The Dark Knight

The Dark Knight é provavelmente é melhor filme de super-heróis já feito. O motivo é pela fórmula usada no filme. Esqueça a mesma história de sempre em que o herói apanha, mas vence no final. Em The Dark Knight não há vencedores. O Joker jogou as cartas corretamente, cada parte de seu plano foi friamente calculada, o que é irônico, pois ele “não é alguém que planeja coisas com antecedência”. Heath Ledger fará falta. Muita falta. O ator não só entendeu o Joker… ele morreu por causa dele. O papel de sua vida, o melhor de sua carreira e infelizmente ele não está aqui para ver. Não em vão. Ele merece muito mais que Oscars, ele merece mais que uma homenagem. Ele merece ser eternizado. O melhor JOKER que o mundo já viu. To the world I am just like him… a freak.

Why So Serious Son? Why so Serious Son? Let’s put a smile on that face.

Enemy

Tick tock. The clock stopped at 12. The night in its most frightening hour devoured the sky outside. Time seemed to slow itself. He couldn’t sleep. The pale face of the man hid beneath the darkness. Darkness meant he would be safe, but only for a couple of hours. It would be back. It always came back, and, as long as it wasn’t dark, it would stay. There were no lights around. He was safe. The man kept looking outside, wishing that 6AM never came. Morning would bring It to life, and It would follow the man, It would try to take his life. It had tried before, and It would try again.

It could not bear being only the shadow. It wanted a life of its own, but as long as the man was alive, It – the shadow – would have to follow. It was the order of things. Humans live, shadows follow.

The man knew all about shadows. He had seen his shadow moving once, heard its whisper, and seen its empty grey eyes. It was conscious, and it was vicious. Shadows are the opposite of its humans. His shadow was devious. It could kill, it would kill.

Something happened outside. A strange light lit the street as people gathered around a fatal accident. An explosion. At first the man was blinded, and then he was afraid. Light! There could be no light. He stood up. Noise.

“Who’s there?” asked the man but no answer came. He looked at the floor now reflecting the light outside. It wasn’t there, his shadow was missing. The man was not crazy. For years had he been fancied mad, but there rested no madness. It was fear. His enemy was too close. His enemy was part of him. Noise.

The curtain behind him had been ripped apart. The light now was greater than ever. It shone throughout all the room that was now as clear as day. “Where are you?” screamed the man.

It just waited for a perfect moment and It was not alone. More shadows had come, all from the dead bodies that now lay in the street. It was their master. The shadows had planned their emancipation. Freedom was minutes away. The man walked to a dark room, but the shadows had locked all. He started to cry in despair. “Show yourself,” he screamed, and screamed, but no one seemed to listen.

It was happening, he thought. Soon he would be dead, the It would take over. Noise. Noise. Noise. The noise became clearer and clearer every time. It was a whisper. It was closer, and closer. “Why?” asked the man. It showed itself in the wall. His feet connected to It. “Because I deserve freedom from your mind,” It whispered back as It lunched forward. The other shadows crept from behind and held the man’s hands. They brought a knife and its blade went through the man’s chest. The color of his eyes was gone.

The man breathed again and opened his eyes. He looked out in the window… two cars were about the crash. He ran and tried to get in other room, but it was locked. An explosion succeeded an great deal of light. He looked at the curtain, it was ripped. He looked at floor, It wasn’t there. The man ran out of the door filled with madness. An impulse came to his mind and he obeyed. Slowly he walked towards the fire, throwing himself at the flames. They soon consumed his flesh, leaving only a shadow. It smiled and the other shadows gathered. Time seemed to slow itself. Tick tock. The clock in the house stopped at 12.

Radiohead – Creep Acoustic

Toda vez que eu vou jogar RockBand com meu primo ele coloca essa música. É a mais fácil de cantar E tocar. Vale a pena assistir a animação

Caminhão de Bens

Quando Deus criou Adão e Eva, disse aos dois:

- Tenho dois presentes para distribuir entre vocês: um é para fazer xixi em pé e…

Adão, ansiosíssimo, interrompeu, gritando:

- Eu! Eu! Eu! Eu! Eu quero, por favor… Senhor, por favor, por favor, Sim?

Facilitaria-me a vida substancialmente! Por favor! Por favor! Por favor!

Eva concordou e disse que essas coisas não tinham importância para ela.

Então, Deus presenteou Adão.

Adão ficou maravilhado. Gritava de alegria, corria pelo jardim do Éden fazendo xixi em todas as árvores. Correu pela praia fazendo desenhos com seu xixi na areia. Brincava de chafariz. Acendia uma fogueirinha e brincava de bombeiro….

Deus e Eva contemplavam o homem louco de felicidade, até que Eva perguntou a Deus:

- E… qual é o outro presente?

Deus respondeu:

- Cérebro, Eva, cérebro.

Já visitou o Triplo Sentido hoje?.

The Reason to Bigotry

Ever felt like you lived two different lives? It feels as though you are cheating on one life with the other. Not that really have two different lives, or girlfriends for that matter (lucky me if I had one). It’s really about which life contains the most lies you tell, and which one contains the most truthful part of you. Enough of that open heart story. Try to be honest. What is the biggest lie you have ever told? If biggest lie it too complex for you – or maybe too strong – try what was the nicest thing I have ever done for someone? You see it too right? Maybe I lied in both occasions, but one looks a lot worse than the other.

Now truth is really overrated. It hurts; it leaves scars, but is still the simplest answer to all questions. Not that I prefer lies, but lies are inevitable. Can you live without breathing? Didn’t think so. Well, you can’t live without lying either. I know… sad but true. Some people live of lying, and those cannot discern between a cheap lie, and well arranged truth. What makes me go back to my double life. There’s the one in which I feel free to be whatever I want to be, and there’s the one I feel free to lie more – I mean – I feel free to be nicer to people. One life doesn’t know about the other. They shouldn’t… it would disrupt the balance.

I feel like a bigamist that has to make a choice. While I can’t decide which life I like better you can tell me about your life. So what will it be? Do you want me to lie and say that I care, or be nice and say that I don’t?

The Pedestrian

THE PEDESTRIAN

by Ray Bradbury

To enter out into that silence that was the city at eight o’clock of a misty evening in November, to put your feet upon that buckling concrete walk, to step over grassy seams and make your way, hands in pockets, through the silences, that was what Mr Leonard Mead most dearly loved to do. He would stand upon the corner of an intersection and peer down long moonlit avenues of sidewalk in four directions, deciding which way to go, but it really made no difference; he was alone in this world of 2053 A.D., or as good as alone, and with a final decision made, a path selected, he would stride off, sending patterns of frosty air before him like the smoke of a cigar.

Sometimes he would walk for hours and miles and return only at midnight to his house. And on his way he would see the cottages and homes with their dark windows, and it was not unequal to walking through a graveyard where only the faintest glimmers of firefly light appeared in flickers behind the windows. Sudden gray phantoms seemed to manifest upon inner room walls where a curtain was still undrawn against the night, or there were whisperings and murmurs where a window in a tomb-like building was still open.

Mr Leonard Mead would pause, cock his head, listen, look, and march on, his feet making no noise on the lumpy walk. For long ago he had wisely changed to sneakers when strolling at night, because the dogs in intermittent squads would parallel his journey with barkings if he wore hard heels, and lights might click on and faces appear and an entire street be startled by the passing of a lone figure, himself, in the early November evening.

On this particular evening he began his journey in a westerly direction, toward the hidden sea. There was a good crystal frost in the air; it cut the nose and made the lungs blaze like a Christmas tree inside; you could feel the cold light going on and off, all the branches filled with invisible snow. He listened to the faint push of his soft shoes through autumn leaves with satisfaction, and whistled a cold quiet whistle between his teeth, occasionally picking up a leaf as he passed, examining its skeletal pattern in the infrequent lamplights as he went on, smelling its rusty smell.

‘Hello, in there,’ he whispered to every house on every side as he moved. ‘What’s up tonight on Channel 4, Channel 7, Channel 9? Where are the cowboys rushing, and do I see the United States Cavalry over the next hill to the rescue?’

The street was silent and long and empty, with only his shadow moving like the shadow of a hawk in mid-country. If he closed his eyes and stood very still, frozen, he could imagine himself upon the center of a plain, a wintry, windless Arizona desert with no house in a thousand miles, and only dry river beds, the street, for company.

‘What is it now?’ he asked the houses, noticing his wrist watch. Eight-thirty P.M.? Time for a dozen assorted murders? A quiz? A revue? A comedian falling off the stage?’

Was that a murmur of laughter from within a moon-white house? He hesitated, but went on when nothing more happened. He stumbled over a particularly uneven section of sidewalk. The cement was vanishing under flowers and grass. In ten years of walking by night or day, for thousands of miles, he had never met another person walking, not one in all that time.

He came to a cloverleaf intersection which stood silent where two main highways crossed the town. During the day it was a thunderous surge of cars, the gas stations open, a great insect rustling and a ceaseless jockeying for position as the scarab-beetles, a faint incense puttering from their exhausts, skimmed homeward to the far directions. But now these highways, too, were like streams in a dry season, all stone and bed and moon radiance.

He turned back on a side street, circling around toward his home. He was within a block of his destination when the lone car turned a corner quite suddenly and flashed a fierce white cone of light upon him. He stood entranced, not unlike a night moth, stunned by the illumination, and then drawn toward it.

A metallic voice called to him:
‘Stand still. Stay where you are! Don’t move!’
He halted.
‘Put up your hands!’
‘But-’ he said.
‘Your hands up! Or we’ll shoot!’
The police, of course, but what a rare, incredible thing; in a city of three million, there was only one police car left, wasn’t that correct? Ever since a year ago, 2052, the election year, the force had been cut down from three cars to one. Crime was ebbing; there was no need now for the police, save for this one lone car wandering and wandering the empty streets.
‘Your name?’ said the police car in a metallic whisper. He couldn’t see the men in it for the bright light in his eyes.
‘Leonard Mead,’ he said.
‘Speak up!’
‘Leonard Mead!’
Business or profession?’
‘I guess you’d call me a writer.’
No profession,’ said the police car, as if talking to itself. The light held him fixed, like a museum specimen, needle thrust through chest.
‘You might say that,’ said Mr Mead.
He hadn’t written in years. Magazines and books didn’t sell anymore. Everything went on in the tomb-like houses at night now, he thought, continuing his fancy. The tombs, ill-lit by television light, where the people sat like the dead, the gray or multi-colored lights touching their faces, but never really touching them.
‘No profession,’ said the phonograph voice, hissing. ‘What are you doing out?’
‘Walking,’ said Leonard Mead.
‘Walking!’
‘Just walking,’ he said simply, but his face felt cold.
‘Walking, just walking, walking?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Walking where? For what?’
‘Walking for air. Walking to see.’
‘Your address!’
‘Eleven South Saint James Street.’
‘And there is air in your house, you have an air conditioner, Mr Mead?’
Yes.’
‘And you have a viewing screen in your house to see with?’
‘No.
‘No?’ There was a crackling quiet that in itself was an accusation.
‘Are you married, Mr Mead?’
‘No.’
‘Not married,’ said the police voice behind the fiery beam. The moon was high and dear among the stars and the houses were gray and silent.
‘Nobody wanted me,’ said Leonard Mead with a smile.
‘Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to!’
Leonard Mead waited in the cold night.
‘Just walking; Mr Mead?’
‘Yes.’
But you haven’t explained for what purpose.’
‘I explained; for air, and to see, and just to walk.’
‘Have you done this often?’
Every night for years.’
The police car sat in the center of the street with its radio throat faintly humming.
‘Well, Mr Mead’, it said.
‘’s that all?’ he asked politely.
‘Yes,’ said the voice. ‘Here.’ There was a sigh, a pop. The back doot of the police car sprang wide. ‘Get in.’
‘Wait a minute, 1 haven’t done anything!’
‘Get in.’
‘I protest!’
‘Mr Mead.’
He walked like a man suddenly drunk. As he passed the front window of the car he looked in. As he had expected, there was no one in the front seat, no one in the car at all.
‘Get in.’
He put his hand to the door and peered into the back seat, which was a little cell, a little black jail with bars. It smelled of riveted steel. It smelled of harsh antiseptic; it smelled too clean and hard and metallic. There was nothing soft there.
‘Now if you had a wife to give you an alibi,’ said the iron voice. ‘But-’
Where are you taking me?’

The car hesitated, or rather gave a faint whirring click, as if information, somewhere, was dropping card by punch- slotted card under electric eyes. ‘To the Psychiatric Center for Research on Regressive Tendencies.’

He got in. The door shut with a soft thud. The police car rolled through the night avenues, flashing its dim lights ahead.

They passed one house on one street a moment later, one house in an entire city of houses that were dark, but this one particular house had all of its electric lights brightly lit, every window a loud yellow illumination, square and warm in the cool darkness.

‘That’s my house,’ said Leonard Mead.

No one answered him.

The car moved down the empty riverbed streets and off away, leaving the empty streets with the empty sidewalks, and no sound and no motion all the rest of the chill November night.

The Reason of Beauty – Wordle version

Chris Brown – Take You Down

Chris Brown pode não cantar bem ao vivo – ou no estúdio – porém as músicas dele são, somehow, originais. Take You Down é a música mais difícil que ele já gravou, pois contém um nível sexual ALTO.

Essa aí é boa pra cantar pra namorada em uma hora mais intíma. Nevertheless there it is.

(Doo Doo Doo)
Damn
(Doo Doo Doo)
Baby, I Want You

Woah…

Here We Are,
All alone in this room (Ooh)
And Girl I Know,
Where to start & what wr’re Gonna dooo
I’ll take my time
We’ll be all night girl
So get ready babe,
I got plans for me and you (Wooah)

(Hook)
It Aint my first time but babygurl we can pretend (HEY!)
Lets bump & grind
Gurl, tonight will never end

(Chorus)
Let Me Take You Down
I Really Wanna Take You Down
And Show You What I’m About
Can I take you now,
Ya Body body Ooh
Your body body up and dooown
So don’t Stop
Girl get it
Quit playin Wit It
Can’t Waaait Nooo mooore
I Wanna Take you down
I really wanna take you down,
Take you down (YEAH, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah)

Pretty Girl let’s take it off,
In this roooom
No time to waist
Girl you know what we came to dooooo (WoahaWoahaWoah)
We Got All Night To Try To Get It Right Girl
(Hope ya ready, hope ya ready, hope ya ready)
I Hope Ya Ready Babe,
Cuz Here We Go,
We Know How We Do (Hoooo)

(Hook)
It Aint my first time but babygurl we can pretend (HEY!)
Lets bump & grind
Gurl, tonight will never end

(Chorus)
Let Me Take You Down
I Really Wanna Take You Down
And Show You What I’m About
Can I take you now,
Ya Body body Ooh
Body body up and dooown
So don’t Stop
Girl get it
Quit playin Wit It
Can’t Waaait Noo mooore(I can’t Wait No More)
I Wanna Take you down
I really wanna take you down,
(I Really Wanna)take you down (YEAH)

Your
Freakin’ now Baby
Like a Pro Baby
And I Bet That You…
(I Bet You WOAHAWOAHA)
Think you know baby
Like a Pro Baby
So What Ya Wanna Do?
I’m Gonna Take It Down Baby Nice & Slow…
So Bring It Let’s Go
BABY!! (Baby, Baby)(Yeah, Yeah)
(Baby, Baby, Baby)
Come On Baby, Come On Baby
Let Me Taaaaake…
Let Me Take You Down (YOU DOWN!)
I Really Wanna take you down
(Let Me Show You)
(Let Me Do It To You Like I Wanna Do)
Woahhh…
Can I take you now,
Ya Body body(Woah)ya body body body Up And Down
(Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah)
So don’t Stop Girl get it,
Quit Playin wit it
Can’t wait no More(I can’t Wait No Moore)
I Wanna take you down,
I really wanna take you down
Take You Down (Yeah)
Take You Down
(Woah, Woah)I Said I wanna take you down (Babe, Yeah)
Let Me Take you down
(Take You)
Take You (All The Way) Down
All The Way Down
We Can Do Some Things (On The Way Down)
Take You Down (Woah, Woah)

Ciara – My Love

É mais pelo som e a batida da música. A letra porém é interessante… diz a lenda que Ciara escreveu essa música depois que terminou com Bow Wow.

[adlibs]
Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
Oh ooh oh oh huh huh
Oh ooh oh oh huh huh
Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
Oh ooh oh oh huh huh
Oh ooh oh oh huh huh

[verse I]
I ride like a soldier
Put nothing before ya
Anything you ask
I’ll be right there to do it
But if I react you tell me to relax
Too late to take it back
Cause boy you put me through it

[pre hook]
This circular motion is all we do
I’m so sick of going back and forth with you
You should have been happy to have me
You said you wanted to have some kids build a family
(Now I)
Wish it wasn’t true
It’s killing me to do
What I gotta do
The problem here is you
Ain’t nobody new not even my crew
Could take the place of you
The problem here is you

[hook]
Cause if you only knew what I felt for you
You would have held on tighter
Fought a little harder
Been a little smarter and now you’re gonna miss my love
And one day soon you’ll see
You’ll reach out for me
Boy you had a keeper
Didn’t know how to treat her
Should have felt a little deeper and now you’re gonna miss my love

[verse II]
Kick it with ya friends (go)
Go out with other chicks (go)
Be all up in the mix (go)
You got the right to do it
You wanna be a pimp
Be treated like a prince
Go ‘head and click the switch
Cause now you got ya crown back

[pre hook]
This circular motion is all we do
I’m so sick of going back and forth with you
You should have been happy to have me
You said you wanted to have some kids build a family
(now I)
Wish it wasn’t true
It’s killing me to do
What I gotta do
The problem here is you
Ain’t nobody new not even my crew
Could take the place of you
The problem here is you

[hook]
Cause if you only knew what I felt for you
You would have held on tighter
Fought a little harder
Been a little smarter and now you’re gonna miss my love
And one day soon you’ll see
You’ll reach out for me
Boy you had a keeper
Didn’t know how to treat her
Should have felt a little deeper and now you’re gonna miss my love

[breakdown]
My hugs (and)
My kisses
You know you’re gonna miss it
And while you’re tripping on the love we could have had
I’m moving on
I got to (and)
Ain’t no looking back

[hook]
Cause if you only knew what I felt for you
You would have held on tighter
Fought a little harder
Been a little smarter and now you’re gonna miss my love
And one day soon you’ll see
You’ll reach out for me
Boy you had a keeper
Didn’t know how to treat her
Should have felt a little deeper and now you’re gonna miss my love
Boy you had a keeper, didn’t know how to treat her
Should have felt a little deeper and now you’re gonna miss my love

[adlibs]
Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
Oh ooh oh oh huh huh
Oh ooh oh oh huh huh
Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
Oh ooh oh oh huh huh
Oh ooh oh oh huh huh

See boy
You had a keeper
But you didn’t know
How to treat her

The Most Dangerous Game

Essa short story é uma das melhores que eu já li. Um detalhe interessante é que o famoso serial killer dos anos 60 Zodiac era fã desta estória

–

THE MOST DANGEROUS GAME

by Richard Connell

“OFF THERE to the right–somewhere–is a large island,” said Whitney.” It’s rather a mystery–”

“What island is it?” Rainsford asked.

“The old charts call it `Ship-Trap Island,”‘ Whitney replied.” A suggestive name, isn’t it? Sailors have a curious dread of the place. I don’t know why. Some superstition–”

“Can’t see it,” remarked Rainsford, trying to peer through the dank tropical night that was palpable as it pressed its thick warm blackness in upon the yacht.

“You’ve good eyes,” said Whitney, with a laugh,” and I’ve seen you pick off a moose moving in the brown fall bush at four hundred yards, but even you can’t see four miles or so through a moonless Caribbean night.”

“Nor four yards,” admitted Rainsford. “Ugh! It’s like moist black velvet.”

“It will be light enough in Rio,” promised Whitney. “We should make it in a few days. I hope the jaguar guns have come from Purdey’s. We should have some good hunting up the Amazon. Great sport, hunting.”