quarta-feira, novembro 14, 2007
A pergunta acima não pretende alcançar respostas socio-políticas ou de qualquer outra natureza. Ela é mais "refrão" de indignação até porque não acredito em nenhuma resposta que me convença ou minimize a dor das pessoas envolvidas.
O que eu acho triste mesmo é a empáfia com que o Homem se diz superior a toda a natureza ao seu redor, o modo como se vangloria da sua inteligência, mas foi estúpido o suficiente para acreditar no maior conto da carochinha jamais inventado: o da cor da pele.
Shooting Dogs, 2006.
Hotel Rwanda, 2004.
segunda-feira, novembro 05, 2007
quinta-feira, novembro 01, 2007
"They were both experienced in such affairs, and powerful with the spade; and they had scarce been twenty minutes at their task before they were rewarded by a dull rattle on the coffin lid. At the same moment Macfarlane, having hurt his hand upon a stone, flung it carelessly above his head. The grave, in which they now stood almost to the shoulders, was close to the edge of the plateau of the graveyard; and the gig lamp had been propped, the better to illuminate their labours, against a tree, and on the immediate verge of the steep bank descending to the stream. Chance had taken a sure aim with the stone. Then came a clang of broken glass; night fell upon them; sounds alternately dull and ringing announced the bounding of the lantern down the bank, and its occasional collision with the trees. A stone or two, which it had dislodged in its descent, rattled behind it into the profundities of the glen; and then silence, like night, resumed its sway; and they might bend their hearing to its utmost pitch, but naught was to be heard except the rain, now marching to the wind, now steadily falling over miles of open country."
The Body-Snatcher, 1884, Robert Louis Stevenson