(hoje acordei a pensar em ti, e agora que me sento aqui na minha mesa de trabalho em Oslo e sinto esta inércia e inactividade a apoderarem-se de mim, chego à conclusão que devia ter apanhado um avião para Graz para te ir ajudar com a entrega.
Se não ajudar, pelo menos por a música da Moviflor a meio da noite, e dizer de cada vez que nos levantassemos do sofá nas pausas do café "Vá Margarida, vamos lá! Parar é morrer! Parar é morrer!", e por volta das 8 desencantar um pão de água torrado com manteiga e uma meia de leite)
Neven Fuchs-Mikac vs Aires Mateus
...ou, de volta às origens.(neste momento, as pessoas que se sentaram à minha beira na Concreta de há uns dois anitos percebem que tenho motivos extra para estar... entusiasmada)
Josh Cochran
É uma felicidade quando no Google Reader, em frente a Josh Cochran, aparece a palavra "sketchbook".
Lúcia não se considera uma pessoa supersticiosa - nem tão pouco acredita no destino, karma, intervenções divinas, ... - não, Lúcia considera-se até uma pessoa bastante racional, razoável, sem grande à-vontade para divagações exageradas.
O que Lúcia não se havia apercebido até agora fora que, naquelas tantas noites, na zona histórica da cidade, embalada por um copo de vinho tinto ou outro, enquanto se passeava pelas multidões nessa noite boémia do Porto, empurrada por uns, empurrando outros, sempre que abordada por um grupo de jovens mancebos alcoolicamente entusiasmados que, mais ou menos histericamente lhe perguntavam o nome, ela, com um sorriso rasgado na cara respondia: "Eu? Chamo-me Carla. Carla, a frígida."
O que Lúcia não sabia nessa altura era que, nesse mesmo momento, a alguns quilómetros de distância, enquanto ela se divertia na noite do Porto, ele se enrolava com uma Carla, outra Carla, mas que não é Carla a fingir para se aproveitar de indefesos jovens embriagados (nem seria senhora para essas coisas) não era - tão pouco - frígida, claramente! Até porque, como já referi: ela é como eu, mas melhor e mais fácil.
O que Lúcia não se havia apercebido até agora fora que, naquelas tantas noites, na zona histórica da cidade, embalada por um copo de vinho tinto ou outro, enquanto se passeava pelas multidões nessa noite boémia do Porto, empurrada por uns, empurrando outros, sempre que abordada por um grupo de jovens mancebos alcoolicamente entusiasmados que, mais ou menos histericamente lhe perguntavam o nome, ela, com um sorriso rasgado na cara respondia: "Eu? Chamo-me Carla. Carla, a frígida."
O que Lúcia não sabia nessa altura era que, nesse mesmo momento, a alguns quilómetros de distância, enquanto ela se divertia na noite do Porto, ele se enrolava com uma Carla, outra Carla, mas que não é Carla a fingir para se aproveitar de indefesos jovens embriagados (nem seria senhora para essas coisas) não era - tão pouco - frígida, claramente! Até porque, como já referi: ela é como eu, mas melhor e mais fácil.
- This evening... I was saying... I was saying...
- I'm not a historian.
- Wait... we embraced... we were happy... happy... what do we do now that we're happy... go on waiting... waiting... let me think... it's coming... go on waiting... now that we're happy... let me see... Ah! The tree!
(Enter the ramp from the dike.)
- The tree?
- Do you not remember?
(It slopes down towards the park.)
-I'm tired.
(Halfway down, enter the auditorium.)
- Look at it.
(It slopes in the opposite direction.)
- I see nothing.
(A curtain is drawn, blocking out daylight.)
- But yesterday evening it was all black and bare. And now it's covered with leaves.
(At the bottom, see a projection screen.)
- Leaves?
- In a single night.
(Walk down.)
- It must be the spring.
(Turn the corner.)
- But in a single night!
(Enter the lower hall, facing the park.)
- I tell you we weren't here yesterday. Another of your nightmares.
(It is dark, with a forest of five columns.)
- And where were we yesterday evening according to you?
(To the right, a slender aperture opens for a narrow gallery.)
- How would I know? In another compartment. There's no lack of void.
(Look up.)
- Good. We weren't here yesterday evening. Now what did we do yesterday evening?
(Rediscover the ramp you used to enter. Walk up.)
- Do?
(A glass wall separates the people outside.)
- Try and remember.
(At the top.)
- Do... I suppose we blathered.
(Turn left.)
- About what?
(Enter the second hall. It is bright, with no columns.)
- Oh... this and that I suppose, nothing in particular. Yes, now I remember, yesterday evening we spent blathering about nothing in particular. That's been going on now for half a century.
(Look back.)
- You don't remember any fact, any circumstance?
- Don't torment me, Didi.
(Exit under the balcony.)
- The sun. The moon. Do you not remember?
(See the auditorium, but don't walk that far. Instead, turn and take a third ramp. halfway up, grope through a small dark room.)
- They must have been there, as usual.
(And emerge on a balcony that penetrates the second wall.)
- You didn't notice anything out of the ordinary?
(Return to the ramp, run up, and emerge on the roof. Look down.)
- Alas!
(Spiral back down to the beginning.)
- What was I saying, we could go on from there.
(Exit to the park.)
- What were you saying when?
(Pause.)
- At the very beginning.
(Turn the corner.)
- The very beginning of WHAT?
(Pass the restaurant underneath the auditorium.)
- This evening... I was saying... I was saying...
(Keep going.)
© S, M, L, XL O.M.A. Rem Koolhaas and Bruce Mau
- I'm not a historian.
- Wait... we embraced... we were happy... happy... what do we do now that we're happy... go on waiting... waiting... let me think... it's coming... go on waiting... now that we're happy... let me see... Ah! The tree!
(Enter the ramp from the dike.)
- The tree?
- Do you not remember?
(It slopes down towards the park.)
-I'm tired.
(Halfway down, enter the auditorium.)
- Look at it.
(It slopes in the opposite direction.)
- I see nothing.
(A curtain is drawn, blocking out daylight.)
- But yesterday evening it was all black and bare. And now it's covered with leaves.
(At the bottom, see a projection screen.)
- Leaves?
- In a single night.
(Walk down.)
- It must be the spring.
(Turn the corner.)
- But in a single night!
(Enter the lower hall, facing the park.)
- I tell you we weren't here yesterday. Another of your nightmares.
(It is dark, with a forest of five columns.)
- And where were we yesterday evening according to you?
(To the right, a slender aperture opens for a narrow gallery.)
- How would I know? In another compartment. There's no lack of void.
(Look up.)
- Good. We weren't here yesterday evening. Now what did we do yesterday evening?
(Rediscover the ramp you used to enter. Walk up.)
- Do?
(A glass wall separates the people outside.)
- Try and remember.
(At the top.)
- Do... I suppose we blathered.
(Turn left.)
- About what?
(Enter the second hall. It is bright, with no columns.)
- Oh... this and that I suppose, nothing in particular. Yes, now I remember, yesterday evening we spent blathering about nothing in particular. That's been going on now for half a century.
(Look back.)
- You don't remember any fact, any circumstance?
- Don't torment me, Didi.
(Exit under the balcony.)
- The sun. The moon. Do you not remember?
(See the auditorium, but don't walk that far. Instead, turn and take a third ramp. halfway up, grope through a small dark room.)
- They must have been there, as usual.
(And emerge on a balcony that penetrates the second wall.)
- You didn't notice anything out of the ordinary?
(Return to the ramp, run up, and emerge on the roof. Look down.)
- Alas!
(Spiral back down to the beginning.)
- What was I saying, we could go on from there.
(Exit to the park.)
- What were you saying when?
(Pause.)
- At the very beginning.
(Turn the corner.)
- The very beginning of WHAT?
(Pass the restaurant underneath the auditorium.)
- This evening... I was saying... I was saying...
(Keep going.)
© S, M, L, XL O.M.A. Rem Koolhaas and Bruce Mau
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