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The Death of the Moth, and other essays

by Virginia Woolf

Moths that fly by day are not properly to be called moths; they do not excite that
pleasant sense of dark autumn nights and ivy–blossom which the commonest
yellow–underwing asleep in the shadow of the curtain never fails to rouse in us.
They are hybrid creatures, neither gay like butterflies nor sombre like their own
species. Nevertheless the present specimen, with his narrow hay–coloured wings,
fringed with a tassel of the same colour, seemed to be content with life. It was a
pleasant morning, mid–September, mild, benignant, yet with a keener breath than
that of the summer months. The plough was already scoring the field opposite the
window, and where the share had been, the earth was pressed flat and gleamed
with moisture. Such vigour came rolling in from the fields and the down beyond
that it was difficult to keep the eyes strictly turned upon the book. The rooks too
were keeping one of their annual festivities; soaring round the tree tops until it
looked as if a vast net with thousands of black knots in it had been cast up into the
air; which, after a few moments sank slowly down upon the trees until every twig
seemed to have a knot at the end of it. Then, suddenly, the net would be thrown
into the air again in a wider circle this time, with the utmost clamour and
vociferation, as though to be thrown into the air and settle slowly down upon the
tree tops were a tremendously exciting experience. Read More »


O prazer não tem limites e o grau de criatividade que uns chegam par alcançá-lo é de se invejar.

Demanda culhões, “guts” e certa extroversão.

Para aqueles que fazem da leitura uma masturbação… Read More »

toda uma biblioteca, em várias línguas, de textos situacionistas e anarquismo


outra que vale a pena: http://www.cddc.vt.edu/SIOnline/si/situ.html

Preliminary Problems in Constructing a Situation

by SI 1958 Read More »

“Echo: the magazine you play on your phonograph

With a hole punched right through the center, ECHO magazine was a short-lived quarterly publication that consisted of interesting layouts interspersed with flexi records. The listener would fold the magazine open, set it on the turntable and drop the needle on it to hear the recordings.

Various Artists – Poetry Is a World of Things (5:44) Read More »


Jogo de Guerra, adaptação para a web do jogo criado pelo incendiário Guy Debord, que chegou a construir uma versão limitada no fim dos 70. depois ainda lançou com sua mulher, Alice Becker-Ho, o livro Le Jeu de la Guerre : Relevé des positions successives de toutes les forces au cours d’une partie. Read More »

Luther Blissett

1. Nunc est bibendum.

“Butch, whose motorcycle is this?” — “It’s a chopper.” — “Whose chopper is
this?” — “Zed’s.” — “Who’s Zed?” — “Zed’s dead, baby… Zed’s dead.”

Quentin Tarantino, 1994

When Guy The Bore died <1> the Italian reformist press responded with obvious,
misleading ‘obits’ with nothing to be surprised about . The same lib-lab trash-
shredders who swallowed and ruminated K. Popper’s dull tirades against TV, have
later celebrated The Bore as a prophet of Berlusconi’s taking the field. For
years the leftist Ignoranzhia has been mistaking the “spectacle” for the media
insolence of the Establishment or the cyclic recurrence of people like Letizia
Moratti <2>, or Sgarbi-and Ferrara-style Tv rows…<3> It ‘s no surprise then,
that a critical theory attacking commodification and a system of production
turning each of us in an insolent medium of the establishment, has been defused
by a metonimy (the effect instead of the cause, the content instead of the
container). Defusing the bomb was easy, due to its shortcomings, yet The Bore
doesn’t deserve to be stored in the pantheon of leftist heroes together with
Pajetta and Berlinguer <4> where catto-togliattiani intellectual gravediggers
are trying to put him, although as a heretic. Read More »

Как делать стихи

Как делать стихи




berio, luciano; n.III Read More »

Paris: Maio 68

Read this document on Scribd: Paris: Maio 68

em geral, não se trata de de coisa para menores, mas eles estão ali – desafiando o resto da minha paciência. uma hora o sono vence. bem, nem tão menores, mas isso é uma questão de épocas. toda hora surgem regras novas, acho que ainda não entendi nada de como funciona. o grau de entropia é elevadíssimo. não sei quanto ainda aguento. por que ainda não fui dormir? ou ainda escrevendo e o meu colo, mais pra pélvis, esquentando… Read More »