This is another example of what a camera without a lens can do... The latitude of this shot was stretched a bit in CS3 because the pinhole has very little contrast.
The pinhole has a focal distance of 14cm and a 0.6mm diameter... making this a 233 f/stop.. amazing... Next, I'll try to do make a shorter focal distance (arround 50mm)
This is my pinhole day shot! It was made from a D80 as a back and a oatmeal "lens". The focal distance is arround 140mm. The isn't sharp at all. Exposure time was 1.6sec.
Hooray Say The Roses
hooray say the roses, today is blamesday
and we are red as blood.
hooray say the roses, today is Wednesday
and we bloom wher soldiers fell
and lovers too,
and the snake at the word.
hooray say the roses, darkness comes
all at once, like lights gone out,
the sun leaves dark continents
and rows of stone.
hooray say the roses, cannons and spires,
birds, bees, bombers, today is Friday
the hand holding a medal out the window,
a moth going by, half a mile an hour,
hooray say the roses
we have empires on our stems,
the sun moves the mouth:
hooray hooray hooray
and that is why you like us.
Today is the 34th anniversary of the Portuguese revolution that ended the dictatorship so it's a holiday in Portugal. It is called the "Dia da Liberdade" (Freedom Day).
The History Of One Tough Motherfucker
he came to the door one night wet thin beaten and
a white cross-eyed tailless cat
I took him in and fed him and he stayed
grew to trust me until a friend drove up the driveway
and ran him over
I took what was left to a vet who said,"not much
chance...give him these pills...his backbone
is crushed, but is was crushed before and somehow
mended, if he lives he'll never walk, look at
these x-rays, he's been shot, look here, the pellets
are still there...also, he once had a tail, somebody
cut it off..."
And The Moon And The Stars And The World
Long walks at night--
that's what good for the soul:
peeking into windows
watching tired housewives
trying to fight off
their beer-maddened husbands.
Alone With Everybody
the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
and nobody finds the
crawling in and out
the bone and the
for more than
there's no chance
we are all trapped
by a singular
nobody ever finds
the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill
I like your books
In the betting line the other
man behind me asked,
"are you Henry
"uh huh," I answered.
"I like your books," he went
"thanks," I answered.
"who do you like in this
race?" he asked.
"uh uh," I answered.
"I like the 4 horse," he
I made my bet and went back
to my seat....
the next race I am standing in
line and here is this same man
standing behind me
there are at least 50 lines at
the windows but
he has to find mine
"I think this race favors the
closers," he said to the back of
my neck. "the track looks
"listen," I said, not looking
around, "it's the kiss of death to
talk about horses at the
"what kind of rule is that?"
he asked. "God doesn't make
I turned around and looked at him:
"maybe not, but I
after the next race
I got in line, glanced behind
he was not there:
lost another reader.
I lose 2 or 3 each
let 'em go back to
eu não vou sair do sereno.
eu preciso do sereno, sabe?
eu preciso da rua, eu preciso da noite, eu preciso da lua lá em cima da minha cabeça,
eu preciso do conhaque esquentando as minhas veias,
eu preciso, eu preciso de tudo isso.
a nina simone também precisava.
a amy winehouse também precisa.
o bukowski também precisava.
o leminskão, nem se fala.
todo o meu universo fica debaixo do sereno.
eu não vou sair do sereno.
eu não vou ser serena.
eu não sou serena, eu nunca fui serena e eu não vou sair do sereno.
eu tenho vinte e oito anos e vivi todos eles assim.
eu vou ficar aqui no sereno
e é assim que as coisas saem do jeito que saem.
debaixo do sereno.
senão não faz nenhum sentido.
pra que ter voz se eu não tiver o que cantar?
"Vem por aqui" - dizem-me alguns com os olhos doces
Estendendo-me os braços, e seguros
De que seria bom que eu os ouvisse
Quando me dizem: "vem por aqui!"
Eu olho-os com olhos lassos,
(Há, nos olhos meus, ironias e cansaços)
E cruzo os braços,
E nunca vou por ali...
A minha glória é esta:
Não acompanhar ninguém.
- Que eu vivo com o mesmo sem-vontade
Com que rasguei o ventre à minha mãe
Não, não vou por aí! Só vou por onde
Me levam meus próprios passos...
Se ao que busco saber nenhum de vós responde
Por que me repetis: "vem por aqui!"?
Prefiro escorregar nos becos lamacentos,
Redemoinhar aos ventos,
Como farrapos, arrastar os pés sangrentos,
A ir por aí...
Se vim ao mundo, foi
Só para desflorar florestas virgens,
E desenhar meus próprios pés na areia inexplorada!
O mais que faço não vale nada.
Como, pois sereis vós
Que me dareis impulsos, ferramentas e coragem
Para eu derrubar os meus obstáculos?...
Corre, nas vossas veias, sangue velho dos avós,
E vós amais o que é fácil!
Eu amo o Longe e a Miragem,
Amo os abismos, as torrentes, os desertos...
Ide! Tendes estradas,
Tendes jardins, tendes canteiros,
Tendes pátria, tendes tectos,
E tendes regras, e tratados, e filósofos, e sábios...
Eu tenho a minha Loucura !
Levanto-a, como um facho, a arder na noite escura,
E sinto espuma, e sangue, e cânticos nos lábios...
Deus e o Diabo é que guiam, mais ninguém.
Todos tiveram pai, todos tiveram mãe;
Mas eu, que nunca principio nem acabo,
Nasci do amor que há entre Deus e o Diabo.
Ah, que ninguém me dê piedosas intenções!
Ninguém me peça definições!
Ninguém me diga: "vem por aqui"!
A minha vida é um vendaval que se soltou.
É uma onda que se alevantou.
É um átomo a mais que se animou...
Não sei por onde vou,
Não sei para onde vou
- Sei que não vou por aí!
When We Two Parted
WHEN we two parted
In silence and tears,
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.
The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow--
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame:
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.
They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me--
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:
Lond, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.
I secret we met--
I silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.
George Gordon (Lord) Byron
To The Whore Who Took My Poems
some say we should keep personal remorse from the
stay abstract, and there is some reason in this,
twelve poems gone and I don't keep carbons and you have
paintings too, my best ones; its stifling:
are you trying to crush me out like the rest of them?
why didn't you take my money? they usually do
from the sleeping drunken pants sick in the corner.
next time take my left arm or a fifty
but not my poems:
I'm not Shakespeare
but sometime simply
there won't be any more, abstract or otherwise;
there'll always be mony and whores and drunkards
down to the last bomb,
but as God said,
crossing his legs,
I see where I have made plenty of poets
but not so very much
here I am
in the ground
I can't even say
the dogs run by and stop and piss
on my stone; I get it all
except the sun
and my suit is looking
the last of my left
very little left, all harp-like
at least a drunk
in bed with a cigarette
might cause 5 fire
but p.s. -- Hector Richmond in the next
tomb thinks only of Mozart and candy
my little girl is
on the carpet-
out the door
picking a flower, ha!
an old man,
emerges from his
and she looks at me
but only sees
ha!, and I become
quick with the world
and love right back
just like I was meant
Uma das minhas recentes aquisições para o a minha colecção. A Canon A35F é simplesmente fabulosa. O toque metálico deste modelo de focagem manual é muito agradável e apenas tem como defeito a falta de modo manual. (GIII QL17 aqui vou eu...).
The Icecream People
the lady has me temporarily off the bottle
and now the pecker stands up
however, things change overnight--
instead of listening to Shostakovich and
Mozart through a smeared haze of smoke
the nights change, new
we drive to Baskin-Robbins,
Rocky Road, Bubble Gum, Apricot Ice, Strawberry
Cheesecake, Chocolate Mint...
we park outside and look at icecream
a very healthy and satisfied people,
nary a potential suicide in sight
(they probably even vote)
and I tell her
"what if the boys saw me go in there? suppose they
find out I'm going in for a walnut peach sundae?"
"come on, chicken," she laughs and we go in
and stand with the icecream people.
none of them are cursing or threatening
there seem to be no hangovers or
I am alarmed at the placid and calm wave
that flows about. I feel like a leper in a
beauty contest. we finally get our sundaes and
sit in the car and eat them.
I must admit they are quite good. a curious new
world. (all my friends tell me I am looking
better. "you're looking good, man, we thought you
were going to die there for a while...")
--those 4,500 dark nights, the jails, the
and later that night
there is use for the pecker, use for
love, and it is glorious,
long and true,
and afterwards we speak of easy things;
our heads by the open window with the moonlight
looking through, we sleep in each other's
the icecream people make me feel good,
inside and out.
Are You Drinking?
washed-up, on shore, the old yellow notebook
I write from the bed
as I did last
will see the doctor,
"yes, doctor, weak legs, vertigo, head-
aches and my back
"are you drinking?" he will ask.
"are you getting your
I think that I am just ill
with life, the same stale yet
even at the track
I watch the horses run by
and it seems
I leave early after buying tickets on the
"taking off?" asks the motel
"yes, it's boring,"
I tell him.
"If you think it's boring
out there," he tells me, "you oughta be
so here I am
propped up against my pillows
just an old guy
just an old writer
with a yellow
walking across the
oh, it's just
O jardim do palácio é por si só uma obrigação. Onde se descobrem os verdes (e são muitos) da serra de Sintra e onde de vez em quando se consegue avistar mais além, ou no caso, o Palácio da Pena, num dos seus melhores lados...
Ao longe, o palácio ergue-se indiferente, guardando para sempre os seus reais segredos, as pequenas conspirações da corte, os romances proibidos.
Sintra tem mil encantos e em todos os ângulos se sente uma incapacidade de alcançar o todo, relembrando-nos, tristes Homens, da nossa eterna imperfeição.