<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741</id><updated>2011-04-21T19:10:51.938-03:00</updated><title type='text'>blogpulp</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>170</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-7497811807379377204</id><published>2008-05-28T20:10:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2008-05-28T20:11:07.396-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://polpa.wordpress.com/"&gt;polpa&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-7497811807379377204?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/7497811807379377204/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=7497811807379377204' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/7497811807379377204'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/7497811807379377204'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2008/05/polpa.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113795449196344633</id><published>2006-01-22T15:25:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2006-01-22T15:28:11.973-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>acabou. hora de ir embora. desaparecer. mudar de nome. casa. loção pós barba. tudo. talvez um dia volte para esta casa. talvez.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113795449196344633?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113795449196344633/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113795449196344633' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113795449196344633'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113795449196344633'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2006/01/acabou.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113778364552415541</id><published>2006-01-20T15:56:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2006-01-20T16:00:45.540-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>não consigo. damos círculos. como crianças. eternos. amantes. caminhos estranhos. estradas sem rumos. que chegam a nenhum lugar. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;e voltamos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;eu e você. sempre eu e você. juntos. contra todos. contra a chatice do mundo. apenas dois. sempre.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113778364552415541?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113778364552415541/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113778364552415541' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113778364552415541'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113778364552415541'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2006/01/no-consigo.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113759073319402921</id><published>2006-01-18T09:15:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2006-01-18T10:25:33.226-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>eu quero ver o mundo através das lentes roxas dos teus óculos escuros. sentir o gosto da coca cola no teu beijo. vestir a tua carapuça e ser outra. a tua outra. tua.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113759073319402921?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113759073319402921/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113759073319402921' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113759073319402921'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113759073319402921'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2006/01/eu-quero-ver-o-mundo-atravs-das-lentes.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113697557125326929</id><published>2006-01-11T07:17:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2006-01-11T07:32:51.263-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>e eu desapareço. entre vestígios do seu toque. e rastros do seu olhar. me segurando em fotos 3x4 de nossos beijos. e das marcas do seu dedo no meu peito.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113697557125326929?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113697557125326929/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113697557125326929' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113697557125326929'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113697557125326929'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2006/01/e-eu-desapareo.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113657027010216228</id><published>2006-01-06T14:52:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2006-01-06T14:57:50.113-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>e ele larga a capa. o peso. todas as frases de efeitos. todos os sorrisos otimistas. e parte sozinho. porque o mundo pode ficar sem ser salvo um dia.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113657027010216228?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113657027010216228/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113657027010216228' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113657027010216228'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113657027010216228'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2006/01/e-ele-larga-capa.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113628910429757160</id><published>2006-01-03T08:49:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2006-01-03T09:05:17.716-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>eu viajo pelo seu corpo. sem mapa. cega. seguindo pelo instinto. o acaso. respirando cada curva. cada marca. cicatrizes de outras. mas só eu que navega no teu corpo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113628910429757160?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113628910429757160/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113628910429757160' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113628910429757160'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113628910429757160'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2006/01/eu-viajo-pelo-seu-corpo.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113616813223932109</id><published>2006-01-01T23:12:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2006-01-01T23:15:32.250-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>no mar, ela se encontra. a água gelada abraça seu corpo. em mergulhos ínfimos, ela se perde. em devaneios deliciosos. fugas frágeis. e adiante, se encontra a outra. o seu desejo. o objeto. de sonhos tolos. de cafés da manhã noturnos. de piadas íntimas. e de beijos estalados com gosto de açúcar.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113616813223932109?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113616813223932109/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113616813223932109' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113616813223932109'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113616813223932109'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2006/01/no-mar-ela-se-encontra.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113591563738880745</id><published>2005-12-30T01:06:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-12-30T01:07:17.400-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Brilliant Disguise &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bruce Springsteen&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hold you in my arms&lt;br /&gt;as the band plays&lt;br /&gt;What are those words whispered baby&lt;br /&gt;just as you turn away&lt;br /&gt;I saw you last night&lt;br /&gt;out on the edge of town&lt;br /&gt;I wanna read your mind&lt;br /&gt;To know just what I've got in this new thing I've found&lt;br /&gt;So tell me what I see&lt;br /&gt;when I look in your eyes&lt;br /&gt;Is that you baby&lt;br /&gt;or just a brilliant disguise&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I heard somebody call your name&lt;br /&gt;from underneath our willow&lt;br /&gt;I saw something tucked in shame&lt;br /&gt;underneath your pillow&lt;br /&gt;Well I've tried so hard baby&lt;br /&gt;but I just can't see&lt;br /&gt;What a woman like you&lt;br /&gt;is doing with me&lt;br /&gt;So tell me who I see&lt;br /&gt;when I look in your eyes&lt;br /&gt;Is that you baby&lt;br /&gt;or just a brilliant disguise&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now look at me baby&lt;br /&gt;struggling to do everything right&lt;br /&gt;And then it all falls apart&lt;br /&gt;when out go the lights&lt;br /&gt;I'm just a lonely pilgrim&lt;br /&gt;I walk this world in wealth&lt;br /&gt;I want to know if it's you I don't trust&lt;br /&gt;'cause I damn sure don't trust myself&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now you play the loving woman&lt;br /&gt;I'll play the faithful man&lt;br /&gt;But just don't look too close&lt;br /&gt;into the palm of my hand&lt;br /&gt;We stood at the alter&lt;br /&gt;the gypsy swore our future was right&lt;br /&gt;But come the wee wee hours&lt;br /&gt;Well maybe baby the gypsy lied&lt;br /&gt;So when you look at me&lt;br /&gt;you better look hard and look twice&lt;br /&gt;Is that me baby&lt;br /&gt;or just a brilliant disguise&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight our bed is cold&lt;br /&gt;I'm lost in the darkness of our love&lt;br /&gt;God have mercy on the man&lt;br /&gt;Who doubts what he's sure of&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113591563738880745?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113591563738880745/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113591563738880745' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113591563738880745'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113591563738880745'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/12/brilliant-disguise-bruce-springsteen-i.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113585379619770351</id><published>2005-12-29T07:55:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-12-29T07:56:36.206-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>meu post predileto desse ano. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;23.2.05&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;estou no final do segundo ato. sou o mocinho do meu próprio filme. um longa barato e sem muitos efeitos especiais, uma mistura de vários gêneros que nem sei citar. mas é o meu filme.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;e sobre mim.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;então, estou eu, o protagonista, a espera do terceiro ato, da conclusão, do momento pipoca do filme, daquilo que vai me definir como personagem, que vai me transformar e resolver qualquer que seja o meu problema. porque filmes são simplesmente resoluções de problemas, em uma hora e meia ou mais. pode ser um problema banal ou algo do tipo "será que godzilla vai destruir tóquio?". o meu é banal. chato até. como de quase todo mundo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;enquanto o meu destino está prestes a se concretizar, eu respiro fundo e paro. se estou correndo atrás da mocinha num aeroporto lotado, eu paro. se estou lutando contra um coreano mestre em kung fu, paro depois de receber um murro na face. apenas paro.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;não quero o meu final agora. não quero chegar a nenhuma conclusão, nenhuma epifania, nenhuma resposta, nada com a música tema que pode depois ser adquirida nas melhores lojas e magazines. me manter parado é o que faço. o filme da minha vida passa perante os meus olhos. sento num canto e o assisto, pois não há mais nada importante para fazer. nada. só quero ficar parado no meu canto. e rever os últimos dois atos da minha vida.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113585379619770351?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113585379619770351/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113585379619770351' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113585379619770351'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113585379619770351'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/12/meu-post-predileto-desse-ano.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113580324846059956</id><published>2005-12-28T17:53:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-12-28T17:54:08.473-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Devils &amp; Dust &lt;br /&gt;by Bruce Springsteen &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Got my finger on the trigger &lt;br /&gt;But I don't know who to trust &lt;br /&gt;I look into your eyes &lt;br /&gt;There's just devils and dust &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We're a long, long way from home Bob &lt;br /&gt;Home's a long, long way from us &lt;br /&gt;Feel the dirty winds blowin' &lt;br /&gt;Devils and dust &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got God on my side &lt;br /&gt;I'm just trying to survive &lt;br /&gt;But if what you do to survive &lt;br /&gt;Kills the things you love &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fear is a powerful thing &lt;br /&gt;It can turn your heart black you can trust &lt;br /&gt;It'll take your God-filled soul &lt;br /&gt;Fill it with devils and dust &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well I dreamed of you last night &lt;br /&gt;In a field of blood and stone &lt;br /&gt;Blood began to dry &lt;br /&gt;And a smell began to rise &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well I dreamed of you last night Mom &lt;br /&gt;In a field of mud and bone &lt;br /&gt;And your blood began to dry &lt;br /&gt;The smell began to rise &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Got God on our side &lt;br /&gt;We're just trying to survive &lt;br /&gt;But if what you do to survive &lt;br /&gt;Kills the things you love &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fear is a powerful thing &lt;br /&gt;It'll turn your heart black you can trust &lt;br /&gt;It'll take your God-filled soul &lt;br /&gt;Fill it with devils and dust &lt;br /&gt;It'll take your God-filled soul &lt;br /&gt;Fill it with devils and dust &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now every woman and every man &lt;br /&gt;They wanna take your right to stand &lt;br /&gt;Find the love with God wills &lt;br /&gt;The faith that He commands &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've got my finger on the trigger &lt;br /&gt;Tonight faith just ain't enough &lt;br /&gt;And I look inside my heart &lt;br /&gt;There's just devils and dust &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I've got God on my side &lt;br /&gt;And I'm just trying to survive &lt;br /&gt;But if what you do to survive &lt;br /&gt;Kills the things you love &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fear is a dangerous thing &lt;br /&gt;It'll turn your heart black you can trust &lt;br /&gt;It'll take your God-filled soul &lt;br /&gt;Fill it with devils and dust &lt;br /&gt;It'll take your God-filled soul &lt;br /&gt;Fill it with devils and dust&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113580324846059956?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113580324846059956/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113580324846059956' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113580324846059956'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113580324846059956'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/12/devils-dust-by-bruce-springsteen-got.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113575706468868830</id><published>2005-12-28T05:01:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2005-12-28T05:04:24.690-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>detetive. amantes. maridos infiéis. vestígios dos crimes alheios. pecados. pecadilhos. ele observa. escuta. segue. pois espiar os pecados dos outros nos alivia dos nossos.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113575706468868830?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113575706468868830/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113575706468868830' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113575706468868830'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113575706468868830'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/12/detetive_113575706468868830.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113569646455167687</id><published>2005-12-27T11:57:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-12-27T12:17:38.076-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>lágrimas. tudo deságua. todos eles. todos os eus. a água limpa as feridas. feridas de baunilha. e as lembranças escoam pelo ralo. de tanta coisa. de tantas vidas. de vidas que não me pertencem mais. pois nada agora me pertence. e eu não pertenço a nada. nem a mim mesmo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113569646455167687?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113569646455167687/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113569646455167687' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113569646455167687'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113569646455167687'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/12/lgrimas.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113550822104144446</id><published>2005-12-25T07:54:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-12-25T07:57:05.386-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Northern Lad&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tori Amos&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Had a northern lad&lt;br /&gt;Well not exactly had&lt;br /&gt;He moved like the sunset&lt;br /&gt;God who painted that?&lt;br /&gt;First he loved my accent&lt;br /&gt;How his knees could bend&lt;br /&gt;I thought we'd be ok&lt;br /&gt;Me and my molasses&lt;br /&gt;But I feel something is wrong&lt;br /&gt;But I&lt;br /&gt;I feel this cake just isn't done&lt;br /&gt;Don't say that you don't&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chours:&lt;br /&gt;And if you&lt;br /&gt;Could see me now&lt;br /&gt;Said if you&lt;br /&gt;Could see me now&lt;br /&gt;Girls you've got to know&lt;br /&gt;When it's time to turn the page&lt;br /&gt;When you're only wet&lt;br /&gt;Because of the rain&lt;br /&gt;Because of&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You don't show much these days&lt;br /&gt;It gets so fucking cold&lt;br /&gt;I loved his secret places&lt;br /&gt;But I can't go anymore&lt;br /&gt;You change like sugar cane&lt;br /&gt;Says my northern lad&lt;br /&gt;Well, I guess you go too far&lt;br /&gt;When pianos try to be guitars&lt;br /&gt;I feel the west in you&lt;br /&gt;And I&lt;br /&gt;I feel it falling apart too&lt;br /&gt;Don't say that you don't&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chours&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113550822104144446?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113550822104144446/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113550822104144446' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113550822104144446'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113550822104144446'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/12/northern-lad-tori-amos-had-northern.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113549432685394678</id><published>2005-12-25T03:22:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-12-25T04:05:26.880-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>ele não é mais aquele. assumiu tantas faces que nem se reconhece mais. identidades misturadas. lembranças confusas. mas ele não quer ser mais nada. ninguém. sem pistas. sem atalhos. leve. como uma criança sem medo do escuro.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113549432685394678?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113549432685394678/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113549432685394678' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113549432685394678'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113549432685394678'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/12/ele-no-mais-aquele.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113526613887138190</id><published>2005-12-22T12:02:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-12-22T12:42:18.883-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>os dois continuavam naquela dança. as luzes apagadas. a banda já se fora. não havia platéia. apenas dois corpos exaustos. repetindo antigos movimentos. de olhos fechados. pois velhos amantes sabem os passos de cor.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113526613887138190?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113526613887138190/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113526613887138190' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113526613887138190'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113526613887138190'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/12/os-dois-continuavam-naquela-dana.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113519198989647378</id><published>2005-12-21T16:03:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-12-21T16:06:29.906-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>céline encara o corpo ao seu lado. daquela que lhe foi tudo. da companheira de uma vida de crimes. pequenos delitos cometidos pela paixão. agora eram duas foragidas de seus próprios destinos. de suas vidas comuns. isoladas naquele quarto. recriando um outro tempo. interpretando papéis antigos.de que ainda lembravam as falas. as pequenas deixas. os pequenos suspiros. os doces silêncios. como se tudo fosse um filme. um filme ruim. daqueles sem desfecho. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mas até filmes ruins ficam presos nas nossas cabeças.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113519198989647378?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113519198989647378/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113519198989647378' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113519198989647378'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113519198989647378'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/12/cline-encara-o-corpo-ao-seu-lado.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113496528427146547</id><published>2005-12-19T01:07:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-12-19T01:08:04.283-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>céline ainda sente o cheiro dela. mesmo com a água batendo forte no corpo. aquele odor amargo ainda à penetra. uma marca. que a distingue de outros. pessoas comuns. que não vivem suas vidas em rotas acidentadas. em impulsos suicidas. onde um beijo te deixa sozinha na chuva. e sem querer voltar. para lugar nenhum.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113496528427146547?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113496528427146547/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113496528427146547' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113496528427146547'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113496528427146547'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/12/cline-ainda-sente-o-cheiro-dela.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113496332561179951</id><published>2005-12-19T00:31:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-12-19T00:35:25.613-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>If It Makes You Happy &lt;br /&gt;by Sheryl Crow &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been long, a long way from here&lt;br /&gt;Put on a poncho, played for mosquitos,&lt;br /&gt;And drank til I was thirsty again&lt;br /&gt;We went searching through thrift store jungles&lt;br /&gt;Found Geronimo's rifle, Marilyn's shampoo&lt;br /&gt;And Benny Goodman's corset and fan&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, o.k. I made this up&lt;br /&gt;I promised you I'd never give up&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus:&lt;br /&gt;If it makes you happy&lt;br /&gt;It can't be that bad&lt;br /&gt;If it makes you happy&lt;br /&gt;Then why the hell are you so sad&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You get down, real low down&lt;br /&gt;You listen to Coltrane, derail your own train&lt;br /&gt;Well who hasn't been there before?&lt;br /&gt;I come round, around the hard way&lt;br /&gt;Bring you comics in bed, scrape the mold off the bread&lt;br /&gt;And serve you french toast again&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, o.k. I still get stoned&lt;br /&gt;I'm not the kind of girl you'd take home&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus x2&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We've been far, far away from here&lt;br /&gt;Put on a poncho, played for mosquitos&lt;br /&gt;And everywhere in between&lt;br /&gt;Well, o.k. we get along&lt;br /&gt;So what if right now everything's wrong?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113496332561179951?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113496332561179951/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113496332561179951' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113496332561179951'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113496332561179951'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/12/if-it-makes-you-happy-by-sheryl-crow.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113496273679908605</id><published>2005-12-19T00:16:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-12-19T00:25:36.810-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>é como se você estivesse aqui. como se sempre estivesse. ao meu lado. dentro de mim. em algum lugar. escondida entre memórias doces. entre slides de vidas antigas. e mesmo quando deixo de ser aquele, e me torno outros, você continua aqui.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113496273679908605?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113496273679908605/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113496273679908605' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113496273679908605'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113496273679908605'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/12/como-se-voc-estivesse-aqui.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113460773277249700</id><published>2005-12-14T21:46:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-12-14T21:48:52.773-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>não, eu não sou o mais constante. não, eu não sou o mais estável. dane-se. eu nunca vou ser. mas, menina dos óculos vermelhos, por você eu jogo o meu livro de regras fora. e te abraço como se fosse o último dia.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113460773277249700?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113460773277249700/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113460773277249700' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113460773277249700'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113460773277249700'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/12/no-eu-no-sou-o-mais-constante.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113460731624407973</id><published>2005-12-14T19:41:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-12-14T21:41:56.266-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Tougher Than the Rest &lt;br /&gt;by Bruce Springsteen &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well it's Saturday night, &lt;br /&gt;you're all dressed up in blue&lt;br /&gt;I've been watching you a while, &lt;br /&gt;maybe you been watching me too&lt;br /&gt;So somebody ran out, &lt;br /&gt;left somebody's heart in a mess&lt;br /&gt;Well if your lookin' for love, &lt;br /&gt;honey I'm tougher than the rest&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some girls they want a handsome Dan &lt;br /&gt;or some good lookin' Joe&lt;br /&gt;There are some girls &lt;br /&gt;who like a sweet talking Romeo&lt;br /&gt;Well around here baby, &lt;br /&gt;I learned you get what you can get&lt;br /&gt;So if you're rough enough for love,&lt;br /&gt;Honey I'm tougher than than rest&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your road is dark, &lt;br /&gt;It's a thin, thin line&lt;br /&gt;But I want you to know, &lt;br /&gt;I'll walk it for you any time&lt;br /&gt;Maybe your other boyfriends, &lt;br /&gt;they couldn't pass the test&lt;br /&gt;Well if your rough and ready for love,&lt;br /&gt;Honey I'm tougher than the rest&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well it ain't no secret, &lt;br /&gt;I've been around a time or two&lt;br /&gt;Well I don't know baby, &lt;br /&gt;maybe you been around too.&lt;br /&gt;Well there is another kinda dance honey,&lt;br /&gt;all you got to do is say yes&lt;br /&gt;And if you rough and ready for love, &lt;br /&gt;then I'm tougher than the rest&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you're rough enough for love&lt;br /&gt;then I'm tougher than the rest.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113460731624407973?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113460731624407973/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113460731624407973' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113460731624407973'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113460731624407973'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/12/tougher-than-rest-by-bruce-springsteen.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113444765728708493</id><published>2005-12-13T01:20:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-12-13T01:20:57.296-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>todas essas coisas. os textos. as palavras. as músicas cantadas ao pé do ouvido. tudo tem vida. uma presença própria. existem em lugares perdidos. e voltam para nos assombrar às vezes&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113444765728708493?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113444765728708493/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113444765728708493' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113444765728708493'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113444765728708493'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/12/todas-essas-coisas.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113438488183630302</id><published>2005-12-12T07:52:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-12-12T07:54:41.836-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>sua voz me assusta. ela penetra em lugares obscuros do meu coração. em lembranças nunca vividas. em sentimentos fictícios tão tangíveis. numa dança que eu achei que tinha acabado. mas que ainda está só no terceiro passo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113438488183630302?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113438488183630302/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113438488183630302' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113438488183630302'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113438488183630302'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/12/sua-voz-me-assusta.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113438380013945017</id><published>2005-12-12T07:01:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-12-12T07:36:40.713-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>cry me a river&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;artur hmilton)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;now you say you're lonely&lt;br /&gt;you cried the long night through&lt;br /&gt;well, you can cry me a river&lt;br /&gt;cry me a river&lt;br /&gt;i cried a river over you&lt;br /&gt;now you say you're sorry&lt;br /&gt;for being so untrue&lt;br /&gt;well, you can cry me a river&lt;br /&gt;cry me a river&lt;br /&gt;i cried a river over you&lt;br /&gt;you drove me,&lt;br /&gt;nearly drove me out of my head&lt;br /&gt;while you never shed a tear&lt;br /&gt;remember?&lt;br /&gt;i remember all that you said&lt;br /&gt;told me love was to plebeian&lt;br /&gt;told me you were through with me&lt;br /&gt;now you say you love me&lt;br /&gt;well, just to prove you do&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113438380013945017?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113438380013945017/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113438380013945017' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113438380013945017'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113438380013945017'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/12/cry-me-river-artur-hmilton-now-you-say.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113419552287693778</id><published>2005-12-10T03:12:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-12-10T03:18:42.876-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>não, eu não pertenço a este lugar. a nenhum lugar. eu não pertenço a você. a ninguém. e não quero, meu bem. não quero mesmo. prefiro vagar por estes cantos estranhos. e viver dias estranhos. com gosto e meio sorriso sarcástico nos lábios. e rir da minha própria loucura que se chama coração.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113419552287693778?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113419552287693778/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113419552287693778' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113419552287693778'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113419552287693778'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/12/no-eu-no-perteno-este-lugar.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113419275403303208</id><published>2005-12-10T02:31:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2005-12-10T03:37:25.940-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>creep&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;radiohead&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you were here before - Quando você estava aqui antes&lt;br /&gt;Couldn't look you in the eye - Eu não podia nem te olhar nos&lt;br /&gt;olhos&lt;br /&gt;You're just like an angel - Você é como um anjo&lt;br /&gt;Your skin makes me cry - Sua pele me faz chorar&lt;br /&gt;You float like a feather - Você flutua como uma pena&lt;br /&gt;In a beautiful world - Em um mundo bonito&lt;br /&gt;I wish I was special.- Eu só queria ter sido especial&lt;br /&gt;You're so fuckin' special - Você é tão especial&lt;br /&gt;But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo - Mas eu sou um imprestável, sou&lt;br /&gt;um azarão&lt;br /&gt;What the hell am I doin' here? - Que inferno estou fazendo&lt;br /&gt;aqui?&lt;br /&gt;I don't belong here - Eu não pertenço a este lugar&lt;br /&gt;I don't care if it hurts - Eu não ligo se isso machuca&lt;br /&gt;I wanna have control - Eu quero tomar o controle&lt;br /&gt;I want a perfect body - Eu quero um corpo perfeito&lt;br /&gt;I want a perfect soul - Eu quero uma alma perfeita&lt;br /&gt;I want you to notice - Eu quero que você perceba&lt;br /&gt;When I'm not around - Quando eu não estou por perto&lt;br /&gt;You're so fuckin' special - Você é tão especial&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113419275403303208?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113419275403303208/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113419275403303208' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113419275403303208'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113419275403303208'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/12/creep-radiohead-when-you-were-here.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113393434440226232</id><published>2005-12-07T02:45:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-12-07T02:45:44.403-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>beijar na chuva. sentir a água nos lábios. as roupas molhadas se colando. deixando os corpos mais próximos. como se eles não pudessem ser separados. como se não quisessem ser separados. e somente a chuva entre eles. ciente de tudo. sempre presente. como um terceiro amante&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113393434440226232?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113393434440226232/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113393434440226232' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113393434440226232'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113393434440226232'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/12/beijar-na-chuva.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113393378149005254</id><published>2005-12-07T02:16:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-12-07T02:36:21.500-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>jesse corre na chuva. ele não quer chegar a lugar nenhum. sem pressa. apenas o seu fôlego o orienta. a batida de seus pés no asfalto molhado. não há medo. não há risco. apenas o prazer infantil de um ato indócil.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113393378149005254?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113393378149005254/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113393378149005254' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113393378149005254'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113393378149005254'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/12/jesse-corre-na-chuva.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113334788441530892</id><published>2005-11-30T07:49:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-11-30T07:51:24.416-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Pra Ser Sincero&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Humberto Gessinger&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pra ser sincero eu não espero de você mais do que educação,&lt;br /&gt;Beijos sem paixão, crimes sem castigo, aperto de mãos&lt;br /&gt;Apenas bons amigos...&lt;br /&gt;Pra ser sincero eu não espero que você minta&lt;br /&gt;Não se sinta capaz de enganar&lt;br /&gt;Quem não engana a si mesmo&lt;br /&gt;Nós dois temos os mesmos defeitos&lt;br /&gt;Sabemos tudo a nosso respeito&lt;br /&gt;Somos suspeitos de um crime perfeito,&lt;br /&gt;Mas crimes perfeitos não deixam suspeitos&lt;br /&gt;Pra ser sincero eu não espero de você mais do que educação&lt;br /&gt;Beijos sem paixão, crimes sem castigo,&lt;br /&gt;Aperto de mãos, apenas bons amigos...&lt;br /&gt;Pra ser sincero não espero que você me perdoe&lt;br /&gt;Por ter perdido a calma&lt;br /&gt;Por ter vendido a alma ao diabo&lt;br /&gt;Um dia desses, num desses encontros casuais&lt;br /&gt;Talvez a gente se encontre,&lt;br /&gt;Talvez a gente encontre explicação&lt;br /&gt;Um dia desses num desses encontros casuais&lt;br /&gt;Talvez eu diga, minha amiga,&lt;br /&gt;Pra ser sincero... prazer em vê-la&lt;br /&gt;Até mais...&lt;br /&gt;Nós dois temos os mesmos defeitos&lt;br /&gt;Sabemos tudo a nosso respeito&lt;br /&gt;Somos suspeitos de um crime perfeito&lt;br /&gt;Mas crimes perfeitos não deixam suspeitos.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113334788441530892?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113334788441530892/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113334788441530892' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113334788441530892'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113334788441530892'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/11/pra-ser-sincero-humberto-gessinger-pra.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113334701259227305</id><published>2005-11-30T07:33:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-11-30T07:36:52.603-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>pensamentos ficcionais de uma mente que é pura ficção. pulp! é apenas isso.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113334701259227305?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113334701259227305/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113334701259227305' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113334701259227305'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113334701259227305'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/11/pensamentos-ficcionais-de-uma-mente.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113328071981455979</id><published>2005-11-29T13:06:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-11-29T13:11:59.823-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>o seu abraço me conforta. acalma o mundo dentro de mim. o passado e o futuro não existem mais. apenas o momento. e eu o devoro como uma criança com fome.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113328071981455979?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113328071981455979/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113328071981455979' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113328071981455979'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113328071981455979'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/11/o-seu-abrao-me-conforta.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113319476873536163</id><published>2005-11-28T13:16:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-11-28T13:58:38.296-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>hurt&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;nine inch nails&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hurt myself today&lt;br /&gt;To see if I still feel&lt;br /&gt;I focus on the pain&lt;br /&gt;The only thing that's real&lt;br /&gt;The needle tears a hole&lt;br /&gt;The old familiar sting&lt;br /&gt;I try to kill it all away&lt;br /&gt;But I remember everything&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What have I become&lt;br /&gt;My sweetest friend?&lt;br /&gt;Everyone I know&lt;br /&gt;Goes away in the end&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You could have it all&lt;br /&gt;My empire of dirt&lt;br /&gt;I will let you down&lt;br /&gt;I will make you hurt&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wear this crown of shit&lt;br /&gt;Upon my liar's chair&lt;br /&gt;Full of broken thoughts&lt;br /&gt;I cannot repair&lt;br /&gt;Beneath the stains of time&lt;br /&gt;The feelings disappear&lt;br /&gt;You are someone else&lt;br /&gt;I am still right here&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What have I become&lt;br /&gt;My sweetest friend?&lt;br /&gt;Everyone I know&lt;br /&gt;Goes away in the end&lt;br /&gt;You could have it all&lt;br /&gt;My empire of dirt&lt;br /&gt;I will let you down&lt;br /&gt;I will make you hurt&lt;br /&gt;If I could start again&lt;br /&gt;A million miles away&lt;br /&gt;I would keep myself&lt;br /&gt;I would find a way.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113319476873536163?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113319476873536163/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113319476873536163' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113319476873536163'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113319476873536163'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/11/hurt-nine-inch-nails-i-hurt-myself.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113303626850023960</id><published>2005-11-26T17:15:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-11-26T17:17:48.510-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>esqueço as opções. e me concentro em uma única verdade. a solidão ainda é a  minha melhor companheira.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113303626850023960?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113303626850023960/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113303626850023960' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113303626850023960'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113303626850023960'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/11/esqueo-as-opes.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113259438373760482</id><published>2005-11-21T14:07:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-11-21T14:33:03.746-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>uma coisa. um toque. um beijo. algo. algo que te redime do mesmo jeito que te condena. um sopro. um abraço. um afago.algo. algo que alivia do mesmo jeito que sufoca. algo. somente algo. que pode ser tudo ou nada. ter todas as respostas ou nenhuma. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mas é algo que eu procuro. algo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113259438373760482?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113259438373760482/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113259438373760482' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113259438373760482'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113259438373760482'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/11/uma-coisa.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113217829509908001</id><published>2005-11-16T18:56:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-11-16T18:58:15.110-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>you were meant for me &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;jewel &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hear the clock, it’s six a.m.&lt;br /&gt;I feel so far away from where I’ve been&lt;br /&gt;I got my eggs, I got my pancakes too&lt;br /&gt;Got my maple syrup, everything but you&lt;br /&gt;I break the yolks and make a smiley face&lt;br /&gt;I kinda like it in my brand new place&lt;br /&gt;I wipe the spots off of the mirror, don’t leave the keys in the door&lt;br /&gt;I never put wet towels on the floor anymore ’cause&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dreams last so long, even after you’re gone&lt;br /&gt;I know, that you love me and soon you will see&lt;br /&gt;You were meant for me and I was meant for you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I called my momma, she was out for a walk&lt;br /&gt;Consoled a cup of coffee but it didn’t wanna talk&lt;br /&gt;So picked up a paper, it was more bad news&lt;br /&gt;More hearts being broken or people being used&lt;br /&gt;Put on my coat in the pouring rain&lt;br /&gt;I saw a movie it just wasn’t the same&lt;br /&gt;’cause it was happy and I was sad and&lt;br /&gt;It made me miss you oh so bad cause&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dreams last so long, even after you’re gone&lt;br /&gt;I know, that you love me and soon you will see&lt;br /&gt;You were meant for me and I was meant for you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I go about my business, I’m doing fine&lt;br /&gt;Besides, what would I say if I had you on the line&lt;br /&gt;Same old story, not much to say&lt;br /&gt;Hearts are broken every day&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I brush my teeth and put the cap back on&lt;br /&gt;I know you hate it when I leave the light on&lt;br /&gt;I pick up a book and turn the sheets down and then&lt;br /&gt;Take a deep breath and a good look around&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Put on my pj’s and hop into bed&lt;br /&gt;I’m half alive but I feel mostly dead&lt;br /&gt;I, I try and tell myself it’ll be all right&lt;br /&gt;I just shouldn’t think anymore tonight ’cause&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dreams last so long, even after you’re gone&lt;br /&gt;I know, that you love me and soon you will see&lt;br /&gt;You were meant for me and I was meant for you&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, you were meant for me and I was meant for you&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113217829509908001?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113217829509908001/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113217829509908001' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113217829509908001'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113217829509908001'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/11/you-were-meant-for-me-jewel-i-hear.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113217012115762632</id><published>2005-11-16T16:36:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-11-16T16:42:01.166-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>eu respiro o ar delicado entre nós dois. você não fala nada. e eu com as mesmas perguntas tolas. querendo saber de tudo. dos seus mistérios. e você continua me olhando desse jeito.  como se eu tivesse de pular de um precipício para te merecer.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113217012115762632?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113217012115762632/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113217012115762632' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113217012115762632'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113217012115762632'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/11/eu-respiro-o-ar-delicado-entre-ns-dois.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113164216722244855</id><published>2005-11-10T13:53:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-11-10T14:02:47.233-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>não sou mais aquele ao teu lado em nossas fotos antigas. não carrego mais a mesma expressão. até das roupas eu me livrei.  aquele cara não está mais aqui. e com ele, foram memórias, sentimentos, mágoas e outros pesos. sou outro. que vai cometer erros diferentes. que vai cair em outras armadilhas. mas que vai amar do mesmo jeito desmedido de sempre a pessoa da próxima foto.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113164216722244855?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113164216722244855/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113164216722244855' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113164216722244855'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113164216722244855'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/11/no-sou-mais-aquele-ao-teu-lado-em.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113120939676556142</id><published>2005-11-05T12:57:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-11-05T13:49:56.776-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>eu apenas sei que cansei de hipóteses, conjecturas, análises e coisas e tal. quero o descompasso. a chuva no rosto. o abraço inesperado. quero o acaso. o caos. não ando mais com bagagem. meus braços estão livres.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113120939676556142?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113120939676556142/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113120939676556142' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113120939676556142'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113120939676556142'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/11/eu-apenas-sei-que-cansei-de-hipteses.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113048107079169644</id><published>2005-10-28T02:59:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-10-28T03:31:10.803-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>eu preciso de química. não consigo conviver sem. do beijo ao bate papo. do abraço ao aperto. é ela que me conduz ao próximo passo. do erro ao acerto. mas é o que me conduz.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113048107079169644?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113048107079169644/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113048107079169644' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113048107079169644'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113048107079169644'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/10/eu-preciso-de-qumica.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-113011379117383436</id><published>2005-10-23T21:24:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-10-23T21:29:51.180-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>eu vivo uma vida que não é minha. visto as roupas que não me pertencem. caminhos que não posso mais percorrer. palavras que não fazem parte do meu vocabulário. uma vida de outro. outro eu. em outra época. em outro mundo. mas ainda a vivo. aqui dentro. sempre que ensaio o próximo passo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-113011379117383436?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/113011379117383436/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=113011379117383436' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113011379117383436'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/113011379117383436'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/10/eu-vivo-uma-vida-que-no-minha.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112994227872519858</id><published>2005-10-21T21:50:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-10-21T21:51:18.730-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;center&gt;tougher than the rest&lt;/center&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;pise em mim com força. quero um tapa de mão fechada. uma porrada no estomago com soco inglês. quero o seu melhor golpe. o xingamento mais feroz. não há regras. jogo sujo mesmo. não há delicadeza na paixão. não vou te odiar. eu quero tudo. todas as feridas e as cicatrizes. quero a dor e glória.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112994227872519858?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112994227872519858/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112994227872519858' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112994227872519858'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112994227872519858'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/10/tougher-than-rest-pise-em-mim-com-fora.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112952535201593279</id><published>2005-10-17T00:22:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-10-17T14:46:13.130-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>não há mais ninguém do lado dela. um espaço morto. ela sai do lençol de seda e pega um cigarro. fuma vagarosamente enquanto olha pela janela. não há nada também lá fora. nem dentro. o cheiro do outro ainda a acompanha. pequenos momentos. fotos rápidas de um encontro fugaz. de um olhar sorrateiro a um beijo maroto. lembranças. momentos são passageiros. amantes também o são. mas nunca lembranças.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112952535201593279?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112952535201593279/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112952535201593279' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112952535201593279'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112952535201593279'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/10/no-h-mais-ningum-do-lado-dela.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112891804288143169</id><published>2005-10-10T01:19:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-10-10T01:20:42.886-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Roads &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Portishead &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ohh, can't anybody see &lt;br /&gt;We've got a war to fight &lt;br /&gt;Never found our way &lt;br /&gt;Regardless of what they say &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How can it feel, this wrong &lt;br /&gt;From this moment &lt;br /&gt;How can it feel, this wrong &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Storm.. in the morning light &lt;br /&gt;I feel &lt;br /&gt;No more can I say &lt;br /&gt;Frozen to myself &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got nobody on my side &lt;br /&gt;And surely that ain't right &lt;br /&gt;And surely that ain't right &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ohh, can't anybody see &lt;br /&gt;We've got a war to fight &lt;br /&gt;Never found our way &lt;br /&gt;Regardless of what they say &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How can it feel, this wrong &lt;br /&gt;From this moment &lt;br /&gt;How can it feel, this wrong &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How can it feel, this wrong &lt;br /&gt;From this moment &lt;br /&gt;How can it feel, this wrong &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ohh, can't anybody see &lt;br /&gt;We've got a war to fight  &lt;br /&gt;Never found our way &lt;br /&gt;Regardless of what they say &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How can it feel, this wrong &lt;br /&gt;From this moment &lt;br /&gt;How can it feel, this wrong&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112891804288143169?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112891804288143169/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112891804288143169' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112891804288143169'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112891804288143169'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/10/roads-portishead-ohh-cant-anybody-see.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112884188039105639</id><published>2005-10-09T04:05:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-10-09T04:11:49.453-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>jesse caminha pela madrugada. esbarra em obstáculos invisíveis. ultrapassa fantasmas. mas a estrada é longa. chegar em casa é difícil. então ele pára. e pensa nas pequenas coisas. no pão, no queijo, no beijo perdido. em todos os momentos perdidos. nos silêncios significativos, nos sinais não percebidos. em tudo que passou e ainda continua. mas não adianta. então ele continua a caminhada. um dia ele chega em casa.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112884188039105639?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112884188039105639/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112884188039105639' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112884188039105639'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112884188039105639'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/10/jesse-caminha-pela-madrugada.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112836185874028073</id><published>2005-10-03T14:34:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-10-03T14:52:42.210-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>não paro de pensar em "my summer of love". um dos filmes que vi no festival do rio desse ano. de como o primeiro amor te marca a ferro. de como fazemos as mesmas juras idiotas, possuímos as mesmas fantasias,os mesmos devaneios estúpidos. uma troca de olhares te desarma. o cheiro da pessoa adorada invade seus sonhos. e todo o resto parece ínfimo, tolo, comparado ao nosso amor.  todos passamos por essa história. por mais que a narrativa das duas meninas que se apaixonam no filme seja única, ela é um retrato de todas as outras histórias únicas espalhadas pelo mundo. nossas pequenas histórias de amor, guardadas em nossos pequenos corações.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112836185874028073?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112836185874028073/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112836185874028073' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112836185874028073'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112836185874028073'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/10/no-paro-de-pensar-em-my-summer-of-love.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112834947859596550</id><published>2005-10-03T11:22:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-10-03T11:24:38.600-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>não posso esquecer de agradecer o meu amigo &lt;a href="http://www.newwaveblog.blogger.com.br/"&gt;emmanuel&lt;/a&gt; por me apresentar essa linda núsica da françoise hardy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112834947859596550?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112834947859596550/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112834947859596550' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112834947859596550'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112834947859596550'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/10/no-posso-esquecer-de-agradecer-o-meu.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112831567652888332</id><published>2005-10-03T01:59:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-10-03T02:01:16.533-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>La question&lt;br /&gt;Françoise Hardy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Paroles: Françoise Hardy. Musique: Tuca 1971 &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Je ne sais pas qui tu peux être&lt;br /&gt;Je ne sais pas qui tu espères&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Je cherche toujours à te connaître&lt;br /&gt;Et ton silence trouble mon silence&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Je ne sais pas d'où vient le mensonge&lt;br /&gt;Est-ce de ta voix qui se tait&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Les mondes où malgré moi je plonge&lt;br /&gt;Sont comme un tunnel qui m'effraie&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;De ta distance à la mienne&lt;br /&gt;On se perd bien trop souvent&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Et chercher à te comprendre&lt;br /&gt;C'est courir après le vent&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Je ne sais pas pourquoi je reste&lt;br /&gt;Dans une mer où je me noie&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Je ne sais pas pourquoi je reste&lt;br /&gt;Dans un air qui m'étouffera&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tu es le sang de ma blessure&lt;br /&gt;Tu es le feu de ma brûlure&lt;br /&gt;Tu es ma question sans réponse&lt;br /&gt;Mon cri muet et mon silence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A pergunta&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu não sei o que você pode ser&lt;br /&gt;Eu não sei o que você espera&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Procuro sempre te conhecer&lt;br /&gt;E seu silêncio perturba meu silêncio&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu não sei da onde vem a mentira&lt;br /&gt;É de tua voz que se cala&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Os mundos onde, contudo eu mergulho&lt;br /&gt;São como um túnel que me assusta&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;De sua distância em relação à mim&lt;br /&gt;Se perde sempre&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E procurar te entender&lt;br /&gt;É como correr depois do vento&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu não sei por que eu fico&lt;br /&gt;Em um mar onde eu me afogo&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu não sei por que eu fico&lt;br /&gt;em um ar que me sufoca&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Você é o sangue da minha ferida&lt;br /&gt;Você é o fogo da minha queimadura&lt;br /&gt;Você é minha pergunta sem resposta&lt;br /&gt;Meu grito mudo e meu silêncio...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112831567652888332?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112831567652888332/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112831567652888332' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112831567652888332'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112831567652888332'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/10/la-question-franoise-hardy-paroles.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112815130148938688</id><published>2005-10-01T04:19:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-10-01T04:21:41.496-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>fiona. porque sim. porque preciso ser despudorado e atrevido. sem medos e babaquices do gênero.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112815130148938688?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112815130148938688/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112815130148938688' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112815130148938688'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112815130148938688'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/10/fiona_01.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112771591124123041</id><published>2005-09-26T03:20:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-09-26T04:26:40.096-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>não havia mais nada. a intimidade não era mais presente. o frio mecânico da boa educação substituía o calor inconsequente da paixão. não eram mais amantes. não eram mais amigos. não eram mais nada. apenas pedaços da memória de cada um. apenas pedaços.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112771591124123041?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112771591124123041/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112771591124123041' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112771591124123041'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112771591124123041'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/09/no-havia-mais-nada.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112727755578805530</id><published>2005-09-21T01:24:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-09-21T01:39:15.790-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>jesse acredita no acaso. no encontro aleatório de duas pessoas no caos que é o cotidiano. numa troca de olhares banal que pode acabar em um romance de cinema. ou não. a questão é que não importa. o que importa é se atirar do precipício e cair num mar de possibilidades românticas. e se quebrar algumas costelas, voltar e se atirar de um precipício maior.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112727755578805530?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112727755578805530/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112727755578805530' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112727755578805530'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112727755578805530'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/09/jesse-acredita-no-acaso_112727755578805530.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112725052295685518</id><published>2005-09-20T17:58:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-09-20T18:08:42.963-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"Pessoas questionam se filmes refletem a vida real. Por diabos que não! Ok, ambos tornam o mais difícil possível a um casal se conhecer e se apaixonar. Pense nisto: todas as barreiras capazes de atravancar um romance são exibidas em um filme - é isso que segura nosso interesse durante as duas horas de sessão. Mas, na vida real, o amor basta para nos prender a atenção. Enquanto o filme acaba quando os dois finalmente se abraçam, é exatamente nesse ponto que a vida começa. Todos procuram por essa mágica. Todos querem esse momento, no terceiro ato, quando os olhos se encontram, a música sobe e os amantes caem um nos braços do outro. Hoje em dia, no entanto, ninguém mais conversa, ninguém mais alcança essa conexão. Vida é um filme muito mais longo, mas todos acabam empacando no segundo ato. É isso o que eu quero descobrir: porque nós não podemos simplesmente cortar para o clímax e ir direto para a parte pela qual todo mundo espera - a cena em que o rapaz conquista a garota".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;da série cupid, todos sábados no canal sony.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112725052295685518?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112725052295685518/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112725052295685518' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112725052295685518'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112725052295685518'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/09/pessoas-questionam-se-filmes-refletem.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112703008890233417</id><published>2005-09-18T04:53:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-09-18T04:54:49.133-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I Will Survive &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At first I was afraid, I was petrified &lt;br /&gt;Kept thinkin’ I could never live, &lt;br /&gt;without you by my side. &lt;br /&gt;But then I spent oh so many nights thinkin’ how &lt;br /&gt;you did me wrong. And I grew strong, &lt;br /&gt;and I learned how to get along &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so you're back, from outer space &lt;br /&gt;I just walked in to find you here with &lt;br /&gt;that sad look upon your face. &lt;br /&gt;I should’ve changed that stupid lock,I should’ve &lt;br /&gt;made you leave your key! &lt;br /&gt;If I had known for just one second you’d &lt;br /&gt;be back to bother me, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Go on now go, walk out the door &lt;br /&gt;Just turn around now, cause &lt;br /&gt;you’re not welcome anymore &lt;br /&gt;Weren’t you the one who tried &lt;br /&gt;to hurt me with goodbye &lt;br /&gt;Did you think I’d crumble, did you &lt;br /&gt;think I’d lay down and die &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh no not I, I will survive &lt;br /&gt;Oh, as long as I know how &lt;br /&gt;to love, I know I’ll stay alive &lt;br /&gt;I’ve got all my life to live &lt;br /&gt;I’ve got all my love to give &lt;br /&gt;I’ll survive, I will survive &lt;br /&gt;Hey, Hey!!! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(musical) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It took all the strength I had &lt;br /&gt;not to fall apart. &lt;br /&gt;Just trying hard to mend the pieces of &lt;br /&gt;my broken heart &lt;br /&gt;And I spent so many nights just feelin' &lt;br /&gt;sorry for myself, I used to cry &lt;br /&gt;But now I hold my head up high &lt;br /&gt;And you see me, somebody new &lt;br /&gt;I’m not that chained up little &lt;br /&gt;person still in love with you &lt;br /&gt;And so you felt like droppin’ in, and &lt;br /&gt;just expect me to be free &lt;br /&gt;But now I’m savin’ all my lovin’ for &lt;br /&gt;someone who’s lovin’ me &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Go on now go, walk out the door &lt;br /&gt;Just turn around now, cause &lt;br /&gt;you're not welcome anymore &lt;br /&gt;Weren’t you the one who tried &lt;br /&gt;to break me with goodbye &lt;br /&gt;Did you think I’d crumble, did you &lt;br /&gt;think I’d lay down and die &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh no not I, I will survive &lt;br /&gt;Oh, as long as I know how &lt;br /&gt;to love I know I’ll stay alive &lt;br /&gt;I’ve got all my life to live, &lt;br /&gt;I’ve got all my love to give, &lt;br /&gt;I’ll survive, I will survive... &lt;br /&gt;Oohhhhhhhh. . . &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Go on now go, walk out the door &lt;br /&gt;Just turn around now, cause &lt;br /&gt;you're not welcome anymore &lt;br /&gt;Weren't you the one who tried &lt;br /&gt;to break me with goodbye, &lt;br /&gt;Did you think I'd crumble, &lt;br /&gt;Did you think I'd lay down and die &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh no not I, I will survive &lt;br /&gt;Oh, as long as I know how to love &lt;br /&gt;I know I'll stay alive, I've got all &lt;br /&gt;my life to live, I've got all my &lt;br /&gt;love to give &lt;br /&gt;I'll survive, I will survive &lt;br /&gt;I will survive!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112703008890233417?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112703008890233417/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112703008890233417' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112703008890233417'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112703008890233417'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/09/i-will-survive-at-first-i-was-afraid-i.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112696927062653445</id><published>2005-09-17T11:55:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-09-17T12:03:05.206-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>num bar qualquer em uma rua qualquer do centro da minha cidade, ouvindo "a little respect" do erasure, eu me dei conta de que certas músicas deveriam vir em pílulas. se você está mal, você a tomaria e o mundo ficaria menos cinza durante três minutos e trinta e três segundos. sucesso garantido.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112696927062653445?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112696927062653445/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112696927062653445' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112696927062653445'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112696927062653445'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/09/num-bar-qualquer-em-uma-rua-qualquer.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112662995861258285</id><published>2005-09-13T13:30:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-09-13T13:45:58.613-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>jesse voltou de uma longa viagem. colocou as malas na sala e checou as mensagens na secretária. amigos, família, todos com saudades. mas nenhuma mensagem daquela pessoa. já há um bom tempo ela não dava notícias. jesse sentou no seu sofá e tentou contemplar as estrelas, mas não dava pois seu apartamento dava de frente a um muro. um muro que impedia jesse de ver tanta coisa. jesse tira o telefone do gancho, deixa tori amos cantar bem alto e encara o muro. e em mil e uma maneiras de atravessá-lo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112662995861258285?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112662995861258285/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112662995861258285' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112662995861258285'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112662995861258285'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/09/jesse-voltou-de-uma-longa-viagem_13.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112648024347997648</id><published>2005-09-11T19:57:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-09-11T20:10:43.483-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Love can't change what's wrong in the world. But it's a start. &lt;br /&gt;do filme "the girl in the café"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112648024347997648?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112648024347997648/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112648024347997648' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112648024347997648'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112648024347997648'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/09/love-cant-change-whats-wrong-in-world.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112628890801523138</id><published>2005-09-09T15:00:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-09-09T15:01:48.020-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>top 5 cds- purificação espiritual:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;raveonettes&lt;br /&gt;the killers&lt;br /&gt;franz ferdinand&lt;br /&gt;concrete blonde&lt;br /&gt;kaiser chiefs&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112628890801523138?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112628890801523138/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112628890801523138' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112628890801523138'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112628890801523138'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/09/top-5-cds-purificao-espiritual.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112606713570610301</id><published>2005-09-07T01:24:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-09-07T01:25:35.710-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>alívio. adeus a melancolia. só o tempo resolverá. amigos e sorvetes de baunilha ajudarão.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112606713570610301?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112606713570610301/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112606713570610301' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112606713570610301'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112606713570610301'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/09/alvio.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112601248151835863</id><published>2005-09-06T10:12:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-09-06T10:14:41.523-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>ouvindo velvet underground e tentando me elevar para um outro lugar. longe daqui. longe dela. das lembranças. longe de mim. sair de lá, outro. novo e pronto.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112601248151835863?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112601248151835863/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112601248151835863' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112601248151835863'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112601248151835863'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/09/ouvindo-velvet-underground-e-tentando.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112586067047814782</id><published>2005-09-04T15:56:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-09-04T16:04:30.483-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>não, eu não superei. sim, hipóteses absurdas, fatos obscuros do passado, teorias da conspiração, tudo tem dominado a minha cabeça. a idéia do enterro dos relacionamentos me parece absurda simplesmente porque a gente não enterra as memórias. elas continuam indo e voltando. atingindo pontos importantes da nossa alma. às vezes trazendo sensações agradáveis, às vezes causando dores indescritíveis. mas eu sou forte. já passei por isso antes. e vou continuar passando. até um dia eu acordar e poder enxergar as coisas com novos olhos.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112586067047814782?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112586067047814782/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112586067047814782' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112586067047814782'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112586067047814782'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/09/no-eu-no-superei.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112545926590892656</id><published>2005-08-31T00:27:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-08-31T00:34:25.913-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>jesse não quer a felicidade. não acredita nela. não quer redenção. não tem vergonha de seus pecados. não quer elogios. a maioria são falsos. jesse apenas quer uma cadeira de praia, um bom livro e uma fanta laranja. pois o efêmero é o que nos sustenta. e não há nada de trivial nisso.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112545926590892656?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112545926590892656/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112545926590892656' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112545926590892656'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112545926590892656'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/08/jesse-no-quer-felicidade.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112524998536341189</id><published>2005-08-28T14:18:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-08-28T14:26:25.366-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>damien rice tem enchido os meus ouvidos de belas fábulas sobre o amor e suas desventuras. ele tem me servido de trilha sonora enquanto o meu coração me leva a lugares que eu achava abandonados.  lembranças. cheiros. toques. tudo isso me retorna através de canções sadicamente belas. uma melancolia que faz companhia. uma bela companheira.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112524998536341189?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112524998536341189/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112524998536341189' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112524998536341189'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112524998536341189'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/08/damien-rice-tem-enchido-os-meus.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112517203819240405</id><published>2005-08-27T16:39:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-08-27T16:47:18.196-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>relacionamentos deveriam ter enterros como pessoas. um fim simbólico. um ritual. as pessoas envolvidas iriam com suas caras de pêsames e corações abalados e contemplariam o relacionamento pela última vez. amigos que assistiram as idas e vindas do casal estariam lá para serem solidários. lágrimas escorreriam e ressentimentos do passado seriam esquecidos por um instante. tudo ocorreria de maneira respeitosa. no final, os dois viúvos iriam para suas respectivas casas, suas novas vidas. e o relacionamento permaneceria enterrado em uma cova qualquer.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112517203819240405?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112517203819240405/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112517203819240405' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112517203819240405'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112517203819240405'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/08/relacionamentos-deveriam-ter-enterros.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112509362115150446</id><published>2005-08-26T18:55:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-08-26T19:00:21.156-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>jesse resolveu tirar férias de si mesmo. a menina marota o acusava de velho carrancudo e cansado de rebater tais acusações, ele resolveu dar um tempo. da menina marota e de outras meninas. da televisão, do cinema, do fluminense, do jornal nacional e da vergonha do pt. jesse decidiu que o milkshake de baunilha é o comprometimento mais importante que ele assumirá.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112509362115150446?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112509362115150446/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112509362115150446' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112509362115150446'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112509362115150446'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/08/jesse-resolveu-tirar-frias-de-si-mesmo.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112503293224033716</id><published>2005-08-26T01:57:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-08-26T02:08:52.246-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>jesse não entende os pequenos sinais da vida. nunca os conseguiu decifrar. não sabe diferenciar um flerte de um olhar amistoso. amizade de tesão. pequenos sinais não lidos que levam a pequenos erros. pequenos erros que levam a grandes desastres. jesse cansou disso. decidiu não tentar ler mais nada. para ele, agora, não existem mais sinais. apenas o impulso que leva ao ato cego e sem preparo. e danem-se as conseqüências.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112503293224033716?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112503293224033716/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112503293224033716' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112503293224033716'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112503293224033716'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/08/jesse-no-entende-os-pequenos-sinais-da.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112498133514871858</id><published>2005-08-25T11:47:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-08-25T11:48:55.153-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Like A Friend &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pulp &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't bother to say you´re sorry&lt;br /&gt;Why don't you come in?&lt;br /&gt;Smoke all my cigarettes - again.&lt;br /&gt;Everytime I get no further&lt;br /&gt;How long has it been?&lt;br /&gt;Come on in now&lt;br /&gt;wipe your feet on my dreams.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You take up my time&lt;br /&gt;Like some cheap magazine&lt;br /&gt;When I could have been&lt;br /&gt;learning something&lt;br /&gt;Oh well, you know what I mean.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've done this before&lt;br /&gt;And I will do it again&lt;br /&gt;C'mon and kill me baby&lt;br /&gt;While you smile like a friend&lt;br /&gt;Oh and I'll come running&lt;br /&gt;Just to do it - again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You are that last drink I never should have drunk&lt;br /&gt;You are the body hidden in the trunk&lt;br /&gt;You are the habit I can't seem to kick&lt;br /&gt;You are my secrets on the front page every week.&lt;br /&gt;You are the car I never should have bought&lt;br /&gt;You are the train I never should have caught&lt;br /&gt;You are the cut that makes me hide my face&lt;br /&gt;You are the party that makes me feel my age.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like a car crash I can see but I just can't avoid&lt;br /&gt;Like a plane I've been told I never should board&lt;br /&gt;like a film that's so bad but&lt;br /&gt;I got to stay 'til the end&lt;br /&gt;Let me tell you now&lt;br /&gt;it's lucky for you that we're friends.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112498133514871858?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112498133514871858/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112498133514871858' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112498133514871858'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112498133514871858'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/08/like-friend-pulp-dont-bother-to-say.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112489460606199863</id><published>2005-08-24T11:38:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-08-24T11:43:26.063-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;center&gt;rewind &lt;br /&gt;stereophonics &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;it's your time &lt;br /&gt;it's your day &lt;br /&gt;it's never too late &lt;br /&gt;to change lanes &lt;br /&gt;how's your life? &lt;br /&gt;how's your place? &lt;br /&gt;was it where you wanted &lt;br /&gt;your head to lay? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;but wait, you can breathe &lt;br /&gt;you can see what I can see &lt;br /&gt;don't waste your time &lt;br /&gt;you can't make back &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;if you could rewind your time &lt;br /&gt;would you change your life? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;do you like you? &lt;br /&gt;do you love your wife? &lt;br /&gt;or did you pick what &lt;br /&gt;you're told was right? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;dream and be &lt;br /&gt;what you feel &lt;br /&gt;don't you compromise &lt;br /&gt;what you wanna be &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Ccause change is okay &lt;br /&gt;what's the point in staying the same &lt;br /&gt;regrets, forget what's dead and gone &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;if you could rewind your time &lt;br /&gt;would you change your life? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;if Jesus rode in on a camel today &lt;br /&gt;with your cross on his shoulder &lt;br /&gt;time to take you away &lt;br /&gt;have you done all you wanted? &lt;br /&gt;are you happy and warm? &lt;br /&gt;Do you miss someone special &lt;br /&gt;you don't see anymore? &lt;br /&gt;have you blood on your hands? &lt;br /&gt;do you dream of white sands? &lt;br /&gt;can you sleep well at night? &lt;br /&gt;fave you done all you can? &lt;br /&gt;the place I was born in &lt;br /&gt;stays crooked and straight &lt;br /&gt;i see innocent blue eyes &lt;br /&gt;go blind everyday &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;rewind your time &lt;br /&gt;would you change your life &lt;br /&gt;today?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112489460606199863?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112489460606199863/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112489460606199863' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112489460606199863'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112489460606199863'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/08/rewind-stereophonics-its-your-time-its_24.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112484677689384964</id><published>2005-08-23T22:19:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-08-23T22:26:16.896-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>eu não sei mais nada sobre o amor. não sei se ele redime ou não. nem sei se é uma variável na equação. sei que nada sei.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;apenas tenho a vontade  de caminhar e não olhar para trás. não pensar nos rastros que foram de nós dois. traçar meu próprio caminho de novo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112484677689384964?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112484677689384964/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112484677689384964' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112484677689384964'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112484677689384964'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/08/eu-no-sei-mais-nada-sobre-o-amor.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112462248357723728</id><published>2005-08-21T08:08:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-08-21T08:15:21.683-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>eu preciso de com&amp;eacute;dias rom&amp;acirc;nticas bobas. harry e sally ou qualquer outra coisa da meg ryan. preciso crer que o amor nos redime em parte. que ele nos alivia de nossas frustra&amp;ccedil;&amp;otilde;es e que revigora nossos sentidos. preciso acreditar no beijo como tudo de mais sagrado e sublime. que o encontro entre duas pessoas diferentes n&amp;atilde;o precisa ser obra do destino. mas pode ser inesquec&amp;iacute;vel.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112462248357723728?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112462248357723728/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112462248357723728' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112462248357723728'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112462248357723728'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/08/eu-preciso-de-comvel.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112460686372409972</id><published>2005-08-21T03:47:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-08-21T08:02:52.850-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>ref&amp;uacute;gio.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;pois preciso fugir de voc&amp;ecirc;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112460686372409972?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112460686372409972/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112460686372409972' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112460686372409972'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112460686372409972'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/08/ref.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112455696187992791</id><published>2005-08-20T13:49:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-08-20T13:56:01.883-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>tudo me faz lembrar o passado. o nosso passado. filmes ruins que costumávamos satirizar. músicas grudentas que ficavam nas nossas cabeças. livros de cabeceiras dos dois. pequenos segredos que compartilhávamos e escondíamos do resto do mundo. era eu e você contra o mundo, querida. apenas eu e você.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;agora, apenas pedaços de mim.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112455696187992791?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112455696187992791/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112455696187992791' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112455696187992791'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112455696187992791'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/08/tudo-me-faz-lembrar-o-passado.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112419205379349006</id><published>2005-08-16T08:30:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-08-16T08:34:13.796-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>decisões difíceis. mas uma pessoa me disse que tenho de seguir o meu coração. é a coisa mais brega que a gente pode ouvir mas talvez a mais certa. esse pequeno músculo automático às vezes sabe das coisas. ás vezes nos leva a enrascadas mas em certas ocasiões salva a nossa pele.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112419205379349006?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112419205379349006/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112419205379349006' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112419205379349006'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112419205379349006'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/08/decises-difceis.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112394480699750818</id><published>2005-08-13T11:48:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-08-13T11:53:27.003-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>eu sinto saudades de quem não deveria. desejo coisas que não posso ter. sinto coisas que não deveria. quero surtar mas o bom senso não deixa. quero correr como um louco e ultrapassar todos os sinais vermelhos. e depois de tudo, manter um sorriso idiota no rosto.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;tá, não preciso de nada disso. apenas o sorriso idiota tá bom.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112394480699750818?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112394480699750818/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112394480699750818' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112394480699750818'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112394480699750818'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/08/eu-sinto-saudades-de-quem-no-deveria.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112293358391203928</id><published>2005-08-01T18:59:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-08-01T18:59:43.946-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;U2&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have climbed the highest mountains&lt;br /&gt;I have run through the fields&lt;br /&gt;Only to be with you (x2)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have run I have crawled&lt;br /&gt;I have scaled&lt;br /&gt;these city walls (x2)&lt;br /&gt;Only to be with you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus:&lt;br /&gt;But I still haven't found&lt;br /&gt;What I'm looking for&lt;br /&gt;But I still haven't found&lt;br /&gt;What I'm looking for&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have kissed honey lips&lt;br /&gt;Felt the healing in her fingertips&lt;br /&gt;It burned like fire&lt;br /&gt;This burning desire&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have spoke with the tongue of angels&lt;br /&gt;I have held the hand of the devil&lt;br /&gt;It was warm in the night&lt;br /&gt;It was cold as a stone&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I believe in the Kingdom Come&lt;br /&gt;Then all the colours will&lt;br /&gt;bleed into one (x2)&lt;br /&gt;But yes I'm still running&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You broke the bonds and you loosed the chains&lt;br /&gt;You carried the cross&lt;br /&gt;And my shame (x2)&lt;br /&gt;You know I believe it&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus (x2)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112293358391203928?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112293358391203928/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112293358391203928' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112293358391203928'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112293358391203928'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/08/i-still-havent-found-what-im-looking.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112269265951595179</id><published>2005-07-30T00:04:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-07-30T02:37:52.476-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;center&gt;"It's like seeing someone for the first time, and you look at each other for a few seconds, and there's this kind of recognition like you both know something. Next moment the person's gone, and it's too late to do anything about it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(george clooney em irresist&amp;iacute;vel paix&amp;atilde;o)&lt;/center&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;eu n&amp;atilde;o canso de ver esse filme e n&amp;atilde;o me canso de assistir esse di&amp;aacute;logo.jack foley (george clonney), ladr&amp;atilde;o de banco, charmoso e avesso aarmas finalmente tem um encontro com a agente federal karen sisco (jennifer lopez),com quem passou um tempo no porta malas de um carro depois de fugir da cadeia. o velho clich&amp;ecirc; da atra&amp;ccedil;&amp;atilde;o de bandido e mocinho numa roupagem elegante e esperta de steven soderbergh. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;o que eu adoro nessa cena em particular, &amp;eacute; que mesmo tendo tudo a perder, os dois personagens n&amp;atilde;o conseguem ficar longe um do outro. o desejo do encontro ultrapassa qualquer outro compromisso, seja com a lei ou com o plano de um grande assalto. a possibilidade &amp;eacute; o que nos seduz e amedronta ao mesmo tempo. ser&amp;aacute; que aquela pessoa vai ser diferente das outras? uma simples troca de olhares, uma simples conversa, um simples toque. o in&amp;iacute;cio de algo. ou de nada.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mas o que importa apenas &amp;eacute; a possibilidade. j&amp;aacute; me contento com isso.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112269265951595179?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112269265951595179/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112269265951595179' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112269265951595179'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112269265951595179'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/07/its-like-seeing-someone-for-first-time.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112148796630907223</id><published>2005-07-16T01:26:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-07-16T01:26:06.336-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>agora, quero respirar o ar descompromissado dos tranquilos e irrespons&amp;aacute;veis. descansar minha vista e o c&amp;eacute;rebro cansado.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112148796630907223?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112148796630907223/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112148796630907223' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112148796630907223'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112148796630907223'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/07/agora-quero-respirar-o-ar.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-112049610848902860</id><published>2005-07-04T13:55:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-07-04T13:55:08.540-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;Sarah McLachlan&lt;br /&gt;	&lt;br /&gt;Black &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As the walls are closing in&lt;br /&gt;And the colors fade to black&lt;br /&gt;And my eyes are falling fast and deep into me&lt;br /&gt;And I follow the tracks that lead me down&lt;br /&gt;And I never follow what&amp;rsquo;s right&lt;br /&gt;And they wonder sometimes when they see all the&lt;br /&gt;Sadness and pain the truth begins to light&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus&lt;br /&gt;&amp;rsquo;cause I can&amp;rsquo;t see no reason&lt;br /&gt;What is blind cannot see&lt;br /&gt;&amp;rsquo;cause I want what is pleasin&amp;rsquo;&lt;br /&gt;All I take should be free&lt;br /&gt;What I rob from the innocent ones&lt;br /&gt;What I&amp;rsquo;d steal from the womb&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I cried me a river of all my confessions&lt;br /&gt;Would I drown in my shallow regret&lt;br /&gt;As the walls are closing in&lt;br /&gt;And the colors fade to black&lt;br /&gt;And the night is falling fast and deep into the sea&lt;br /&gt;And in the darkness all that I can see&lt;br /&gt;The frightened and the weak&lt;br /&gt;Are forced to cling to mistakes they know nothing of&lt;br /&gt;At mercy are the meek&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-112049610848902860?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/112049610848902860/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=112049610848902860' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112049610848902860'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/112049610848902860'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/07/sarah-mclachlan-black-as-walls-are.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-111970110014578766</id><published>2005-06-25T09:05:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-06-25T09:14:14.270-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>n&amp;atilde;o quero mais as grandes coisas da vida. n&amp;atilde;o quero conquistar nada, alcan&amp;ccedil;ar nenhuma meta imposs&amp;iacute;vel. apenas quero um caf&amp;eacute; quente, uma palavras cruzadas n&amp;atilde;o muito dif&amp;iacute;cil nem muito f&amp;aacute;cil, e um bom filme na tv. quero o conforto da risada do velho conhecido e a novidade do sorriso do amig&amp;aacute;vel estranho. n&amp;atilde;o quero ser salvo, n&amp;atilde;o quero reden&amp;ccedil;&amp;atilde;o nem pr&amp;ecirc;mio de consola&amp;ccedil;&amp;atilde;o.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;apenas ficar no meu canto e me preparar para errar apaixonadamente. pois o acerto vem com a pr&amp;aacute;tica do erro.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-111970110014578766?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/111970110014578766/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=111970110014578766' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111970110014578766'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111970110014578766'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/06/ntica-do-erro.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-111931101942737830</id><published>2005-06-20T20:43:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-06-25T08:34:35.086-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Space Oddity&lt;br /&gt;David Bowie&lt;br /&gt;Words and music by David Bowie&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ground Control to Major Tom&lt;br /&gt;Ground Control to Major Tom&lt;br /&gt;Take your protein pills and put your helmet on&lt;br /&gt;Ground Control to Major Tom&lt;br /&gt;Commencing countdown, engines on&lt;br /&gt;Check ignition and may God's love be with you&lt;br /&gt;(spoken)&lt;br /&gt;Ten, Nine, Eight, Seven, Six, Five, Four, Three, Two, One, Liftoff&lt;br /&gt;This is Ground Control to Major Tom&lt;br /&gt;You've really made the grade&lt;br /&gt;And the papers want to know whose shirts you wear&lt;br /&gt;Now it's time to leave the capsule if you dare&lt;br /&gt;"This is Major Tom to Ground Control&lt;br /&gt;I'm stepping through the door&lt;br /&gt;And I'm floating in a most peculiar way&lt;br /&gt;And the stars look very different today&lt;br /&gt;For here&lt;br /&gt;Am I sitting in a tin can&lt;br /&gt;Far above the world&lt;br /&gt;Planet Earth is blue&lt;br /&gt;And there's nothing I can do&lt;br /&gt;Though I'm past one hundred thousand miles&lt;br /&gt;I'm feeling very still&lt;br /&gt;And I think my spaceship knows which way to go&lt;br /&gt;Tell my wife I love her very much she knows"&lt;br /&gt;Ground Control to Major Tom&lt;br /&gt;Your circuit's dead, there's something wrong&lt;br /&gt;Can you hear me, Major Tom?&lt;br /&gt;Can you hear me, Major Tom?&lt;br /&gt;Can you hear me, Major Tom?&lt;br /&gt;Can you....&lt;br /&gt;"Here am I floating round my tin can&lt;br /&gt;Far above the Moon&lt;br /&gt;Planet Earth is blue&lt;br /&gt;And there's nothing I can do."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-111931101942737830?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/111931101942737830/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=111931101942737830' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111931101942737830'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111931101942737830'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/06/space-oddity-david-bowie-words-and.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-111929335760203860</id><published>2005-06-20T15:49:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-06-20T15:52:33.446-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;alagado&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;estou sentado em frente ao computador,tentando me acostumar com o novo teclado,enquanto a  &amp;aacute;gua inunda tudo ao meu redor. meus p&amp;eacute;s est&amp;atilde;o molhados, mas isso n&amp;atilde;o me retira da minha posi&amp;ccedil;&amp;atilde;o. continuarei aqui at&amp;eacute; n&amp;atilde;o poder mais, at&amp;eacute;ficar submerso e n&amp;atilde;o poder prender minha respira&amp;ccedil;&amp;atilde;o, at&amp;eacute; a &amp;aacute;gua levar o meu corpo sem vida para um outro lugar. um outro lugar.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-111929335760203860?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/111929335760203860/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=111929335760203860' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111929335760203860'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111929335760203860'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/06/alagado-estou-sentado-em-frente-ao.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-111525282581101395</id><published>2005-05-04T21:27:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-05-04T21:27:05.896-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;center&gt; luv (travis)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What&amp;rsquo;s so wrong&lt;br /&gt;Why the face so long&lt;br /&gt;Is it over&lt;br /&gt;And where you going that&lt;br /&gt;You no longer belong here&lt;br /&gt;And distance tells you that&lt;br /&gt;Distance must come between love&lt;br /&gt;Where have you been luv&lt;br /&gt;When the mistake we made&lt;br /&gt;Was in never having planned to fall in love luv&lt;br /&gt;Singing this song&lt;br /&gt;Singing along&lt;br /&gt;Makes it easier for me to see you go&lt;br /&gt;But in doing so&lt;br /&gt;In letting you go&lt;br /&gt;It only serves to show me&lt;br /&gt;That I&amp;rsquo;m still in love with you&lt;br /&gt;Singing this song&lt;br /&gt;Singing along&lt;br /&gt;Makes it easier for me to see you go&lt;br /&gt;But in doing so&lt;br /&gt;It only serves to show me&lt;br /&gt;That I&amp;rsquo;m still in love with you&lt;br /&gt;So what&amp;rsquo;s so wrong&lt;br /&gt;Why the face&lt;br /&gt;So long&lt;br /&gt;Are you changing&lt;br /&gt;And where you been to that&lt;br /&gt;You no longer remember&lt;br /&gt;And distance tells you that&lt;br /&gt;Distance must come between love&lt;br /&gt;Where have you been luv&lt;br /&gt;It&amp;rsquo;s just the chance we took&lt;br /&gt;Having never ever planned to fall in love luv&lt;br /&gt;It&amp;rsquo;s just the chance we took&lt;br /&gt;Having never ever planned to fall in love luv&lt;br /&gt;It&amp;rsquo;s just the chance we took&lt;br /&gt;Having never ever planned to fall in love luv&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-111525282581101395?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/111525282581101395/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=111525282581101395' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111525282581101395'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111525282581101395'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/05/luv-travis-whats-just-chance-we-took.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-111495029566136795</id><published>2005-05-01T09:24:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-05-01T09:24:55.660-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;center&gt;A Rush Of Blood To The Head&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Coldplay&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You said I'm gonna buy this place and burn it down &lt;br /&gt;I'm gonna put it six feet underground &lt;br /&gt;You said I'm gonna buy this place and watch it fall&lt;br /&gt;Stand here beside me baby in the crumbling walls &lt;br /&gt;Oh I'm gonna buy this place and start a fire&lt;br /&gt;Stand here until I fill all your hearts desires&lt;br /&gt;Because I'm gonna buy this place and see it burn&lt;br /&gt;And do back the things it did to you in return&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Huuuhhhh [x4]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You said I'm gonna buy a gun and start a war&lt;br /&gt;If you can tell me something worth fighting for&lt;br /&gt;Oh and I'm gonna buy this place is what I said&lt;br /&gt;Blame it upon a rush of blood to the head&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Honey, all the movements you're starting to make&lt;br /&gt;See me crumble and fall on my face&lt;br /&gt;And I know the mistakes that I've made&lt;br /&gt;See it all disappear without a trace&lt;br /&gt;And they call as they beckon you on&lt;br /&gt;They say start as you mean to go on&lt;br /&gt;Start as you mean to go on&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Said I'm gonna buy this place and see it go&lt;br /&gt;Stand here beside me baby, watch the orange glow&lt;br /&gt;Some'll laugh and some just sit and cry&lt;br /&gt;You just sit down there and you wonder why&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I'm gonna buy a gun and start a war&lt;br /&gt;If you can tell me something worth fighting for&lt;br /&gt;And I'm gonna buy this place is what I said&lt;br /&gt;Blame it upon a rush of blood to the head&lt;br /&gt;Oh to the head&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Honey, all the movements you're starting to make&lt;br /&gt;See me crumble and fall on my face&lt;br /&gt;And I know the mistakes that I've made&lt;br /&gt;See it all disappear without a trace&lt;br /&gt;And they call as they beckon you on&lt;br /&gt;They say start as you need to go on&lt;br /&gt;As you mean to go on&lt;br /&gt;As you mean to go on&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So meet me by the bridge&lt;br /&gt;Meet me by the lane&lt;br /&gt;When am I gonna see that pretty face again?&lt;br /&gt;Oh meet me on the road&lt;br /&gt;Meet me where I said&lt;br /&gt;Blame it all upon a rush of blood to the head&lt;/center&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-111495029566136795?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/111495029566136795/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=111495029566136795' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111495029566136795'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111495029566136795'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/05/rush-of-blood-to-head-coldplay-you.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-111483379083731075</id><published>2005-04-30T01:03:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-04-30T01:05:07.983-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>estou tentando. eu saio na rua e estou tentando. e &amp;agrave;s vezes at&amp;eacute; consigo. consigo voltar para casa sem me sentir estra&amp;ccedil;alhado. remo&amp;iacute;do. &lt;br /&gt;o grande problema &amp;eacute; que n&amp;atilde;o tenho mais o meu velho &amp;aacute;s na manga, o sarcasmo. a l&amp;iacute;ngua n&amp;atilde;o tem mais fel em sua ponta. meus olhos n&amp;atilde;o ficam mais vermelhos de raiva do mundo. eu quero colo, n&amp;atilde;o mais briga.&lt;br /&gt;e sim, ainda tenho pessoas que me amam. at&amp;eacute; quando n&amp;atilde;o me amo tanto.  e preciso delas. o que acontece &amp;eacute; que n&amp;atilde;o sei mais lidar com o resto do mundo. preciso de uma maneira nova. um novo olhar. um novo tato. e com a ajuda dos meus amigos que me amam, posso at&amp;eacute; aprender.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-111483379083731075?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/111483379083731075/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=111483379083731075' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111483379083731075'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111483379083731075'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/04/estou-tentando.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-111471403908321623</id><published>2005-04-28T15:47:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-04-28T15:47:31.323-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;center&gt;how to fight loneliness&lt;/center&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;voc&amp;ecirc; caminha na rua e n&amp;atilde;o encontra nenhum rosto amistoso. as pessoas conhecidas est&amp;atilde;o muito ocupadas e n&amp;atilde;o percebem que o seu sorriso &amp;eacute; s&amp;oacute; uma maneira de esconder o desconforto. pessoas novas se tornaram um perigo e voc&amp;ecirc; esqueceu como enfrentar isso.&lt;br /&gt;o que lhe restou foi seu cobertor, e seus discos, filmes e livros, trechos da sua autobiografia. as &amp;uacute;nicas coisas que te protegem do frio da noite.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-111471403908321623?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/111471403908321623/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=111471403908321623' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111471403908321623'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111471403908321623'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/04/how-to-fight-loneliness-vocnicas.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-111448168205613967</id><published>2005-04-25T23:14:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-04-25T23:14:42.056-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>eu sinto falta do encontro. do suspense. da respira&amp;ccedil;&amp;atilde;o ofegante. do medo. de imaginar um futuro que eu sei que n&amp;atilde;o vai acontecer. mas s&amp;oacute; de imaginar deixa o meu sono mais tranquilo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-111448168205613967?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/111448168205613967/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=111448168205613967' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111448168205613967'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111448168205613967'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/04/eu-sinto-falta-do-encontro.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-111413920553267441</id><published>2005-04-22T00:06:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-04-22T00:08:08.863-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;center&gt;&lt;img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/img/214/958/640/interpreter_poster.jpg" title="" border="0"&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;n&amp;atilde;o sei se o filme vale a pena mas o cartaz vale.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-111413920553267441?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/111413920553267441/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=111413920553267441' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111413920553267441'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111413920553267441'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/04/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-111316421291590107</id><published>2005-04-10T17:16:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-04-10T17:16:52.916-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/214/958/640/bella.jpg'&gt;&lt;img border='0' style='border:1px solid #000000; margin:2px' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/214/958/400/bella.jpg'&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;bella&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href='http://www.hello.com/' target='ext'&gt;&lt;img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbh.gif' alt='Posted by Hello' border='0' style='border:0px;padding:0px;background:transparent;' align='absmiddle'&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-111316421291590107?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/111316421291590107/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=111316421291590107' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111316421291590107'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111316421291590107'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/04/bella.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-111316390939714789</id><published>2005-04-10T17:11:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-04-10T17:11:49.396-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>estou levando o meu cer&amp;eacute;bro para passear. volto logo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-111316390939714789?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/111316390939714789/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=111316390939714789' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111316390939714789'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111316390939714789'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/04/estou-levando-o-meu-cerbro-para.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-111286480623293360</id><published>2005-04-07T06:06:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-04-07T06:06:46.233-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>a &lt;a href="http://infinitamente.blogspot.com/"&gt;isa&lt;/a&gt; falou de ba&amp;uacute; sentimental, e acho que esse blog &amp;eacute; apenas isso. um grande ba&amp;uacute; de mem&amp;oacute;rias pops.algumas belas, po&amp;eacute;ticas, outras sofridas e amargas. sempre achei que o que consumimos, filmes, livros, m&amp;uacute;sicas, hqs, seriados acabam se tornando fragmentos de n&amp;oacute;s mesmos. pe&amp;ccedil;as do nosso pr&amp;oacute;prio e confuso quebra cabe&amp;ccedil;a. &lt;br /&gt;e &amp;eacute; por isso que eu gosto tanto do meu ba&amp;uacute;. pois se me sinto perdido, tenho apenas de procurar por alguma memorab&amp;iacute;lia para achar um fragmento de mim mesmo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-111286480623293360?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/111286480623293360/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=111286480623293360' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111286480623293360'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111286480623293360'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/04/isa-falou-de-balia-para-achar-um.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-111253911405852381</id><published>2005-04-03T11:38:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-04-03T11:41:37.786-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>mais uma letra do senhor bernie taupin na voz de elton john para eu ficar repetindo igual a um idiota.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What  I gotta do to make you love me&lt;br /&gt;What  I gotta do to make you care&lt;br /&gt;What do I do when lightning strikes me&lt;br /&gt;And awake to find that you are not there&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I gotta do to make you want me&lt;br /&gt;What I gotta do to be heard&lt;br /&gt;what do I say when it's all over&lt;br /&gt;sorry seems to be the hardest word&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CHORUS&lt;br /&gt;It's sad, so sad&lt;br /&gt;It's a sad sad situation&lt;br /&gt;And it's getting more and more absurd&lt;br /&gt;It's sad (so sad) so sad&lt;br /&gt;Why can't we talk it over&lt;br /&gt;Oh, it seems to me&lt;br /&gt;Sorry seems to be the hardest word&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What do I do to make you want me&lt;br /&gt;What  I gotta do to be heard&lt;br /&gt;What do I say when its all over&lt;br /&gt;Sorry seems to be the hardest word&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CHORUS&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What do I do to make you love me&lt;br /&gt;What do I got to do to be heard&lt;br /&gt;What do I do when lightning strikes me&lt;br /&gt;What have I got to do,&lt;br /&gt;What have I got to do?&lt;br /&gt;When sorry seems to be the hardest word...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-111253911405852381?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/111253911405852381/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=111253911405852381' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111253911405852381'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111253911405852381'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/04/mais-uma-letra-do-senhor-bernie-taupin.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-111242305862870370</id><published>2005-04-02T03:24:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-04-02T04:37:58.106-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I Want Love&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;by Elton John&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want love, but it's impossible&lt;br /&gt;A man like me, so irresponsible&lt;br /&gt;A man like me is dead in places&lt;br /&gt;Other men feel liberated&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't love, shot full of holes&lt;br /&gt;Don't feel nothing, I just feel cold&lt;br /&gt;Don't feel nothing, just old scars&lt;br /&gt;Toughening up around my heart&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I want love, just a different kind&lt;br /&gt;I want love, won't bring me down&lt;br /&gt;Won't brick me up, won't fence me in&lt;br /&gt;I want a love, that don't mean a thing&lt;br /&gt;That's the love I want, I want love&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want love on my own terms&lt;br /&gt;After everything I've ever learned&lt;br /&gt;Me, I carry too much baggage&lt;br /&gt;Oh man I've seen so much traffic&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I want love, just a different kind&lt;br /&gt;I want love, won't bring me down&lt;br /&gt;Won't brick me up, won't fence me in&lt;br /&gt;I want a love, that don't mean a thing&lt;br /&gt;That's the love I want, I want love&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So bring it on, I've been bruised&lt;br /&gt;Don't give me love that's clean and smooth&lt;br /&gt;I'm ready for the rougher stuff&lt;br /&gt;No sweet romance, I've had enough&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A man like me is dead in places&lt;br /&gt;Other men feel liberated&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I want love, just a different kind&lt;br /&gt;I want love, won't bring me down&lt;br /&gt;Won't break me up, won't fence me in&lt;br /&gt;I want a love, that don't mean a thing&lt;br /&gt;That's the love I want, I want love&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I want love, just a different kind&lt;br /&gt;I want love, won't bring me down&lt;br /&gt;Won't break me up, won't fence me in&lt;br /&gt;I want a love, that don't mean a thing&lt;br /&gt;That's the love I want, I want love&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-111242305862870370?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/111242305862870370/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=111242305862870370' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111242305862870370'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111242305862870370'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/04/i-want-love-by-elton-john-i-want-love.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-111242244871779251</id><published>2005-04-02T03:14:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-04-02T03:22:28.286-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>ta bom, eu cansei de bancar o menino mau. sou um cara rom&amp;acirc;ntico,sim. talvez n&amp;atilde;o esteja pronto mas isso n&amp;atilde;o quer dizer que eu tenha de parar de sonhar.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-111242244871779251?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/111242244871779251/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=111242244871779251' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111242244871779251'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111242244871779251'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/04/ta-bom-eu-cansei-de-bancar-o-menino.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-111216731736112722</id><published>2005-03-30T04:21:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-03-30T04:21:57.360-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>o que acontece que a &amp;uacute;nica coisa que restou &amp;eacute; que eu ainda sou o cara que gosta de ficar at&amp;eacute; tarde vendo televis&amp;atilde;o. e que ainda se emociona com uma m&amp;uacute;sica do george michael. tirando isso, tudo mais mudou. por isso, n&amp;atilde;o se chateiem se eu n&amp;atilde;o rir das mesmas velhas piadas ou n&amp;atilde;o contar as velhas est&amp;oacute;rias. essa fase acabou.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;agora, n&amp;atilde;o me perguntem o que vai acontecer depois disso.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;pois nem quero saber.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-111216731736112722?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/111216731736112722/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=111216731736112722' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111216731736112722'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111216731736112722'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/03/o-que-acontece-que-o-me-perguntem-o.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-111216698370031039</id><published>2005-03-30T04:16:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-03-30T04:16:23.700-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"memories are wonderful things, if you don't have to deal with the past."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(celine em antes do entardecer)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-111216698370031039?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/111216698370031039/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=111216698370031039' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111216698370031039'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111216698370031039'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/03/memories-are-wonderful-things-if-you.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-111216662266859840</id><published>2005-03-30T04:10:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-03-30T04:10:22.666-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>freedom&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;george michael&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I won't let you down&lt;br /&gt;I will not give you up&lt;br /&gt;Gotta have some faith in the sound&lt;br /&gt;It's the one good thing that I've got&lt;br /&gt;I won't let you down&lt;br /&gt;So please don't give me up&lt;br /&gt;Because I would really, really love to stick around&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Heaven knows I was just a young boy&lt;br /&gt;Didn't know what I wanted to be&lt;br /&gt;I was every little hungry schoolgirl's pride and joy&lt;br /&gt;And I guess it was enough for me&lt;br /&gt;To win the race? A prettier face!&lt;br /&gt;Brand new clothes and a big fat place&lt;br /&gt;On your rock and roll TV&lt;br /&gt;But today the way I play the game is not the same&lt;br /&gt;No way&lt;br /&gt;Think I'm gonna get me some happy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think there's something you should know&lt;br /&gt;I think it's time I told you so&lt;br /&gt;There's something deep inside of me&lt;br /&gt;There's someone else I've got to be&lt;br /&gt;Take back your picture in a frame&lt;br /&gt;Take back your singing in the rain&lt;br /&gt;I just hope you understand&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes the clothes do not make the man&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All we have to do now&lt;br /&gt;Is take these lies and make them true somehow&lt;br /&gt;All we have to see&lt;br /&gt;Is that I don't belong to you&lt;br /&gt;And you don't belong to me&lt;br /&gt;Freedom&lt;br /&gt;You've gotta give for what you take&lt;br /&gt;Freedom&lt;br /&gt;You've gotta give for what you take&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Heaven knows we sure had some fun boy&lt;br /&gt;What a kick just a buddy and me&lt;br /&gt;We had every big shot good-time band on the run boy&lt;br /&gt;We were living in a fantasy&lt;br /&gt;We won the race&lt;br /&gt;Got out of the place&lt;br /&gt;I went back home got a brand new face&lt;br /&gt;For the boys on MTV&lt;br /&gt;But today the way I play the game has got to change&lt;br /&gt;Oh yeah&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm gonna get myself happy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think there's something you should know&lt;br /&gt;I think it's time I stopped the show&lt;br /&gt;There's something deep inside of me&lt;br /&gt;There's someone I forgot to be&lt;br /&gt;Take back your picture in a frame&lt;br /&gt;Don't think that I'll be back again&lt;br /&gt;I just hope you understand&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes the clothes do not make the man&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All we have to do now&lt;br /&gt;Is take these lies and make them true somehow&lt;br /&gt;All we have to see&lt;br /&gt;Is that I don't belong to you&lt;br /&gt;And you don't belong to me&lt;br /&gt;Freedom&lt;br /&gt;You've gotta give for what you take&lt;br /&gt;Freedom&lt;br /&gt;You've gotta give for what you take&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well it looks like the road to heaven&lt;br /&gt;But it feels like the road to hell&lt;br /&gt;When I knew which side my bread was buttered&lt;br /&gt;I took the knife as well&lt;br /&gt;Posing for another picture&lt;br /&gt;Everybody's got to sell&lt;br /&gt;But when you shake your ass&lt;br /&gt;They notice fast&lt;br /&gt;And some mistakes were built to last&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's what you get&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I say that's what you get&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's what you get for changing your mind&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And after all this time&lt;br /&gt;I just hope you understand&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes the clothes&lt;br /&gt;Do not make the man&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll hold on to my freedom&lt;br /&gt;May not be what you want from me&lt;br /&gt;Just the way it's got to be&lt;br /&gt;Lose the face now&lt;br /&gt;I've got to live&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-111216662266859840?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/111216662266859840/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=111216662266859840' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111216662266859840'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111216662266859840'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/03/freedom-george-michael-i-wont-let-you.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-111169745639156836</id><published>2005-03-24T17:50:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-03-24T17:50:56.390-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/img/214/958/640/rev_beforesunset.jpg" align="center" title="before" border="0"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;o que acontece &amp;eacute; que antes do amanhecer foi um filme que assombrou a minha vida. &amp;eacute; verdade. filmes, livros, m&amp;uacute;sicas fazem isso com a gente. nos perseguem em lugares distantes. n&amp;atilde;o d&amp;aacute; para escapar. e nem quis fugir. n&amp;atilde;o quero.&lt;br /&gt;e depois de quase 10 anos, richard linklater volta para me atormentar. antes do p&amp;ocirc;r do sol &amp;eacute; o esperado confronto entre os dois amantes s&amp;iacute;mbolos da nossa gera&amp;ccedil;&amp;atilde;o, celine e jesse. a francesa intelectual e delicada se reencontra com o americano pop desengon&amp;ccedil;ado. mas eles envelheceram, criaram vidas diferentes com novas pessoas. mas ser&amp;aacute; que isso nos afasta de quem fomos e de quem amamos?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;e &amp;eacute; isso que o filme tenta responder. porque certos amores ficam? depois de anos e de outros amores, porque certas pessoas n&amp;atilde;o desaparecem das nossas mem&amp;oacute;rias rom&amp;acirc;nticas?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;e se voc&amp;ecirc; tivesse uma segunda chance? resolveria algo? jesse e celine n&amp;atilde;o sabem. apenas sabem que mesmo com o medo de se machucarem e da dist&amp;acirc;ncia dos anos e das escolhas de vidas, eles querem se conhecer de novo, se reconhecerem. curtir uma tarde em paris como aquela tarde em viena mas n&amp;atilde;o mais como dois adolescentes e sim como dois adultos, j&amp;aacute; experimentados e feridos. por&amp;eacute;m ainda esperan&amp;ccedil;osos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;como todos n&amp;oacute;s.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-111169745639156836?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/111169745639156836/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=111169745639156836' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111169745639156836'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111169745639156836'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/03/o-que-acontece-s.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-111145959729381916</id><published>2005-03-21T23:46:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-03-21T23:52:22.400-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/img/214/958/640/virginia.jpg" align="center" title="blue tiger" border="0"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;sim, eu sou um fan&amp;aacute;tico por cultura pop, filmes b, quadrinhos e afins. nunca curti &amp;aacute;lbum de figurinhas de futebol ou qualquer outra coisa que os meninos da minha sala curtiam. o que eu gostava &amp;eacute; de ficar at&amp;eacute; altas horas de madrugada, mesmo tendo aula na manh&amp;atilde; seguinte, vendo filmes. qualquer filme. cl&amp;aacute;ssicos, baboseiras de hollywood, filmes de arte, qualquer coisa mesmo. mas o que mais gostava era descobrir filmes que sabia que s&amp;oacute; eu os apreciaria, eram os meus pequenos tesouros. filmes sem muito sucesso, fracassos at&amp;eacute;, na maioria filmes b baratos, mas sempre com alguma coisa especial, incomum.&lt;br /&gt;um dos meus prediletos &amp;eacute; "blue tiger" que passava nos domingos no sbt (num dia desses vou falar de sssssss, o homem cobra). a fita era cinema b de qualidade: muita a&amp;ccedil;&amp;atilde;o, artes marciais,seminus e uma protagonista sexy. mas tudo isso misturado de uma maneira inusitada e com uma trama bem escrita e que desenvolvia bem o tema do filme, a honra.&lt;br /&gt;gina era uma pacata m&amp;atilde;e solteira que amava seu filho, at&amp;eacute; que entrando num mercadinho no dia das bruxas tem o seu filho v&amp;iacute;tima de fogo cruzado de um misterioso homem mascarado e uma gangue de rua. a &amp;uacute;nica coisa que ela consegue identificar do assassino &amp;eacute; sua tatuagem de tigre. ent&amp;atilde;o ela come&amp;ccedil;a a pesquisar em v&amp;aacute;rias lojas de tatoo, que tipo de tatuagem &amp;eacute; e qual o seu significado. descobre que &amp;eacute; uma marca t&amp;iacute;pica dos matadores da yakuza e decide se tatuar tamb&amp;eacute;m com uma imagem de tigre e adentrar no mundo barra pesada da criminalidade japonesa para achar o assassino do seu filho.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;norberto barba, diretor do filme, n&amp;atilde;o se deixa limitar pelos aspectos b da pel&amp;iacute;cula e cria um clima noir quase surreal. antes do assassinato, a fotografia &amp;eacute; bastante luminosa, bem californiana, mas quando gina tem seu mundo destru&amp;iacute;do, ela adentra num mundo neon, de cores pesadas e muita fuma&amp;ccedil;a, bem t&amp;iacute;pico dos anos 80, um mundo artificial e encantador.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;e tudo isso combina perfeitamente com a int&amp;eacute;rprete de gina. virginia madsen. sim, a musa dos independentes de sideaways &amp;eacute; a tatuada da foto. virginia tem uma beleza ex&amp;oacute;tica e profana, como seu irm&amp;atilde;o (que ali&amp;aacute;s faz uma ponta no filme como tatuador) e encarna perfeitamente os dois lados da personagem, a m&amp;atilde;e dedicada e m&amp;atilde;e revoltada e com desejo de vingan&amp;ccedil;a.&lt;br /&gt;e um dos grandes charmes do filme &amp;eacute; como ele ultrapassa certos clich&amp;ecirc;s do g&amp;ecirc;nero policial. os assassinos da yakuza s&amp;atilde;o homens de certa honra e certa cultura, essencialmente humanos. e &amp;eacute;esse o dilema de gina. pois ela encontra carinho e honra nos bra&amp;ccedil;os de homens que ela deveria odiar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;se um dia blue tiger passar de novo no sbt, ponha o v&amp;iacute;deo cassete para gravar.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-111145959729381916?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/111145959729381916/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=111145959729381916' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111145959729381916'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111145959729381916'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/03/sim-eu-sou-um-fandeo-cassete-para.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-111125931843335409</id><published>2005-03-19T16:08:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-03-19T16:08:38.433-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;dance along the edge (concrete blonde)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes we laugh like children&lt;br /&gt;Go running holding hands&lt;br /&gt;I never felt like this before,&lt;br /&gt;I never will again&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes we cry like babies&lt;br /&gt;I hold you to my heart.&lt;br /&gt;I just can't stand to see you sad,&lt;br /&gt;It tears me all apart&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And we're so afraid and it's such a shame,&lt;br /&gt;There is no reason we should doube it.&lt;br /&gt;The things we want to say we'ver never said!&lt;br /&gt;And we look away and it's all ok and&lt;br /&gt;Never really talk about it&lt;br /&gt;It's a shame the way we dance along the edge&lt;br /&gt;Dance along the edge.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We always seem so careful,&lt;br /&gt;We're always so unsure.&lt;br /&gt;Our past mistakes they make us shakey...eyes on the door.&lt;br /&gt;When do we stop searching&lt;br /&gt;For what we're searching for?&lt;br /&gt;Then when it comes, we question love and try for more!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And we're happy here, but we live in fear&lt;br /&gt;We've seen a lot of temples crumble.&lt;br /&gt;Some of flesh and blood from love under glass.&lt;br /&gt;Will we come undone? Will we turn and run?&lt;br /&gt;And will we know it when we find it?&lt;br /&gt;It's a game the way we dance along the edge.&lt;br /&gt;And we'll walk the line and we'll do our time&lt;br /&gt;For just as long as we've been given,&lt;br /&gt;And pretend that we don't hear the things they've said.&lt;br /&gt;Can we promise love? Is it all too much&lt;br /&gt;And do our old souls still believe it?&lt;br /&gt;It's insane the way we dance along the edge.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-111125931843335409?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/111125931843335409/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=111125931843335409' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111125931843335409'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111125931843335409'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/03/dance-along-edge-concrete-blonde.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-111121026968416505</id><published>2005-03-19T02:31:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-03-19T02:31:09.683-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>o que eu preciso agora &amp;eacute; de m&amp;uacute;sicas do journey, de sorvete de baunilha, come&amp;ccedil;ar o livro do michael chabon, ver filmes bobos, rever a filmografia completa do john hugues, enfim...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;tentar tirar a cabe&amp;ccedil;a um pouco fora d&amp;acute;&amp;aacute;gua e ver como est&amp;atilde;o as coisas l&amp;aacute; fora.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-111121026968416505?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/111121026968416505/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=111121026968416505' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111121026968416505'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111121026968416505'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/03/o-que-eu-preciso-agora-fora.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3643741.post-111120964435135538</id><published>2005-03-19T02:20:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2005-03-19T02:24:17.730-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;center&gt;meu paradigma particular&lt;/center&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What came first, the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns, or watching violent videos, that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(alta fidelidade de nick hornby)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3643741-111120964435135538?l=blogpulp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/feeds/111120964435135538/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3643741&amp;postID=111120964435135538' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111120964435135538'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3643741/posts/default/111120964435135538'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://blogpulp.blogspot.com/2005/03/meu-paradigma-particular-what-came.html' title=''/><author><name>José Marcelo Moraes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10141367013054879910</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
