i called my father and asked him: now what?&lt;br /&gt;He said: get a job.&lt;br /&gt;So I did.&lt;br /&gt;When I turned 26 I called him again and asked: now what?&lt;br /&gt;He said: get married."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Esse homem, esse pai, é que tinha a chave da vida. Ele é que sabia... Ele.&lt;br /&gt;E eu desejo apenas o saber desse homem.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Although the job issue is far from settled, the dawn of 26 is just around the corner...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-8399188670051489098?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/8399188670051489098'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/8399188670051489098'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2008/03/h-2.html' title='H. (2)'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-5327085703472598186</id><published>2008-03-09T11:10:00.002Z</published><updated>2008-03-09T11:20:10.333Z</updated><title type='text'>Fünfzig</title><content type='html'>"50 kg&lt;br /&gt;é a quantidade de peixe que cada português consome por ano, a mais alta em todo espaço europeu"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alguns só não comem mais por causa das espinhas.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-5327085703472598186?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/5327085703472598186'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/5327085703472598186'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2008/03/fnfzig.html' title='Fünfzig'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-4482350179298393186</id><published>2008-03-07T23:30:00.002Z</published><updated>2008-03-07T23:35:18.071Z</updated><title type='text'>Farto de Espaço</title><content type='html'>Acho que estou farto do Espaço. Não &lt;a href="http://www.noctalia.blogspot.com"&gt;deste&lt;/a&gt; espaço. Este é asseado e atractivo.&lt;br /&gt;Estou farto do Espaço com e grande; E.&lt;br /&gt;É sempre assim comigo. À excepção do arroz e das bicicletas, de tudo gostei e de tudo me saturei. Em relação ao Espaço, já o sentia faz tempo - o chamado Espaço-tempo. Agora que o Espaço faz novamente parte do dia-a-dia é que chega a confirmação: só me agrada o Espaço quando usado para impressionar (to amaze) outrém. Estou-me a cagar &lt;a href="http://www.proespaco.pt"&gt;pró espaço&lt;/a&gt;; só a gravidade o impede... Gravidade essa que reveste a situação.&lt;br /&gt;É grave estar farto do Espaço. Estivesse eu farto do Tempo e a solução surgiria no Instante.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-4482350179298393186?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/4482350179298393186'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/4482350179298393186'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2008/03/farto-de-espao.html' title='Farto de Espaço'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-6069595945512226047</id><published>2008-03-07T23:24:00.003Z</published><updated>2008-03-07T23:28:46.418Z</updated><title type='text'>Was sind Sie von Beruf?</title><content type='html'>Era uma vez um país onde quem ganhava 426EUR/mês era pobre e quem ganhava 427EUR/mês não.&lt;br /&gt;A Ana ganhava 426EUR/mês e tinha acesso a todos os apoios sociais existentes. A Clara ganhava 427EUR/mês e usufruía dos mesmos direitos que o Sr. Arquitecto. Ela vivia orgulhosa!&lt;br /&gt;No entanto, Clara era pobre que fode.&lt;br /&gt;Às vezes 1EUR só traz problemas.&lt;br /&gt;Hoje dei 1EUR de gorjeta no Restaurante.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-6069595945512226047?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/6069595945512226047'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/6069595945512226047'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2008/03/was-sind-sie-von-beruf.html' title='Was sind Sie von Beruf?'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-6545430672199092918</id><published>2007-06-08T13:17:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-06-08T13:19:31.123+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Um abraço</title><content type='html'>A facilidade com que minto hoje em dia faz-me crer que ainda poderei ser feliz...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-6545430672199092918?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/6545430672199092918'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/6545430672199092918'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2007/06/um-abrao.html' title='Um abraço'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-5644509480472570540</id><published>2007-05-30T21:54:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2007-05-30T21:55:29.749+01:00</updated><title type='text'>"Sempre"</title><content type='html'>Nunca pensei conhecer alguém assim.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-5644509480472570540?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/5644509480472570540'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/5644509480472570540'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2007/05/sempre.html' title='&quot;Sempre&quot;'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-489969289168370978</id><published>2007-05-30T21:53:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-05-30T21:54:32.693+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Cópia</title><content type='html'>Penso tantas vezes na minha morte que fico com pena de só ter uma.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-489969289168370978?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/489969289168370978'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/489969289168370978'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2007/05/cpia.html' title='Cópia'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-7328368938068218516</id><published>2007-05-30T21:52:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2007-05-30T21:53:52.766+01:00</updated><title type='text'>P.romessas</title><content type='html'>Prometi-me gostar incondicionalmente de uma P.essoa. A facilidade com que tenho cumprido essa promessa faz-me crer capaz de prometer ir à fÁTIMA de joelhos. E em marcha-atrás!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-7328368938068218516?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/7328368938068218516'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/7328368938068218516'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2007/05/promessas.html' title='P.romessas'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-5029383098269236704</id><published>2007-05-30T21:18:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-05-30T21:52:11.961+01:00</updated><title type='text'>M.</title><content type='html'>Reconheço que perdi a capacidade de amar - na acepção comum do termo - e que é por isso mesmo que sou capaz de nutrir sentimentos tão agradáveis para os outros: porque não os quero para mim. Aos outros, não aos sentimentos.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-5029383098269236704?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/5029383098269236704'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/5029383098269236704'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2007/05/m.html' title='M.'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-3985145320695216780</id><published>2007-03-03T11:10:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-03-03T11:17:16.640Z</updated><title type='text'>H.</title><content type='html'>No &lt;em&gt;Fight Club&lt;/em&gt;, a certa altura, o Brad Pitt diz:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"When I graduated i called my father and asked him: now what?&lt;br /&gt;He said: get a job.&lt;br /&gt;So I did.&lt;br /&gt;When I turned 26 I called him again and asked: now what?&lt;br /&gt;He said: get married."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Esse homem, esse pai, é que tinha a chave da vida. Ele é que sabia... Ele.&lt;br /&gt;E eu desejo apenas o saber desse homem.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-3985145320695216780?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3985145320695216780'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3985145320695216780'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2007/03/no-fight-club-certa-altura-o-brad-pitt.html' title='H.'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-1576080301380656022</id><published>2007-02-25T17:53:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-02-25T18:09:24.523Z</updated><title type='text'>E depois?</title><content type='html'>Não sei por quanto tempo mais aguentarei a estúpida futilidade da vida social. O mais de que me podem acusar é de ter &lt;em&gt;vindo&lt;/em&gt; tarde. Mas, foda-se. O que é a vida social e o que faz ela por mim?&lt;br /&gt;Todo o homem morre só. E nasce só.&lt;br /&gt;Por outro lado, se eu sobreviver à sociedade, terei assegurado a coerência para exigir a sobrevivência na solidão aos sociais (mas eles são a maioria; e a maioria não sucumbe a exigências da minoria; &lt;em&gt;so much for democracy...&lt;/em&gt;). Uma frase tão desconexa para dizer algo tão simples. Merda.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-1576080301380656022?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/1576080301380656022'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/1576080301380656022'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2007/02/e-depois.html' title='E depois?'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-7970048767592169261</id><published>2007-02-23T22:19:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-02-23T22:27:49.982Z</updated><title type='text'>Short Message Service</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;"Só chamamos amor àquilo que nos liga a certos seres, em referência a um modo de ver colectivo, de que são responsáveis os livros e as lendas."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Albert Camus, por Élder.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-7970048767592169261?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/7970048767592169261'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/7970048767592169261'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2007/02/short-message-service.html' title='Short Message Service'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-3613018888591061055</id><published>2007-02-23T19:34:00.001Z</published><updated>2009-03-24T13:17:07.370Z</updated><title type='text'>Porta-bagagens</title><content type='html'>Uma palavra proferida pela primeira vez, por uma boca que a saboreia e que exprime prazer na descoberta. Que agradável forma de adormecer. &lt;em&gt;Porta-bagagens&lt;/em&gt;...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-3613018888591061055?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3613018888591061055'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3613018888591061055'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2007/02/porta-bagagens.html' title='Porta-bagagens'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-3563221938992659804</id><published>2007-02-21T23:14:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-02-21T23:16:12.381Z</updated><title type='text'>Expect less,</title><content type='html'>expect absolutely zero; you'll be amazed with what you can achieve.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-3563221938992659804?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3563221938992659804'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3563221938992659804'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2007/02/expect-less.html' title='Expect less,'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-1362474032176610040</id><published>2007-02-14T22:34:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-02-14T22:43:51.970Z</updated><title type='text'>The Ultimate Dream Girl...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.pbfcomics.com/archive/PBF210-Wishing_Well.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px;" src="http://www.pbfcomics.com/archive/PBF210-Wishing_Well.gif" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;... it's a mere illusion.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-1362474032176610040?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/1362474032176610040'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/1362474032176610040'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2007/02/ultimate-dream-girl.html' title='The Ultimate Dream Girl...'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-2575628065564745999</id><published>2007-02-05T20:37:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-02-05T20:38:01.708Z</updated><title type='text'>Rotten</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;To avoid falling in love he masturbates more often.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-2575628065564745999?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/2575628065564745999'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/2575628065564745999'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2007/02/rotten.html' title='Rotten'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-8874105560693093586</id><published>2007-01-23T20:03:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-01-23T20:12:11.395Z</updated><title type='text'>Ancient Mixed Interlude</title><content type='html'>1. &lt;em&gt;"- Talvez o defeito seja meu, disse ela pensativamente. Mas quando as pessoas estão longe parece-me completamente inútil tentar manter uma relação com elas."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone de Beauvoir&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. &lt;em&gt;"Então disse-me:&lt;br /&gt;- Papi, tens de cuidar-te. Da próxima vez não te apaixones tanto. Olhei agora para a chávena de café vazia e recordei aquele conselho. Muito bom. Jamais o esquecerei. O problema consiste em aplicá-lo."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pedro Juan Gutierrez&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. &lt;em&gt;"Como era maravilhoso respirar naturalmente, não ter pressa, não chegar nunca a lado algum, nunca fazer nada importante – excepto viver!"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Henry Miller&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. &lt;em&gt;"Dizia conhecê-lo de vista e ter decidido escrever-lhe porque as convenções não faziam sentido quando um homem lhe agradava.&lt;br /&gt;(...)&lt;br /&gt;Não admitia o amor. Só a amizade e a sensualidade."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Milan Kundera&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. &lt;em&gt;"Nem mulher nem amigo; não queria laço nenhum, estava assim livre do seu sangue e do sangue dos outros."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Emile Zola&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. &lt;em&gt;"Winston interrogou-se se no passado abolido seria uma experiência normal um homem e uma mulher despidos estarem assim deitados na cama, ao fresco da tarde de Verão, fazendo amor quando lhes apetecia, falando do que lhes apetecia, não sentindo a menor obrigação de se levantarem, simplesmente ali deitados, escutando os ruídos tranquilos provenientes lá de fora."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;George Orwell&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-8874105560693093586?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/8874105560693093586'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/8874105560693093586'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2007/01/ancient-mixed-interlude.html' title='Ancient Mixed Interlude'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-1125129391958318394</id><published>2007-01-23T19:43:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-01-23T19:52:21.464Z</updated><title type='text'>Animal Social</title><content type='html'>&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/RbZm487mQoI/AAAAAAAAABI/mRNSloFTCDU/s400/burro240.jpg" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5023315562993173122" /&gt;Será que acabamos sempre por gostar daqueles que gostam de nós?&lt;br /&gt;A verdade é que não faz sentido gostar daqueles que nos odeiam... ou daqueles que nos ignoram.&lt;br /&gt;Quero dizer, faz sentido, não tem é vantagem prática.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align:center;"&gt;...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mas gostar de quem gosta de nós soa a escolha forçada; como se a decisão residisse nos outros. Como se nós pertencêssemos a um lugar na &lt;em&gt;"prateleira"&lt;/em&gt;, onde outros nos pegam - ou não - e nós gostamos - ou não.&lt;br /&gt;Para não sermos considerados objectos, somos forçados a gostar de quem nos ignora...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ou a lógica é fodida, ou eu sou burro.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-1125129391958318394?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/1125129391958318394'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/1125129391958318394'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2007/01/animal-social.html' title='Animal Social'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/RbZm487mQoI/AAAAAAAAABI/mRNSloFTCDU/s72-c/burro240.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-467224831668541902</id><published>2007-01-23T19:24:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-01-23T19:30:59.334Z</updated><title type='text'>Ironic tobacco shop</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Vivi, estudei, amei e até cri,&lt;br /&gt;E hoje não há mendigo que eu não inveje só por não ser eu.&lt;br /&gt;Olho a cada um os andrajos e as chagas e a mentira,&lt;br /&gt;E penso: talvez nunca vivesses nem estudasses nem amasses nem cresses&lt;br /&gt;(Porque é possível fazer a realidade de tudo isso sem fazer nada disso);&lt;br /&gt;Talvez tenhas existido apenas, como um lagarto a quem cortam o rabo&lt;br /&gt;E que é rabo para aquém do lagarto remexidamente&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fiz de mim o que não soube&lt;br /&gt;E o que podia fazer de mim não o fiz.&lt;br /&gt;O dominó que vesti era errado.&lt;br /&gt;Conheceram-me logo por quem não era e não desmenti, e perdi-me.&lt;br /&gt;Quando quis tirar a máscara,&lt;br /&gt;Estava pegada à cara.&lt;br /&gt;Quando a tirei e me vi ao espelho,&lt;br /&gt;Já tinha envelhecido.&lt;br /&gt;Estava bêbado, já não sabia vestir o dominó que não tinha tirado.&lt;br /&gt;Deitei fora a máscara e dormi no vestiário&lt;br /&gt;Como um cão tolerado pela gerência&lt;br /&gt;Por ser inofensivo&lt;br /&gt;E vou escrever esta história para provar que sou sublime.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Tabacaria&lt;/strong&gt; (excerto) - Álvaro de Campos/Fernando Pessoa&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-467224831668541902?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/467224831668541902'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/467224831668541902'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2007/01/ironic-tobacco-shop.html' title='Ironic tobacco shop'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-8792873359374171796</id><published>2007-01-23T19:14:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-01-23T19:23:04.446Z</updated><title type='text'>Remember, remember...</title><content type='html'>&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/RbZfys7mQnI/AAAAAAAAAA8/Vhqgl2oadw4/s400/rendezvous_in_athens.jpg" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5023307759037596274" /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align:center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;"No momento do encontro, começa a separação."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;De tempos a tempos, um subconsciente qualquer faz questão de me lembrar...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-8792873359374171796?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/8792873359374171796'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/8792873359374171796'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2007/01/remember-remember.html' title='Remember, remember...'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/RbZfys7mQnI/AAAAAAAAAA8/Vhqgl2oadw4/s72-c/rendezvous_in_athens.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-2957341202940644960</id><published>2007-01-19T12:04:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-01-19T12:25:11.018Z</updated><title type='text'>Campanha pelo 'não'</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;... E dar as mãos, beijar, acariciar o corpo,&lt;/em&gt; ter um contacto de nome "Amore Mio", ou "Fofinha", ou "Amor", terminar as palavras em "-inho", dizer "minha" e "meu" mais vezes do que "não" e "sim"...&lt;br /&gt;O amor são mimos e eu sou mimado.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-2957341202940644960?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/2957341202940644960'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/2957341202940644960'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2007/01/campanha-pelo-no.html' title='Campanha pelo &apos;não&apos;'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-4609734471530815076</id><published>2007-01-19T07:29:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-01-19T12:04:53.543Z</updated><title type='text'>Wasted Early Friday Morning</title><content type='html'>&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/RbB0B0OH28I/AAAAAAAAAAw/kKmziOjHmDQ/s200/mimo.gif" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5021641159064673218" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Descobri que o amor são mimos.&lt;br /&gt;Dar as mãos, beijar, acariciar o corpo... fazer crer ao(s) outro(s) que a sua manifestação física (maioritariamente visual) é desejável e desejada.&lt;br /&gt;Mimos apenas... Neste mundo em que me movo, o amor são mimos. E, às vezes, dinheiro.&lt;br /&gt;Descobri que nunca amei.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-4609734471530815076?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/4609734471530815076'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/4609734471530815076'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2007/01/wasted-early-friday-morning.html' title='Wasted Early Friday Morning'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/RbB0B0OH28I/AAAAAAAAAAw/kKmziOjHmDQ/s72-c/mimo.gif' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-2674152135517963987</id><published>2007-01-17T13:47:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-01-17T14:07:00.374Z</updated><title type='text'>... obsoleta.</title><content type='html'>Vejo um pai mimando o filho e relembro-me que a vida guiada pelo conceito "espécie" é deveras mais fácil de viver.&lt;br /&gt;Sou o &lt;em&gt;palerma&lt;/em&gt; que teima em escolher o caminho mais longo apenas para marcar uma posição...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-2674152135517963987?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/2674152135517963987'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/2674152135517963987'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2007/01/obsoleta.html' title='... obsoleta.'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-7752381931469402942</id><published>2007-01-12T23:36:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-01-12T23:38:35.702Z</updated><title type='text'>Saudade...</title><content type='html'>... de um duche e uma conversa. Ao mesmo tempo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-7752381931469402942?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/7752381931469402942'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/7752381931469402942'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2007/01/saudade.html' title='Saudade...'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-8100112214354031504</id><published>2006-12-22T09:13:00.000Z</published><updated>2006-12-22T09:16:46.052Z</updated><title type='text'>Excepção</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href=http://estadocivil.blogspot.com/2006/12/crueldade-e-falsidade.html&gt;Sempre gostei de pessoas cruéis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-8100112214354031504?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/8100112214354031504'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/8100112214354031504'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2006/12/excepo.html' title='Excepção'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-8697690625604426998</id><published>2006-12-21T23:07:00.000Z</published><updated>2006-12-21T23:13:34.281Z</updated><title type='text'>a idade da inocênciA</title><content type='html'>Lembro-me de me deitar no terraço da casa de minha avó nas tardes límpidas de fim de Primavera - seriam as férias da Páscoa ou as férias "grandes"? - e olhar o céu azul tentando focar &lt;em&gt;qualquer&lt;/em&gt; coisa.&lt;br /&gt;Acreditava/acredito que havia mais do que &lt;b&gt;só&lt;/b&gt; infinito...&lt;br /&gt;E passava o que pareciam ser horas, mas que eram apenas minutos, nesta suave abstracção. O &lt;b&gt;tempo&lt;/b&gt; passava mais devagar, naquele &lt;b&gt;tempo&lt;/b&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;Por isso estudei A Ciência; pelo tempo e pelo infinito. Hoje o tempo passa depressa e o infinito não me apoquenta.&lt;br /&gt;Não conheço razão maior que mereça as minhas lágrimas.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-8697690625604426998?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/8697690625604426998'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/8697690625604426998'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2006/12/idade-da-inocncia.html' title='a idade da inocênciA'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-5802429765115052602</id><published>2006-12-21T23:00:00.000Z</published><updated>2006-12-21T23:05:35.900Z</updated><title type='text'>Hoje</title><content type='html'>Confundirei justiça com vingança?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-5802429765115052602?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/5802429765115052602'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/5802429765115052602'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2006/12/hoje.html' title='Hoje'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-1856763955458652534</id><published>2006-12-20T22:28:00.000Z</published><updated>2006-12-20T22:31:37.035Z</updated><title type='text'>Sleeplessness.2</title><content type='html'>Não era amor.&lt;br /&gt;Eu já sabia; &lt;u&gt;tudo&lt;/u&gt; não passa de uma sugestão.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-1856763955458652534?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/1856763955458652534'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/1856763955458652534'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2006/12/sleeplessness2.html' title='Sleeplessness.2'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-3110153645235907817</id><published>2006-12-17T22:24:00.000Z</published><updated>2006-12-17T22:26:58.974Z</updated><title type='text'>Kinks</title><content type='html'>Na prateleira, o &lt;em&gt;Manual de Socorrismo&lt;/em&gt; fica ao lado d'&lt;em&gt;Os 120 dias de Sodoma.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-3110153645235907817?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3110153645235907817'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3110153645235907817'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2006/12/kinks.html' title='Kinks'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-1762833381066348388</id><published>2006-12-16T13:21:00.000Z</published><updated>2006-12-16T23:58:31.200Z</updated><title type='text'>Swapping your love 4.8</title><content type='html'>Dou por mim a pensar no mesmo; Em como as coisas se repetem após um período suficiente de tempo.&lt;br /&gt;Digo "não voltarei a colocar-me numa situação dessas" mas estico a &lt;em&gt;sorte&lt;/em&gt; até ao limite; eventualmente atinjo o limite e - por um momento, um mísero segundo - sinto que o venci, que passei o limite e que mudei para aquilo que desejo mudar. Mas não. Logo de seguida vem o doce sabor da derrota. Doce porque, a cada derrota, aprendo a conhecer-me melhor; aprendo a conhecer os meus limites. Irónico.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/RYSHu3Dv9LI/AAAAAAAAAAk/ABKchCgCX9Y/s200/bowl_humor_hipocrita.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5009277924666242226" /&gt; É uma aprendizagem inútil que se repete &lt;em&gt;ad infinitum&lt;/em&gt;. Sim. Cada vez conheço melhor o meu limite e cada vez o ultrapasso e falho com mais estilo.&lt;br /&gt;E constantemente questiono os malditos princípios por que pauto o meu comportamento. Na verdade sou capaz de enfrentar todo o mundo na defesa de uma ideia que não consigo colocar em prática. Sou o que se chama um hipócrita. Mas, pelo menos, não sou mentiroso.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-1762833381066348388?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/1762833381066348388'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/1762833381066348388'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2006/12/swapping-your-love-48.html' title='Swapping your love 4.8'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/RYSHu3Dv9LI/AAAAAAAAAAk/ABKchCgCX9Y/s72-c/bowl_humor_hipocrita.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-3378906608091355657</id><published>2006-12-13T20:59:00.000Z</published><updated>2006-12-13T21:05:56.917Z</updated><title type='text'>Porquê publicar na Internet?</title><content type='html'>Às vezes &lt;u&gt;só&lt;/u&gt; tirar as coisas do sistema já é bom.&lt;br /&gt;Mas, quando se tira de um lado, é necessário acrescentar do outro;&lt;br /&gt;O caminho para a solução não admite &lt;a href="http://www.priberam.pt/dlpo/definir_resultados.aspx?pal=atalhos"&gt;atalhos&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align=center&gt;-#-&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mas admite o recurso a fórmulas pré-estabelecidas; estabelecidas previamente para &lt;u&gt;determinado&lt;/u&gt; problema, mas que se usam para todos os outros - mais ou menos semelhantes - porque "simplificam".&lt;br /&gt;Para complicado, já basta respirar.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-3378906608091355657?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3378906608091355657'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3378906608091355657'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2006/12/porqu-publicar-na-internet.html' title='Porquê publicar na Internet?'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-7415447210199380475</id><published>2006-12-13T20:51:00.000Z</published><updated>2006-12-13T20:58:55.110Z</updated><title type='text'>Iraquii's Bombastic Christmas</title><content type='html'>When our beliefs put us to test and we win, we get to keep them.&lt;br /&gt;When &lt;u&gt;they&lt;/u&gt; win... well, you know the saying: &lt;em&gt;the harder you try, the dumber you look&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps I was born to be dumb. Dumb as a doorknob.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-7415447210199380475?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/7415447210199380475'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/7415447210199380475'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2006/12/iraquiis-bombastic-christmas.html' title='Iraquii&apos;s Bombastic Christmas'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-7990949340848494823</id><published>2006-12-12T23:06:00.000Z</published><updated>2006-12-17T00:03:38.994Z</updated><title type='text'>Sleeplessness</title><content type='html'>&lt;strike&gt;E é isto o amor; Convencemo-nos de que gostamos de alguém, de que até poderíamos amar esse mesmo "alguém" e agimos em conformidade. Não passa de uma sugestão; uma "ideia feita"...&lt;br /&gt;No fundo, não vale nada: não é puro, não é branco, não é um verso nem uma canção.&lt;br /&gt;O amor é isso: amar. E é tão real e presente como o ódio ou, pior ainda, o desprezo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Não creio que o que sinto, desta vez, seja amor. Amo constantemente e - à custa de árduo treino - incondicionalmente mas, é diferente; Se posso definir um começo para determinado sentimento, ele só pode ser fabricado. Não é real.&lt;br /&gt;Não é amor. Se for; é prenúncio de dor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Qualquer semelhança com a realidade é pura coincidência.)&lt;/strike&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-7990949340848494823?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/7990949340848494823'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/7990949340848494823'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2006/12/sleeplessness.html' title='Sleeplessness'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-3093037900314730159</id><published>2006-12-12T21:50:00.000Z</published><updated>2006-12-12T21:56:45.774Z</updated><title type='text'>A. M.</title><content type='html'>&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/RX8laQXqdII/AAAAAAAAAAY/YtkypnzkSko/s200/crop0011.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5007762443660326018" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Será possível que a alegria apregoada de uns ressalte a infelicidade de outros?&lt;br /&gt;Poderá a minha/tua fortuna ser diminuída se a deles é efusivamente demonstrada?&lt;br /&gt;É óbvio que sim.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-3093037900314730159?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3093037900314730159'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/3093037900314730159'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2006/12/m.html' title='A. M.'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/RX8laQXqdII/AAAAAAAAAAY/YtkypnzkSko/s72-c/crop0011.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-7114762987676184265</id><published>2006-12-10T17:04:00.000Z</published><updated>2006-12-10T17:47:03.359Z</updated><title type='text'>O Mito:</title><content type='html'>É inevitável; o sentimento de solidão após momentos de intenso convívio. É um sobe-e-desce, um alto e um baixo... Diz o G G Marquez que a vida é isto; a morte não é, de certeza. Não deixa de ser estranho... não deixa de ser angustiante. É um sentimento de clausura: portas automáticas que fecham após qualquer momento social...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5006947531600764594" style="DISPLAY: block; TEXT-ALIGN: center" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/RXxAQIYVHrI/AAAAAAAAAAM/BZuy0kLa94w/s320/GraphUpload.jpg" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-7114762987676184265?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/7114762987676184265'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/7114762987676184265'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2006/12/o-mito.html' title='O Mito:'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/RXxAQIYVHrI/AAAAAAAAAAM/BZuy0kLa94w/s72-c/GraphUpload.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-116562450665912400</id><published>2006-12-09T00:29:00.000Z</published><updated>2006-12-09T00:35:06.666Z</updated><title type='text'>To T.</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;"It is easy in the world to live after the world's opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"The (...) terror that scares us from self-trust is our consistency; a reverence of our past act or word, because the eyes of others have no other data for computing our orbit than our past acts, and we are loath to disappoint them."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"To be great is to be misunderstood."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align:right;"&gt;Ralph Waldo Emerson&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-116562450665912400?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/116562450665912400'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/116562450665912400'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2006/12/to-t.html' title='To T.'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35201927.post-116145526521549946</id><published>2006-10-21T19:25:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2006-10-21T19:27:45.220+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Abraços gratuitos</title><content type='html'>Sou um homem &lt;em&gt;distante&lt;/em&gt;. Aproximadamente 8000 Km.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/35201927-116145526521549946?l=noctalia.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/116145526521549946'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/35201927/posts/default/116145526521549946'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noctalia.blogspot.com/2006/10/abraos-gratuitos.html' title='Abraços gratuitos'/><author><name>Pedro</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_spOVtlUqnW0/R9HRscRLLTI/AAAAAAAABRI/OtfJptP4izo/S220/51250_0000122g.jpg'/></author></entry></feed>
