Aparências...
As pessoas (interessantes) raramente são o que parecem... Gosto bastante de quem consegue surpreender, fascinar e desconcertar com várias facetas na mesma personalidade. O what you see is what you get está um pouco fora de moda e quase nunca corresponde à verdade. Claro que demora um pouco para conhecermos o lobo debaixo da pele de cordeiro ou a descascar as camadas da cebola mas, mordidelas e lágrimas à parte, é muito melhor que tentar encontrar algo escondido numa vulgar mosca ou banal batata. O risco de se encontrar algo que não se estava à espera faz parte do jogo.
23 comentários:
Caro Catarse, 100% de acordo, ou 110% se pode ser! Aliás, essa lógica aplica-se a tudo o que é importante e interessante: o mistério, a surpresa, o inesperado, o desconcertante são a verdadeira essência das coisas plenas...as que não agarramos, as que sempre se escapam por entre os dedos quando as julgávamos presas, as que se revelam diferentes de todas as congeminações prévias, as que têm a capacidade camaleónica de serem muito, tudo, ao mesmo tempo e em cada espaço. Também eu gosto muito dessas pessoas...fascinam-me, desafiam-me, testam os meus limites....
Eu pelo menos gosto... claro que não estou a considerar quem se esconde com más intenções ou aquelas pessoas falsas como judas, trastes da pior espécie sem princípios... mas gosto de quem revela inteligência, sentido de humor, instinto e capacidade de adaptação para não ser sempre mais do mesmo, sempre a mesma pessoa presa a uma definição chata e sem graça... isso mesmo: camaleões em permanente mutação mas sem se descaracterizarem.
Correcto. Também de modo algum me poderia referir a pessoas falsas, hipócritas e afins até porque essas nem contam para a reflexão, pelo menos esta!
Apesar do fascínio de tudo isso, temos de concordar que torna a vida (leia-se "quotidiano") bem mais difícil de gerir, até porque há muitas pessoas que preferem as "identidades vazias", ou "identidades mais do mesmo" nas quais um simples suspiro é não só previsível, como exactamente igual ao anterior e ao próximo.Essas identidades são mais facilmente moldáveis, controláveis do que as outras. Essa capacidade camaleónica (como lhe chamei) é muitas vezes lida como sinónimo de inconstância, impermanência, instabilidade, falta de identidade, etc. Muito pelo contrário, essa é UMA identidade; supostamente a difícil de (di)gerir ou viver...
Et voilá...so talkative!!!!!eheheheheh
Aquilo que é de facto rico, interessante e surpreendente fascina. A mim fascina-me muitíssimo.
Podemos, no entanto, fascinar-nos pela riqueza da simplicidade de algo ou alguém(coisa rara nos dias de hoje)...
Acontece que muitas (demasiadas) vezes, por detrás da capa de interessante, pertinente ou desafiante, surgem astutos jogadores que adoram brincar com essa aura dourada para, a qualquer momento, manipularem os sentimentos alheios como "coisa descartável". Desde que a interessante criatura se divirta, tudo está bem. Quando deixar de divertir, tudo estará bem na mesma. Até à próxima "presa" incauta. Chateiam-me essas pessoas. Gente que vive para o seu umbigo. Não raras vezes são senhores de artes mágicas, fazendo-se cobrir com um véu que não é fácil de levantar.
Concordo que o "what you see is what you get" é muitas vezes aparente, sobretudo se o levarmos ao extremo. Espero é que não esteja fora de moda. Porque é muito bom (ainda que em poucas e honrosas excepções) se possa saber claramente com que tipo de princípios se pode contar.
Não me refiro àqueles que, de forma saudável e brilhante, conseguem ser "muito, tudo, ao mesmo tempo e em cada espaço". Esses têm uma luz especial. A luz da reinvenção a cada passo.
Para ter certezas absolutas e zero risco nada como comprar certificados de aforro. São certinhos, direitinhos, não dão trabalho nenhum a manter e são um tédio completo. Para ter maiores recompensas há que correr maiores riscos... mas não vale a pena pedir o melhor dos dois mundos porque as coisas não são assim. E nem todos os camaleões são génios do mal e nem todos os restantes ingénuas traças atraídas pela luz...
The Spider and the Fly
by Mary Howitt
Will you walk into my parlour?" said the Spider to the Fly,
'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy;
The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,
And I've a many curious things to shew when you are there."
Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "to ask me is in vain,
For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again."
"I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;
Will you rest upon my little bed?" said the Spider to the Fly.
"There are pretty curtains drawn around; the sheets are fine and thin,
And if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in!"
Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "for I've often heard it said,
They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!"
Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, "Dear friend what can I do,
To prove the warm affection I 've always felt for you?
I have within my pantry, good store of all that's nice;
I'm sure you're very welcome -- will you please to take a slice?"
"Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "kind Sir, that cannot be,
I've heard what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see!"
"Sweet creature!" said the Spider, "you're witty and you're wise,
How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!
I've a little looking-glass upon my parlour shelf,
If you'll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself."
"I thank you, gentle sir," she said, "for what you 're pleased to say,
And bidding you good morning now, I'll call another day."
The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew the silly Fly would soon come back again:
So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly,
And set his table ready, to dine upon the Fly.
Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing,
"Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the pearl and silver wing;
Your robes are green and purple -- there's a crest upon your head;
Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead!"
Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little Fly,
Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by;
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew,
Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue --
Thinking only of her crested head -- poor foolish thing! At last,
Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast.
He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den,
Within his little parlour -- but she ne'er came out again!
And now dear little children, who may this story read,
To idle, silly flattering words, I pray you ne'er give heed:
Unto an evil counsellor, close heart and ear and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale, of the Spider and the Fly.
Tarzan, o camionista poeta
Olha quem voltou...
The itsy bitsy spider
Crawled up the water spout
Down came the rain
And washed the spider out
Out came the sun
And dried up all the rain
And the itsy bitsy spider
Crawled up the spout again.
Is the spider a monster in miniature?
His web is a cruel stair, to be sure,
Designed artfully, cunningly placed,
A delicate trap, carefully spun
To bind the fly (innocent or unaware)
In a net as strong as a chain or a gun.
There are far more spiders than the man in the street
supposes
And the philosopher-king imagines, let alone knows!
There are six hundred kinds of spiders and each one
Differs in kind and in unkindness.
In variety of behavior spiders are unrivalled:
The fat garden spider sits motionless, amidst or at the heart
Of the orb of its web: other kinds run,
Scuttling across the floor, falling into bathtubs,
Trapped in the path of its own wrath, by overconfidence
drowned and undone.
Other kinds—more and more kinds under the stars and
the sun—
Are carnivores: all are relentless, ruthless
Enemies of insects. Their methods of getting food
Are unconventional, numerous, various and sometimes
hilarious:
Some spiders spin webs as beautiful
As Japanese drawings, intricate as clocks, strong as rocks:
Others construct traps which consist only
Of two sticky and tricky threads. Yet this ambush is enough
To bind and chain a crawling ant for long
enough:
The famished spider feels the vibration
Which transforms patience into sensation and satiation.
The handsome wolf spider moves suddenly freely and relies
Upon lightning suddenness, stealth and surprise,
Possessing accurate eyes, pouncing upon his victim with the
speed of surmise.
Courtship is dangerous: there are just as many elaborate
and endless techniques and varieties
As characterize the wooing of more analytic, more
introspective beings: Sometimes the male
Arrives with the gift of a freshly caught fly.
Sometimes he ties down the female, when she is frail,
With deft strokes and quick maneuvres and threads of silk:
But courtship and wooing, whatever their form, are
informed
By extreme caution, prudence, and calculation,
For the female spider, lazier and fiercer than the male
suitor,
May make a meal of him if she does not feel in the same
mood, or if her appetite
Consumes her far more than the revelation of love’s
consummation.
Here among spiders, as in the higher forms of nature,
The male runs a terrifying risk when he goes seeking for
the bounty of beautiful Alma Magna Mater:
Yet clearly and truly he must seek and find his mate and
match like every other living creature!
Tarzan, o camionista - sobre as relações urdidas na teia da net em geral e neste cantinho em particular
My bathtub is my haven
When I've had a busy day.
The soothing steamy water
Seems to soak my cares away.
Imagine my chagrin one night
When hiding from it all,
To see a big black spider
Clinging to the blue tile wall.
He ignored my keen displeasure
As he yo yo'd on his line---
He was practicing rapelling
And his technique seemed just fine.
I sensed that he was spying
On my privileged retreat....
That he thought my shiny earlobe
Might be something good to eat.
He crawled around his universe
Inspecting every tile,
Then climbed upon his special perch
To watch me for awhile.
We played the game of "chicken"..
I matched him stare for stare.
He suddenly got careless
When he thought I didn't care.
I snatched that interloper...
His chance to live was gone!!
I wrapped him in a tissue
And flushed him down the john!!
Catarse, sobre nada de especial
Touché... I bid you farewell, worthy opponent, for now, as I ran out on spiders poems… We shall terse (s)words again...
Tarzan, o camionista
Please do come back, cause I too ran out on poems and luck favoured me with the final strike. It's always a pleasure to meet such gifted (s)wordsman in this arena. Godspeed.
And as his back were turned on me
I stroke his heart with my sword
For it was what was meant to be
And Catarse went to meet the Lord
Oh
Oooh yeah
Ah
Ziggy played guitar, jamming good with weird and gilly
And the spiders from mars. he played it left hand
But made it too far
Became the special man, then we were ziggy's band
Ziggy really sang, screwed up eyes and screwed down hairdo
Like some cat from japan, he could lick 'em by smiling
He could leave 'em to hang
They came on so loaded man, well hung and snow white tan.
So where were the spiders while the fly tried to break our balls
Just the beer light to guide us,
So we bitched about his fans and should we crush his sweet hands?
Oh
Ooh oh
Ziggy played for time, jiving us that we were voodoo
The kids were just crass, he was the nazz
With god given ass
He took it all too far but boy could he play guitar
Making love with his ego ziggy sucked up into his mind
Like a leper messiah
When the kids had killed the man i had to break up the band.
Oh yeah
Ooooooo
Ziggy played guitaarrrrrr
Tarzan, o camionista and the spiders from mars
Oh such bigotry and treason
Hitting me from behind
Revenge is stronger than reason
A sad end you’ll surely find
Toy Dolls - Spiders In The Dressing Room
I was getting dressed late one night
Along came a spider and I got a fright
Oh I could not squash it flat
No matter how I tried,
And when it looked me in the eye
I ran away to hide...
I put on me Doctor Martin shoes
A battle with the spider that I wasn't gonna loose
A kick from the left a kick from the right
I was on the floor but I was alright
It was gonna be a long long night
CHORUS:
Spiders in the dressing room
Spiders everywhere
Spider in the dressing room beware
(repeat twice)
Things were getting hot and I had to take a chance
The spider got impatient
Started crawling up me pants
I shook it off me legthump it hit the ground
Everything was silent so I didn't make a sound
I crossed the room as happy as can be
I had killed the spider now it couldn't bother me
But with me arm on the light
He was there ready for a fight
It was gonna be a long long night.
CHORUS
It was getting late and the spider wasn't dead
An audience had gathered round
AndI was going red
I put a jam jar on the floor
The spider crawled inside it
I screwed the lid back on the top
And threw the jar outside
At a party late that night
Everything was bright and gay
We played all our pop records and danced the night away,
Early in the morning came a knocking at the door
I opened it slowly guess what I saw
It was gonna be a long long night...
CHORUS
As relações humanas dão um imensíssimo trabalho a manter e não existe semelhante coisa como "certezas absolutas" - ou se existe eu nunca conheci. Mesmo na coisa mais "certinha".
De resto, frisei bem que nem todos os camaleões são "génios do mal". E também não era de génios do mal que se falava, mas de pessoas cujo "brilhantismo" está só nas aparências - e que gostam e sabem jogar com isso. Não é preciso ser génio para uma boa farsa em certas circunstâncias - apenas egoísta.
Acredito que, apesar do número de criaturas pouco estimulantes que anda por aí, é urgente correr riscos. E às vezes até num trapézio sem rede. É que, como bem sublinha Catarse, podemos ser agradavelmente desconcertados. ;)
Ei, ei, ei!!!! Então? Então??? Spiders? Spiders?? É comigo!!! Arrozinho, anda! Rápido!! It seems there's a speedy-spider here!!!! Watch out!!!!
Looooooool!
Se calhar é melhor fugir...ainda para mais se for das "Speedy-Spiders". Essas é que naaaaaãooooo!
ps- Onde andam as minhas queridas aranhas pequenas e de patas fininhas? Onde?
Selecção natural, Arrozinho, Darwin explica!!!! eheheheheheh...
As Leggy-Spiders perderam o seu lugar na natureza....eheheh
Não perderam não! Em casa da minha avó ainda há! Pensas que enganas aqui a menina com essas teorias malucas?
Arrozinho, as que há em casa da tua avó, já "estão cadáver", como diz a outra...eheheh..mumificadas...por isso gostas delas...não saem do sítio...não podem!!!! eehehehehe...mas olha lá, cuidado com isso, essas aranhas de perna fininha são anoréticas!Não devias impulsionar isso!!!!
eheheheheh
Mas elas comem tanta melga...Como são anoréticas? E mexem-se...Pouco, mas mexem-se. Aliás é da parte do "mexem-se pouco" que eu gosto! :)
Mas, cara amiga, a melga é uma coisa muito dietética: tem uma função saciante e drenante (quanto mais melga, mais casa de banho e menos retenção). Por isso as tuas aranhas eleitas não engordam e também não mexem: não têm massa muscular, coitadas...também não correm...abafariam!!!!!
lololol
Eu bem sabia que tinha de haver uma explicação. Era a coisa "drenante". Lol! Enquanto houver melgas vai haver aranhas de patas fininhas e sem celulite. ;) Aprovado!
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