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luís soares

Blog do escritor Luís Soares

I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor

Stop making the eyes at me
I'll stop making the eyes at you
And what it is that surprises me
Is that I don't really want you to
And your shoulders are frozen (cold as the night)
Oh but you're an explosion (you're dynamite)
Your name isn't Rio, but I don't care for sand
Lighting the fuse might result in a bang, with a bang-go!

 

I bet that you look good on the dance floor
I don't know if you're looking for romance or
I don't know what you're looking for
I said I bet that you look good on the dance floor
Dancing to electro-pop like a robot from 1984
From 1984!

 

I wish you'd stop ignoring me
Because you're sending me to despair
Without a sound yeah you're calling me
And I don't think it's very fair
That your shoulders are frozen (cold as the night)
Oh but you're an explosion (you're dynamite)
Your name isn't Rio, but I don't care for sand
Lighting the fuse might result in a bang, with a bang-go!

 

I bet that you look good on the dance floor
I don't know if you're looking for romance or
I don't know what you're looking for
I said I bet that you look good on the dance floor
Dancing to electro-pop like a robot from 1984
From 1984!

 

Oh there ain't no love no, Montagues or Capulets
Just banging tunes 'n' DJ sets 'n'
Dirty dance floors and dreams of naughtiness!

 

Well I bet that you look good on the dance floor
I don't know if you're looking for romance or
I don't know what you're looking for
I said I bet that you look good on the dance floor
Dancing to electro-pop like a robot from 1984
From 1984!

Henry Marvell Carr - The Sailor (Maurice Alan Easton)

sailor.jpg

A head-and-shoulders portrait of a sailor with his arms folded facing right. He wears a seaman's uniform and a naval cap with the anonymous 'HMS' tally band, a wartime precaution to prevent the enemy knowing precise ship movements. On his right arm he wears the radio communicator's badge, since he was a telegraphist. The painting is signed and dated: 'H. Carr 44'. The sitter, Maurice Alan Easton, a 'hostilities-only' rating who in civilian life was a railway booking clerk from Oxfordshire, was painted in 1944 in the naval barracks at Naples. Easton was selected by Carr when he was working there as an official war artist. An undated (early 1946) clipping from the 'Sunday Dispatch' gives Easton's account of their encounter: 'I was staying at an hotel in Naples, waiting for a draft to Corsica, and one day when I walked into the place I saw a line of matelots being inspected by Captain Carr. It looked to me like an identification parade, so I beat a hasty retreat upstairs. I hadn't got very far, when a voice called out "That's the man I want".' Carr attempted to impart a symbolic significance to the young man, using fluid paint and a heroic stance. He exhibited the work simply as 'The Sailor' in the Navy League's post-war 'Naval Art Exhibition', held at the Suffolk Street Galleries and opened by the First Lord of the Admiralty on 29 January 1946. The image was also used as a poster for the show, which greatly astonished Easton when he was sent back to London at that time and saw his face on the advertising billboards. The Museum only learnt the identity of the sitter, and the related circumstances, from the above-mentioned press cutting: this was sent to it in 1975 by a correspondent who was an acquaintance of Easton's.

Rebecca Lindenberg - Catalogue of Ephemera

You give me flowers resembling Chinese lanterns.

 

You give me hale, for yellow. You give me vex.

 

You give me lemons softened in brine and you give me cuttlefish ink.

You give me all 463 stairs of Brunelleschi’s dome.

 

You give me seduction and you let me give it back to you.

You give me you.

 

You give me an apartment full of morning smells—toasted bagel and black

coffee and the freckled lilies in the vase on the windowsill.

You give me 24-across.

 

You give me flowers resembling moths’ wings.

 

You give me the first bird of morning alighting on a wire.

You give me the sidewalk café with plastic furniture and the boys

with their feet on the chairs.

You give me the swoop of homemade kites in the park on Sunday.

You give me afternoon-colored beer with lemons in it.

 

You give me D.H. Lawrence,

and he gives me pomegranates and sorb-apples.

 

You give me the loose tooth of California, the broken jaw of New York City.

You give me the blue sky of Wyoming, and the blue wind through it.

 

You give me an ancient city where the language is a secret

everyone is keeping.

 

You give me a t-shirt that says all you gave me was this t-shirt.

You give me pictures with yourself cut out.

 

You give me lime blossoms, but not for what they symbolize.

 

You give me yes. You give me no.

 

You give me midnight apples in a car with the windows down.

You give me the flashbulbs of an electrical storm.

You give me thunder and the suddenly green underbellies of clouds.

 

You give me the careening of trains.

You give me the scent of bruised mint.

 

You give me the smell of black hair, of blond hair.

 

You give me Apollo and Daphne, Pan and Syrinx.

You give me Echo.

 

You give me hyacinths and narcissus. You give me foxgloves

and soft fists of peony.

 

You give me the filthy carpet of an East Village apartment.

You give me seeming not to notice.

 

You give me an unfinished argument, begun on the Manhattan-bound F train.

 

You give me paintings of women with their eyes closed.

You give me grief, and how to grieve.

Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta

Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta, Sz. 106, BB 114 is one of the best-known compositions by theHungarian composer Béla Bartók. Commissioned by Paul Sacher to celebrate the tenth anniversary of the chamber orchestra Basler Kammerorchester, the score is dated September 7, 1936. The work was premiered in Basel, Switzerland on January 21, 1937 by the chamber orchestra conducted by Sacher, and it was published the same year by Universal Edition.