New Ageism

"There's two kinds of people in the world:

the stupid and the envyous!

The stupid will like you in five years' time, the envyous will never like you."

So in (an)other words: Do I look like I give a damn?!

The Girl with Many Eyes

"One day in the park
I had quite a surprise,
I met a girl
who had many eyes.

She was really quite pretty
(and also quite shocking!)
and I noticed she had a mouth
so we ended up talking.

We talked about flowers,
and her poetry classes,
and the problems she'd have
if she ever wore glasses.

It's great to know a girl
who has so many eyes,
but you really get wet
when she breaks down and cries."

by Tim Burton

Movie Series vol.3

"The half nelson is done using only one hand, by passing it under the arm of the opponent and locking the hand at the opponent's neck. Half nelsons are commonly used in amateur wrestling.

The term "nelson" is derived from "full nelson", which dates back to the early 19th century. It is named after the British war-hero Admiral Nelson, who famously used strategies based on surrounding the opponent to win the Battle of the Nile and the Battle of Trafalgar."

Daniel Dunne (Ryan Gosling) teaches History at a local high school in New York. He tries to inspire his students to see behond facts. Learning History is so much more than dates and numbers, it's all about change and change is full of contraditory feelings and actions. Dunne is also a coach of a female basketball team with poor results. Drey (Shareeka Epps) plays for the team and is also one of Dunne's history students. The 12 year old lives in a tough neighbourhood and has a dealer as parental figure. A challenge. A frienship born out of emotional wreckness.

One night, when Drey goes back to the locker room she finds professor Dunne having a bad trip on crack. From that moment on she relates to him differently, not simlpy as a protector-protegée connection but one out of humanity. Above all Dunne is human. His emotional self-destructiveness leads him to on going nights of coke, crack, alchool and reckless atitudes. But in the midst of all, he just wants to do something good for Drey. By helping her he feels as if he could do something for himself.

The beauty of Drey and Dunne's friendship is highlighted by recognition. By recognising the human being that they're looking into, they don't demand anything from each other. The world seems to pressure them to be better, to achieve success, to do, to this, to that, forgetting that being human is more than actions, like History is more than facts.

Drey is the only one who can actually see Dunne. She's the one who relentlessly stands by him. When she is questioned about why she does it, she simply answers: "because he is my friend". Dunne's not perfect, but she relates to the truth inside him. Despite all his flawness one thing is sure: what you see is what you get. He doesn't hide. He doesn't mask himself to the world.

Half Nelson is not a story about the inspiring teacher. Half Nelson is a story about a profound connection between two human beings who just want to be seen as such. It's a movie with no moral misjudgements. If only the world could see himself and the people in it as Drey and Dunne see each other...



Tag Lines:

Daniel Dunne:

“The sun goes up and then it comes down, but every time that happens what do you get? You get a new day.”

“One thing doesn't make a man.”

“Second chances are rare, man. You ought to take better advantage of them.”

On this "half":

"halfness is better than be
a whole out of empty
fear clinchs
the world whispers
inside just human
flawed, hoplessly flawed
to whatever may be
what else to recognise
than the self-destructive inside
don't hide
don't mask
if there's nothing to grasp
why not just see?

behond boxes' draught
behond judgement
behond prejudice
behond everything that's false...
true lies in fragments
bits and pieces of a flawed valse

hold on your stupid jaws
I am human,
not a perfect sculpted statue
a wild flower at best
nothing more than to rest
half side
half me
half, what else, may see?"...


End of Movie Series 1

Ao longe...

"De noite as luzes dos candeeiros da cidade estão coreografadas ao ponto de deixaram, à nossa passagem por elas, arrastos. Não se arrastam, mas arrastam-nos com elas. Em fios de luz apenas captados em fotografia. O gesto tantas vezes repetido de fechar a porta à chave tinha ganho um novo sentido. Sentia o meu próprio mundo fechar-se sobre si mesmo. Um borrão de tinta, essa seria a imagem mais adequada a mim. Imagem inquisitiva em que certamente poderiam ser vistos inúmeros pormenores, mas escapando a todos o seu sentido. A proximidade da pele deixara apenas o leve aroma. Via-me junto ao rio, à espera de uma barca. Sem reparar a barca já me tinha encorpado e estava agora algures à deriva no meio do intenso nevoeiro. Saudade idiota. Ou talvez não. Basta apenas um leve acenar para despertar a importância de uma proximidade cada vez mais forte. Ao longe o farol roda. A barca lá está. A chave fecha-se na porta. Será que me encerro? Tal qual gruta de palavras perdidas?

Um som: o do silêncio do meu vazio, sentido. Próprio mundo de ginástica adiada. Palavras soltas e absortas circulando mentalmente a velocidade exasperante... Sistema de evacuação entupido... Sensação diminuta... Fraqueza humana...
fragile as a wild flower...numa encubadora...perdida está, autora..."

I'm Elusive...

"I'm a passing stranger with a name i can't remember I am going blind from the dust in my eyes..."

Passing Sranger, Scott Matthews

Vidro Côncavo

...my reflexion...

"Tenho sofrido poesia
como quem anda no mar.
Um enjoo.
Uma agonia.
Saber a sal.
Maresia.
Vidro côncavo a boiar

Doi esta corda vibrante
A corda que o barco prende
à fria argola do cais
Se uma onda que a levante
vem logo outra qua a distende.
Não tem descanso jamais."

António Gedeão

monólogo interior...


"o vazio instalava-se como a brisa que se recusava a entrar pela janela aberta. fechava os olhos, a inércia dava sinais de vida. não tenho propósito ou intenção. não quero dizer isto ou aquilo. basta-me sentir. talvez a questão esteja nisso mesmo: sentir. Sentir demasiado ou de menos.

a preocupação exagerada revela-se de tempos a tempos, tentando mascarar a minha incapacidade. junta-se os números como na matemática mas no meu caso não dão resultado de nenhuma operação. aqui não há espaço para ciência. mas na soma fica apenas retida a falha.

a ponte entre a imperfeição e a demasia de fragmentos, todos eles fragilmente humanos e todos eles suavemente costurados deixando soltas linhas defeituosas.

nas minhas veias corre sangue agitado. da minha boca saiem palavras trôpegas, atropelando-se umas às outras. não sei se o que digo significa alguma coisa, talvez seja apenas a prova dessa incapacidade, minha, que se me revela a cada instante, como uma bomba-relógio interna que rebenta espaçadamente. sinal de alarme para um desajeito inato. o que se move é apenas a emoção, pequenos diques de quem sou.

se nas palavras me atropelo,
se nos gestos me condeno,
então que fique apenas a emoção,
talvez a única forma visível de que não sou isto nem aquilo, nem mais
talvez menos
um conjunto de menos, fragilidade tropeça.
uma obra inacabada, cuja beleza apenas se enaltece por não estar terminada..."