dimarts, 30 de desembre de 2014

where aliens use humans as (we suspect) a food source. In this case an alien couple have come to Earth, taken over a farm, increased the birth rate of everything from humans to apple trees and sat back and enjoyed the food. The suggestion is that they’re on holiday and why not? The big problem is that they’re invisible but that shouldn’t have posed any great problem to people used to working on the lands. Traps could easily have been set. Of course having the farmer lose his mind does help scupper any organised revolt. I just struggled to buy into the fact that weeks went by and everyone basically shrugged and worked around what was going on. Even if these were ghosts I would’ve expected all the farm workers to pack their bags and be out of there. It just didn’t ring true. Thesium medicarum continuatio De saliva quas divina favente gratia, sub præsidio viri nobilissimi, excellentissimi, experientissimi THE SALIVA TREE by Brian Aldiss.......that wrote this story to mark or to profit with the centenary of the birth of Wells. Having now read it, I can only reason that Aldiss, who I am normally a fan of, must have secretly despised Mr. Wells for associating the man’s birthday with this literary air biscuit. Set in 19th century England during the life of Mr. Wells (who plays a small part), the story concerns an unusual alien invasion centered on a rural English farm. Now Aldiss is a smart individual who has written some amazing science fiction, but this story had almost nothing going for it beyond a pretty cool “alien” concept. The writing was so dry and flakey that it made my skin itch and all the characters combined couldn’t manage to be even two dimensional. This includes the main character who I was hoping against hope would spontaneously choke on his own lameness and "go gently in that good night." Overall, a complete waste of time. Oh, and this won the 1965 Nebula for best short story so I can only image the superb grocery lists and tax returns this thing must have been up against for its mediocrity to achieve supremacy. BORN WITH THE DEAD by Robert Silverberg.......4.0 Stars Now on the other side of Quality Avenue, we have a terrific novella from Robert "I can't seem to write a bad story" Silverberg that takes a very unique and thoughtful approach to the issue of the “living dead” (I hesitate to call them zombies because it gives the wrong impression). In the future, science has come up with a technique that allows the newly dead to be “rekindled.” These rekindled people, known as deads, live separately in “cold towns” away from the living. While the deads retain all of their memories from their past life, they are emotionally detached from it and have an entirely new and alien outlook. The plot concerns a man whose wife has been rekindled and he doesn’t know how to let her go. Societal taboos make contact with her unacceptable but he is obsessed with finding her and speaking to her because he can’t find closure.a SALIVA DA CARRAÇA É ANTI-COAGULANTE HEMOLISANTE E AGLUTINANTE ALÉM DE TÓXICA E PARALISANTE NALGUMAS ESPÉCIES FÊMEAS MORDEM MACHOS E .....

Solenni eruditorum examini

 subjicit Ludovicus Lucas Baur,


 Molshemensis. 


A. d. 18. Martii, 1706. Horis locoque solitis


Alucina-me a cor! 


– A rosa é como a Lira,


a Lira pelo tempo há muito



 engrinaldada,



e é já velha a união, a núpcia sagrada,



entre a cor que nos prende e a nota 


que 

suspira.

Se a terra, às vezes, brota a flor, que não inspira,


a teatral camélia, a branca enfastiada,



muitas vezes, no ar, perpassa a nota alada



como a perdida cor dalguma flor que expira...

Há plantas ideais de um cântico divino,


irmãs do oboé, gémeas do violino,


há gemidos no azul, gritos no carmesim...




A magnólia é uma harpa etérea e perfumada,



e o cacto, a larga flor, vermelha, ensanguentada,



– tem notas marciais, soa como um clarim.

in: Claridades do Sul gomes leal...



Eu passava na vida errante e vago


Como o nauta perdido em noite escura,



Mas tu te ergueste peregrina e pura



Como o cisne inspirado em manso lago,

Beijava a onda n’um soluço mago



Das moles plumas a brilhante alvura,



E a voz ungida de eternal doçura



Roçava as nuvens em divino afago.

Vi-te; e nas chamas de fervor profundo


A teus pés afoguei a mocidade


Esquecido de mim, de Deus, do mundo!

Mas ai! cedo fugiste!... da soidade,


Hoje te imploro desse amor tão fundo


Uma idéia, uma queixa, uma saudade!

in: Vozes da América 1864 fagundes 


varela 



1 comentari:

  1. 2020? Nã o apocalipse de 2012 vem atrasado mas pró ano chega ...esta merda nã pode durare inté 2020 o meu livrinho de datas tem 201_ se houvesse 2020 punham 20_ _---de resto 100 mil morrem todos os anos meio-milhão ou seja 1 em cada 20 nem a 2019 chegam
    Just now · Like

    Mario Braga Morte villana, di pietà nemica,
    di dolor madre antica,
    giudicio incontastabile gravoso,
    poi che hai data matera al cor doglioso
    ond'io vado pensoso,
    di te blasmar la lingua s'affatica.
    E s'io di grazia ti voi far mendica,
    convenesi ch'eo dica
    lo tuo fallar d'onni torto tortoso,
    non però ch'a la gente sia nascoso,
    ma per farne cruccioso
    chi d'amor per innanzi si notrica.
    Dal secolo hai partita cortesia
    e ciò ch'è in donna da pregiar vertute:
    in gaia gioventute
    distrutta hai l'amorosa leggiadria.
    Più non voi discovrir qual donna sia
    che per le propietà sue canosciute.
    Chi non merta salute
    non speri mai d'aver sua compagnia

    ResponElimina