<?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-34231903</id><updated>2011-07-07T22:20:22.762-07:00</updated><title type='text'>ShortCuts</title><subtitle type='html'>Rapidinhas para aliviar o stress do dia-a-dia...</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>89</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-3015237313580067810</id><published>2009-12-15T15:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-15T15:56:59.840-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dejá vu</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;And maybe someday we will meet &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;And maybe talk and not just speak &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Don't buy the promises 'cause &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;There are no promises I keep, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;And my reflection troubles me so here I go &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;I'm not calling for a second chance, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;I'm screaming at the top of my voice, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Give me reason, but don't give me choice, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Cause I'll just make the same mistake &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;"&gt;Same Mistake - James Blunt&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;E tudo se repete. Pegue o blog, leia de trás pra frente, pronto! Estamos de novo no mesmo ponto. O universo se expande ou se contrai??? Claro que existem novos elementos. Uma pena eles serem estáticos. Podemos pular o Natal?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Comme devoir: não, aquilo na Noruega não era um míssel russo. Engana que eu gosto!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-3015237313580067810?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/3015237313580067810/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=3015237313580067810&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/3015237313580067810'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/3015237313580067810'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2009/12/deja-vu.html' title='Dejá vu'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-960844073362719056</id><published>2009-12-01T15:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-01T16:05:07.644-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Tous les jours</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;We never change do we?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;No, no.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;We never learn do we? [...]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Oh and I don't have a soul to save,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Yes and I sin every single day.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;We never change - Cold Play&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Minha mãe nunca gostou de copos trincados. Bastava o vidro esborcinar (beijo, vó!) que ia imediatamente para o lixo. Nada de lascas! Penso que, mesmo que não vaze nada de dentro, mesmo que a fratura não seja suficiente para machucar os lábios, essas possibilidades são sempre muito mais latentes do que em copos intactos. Por isso, é muito difícil conviver com um cristal quebrado. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Comme devoir: reza, seu Lúcio!! Reza!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-960844073362719056?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/960844073362719056/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=960844073362719056&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/960844073362719056'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/960844073362719056'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2009/12/tous-les-jours.html' title='Tous les jours'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-2523757080941293339</id><published>2009-11-17T17:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-18T15:50:50.143-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Le Scorpion</title><content type='html'>&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I know you want it&lt;br /&gt;It's easy to see&lt;br /&gt;And in the back of your mind&lt;br /&gt;I know you should be with me&lt;br /&gt;Don't cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me?&lt;br /&gt;Don't cha wish your girlfriend was a freak like me?&lt;br /&gt;Don't cha????&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Don't cha - Pussycat dolls&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;A verdade não é uma só. Nem a decepção. É difícil tratar de expectativas ou não projetar no outro o que seriam nossos próprios limites. Em um mundo onde a frustração é inevitável, talvez seja interessante partir do princípio puramente político de que as pessoas são muito boas enquanto seus interesses lhes permitirem, afinal, nessa vida o que não é comércio, é escambo!! Só é necessário ter cuidado pra não morrer no próprio veneno.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir: é como diz o "véio deitado" - o que arde, cura; o que aperta, segura.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-2523757080941293339?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/2523757080941293339/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=2523757080941293339&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/2523757080941293339'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/2523757080941293339'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2009/11/le-scorpion.html' title='Le Scorpion'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-193645383731783544</id><published>2009-11-05T16:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-05T16:39:14.579-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ma dernière seconde</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;I cheated myself&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Like I knew I would&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;I told ya, I was trouble&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;You know that I'm no good&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;You know I'm no good - Amy Winehouse&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;É muito difícil se livrar dos vícios. O cigarro, a gula, o amanteigado, o sexo... todos eles vem (já com reforma!) tomados de uma voracidade bestial e um prazer quase que celestial. Por isso o vício é um pecado. Ele eleva a criatividade aos últimos graus, ao inimaginável! Pra quem vem da mediocridade, muitas vezes menos é mais!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir: chocolate só estimula o problema! (ou a solução...)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-193645383731783544?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/193645383731783544/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=193645383731783544&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/193645383731783544'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/193645383731783544'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2009/11/ma-derniere-seconde.html' title='Ma dernière seconde'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-4505502014215353669</id><published>2009-08-30T14:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-30T14:22:43.104-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bonne Chance</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Tudo o que quer me dar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;É demais&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;É pesado&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Não há paz&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Tudo o que quer de mim&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Irreais&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Expectativas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Desleais&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Boa Sorte - Vanessa da Mata&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Não conheço outro que carregue tantas pedras. E carrega por vontade própria, porque acha que é seu dever carregá-las, tal qual Apolo em sua carruagem eleva o sol. Não seria melhor carregar plumas? Quer dizer, claro que um quilo de pedras ou um quilo de plumas não tem muita diferença no peso. Mas, tem no toque, na textura, sensação... E as plumas podem se perder em guerras de travesseiros, guerras essas, meu caro, que não machucam ninguém...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Comme devoir: será que visco elástico é realmente cuspe de chinês processado industrialmente?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-4505502014215353669?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/4505502014215353669/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=4505502014215353669&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/4505502014215353669'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/4505502014215353669'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2009/08/bonne-chance.html' title='Bonne Chance'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-8158290217011217735</id><published>2009-08-17T17:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-17T17:50:40.988-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pas pour moi, pas pour toi</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Eu quis dizer, você não quis escutar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Agora não peça, não me faça promessas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Eu não quero te ver, nem quero acreditar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Que vai ser diferente e que tudo mudou&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Você diz não saber o que houve de errado&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;E o meu erro foi crer que estar ao seu lado bastaria!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Mesmo querendo, eu não vou me enganar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Eu conheço seus passos, eu vejo seus erros&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Não há nada de novo, ainda somos iguais&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Então, não me chame, não olhe pra trás...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Meu Erro&lt;/em&gt; - Paralamas do Sucesso&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;O amor tem dessas coisas. Ele em si se completa. Algumas vezes não é necessário nem o outro. O amor basta. Não são necessários piqueniques no parque, tardes de domingo, sorvetes, risadas, longas conversas, massagem no pé, abraços apertados, pipoca com manteiga, matinê, DVD, canção romântica, filme pornô. Não é necessário compatilhar os momentos, os pensamentos, as ações, a vida. Não, não é. Não necessário acordar junto e ficar na cama sem fazer nada, só curtindo o outro. O tempo urge. Basta o amor. Só que assim, o amor fica tão vazio... é muito melhor sob os olhos e os braços do outro. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Comme devoir: Amor é latifúndio, sexo é invasão.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-8158290217011217735?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/8158290217011217735/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=8158290217011217735&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/8158290217011217735'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/8158290217011217735'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2009/08/pas-pour-moi-pas-pour-toi.html' title='Pas pour moi, pas pour toi'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-691311437517965701</id><published>2009-08-10T16:56:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-10T17:10:48.664-07:00</updated><title type='text'>La fin justifie-t-elle les moyens ?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;A saudade é um filme sem cor &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Que meu coração quer ver colorido&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;A saudade é uma colcha velha&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Que cobriu um dia, numa noite fria&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Nosso amor em brasa...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Brigitte Bardot &lt;/em&gt;- Zeca Baleiro&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Queimei meu dedo, meu pescoço, meu queixo e não consegui enrolar o cabelo. Queimei meus neurônios, minhas palavras e... arebába! Como acender lamparinas do juízo? Não há resposta possível. Tente mais tarde! Tu-tu-tu-tu-tu...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir: alfa é o conceito, beta o teste para nova versão... de alfa!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-691311437517965701?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/691311437517965701/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=691311437517965701&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/691311437517965701'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/691311437517965701'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2009/08/la-fin-justifie-t-elle-les-moyens.html' title='La fin justifie-t-elle les moyens ?'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-4480131035616328614</id><published>2009-08-04T17:45:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-04T17:56:54.761-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mon lieu</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Você me tem fácil demais&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Mas não parece capaz de cuidar do que possui ...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;"Nada por mim" - Kid Abelha&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;p&gt;Há algum tempo, eu ia numa academia fazer aula de Hidroginástica. Logo na inscrição a mocinha da recepção me advertiu que usaríamos o vestiário da piscina infantil porque o principal estava reformando. "Estamos em obras para melhor servi-lo". Eu fiz dois anos de hidro lá e depois parei. O vestiário nunca ficou pronto.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Comme devoir: Agradecemos a colaboração.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-4480131035616328614?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/4480131035616328614/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=4480131035616328614&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/4480131035616328614'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/4480131035616328614'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2009/08/mon-lieu.html' title='Mon lieu'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-2118888041657850956</id><published>2009-06-07T09:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-07T09:49:59.297-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pour un péché original</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;You look like an angel&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Walk like an angel&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Talk like an angel&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;But I get wise... you're the devil in desguise!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;- By Elvis -&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;E sobre o bíblico conceito do "aqui se faz, aqui se paga", proponho um tom mais marketing, que faça o conceito "pegar" na atualidade... Que tal "peque e pague"? Passa uma sensação mais justa e imediata, diminuindo a culpa embutida na frase antiga. Eu gosto dessa versão repaginada. Tenho tanto bônus que posso pecar por um bom tempo sem grandes consequências. Sempre paguei promessa antecipada... Me diziam pra não barganhar com o Santo... De qualquer forma, ao pecar e receber o ticket, eu penso: "tudo bem, eu mereço mesmo!" E a vida fica mais leve. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br&gt;Comme devoir: Lucifer também era anjo... não dá pra esperar muito de quem está subindo do Hades!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-2118888041657850956?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/2118888041657850956/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=2118888041657850956&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/2118888041657850956'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/2118888041657850956'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2009/06/pour-un-peche-original.html' title='Pour un péché original'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-4062484024820394862</id><published>2009-05-31T15:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-31T15:54:46.174-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pour un secret</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;"Va revoir les roses. Tu comprendras que la tienne est unique au monde. Tu reviendras me dire adieu, et je te ferai cadeau d'un secret."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Le petit prince s'en fut revoir les roses:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;"Vous n'êtes pas du tout semblabes à ma rose, vous n'êtes rien encore, leur dit-il. Personne ne vous a apprivoisées et vous n'avez apprivoisé personne. Vous êtes comme était mon renard. Ce n'était qu'un renard semblable à cent mille autres. Mais j'en ai fai mon ami, et il est maintenant unique au monde."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;E les roses étaient bien gênées.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;"Vous êtes belles, mais vous êtes vides, leur dit-il encore. On ne peut pas mourir pour vous. Bien sûr, ma rose à moi, un passant ordinaire croirait qu'elle vous ressemble. Mais à elle seule elle est plus importante que vous toutes, puisque c'est elle que j'ai arrosée. Puisque c'est que j'ai mise sous globe. Puisque c'est elle que j'ai abritée par le paravent. Puisque c'est elle dont j'ai tué les chenilles (sauf les deux ou trois pous les papillons). Puisque c'est elle que j'ai écoutée se plaindre, ou se vanter, ou même quelquefois se taire. Puisque c'est ma rose."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;E il revint vers le renard:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;"Adieu, dit-il..."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;- Adieu, dit le renard. Voici mon secret. Il est très simple : on ne voit bien qu'avec le coeur. L'essentiel est visible pour les yeux (...) C'est les temps que tu as perdu pour ta rose qui fait ta rose si importante (...) Les hommes ont oublié cette verité, dit le renard. Mias tu ne dois pas l'oublier. Tu deviens responsable pour toujours de ce que tu as apprivoisé. Tu es responsable de ta rose..."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On n'est pas l'essentiel mais est très visible pour mes yeux. M'ai apprivoisée. Je ne sens rien et je n'oublies pas pour toujours. C'est ma renard, mais ce n'est pas ma rose... Nous sommes tous renards... Mais le plus important c'est que m'ai fait sourir. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir: maintenant, peu importe construire mais oublier !&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-4062484024820394862?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/4062484024820394862/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=4062484024820394862&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/4062484024820394862'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/4062484024820394862'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2009/05/pour-un-secret.html' title='Pour un secret'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-7742532313540602582</id><published>2009-05-16T13:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-16T13:30:59.379-07:00</updated><title type='text'>La Visage</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Hoje assisti um documentário bem interessante sobre o Chile. Triste, mas, interessante. No final, o narrador dizia a seguinte frase: "a Esperança tem duas filhas lindas: a Raiva e a Coragem - raiva para reconhecer e se indignar perante as adversidades e coragem para lutar e mudar essas situações". Fiquei em dúvida se sou movida pela raiva ou pela coragem. Olhei pro lado. Um sorriso. Sorri. Concluí que, o que realmente importa não é o que impulsiona, e sim, a esperança. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br&gt;Comme devoir: vinte-e-nove, vinte-e-dez, vinte-e-onze, vinte-e-doze, ...&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-7742532313540602582?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/7742532313540602582/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=7742532313540602582&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/7742532313540602582'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/7742532313540602582'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2009/05/la-visage.html' title='La Visage'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-4589137979198974020</id><published>2009-05-13T17:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-13T17:13:53.933-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Références</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Quando eu estava aprendendo a dirigir, um amigo maluco me disse: "Por que você coloca o espelho de forma que metade dele visualize o carro? Você sabe onde o carro está! Sua referência deve ser a rua, devem ser os outros carros. Você não precisa olhar para o seu carro para saber onde está!" Foi estranho perder, assim, a referência que me era tão familiar. Mas, hoje, eu penso: "Por que será que eu fazia isso? Que coisa mais sem sentido..."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Comme devoir: virar meu retrovisor um pouco mais pra vida.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-4589137979198974020?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/4589137979198974020/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=4589137979198974020&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/4589137979198974020'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/4589137979198974020'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2009/05/references.html' title='Références'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-188935702896615354</id><published>2009-05-09T07:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-09T08:06:27.058-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Je suis</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;"...É curioso como não sei dizer quem sou. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Quer dizer, sei-o bem, mas não posso dizer. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Sobretudo tenho medo de dizer porque no momento &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;em que tento falar não só não exprimo &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;o que sinto como o que sinto se transforma lentamente no que eu digo... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Sou como você me vê. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Posso ser leve como uma brisa ou forte como uma ventania, d&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;epende de quando e como você me vê passar. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Não me dêem fórmulas certas, por que eu não espero acertar sempre. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Não me mostrem o que esperam de mim, por que vou seguir meu coração. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Não me façam ser quem não sou. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Não me convidem a ser igual, por que sinceramente sou diferente. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Não sei amar pela metade. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Não sei viver de mentira. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Não sei voar de pés no chão. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Sou sempre eu mesma, mas com certeza não serei a mesma pra sempre" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;- Clarice Lispector -&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Ele disse: "Imagine Cancun e Paris. Cancun é férias, um lugar pra relaxar, pra curtir, pra lembrar. Não dá pra passar a vida em Cancun. Enjoa. Já Paris... ah! Paris é um estilo de vida, uma concepção de mundo. Você não passa por Paris, você vive Paris. Agora, imagine que você é Paris..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir: imagine que você é Paris, imagine que você é Paris, imagine que você é Paris, ...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-188935702896615354?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/188935702896615354/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=188935702896615354&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/188935702896615354'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/188935702896615354'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2009/05/je-suis.html' title='Je suis'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-6599275416457158635</id><published>2009-05-05T18:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-05T18:10:15.080-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Les Fleurs du Mal</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Não me atire no mar de solidão &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Você tem a faca, o queijo e meu coração nas mãos &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Não me retalhe em escândalos &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Nem tão pouco cobre o perdão &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Deixe que eu cure a ferida dessa louca paixão &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Que acabou feito um sonho &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Foi o meu inferno, foi o meu descanso &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;A mesma mão que acaricia, fere e sai furtiva &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Faz do amor uma história triste&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;O bem que você me fez nunca foi real &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Da semente mais rica, nasceram flores do mal &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;- &lt;em&gt;Flores do Mal &lt;/em&gt;- Barão Vermelho - &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;"Eu sinto muito por você ter tantos sentimentos por alguém que não gosta de você" - ele disse. Naquele momento, alguns pontos estouraram. Imediatamente, peguei linha, agulha e costurei forte, pra não abrir mais. Ele perguntou: "O que vc está fazendo? Esse seu coração tem tanta costura que parece um novelo..." Ao que eu respondi: "Um casulo, meu caro, estou enrolando um casulo! Tenha paciência pq dos casulos, na hora certa, nascem as borboletas..."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Comme devoir: dar carona apenas a gente muda.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-6599275416457158635?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/6599275416457158635/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=6599275416457158635&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/6599275416457158635'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/6599275416457158635'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2009/05/les-fleurs-du-mal.html' title='Les Fleurs du Mal'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-2218862485279927912</id><published>2009-05-01T10:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-01T10:34:54.687-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Qui est-ce vous?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;"Não sei quem sou, que alma tenho.&lt;br /&gt;Quando falo com sinceridade não sei com que sinceridade falo.&lt;br /&gt;Sou variamente outro do que um eu que não sei se existe (se é esses outros)...&lt;br /&gt;Sinto crenças que não tenho.&lt;br /&gt;Enlevam-me ânsias que repudio.&lt;br /&gt;A minha perpétua atenção sobre mim perpetuamente me ponta&lt;br /&gt;traições de alma a um carácter que talvez eu não tenha,&lt;br /&gt;nem ela julga que eu tenho.&lt;br /&gt;Sinto-me múltiplo.&lt;br /&gt;Sou como um quarto com inúmeros espelhos fantásticos&lt;br /&gt;que torcem para reflexões falsas&lt;br /&gt;uma única anterior realidade que não está em nenhuma e está em todas.&lt;br /&gt;Como o panteísta se sente árvore (?) e até a flor,&lt;br /&gt;eu sinto-me vários seres.&lt;br /&gt;Sinto-me viver vidas alheias, em mim, incompletamente,&lt;br /&gt;como se o meu ser participasse de todos os homens,&lt;br /&gt;incompletamente de cada (?),&lt;br /&gt;por uma suma de não-eus sintetizados num eu postiço."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;- Fernando Pessoa -&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;É demais querer saber o outro? Quem ele é, o que quer, o que o movo? Acho que uma boa de sinceridade nos dá a resposta. Mas, isso me parece bem difícil nos dias de hoje. A vida é sempre um risco. É mais simples administrar vários "eus". Evita a fadiga.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Comme devoir: não importa em que ponto ele ficou, e sim, que não está mais aqui por livre e espontânea vontade.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-2218862485279927912?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/2218862485279927912/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=2218862485279927912&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/2218862485279927912'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/2218862485279927912'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2009/05/qui-est-ce-vous.html' title='Qui est-ce vous?'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-7755276816020458263</id><published>2009-04-26T16:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-26T17:10:01.112-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Les fiancées</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Tem dias que absolutamente não consigo entender o que aconteceu. Revejo fotos e fatos. Revejo meus sonhos abstratos na realidade alheia que ajudo a construir. E fico de olhos marejados de saudades e desejos vãos. Pra mim não é fácil. Não é fácil quando a única verdade do outro é seu nome. É cruel acreditar nisso. Mas, contra fatos não há argumentos. Afinal, "aonde está você agora além de aqui, dentro de mim?". Gostaria de ir-me embora para Pasárgada...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br&gt;Comme devoir: um brinde à vida que poderia ter sido, mas, não foi.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-7755276816020458263?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/7755276816020458263/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=7755276816020458263&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/7755276816020458263'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/7755276816020458263'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2009/04/les-fiancees.html' title='Les fiancées'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-8673937784560822995</id><published>2009-04-24T17:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-24T17:20:57.958-07:00</updated><title type='text'>La vie en rose</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;"Um delírio (às vezes denominado delusão) é definido geralmente &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;como uma &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;falsa crença e é usado na linguagem formal para descrever &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;uma crença que é, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;ou irreal ou derivada de fraude." - definição Wikipedia&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Alguns dias tenho a impressão de ter vivido um delírio. Uma espécie de esquizofrenia aguda com nuances impressionistas. Porque me parece que é assim que eu gosto da vida - como se fosse um borrão com formas definidas à distância. Tons pastéis. Mas, o único pastel sou eu!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Comme devoir: pior que engolir o sapo é carregar a onça!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-8673937784560822995?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/8673937784560822995/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=8673937784560822995&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/8673937784560822995'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/8673937784560822995'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2009/04/la-vie-en-rose.html' title='La vie en rose'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-3545346294974229439</id><published>2009-04-13T17:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-13T17:29:29.508-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Qu'est-ce que vous meritez?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;"Você merece alguém que cuide de você, só pra variar um pouco" - ele disse e todos concordaram. Mas, quem passa o dia todo sustentando o peso das minhas escolhas, sou só eu mesma. E a culpa... ah, meu caro!! Essa sim é o saco de nada mais pesado que podemos levar!! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;Entre por essa porta agora e diga que me adora&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;Você tem meia hora pra mudar a minha vida...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Comme devoir: toda vez que choveu, passou! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-3545346294974229439?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/3545346294974229439/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=3545346294974229439&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/3545346294974229439'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/3545346294974229439'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2009/04/quest-ce-que-vouz-meritez.html' title='Qu&apos;est-ce que vous meritez?'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-1464234281117183431</id><published>2009-04-05T08:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-05T08:30:11.219-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Des Travaux</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Sair e deixar "portas abertas" pode ter suas vantagens, mas, também tem um grande perigo: entrar ladrão!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Comme devoir: essa menina não quer mais saber de mal-me-quer.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-1464234281117183431?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/1464234281117183431/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=1464234281117183431&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/1464234281117183431'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/1464234281117183431'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2009/04/des-travaux.html' title='Des Travaux'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-4390849459188940637</id><published>2009-03-28T07:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-28T07:36:13.592-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Comme Devoir</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Ah, acabo de ler o Blog todo. Quero deixar claro que não perdi o tom, maaaasss, preciso afinar as cordas...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Comme devoir: ler tudo de novo e de novo e de novo até passar.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-4390849459188940637?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/4390849459188940637/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=4390849459188940637&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/4390849459188940637'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/4390849459188940637'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2009/03/comme-devoir.html' title='Comme Devoir'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-1044000859890810080</id><published>2009-03-28T06:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-28T06:55:28.584-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sentimentale</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Por enquanto, não mais que por enquanto, acredito que as músicas possam dizer mais sobre o que penso do que eu mesma poderia formular. Então, até meu cérebro voltar a funcionar por si só, ficam as paráfrases...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;O quanto eu te falei que isso vai mudar&lt;br /&gt;Motivo eu nunca dei...&lt;br /&gt;Você me avisar, me ensinar,&lt;br /&gt;falar do que foi pra você, não vai me livrar de viver !&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quem é mais sentimental que eu?!&lt;br /&gt;Eu disse e nem assim se pôde evitar... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;De tanto eu te falar, você subverteu&lt;br /&gt;o que era um sentimento e assim fez dele razão...&lt;br /&gt;pra se perder no abismo que é pensar e sentir&lt;br /&gt;Ela é mais sentimental que eu!&lt;br /&gt;Então fica bem...&lt;br /&gt;...se eu sofro um pouco mais...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Se ela te fala assim, com tantos rodeios,&lt;br /&gt;é pra te seduzir&lt;br /&gt;e te ver buscando o sentido&lt;br /&gt;daquilo que você ouviria displicentemente.&lt;br /&gt;Se ela te fosse direta, você a rejeitaria." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu só aceito a condição de ter você só pra mim&lt;br /&gt;Eu sei, não é assim, mas deixa eu fingir... e rir.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;(Sentimental - Los Hermanos)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir: o único ideal concreto é a Arte. Ler Platão.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-1044000859890810080?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/1044000859890810080/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=1044000859890810080&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/1044000859890810080'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/1044000859890810080'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2009/03/sentimentale.html' title='Sentimentale'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-3915764037753184640</id><published>2009-03-24T16:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-28T07:03:30.968-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Trajectoire</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;"Não perca tempo assim contando história &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;pra que forçar tanto a memória pra dizer &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;A triste hora do fim se faz notória &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;e continuar a trajetória é retroceder&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;Não há no mundo lei que possa condenar &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;alguém que a um outro alguém deixou de amar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;eu já me preparei, parei para pensar &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;e vi que é bem melhor não perguntar &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;por que é que tem que ser assim?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;Ninguém jamais pôde mudar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;recebe menos quem mais tem pra dar &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;E agora queira dar licença que eu já vou &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;deixa assim, por favor!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;não ligue se acaso o meu pranto rolar, tudo bem...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;me deseje só felicidade, vamos manter a amizade&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;mas não me queira só por pena&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;nem me crie mais problemas" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;(Trajetória - Maria Rita)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Comme devoir: Pra quem sofre, um minuto é uma eternidade!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-3915764037753184640?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/3915764037753184640/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=3915764037753184640&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/3915764037753184640'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/3915764037753184640'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2009/03/trajectoire.html' title='Trajectoire'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-4246231467270229713</id><published>2009-03-15T11:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-15T11:05:37.794-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Un nouveau Dimanche</title><content type='html'>... E que o tempo tire essa dor do centro das atenções, minha e de todos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Avião sem asa,&lt;br /&gt;fogueira sem brasa,&lt;br /&gt;sou eu assim sem você.&lt;br /&gt;Futebol sem bola,&lt;br /&gt;Piu-piu sem Frajola,&lt;br /&gt;sou eu assim sem você.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Por que é que tem que ser assim&lt;br /&gt;se o meu desejo não tem fim.&lt;br /&gt;Eu te quero a todo instante nem mil auto falantes&lt;br /&gt;vão poder falar por mim.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Amor sem beijinho,&lt;br /&gt;Bochecha sem claudinho,&lt;br /&gt;sou eu assim sem você.&lt;br /&gt;Circo sem palhaço,&lt;br /&gt;namoro sem amasso,&lt;br /&gt;sou eu assim sem você&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Tô louca pra te ver chegar,&lt;br /&gt;Tô louca pra te ter nas mãos.&lt;br /&gt;Deitar no teu abraço,&lt;br /&gt;Retomar o pedaço que falta no meu coração.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Eu não existo longe de você&lt;br /&gt;e a solidão é o meu pior castigo.&lt;br /&gt;Eu conto as horas pra poder te ver&lt;br /&gt;mas o relógio tá de mal comigo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Por quê?&lt;br /&gt;Por quê?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Neném sem chupeta,&lt;br /&gt;Romeu sem Julieta,&lt;br /&gt;sou eu assim sem você.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Carro sem estrada,&lt;br /&gt;queijo sem goiabada,&lt;br /&gt;sou eu assim sem você&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Por que é que tem que ser assim&lt;br /&gt;se o meu desejo não tem fim.&lt;br /&gt;Eu te quero a todo instante nem mil auto falantes vão poder&lt;br /&gt;falar por mim&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Eu não existo longe de você&lt;br /&gt;e a solidão é o meu pior castigo.&lt;br /&gt;Eu conto as horas pra poder te ver&lt;br /&gt;mas o relógio tá de mal comigo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-4246231467270229713?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/4246231467270229713/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=4246231467270229713&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/4246231467270229713'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/4246231467270229713'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2009/03/un-nouveau-dimanche.html' title='Un nouveau Dimanche'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-6791313367675734617</id><published>2008-10-18T11:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-18T11:54:57.621-07:00</updated><title type='text'>#15</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;No ápice da labuta, eis que encontro, perdido na aleatoriedade do caos, entre notas trocadas, a resposta para um pensamento que eu ainda não tinha.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;"A chuva&lt;br /&gt;Não volta para cima.&lt;br /&gt;Quando a ferida&lt;br /&gt;Não dói mais&lt;br /&gt;Dói a cicatriz." - B. Brecht -&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;C.D.: Saudades do homem!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-6791313367675734617?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/6791313367675734617/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=6791313367675734617&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/6791313367675734617'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/6791313367675734617'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2008/10/15.html' title='#15'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-3778530072707820484</id><published>2008-09-07T10:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-07T10:16:40.070-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pour aujourd'hui... pas de souffrir!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;De que adianta pensar e falar? 'E a exaustiva tarefa diaria de varrer a praia, enxugar o mar e contar as estrelas...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Comme devoir: se a alma sofre, o corpo realmente padece.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-3778530072707820484?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/3778530072707820484/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=3778530072707820484&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/3778530072707820484'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/3778530072707820484'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2008/09/pour-aujourdhui-pas-de-souffrir.html' title='Pour aujourd&apos;hui... pas de souffrir!'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-2417586740908418384</id><published>2008-06-08T16:11:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-08T16:13:27.204-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pour lire</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Melhor mesmo são os livros - com eles não tem ingratidão - quanto mais você se dedica a eles, mais eles retribuem. Sorte pra quem tem!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br&gt;Comme devoir: tentando um retorno. Agora pra valer!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-2417586740908418384?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/2417586740908418384/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=2417586740908418384&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/2417586740908418384'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/2417586740908418384'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2008/06/pour-lire.html' title='Pour lire'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-770054008037528142</id><published>2008-04-25T14:32:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-25T14:39:21.708-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pour toujours</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Um dia tem 24 horas e parece pouco para o tanto que temos a fazer; um ano tem 365 dias e 6 horas e parece muito tempo pro que temos que planejar. Mas, existem momentos em que um dia é muito mais do que um ano - é quando olhamos pra trás e lembramos em um minuto tudo o que vivemos. Aí, olhamos pra frente e sentimos no peito o ponteiro do relógio batendo cada segundo de cada minuto de cada hora...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir: como diriam no AA - cada dia, uma vitória!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-770054008037528142?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/770054008037528142/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=770054008037528142&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/770054008037528142'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/770054008037528142'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2008/04/pour-toujours.html' title='Pour toujours'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-5580040959124110240</id><published>2008-02-26T16:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-26T16:59:29.440-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Petite Diference</title><content type='html'>Estou pensando na diferença entre sofrimento e infelicidade. Um amigo me disse que é diferente. Penso que ele tem razão. Tenho lá meus sofrimentos, cultivo meus dramas, mas, estou certa de que não sou infeliz. Busco minha cura mesmo nos pontos cegos do espelho e tenho fé que ela vai chegar. De um jeito ou de outro. Mas, essas criaturas sensíveis sofrem mais mesmo. Fazer o quê?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir: a lágrima é a alma transbordando pelos olhos.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-5580040959124110240?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/5580040959124110240/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=5580040959124110240&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/5580040959124110240'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/5580040959124110240'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2008/02/petite-diference.html' title='Petite Diference'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-2979476691509170187</id><published>2008-01-19T09:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-19T09:51:20.903-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Saigner</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;"Eu não sei dizer por que a senhora sangra tanto, moça" - lamentou o médico.&lt;br /&gt;"É porque mulher é assim, doutor... nasce partida até no coração!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir: quanto vale o show, maestro??&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-2979476691509170187?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/2979476691509170187/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=2979476691509170187&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/2979476691509170187'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/2979476691509170187'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2008/01/saigner.html' title='Saigner'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-7659807796819297824</id><published>2008-01-08T15:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-08T15:28:14.317-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Pour Rester</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Às vezes cansa bater e apanhar. O desgaste do treino pra... bater e apanhar. Às vezes é melhor vender um grill revolucionário do que perder os dentes. Isso é juízo!! Sabe qual é a grande vantagem de falar com os surdos? O desejo deles é ouvir...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br&gt;Comme devoir: I'm big girl now and big girls don't cry!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-7659807796819297824?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/7659807796819297824/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=7659807796819297824&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/7659807796819297824'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/7659807796819297824'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2008/01/pour-rester.html' title='Pour Rester'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-8605982593421397207</id><published>2008-01-02T15:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-02T15:50:17.472-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Excessive</title><content type='html'>A percepção de que o amor virou obsessão nota-se na ausência - se nem o retorno do ser "amado" é capaz de superar a dor de sua partida, significa que o caldo entornou...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir: tão difícil quanto juntar água e óleo é separá-los...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-8605982593421397207?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/8605982593421397207/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=8605982593421397207&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/8605982593421397207'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/8605982593421397207'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2008/01/excessive.html' title='Excessive'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-8927847677465859207</id><published>2007-11-02T11:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-02T12:01:09.302-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bonjour, Monsieur Courbet!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Volto ao tema da falta de perspectiva. Chuvas de verão. Devem durar até meados de março. Devem apertar durante as férias escolares. As mesmas palavras controversas. Sempre. A ânsia gerada por uma variação meteorológica tão discrepante - planejar um piquenique e desejar infinitamente que faça sol, quanto os ventos apontam um ciclone tropical. Por isso, admiro muito a arte impressionista, de perspectiva furtiva e momento único. Porque a vida é assim - a uma passante.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir: para entender a modernidade, Oevrès Complétes do Baudelaire.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-8927847677465859207?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/8927847677465859207/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=8927847677465859207&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/8927847677465859207'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/8927847677465859207'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/11/bonjour-monsieur-courbet.html' title='Bonjour, Monsieur Courbet!'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-7040681066763157554</id><published>2007-10-09T20:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-09T20:27:34.608-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Le Ciel et l'Enfer</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Um amigo me indicou um livro. Diz que a história é uma alegoria entre o Céu, o Inferno e o que há no meio. Penso que é um livro ambicioso, se não damos conta do que temos entre a mente e o coração. Interessante. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br&gt;Comme devoir: "Só posso matá-lo com seu consentimento" - disse-lhe o anjo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-7040681066763157554?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/7040681066763157554/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=7040681066763157554&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/7040681066763157554'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/7040681066763157554'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/10/le-ciel-et-lenfer.html' title='Le Ciel et l&apos;Enfer'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-7229047598219569370</id><published>2007-09-28T16:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-29T14:59:26.781-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Aucun Retour</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Às vezes, talvez numa incidência trimestral, vem à tona, de maneira estrambólica e estrábica, a presença ausente. Explico - essa é aquela presença que perambula pela casa, mas, que, na verdade, não está lá. Ter essa condição avessa em minha vida me torna, para outrem, o oposto de uma realidade convivente (e insistente!) de ausência presente - gente que espera o que nunca vem. O ruim é que, em ambos os casos, por mais que se saiba o desfecho o golpe sempre dói. Resta saber o que fazer com a sequela.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir: há sempre os que amam demais e os que não sabem amar (e nem nunca aprenderão!)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-7229047598219569370?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/7229047598219569370/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=7229047598219569370&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/7229047598219569370'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/7229047598219569370'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/09/aucun-retour.html' title='Aucun Retour'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-652195155653689376</id><published>2007-09-25T20:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-25T21:20:22.760-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Le Cheval de Napoleon</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Guardada certa distância, vou observando a construção de algumas misérias. Minhas, dos outros, não importa. Hoje não será short-cut. Vou mudar o formato do post só dessa vez. É que não estou com vontade de dar nada de graça. Vou vazar os pensamentos pelo ladrão, assim como eles caíram na minha mente, e cada um que conte sua história.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A idéia de "revolução" vem da astronomia e não das ciências sociais. Revolução é o movimento circular (ou eliptico, como preferir!) das órbitas dos astros. Na Revolução Francesa é que esse termo ganha o valor de "guinada", apoderado pelas Humanas que, inclusive, inventaram a própria Revolução Francesa.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pode parecer (e é!) cliché, mas, lembro de uma história, dessas apócrifas que conta-se uma vez e aplica-se a todos os grandes sábios e mestres do mundo. Essa, me lembro com Sócrates (e Jesus nos tempos longínquos do catecismo). O cara sacana segura um pássaro entre as mãos de forma que o pescoço do bichinho fique entre seus dedos e diz: "se você é tão sabido quanto dizem, responda - o pássaro está vivo ou morto?" Era uma questão sem resposta - se o sábio dissesse 'vivo', ele quebraria o pescoço do bicho e se o sábio dissesse 'morto', ele libertaria a ave para voar. No entanto, o sábio era malaco e disse: "a resposta está em suas mãos!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Essa vem quentinha da National Geographic... (supõe-se que) os tubarões atacam os surfistas quando estes remam atrás da onda. Assim, a prancha mais as perninhas e bracinhos fazem com que o predador se confunda e ache que está atacando uma tartaruga ou qualquer outro bicho que seja de sua cadeia alimentar natural.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir: sim, temos olhos! Mas, a grande sabedoria é descobrir que a verdade é apenas uma sombra de algo que não enxergaremos nem com todos os 'enters' do mundo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-652195155653689376?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/652195155653689376/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=652195155653689376&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/652195155653689376'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/652195155653689376'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/09/le-cheval-de-napoleon.html' title='Le Cheval de Napoleon'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-8145559975228046872</id><published>2007-09-17T21:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-17T21:37:09.633-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Séparation</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;A esperança é um grilo verde numa gaveta de folhas brancas. O tempo te dará a escritura!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir: tic-tac...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-8145559975228046872?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/8145559975228046872/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=8145559975228046872&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/8145559975228046872'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/8145559975228046872'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/09/sparation.html' title='Séparation'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-1539684378403374282</id><published>2007-09-15T09:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-15T10:00:07.259-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Excessive</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Pela angústia do que não se finda, pelo excesso a guardar e pelo medo do escuro. Andar na contramão. A areia que se esvai por entre os dedos. Nadar e morrer na praia. Desossar o boi e não comer o filet mignon. Há quem espera e nunca alcança. Às vezes uma dose de vinho consegue  mascarar a lentidão do tempo como solvente. Mas, só às vezes... o tempo, na verdade, é só uma forma de se limitar a ação. Há quem acredite nele, mas, também, há outros que não. Mas, o corpo há de encontrar uma forma de expressão.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Comme devoir: o que faz ele ser quase um segredo é ele ser assim tão transparente...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-1539684378403374282?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/1539684378403374282/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=1539684378403374282&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/1539684378403374282'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/1539684378403374282'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/09/excessive.html' title='Excessive'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-5063529794423979713</id><published>2007-09-10T15:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-10T15:05:57.535-07:00</updated><title type='text'>La Plage</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Nunca gostei de praia de tombo. Gosto mesmo é dessas baías do tipo "piscina", de ondas macias, pequenas e piso nivelado. Evita supresas desagradáveis. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br&gt;Comme devoir: surfar é pra aventureiros!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-5063529794423979713?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/5063529794423979713/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=5063529794423979713&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/5063529794423979713'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/5063529794423979713'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/09/la-plage.html' title='La Plage'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-5486962571065515979</id><published>2007-09-02T11:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-02T11:29:01.311-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Une Photo</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Hoje eu me olhei no espelho e reparei que minha cabeça estava em uma direção e meu corpo em outra. Foi estranho passar a mão no peito e sentir as costas... E quando tentei andar, percebi que para ir onde meus olhos objetivavam, precisava andar pra trás... ou será que para andar pra frente, precisava olhar pra trás? Fiquei assim, sem saber...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir: a vida mente.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-5486962571065515979?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/5486962571065515979/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=5486962571065515979&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/5486962571065515979'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/5486962571065515979'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/09/une-photo.html' title='Une Photo'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-3642349554419819129</id><published>2007-08-22T15:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-22T16:02:00.856-07:00</updated><title type='text'>C'est fini!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Quem não sabe amarrar os próprios sapatos, que ande de chinelo! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Simples assim!! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir: o limite da tolerância é uma cerca elétrica de arame farpado. Vai cruzar?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-3642349554419819129?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/3642349554419819129/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=3642349554419819129&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/3642349554419819129'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/3642349554419819129'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/08/cest-fini.html' title='C&apos;est fini!'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-5295154356657217000</id><published>2007-08-08T21:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-08T21:35:25.789-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Cafè Au Lait</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Ah, o velho navio... aquele que apita alto e ensurdesse a redondeza. Aquele cuja fumaça das chaminés não nos deixa enxergar muito longe. Aquele cujas pessoas que descem, já desceram antes - os exilados do navio-fantasma! E olha, eles existem mesmo que você não acredite em fantasmas!!! Fica assim, o dito pelo não-dito, o ido pelo regresso. Pura contradição. Queria ficar fora dessa, mas, vejo que já passei da idade de ser café-com-leite. En guard et... touché!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir: reaprender a degustar o calor de uma cama de solteiro (o quarto é meu e fui eu quem decorei!) - nada vem de graça, nem o pão, nem a cachaça!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-5295154356657217000?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/5295154356657217000/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=5295154356657217000&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/5295154356657217000'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/5295154356657217000'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/08/caf-au-lait.html' title='Cafè Au Lait'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-4221302746484340172</id><published>2007-07-16T18:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-16T18:12:45.747-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Oz</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Volto ao ponto de que ouvir em voz alta o que antes era um eco de pensamento, valida determinadas situações e gera uma necessidade de trabalho psicológico sobre elas. A coisa do "se os olhos não vêem, o coração não sente"? De fato, no meu mundo rosa, a bruxa má não existe! No entanto, sempre chegam notícias do leste dando conta de suas disparidades... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir: quando o contrato social vale mais que o sentimental???&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-4221302746484340172?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/4221302746484340172/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=4221302746484340172&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/4221302746484340172'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/4221302746484340172'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/07/oz.html' title='Oz'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-8815989309724477732</id><published>2007-07-02T21:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-02T22:05:07.598-07:00</updated><title type='text'>De La Poésie</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Seguindo a lógica do português em Pessoa - se todas as cartas de amor são ridículas, os que as escrevem são mais ridículos ainda! Ridículos por exporem seus sentimentos da forma mais inocente, escancarada e vulnerável e entregá-los assim, organizadinhos, como talheres na bandeja. Não se engane: eles nunca seguem a finos círculos sociais! É necessário aprender a manejar ou comer na cozinha.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Comme devoir: o simples "sentir" é maior fonte do masoquismo mundial. Ativar módulo FODA-SE!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-8815989309724477732?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/8815989309724477732/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=8815989309724477732&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/8815989309724477732'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/8815989309724477732'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/07/de-la-posie.html' title='De La Poésie'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-8557101328912797136</id><published>2007-06-17T21:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-17T21:59:45.133-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dimanche</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Sinto sono, sinto ânsia, sinto meu corpo inteiro se revolver em sentimentos absolutamente contraditórios e tentar expurgar algo que nem ele mesmo sabe o que é. Ouço o ressonar dual das doces palavras, separados na frequência de cada um dos meus ouvidos, juntando-se, explodindo, desvanecendo-se, esvaindo-se, tal qual fogos de artifício brilhando purpurináceos na escuridão da noite, desfilando sua beleza efêmera perante a debochada perenidade das estrelas. Sinto-me Ícaro - pra voar alto, devo a alma ao diabo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br&gt;Comme devoir: se a cêra a derreter fosse dos ouvidos e não das asas, talvez esse post não precisasse existir. Talvez...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-8557101328912797136?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/8557101328912797136/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=8557101328912797136&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/8557101328912797136'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/8557101328912797136'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/06/dimanche.html' title='Dimanche'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-7635898389417084549</id><published>2007-06-13T15:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-13T15:35:54.903-07:00</updated><title type='text'>St. Antoine</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Adélia, desculpe-me, mas, acredito que não exista nada sem dor - muito menos parto! Daí a expressão popular... E quando digo que a realidade é fractal, quero dizer simplesmente que, em cada nova experiência existe encerrada a mesma vivência sofrida de outrora, que se repetirá &lt;em&gt;ad eternum&lt;/em&gt;, ainda que pulverizada em átomos de si.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir: dar um pulinho antes do elevador em queda-livre explodir no chão, pode fazer com que você não morra. Pode... Bom, pelo menos dizem...&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-7635898389417084549?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/7635898389417084549/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=7635898389417084549&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/7635898389417084549'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/7635898389417084549'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/06/st-antoine.html' title='St. Antoine'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-1206245175899054289</id><published>2007-06-11T17:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-13T15:37:01.212-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Van Gogh</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;A miserabilidade do artista é a condição prima para a composição de uma grande obra. Não sou miserável, não sou artista, mas, almejo uma grande obra. Se hoje meu coração dói, é um sinal de que o trabalho vai render!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br&gt;Comme devoir: a realidade é fractal.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-1206245175899054289?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/1206245175899054289/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=1206245175899054289&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/1206245175899054289'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/1206245175899054289'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/06/van-gogh.html' title='Van Gogh'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-697156769333735030</id><published>2007-06-09T10:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-13T15:37:17.586-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Jeu Des Enfants</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Às vezes me sinto uma criança brincando de Pega-Pega: eu corro, instigo "&lt;em&gt;você não me pega! lá-lá-lá-lá!&lt;/em&gt;", dou risada, driblo aquele que quer me pegar, descanso um pouco no pix (pelo menos eu costumava chamar assim...) pra recuperar o fôlego e espero o 'pegador' se distrair com outro pra retomar a brincadeira... Só acho uma pena que na vida não dá pra ser café-com-leite!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br&gt;Comme devoir: quem disse que as inocentes brincadeiras de criança não podem ser ensaios para gente grande?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-697156769333735030?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/697156769333735030/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=697156769333735030&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/697156769333735030'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/697156769333735030'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/06/jeu-des-enfants.html' title='Jeu Des Enfants'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-6969907792627340898</id><published>2007-06-07T17:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-07T18:16:54.228-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Le Ballon</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;A paixão platônica é um mecanismo de defesa muito eficiente e interessante. É simples - você pega um exterior que te agrade e aplica nele todas as qualidades interiores que lhe apazirem. Inventa adjetivos e extensões quase impossíveis. Então, você acredita nisso como se fosse uma grande verdade revelada misteriosamente somente a você. E você sofre. E você deseja. E você almeja alcançar o que se torna o eco do seu próprio pensamento. E você alcança, "vive" mentalmente um pouco e encontra uma nova carcaça com novas qualidades e devoções. Sem grandes perdas. Sem grandes prejuízos. Você não se machuca e fica fácil viver. O problema é quando a vida sacaneia e te materializa o que não deveria sequer existir... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br&gt;Comme devoir: é bom ter cuidado com o que se quer - alguns balões não têm ar dentro, e sim, deliciosos doces...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-6969907792627340898?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/6969907792627340898/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=6969907792627340898&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/6969907792627340898'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/6969907792627340898'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/06/le-ballon.html' title='Le Ballon'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-4041876158081976361</id><published>2007-05-29T20:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-29T23:06:37.794-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Un Jour Productif</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Não sei por quê, lembrei da expressão que usava uma colega de ginásio: "Ih, menina, acorda pra cuspir!". A máxima encerra-se por si só - quem baba e rumina é boi. Ponto.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Comme devoir: sem mais para o momento!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-4041876158081976361?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/4041876158081976361/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=4041876158081976361&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/4041876158081976361'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/4041876158081976361'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/05/un-jour-productif.html' title='Un Jour Productif'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-4167587706455220604</id><published>2007-05-29T20:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-29T20:47:40.294-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Oasis</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Tenho algumas dúvidas se somos descendentes dos macacos. No fundo, acho que somos tão miseráveis que preferimos passar a vida nos arrastando, tal qual os répteis - apenas olhos brilhantes na escuridão sem fim. E como um veneno lento, a mesma dor que nos move, nos paralisa e faz recuar. Adamantium, Clarice! Assim foi feito o indestrutível Wolverine. Mas, como vc saberia? Se viver é afinar o instrumento, talvez eu fure meus tímpanos.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br&gt;Comme devoir: de quem foi a idéia de  levar o gato escaldado pra beira do mar??&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-4167587706455220604?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/4167587706455220604/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=4167587706455220604&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/4167587706455220604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/4167587706455220604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/05/oasis.html' title='Oasis'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-2753397313848637604</id><published>2007-05-29T11:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-29T11:41:00.398-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pas à Pas</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;A primeira lição que aprendemos, ainda pequeninos, é que às vezes temos quem nos segure a mão e às vezes não. E mesmo de mãos dadas, descobrimos que a queda é inevitável. Vamos dominando nosso corpo, nossos movimentos, criando mecanismos de defesa, de proteção... Mas, à&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;s vezes o mundo desaba. Talvez desabe para nos mostrar o quanto não temos uma percepção abrangente de nossos próprios movimentos, o quanto nossos braços podem construir ou destruir, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;o quanto a vida é além de nosso modo inerte de lidar com ela. Por mais que isso doa - quem cai e quem segura. O melhor remédio para a vida ainda é um bom óculos de grau e uma música animada! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br&gt;Comme devoir: pela consciência de que não deve haver culpa em ser feliz.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-2753397313848637604?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/2753397313848637604/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=2753397313848637604&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/2753397313848637604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/2753397313848637604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/05/pas-pas.html' title='Pas à Pas'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-6562658993591868900</id><published>2007-05-21T20:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-21T20:13:52.794-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Toujours Clarice</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;"O prazer nascendo dói tanto no peito que se prefere sentir a habituada dor ao insólito prazer. A alegria verdadeira não tem explicação possível, não tem a possibilidade de ser compreendida - e se parece com o início de uma perdição irrecuperável. Esse fundir-se total é insuportavelmente bom - como se a morte fosse o nosso bem maior e final, só que não é a morte, é a vida incomensurável que chega a se parecer com a grandeza da morte. Deve-se deixar inundar pela alegria aos poucos - pois é a vida nascendo. E quem não tiver força, que antes cubra cada nervo com uma película protetora, com uma película de morte para poder tolerar a vida. Essa película pode consistir em qualquer ato formal protetor, em qualquer silêncio ou em várias palavras sem sentido. Pois o prazer não é de se brincar com ele. Ele é nós."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br&gt;Comme devoir: que poderia eu quanto às verdades sempre tão irrefutáveis de Clarice? Apenas assinar embaixo de suas palavras o meu sentimento...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-6562658993591868900?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/6562658993591868900/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=6562658993591868900&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/6562658993591868900'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/6562658993591868900'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/05/toujours-clarice.html' title='Toujours Clarice'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-3764402167690501121</id><published>2007-05-19T16:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-09T10:38:04.799-07:00</updated><title type='text'>La Langue des Anges</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;A definição do dia perfeito, sempre clara em minha mente, em meus mais secretos devaneios, assim, sem querer, se fez verbo. Se fez audível em um dialeto próprio dos anjos, mas, uns que não dizem amém. Anjos brechtinianos. Cuido para que não me molhem as asas enquanto temo ser eu mesma a questionar sua utilidade. Mas, mais que tudo, temo a dor da queda. Vôos altos, grandes esforços, o crash pode ser fatal. As aves que aqui gorjeiam não gorjeiam como lá!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir: a realidade é o terror do sonhador.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-3764402167690501121?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/3764402167690501121/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=3764402167690501121&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/3764402167690501121'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/3764402167690501121'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/05/la-langue-des-anges.html' title='La Langue des Anges'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-8784010212302576372</id><published>2007-05-17T11:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-19T16:33:02.051-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mon Coeur Balance</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;É a comédia da vida privada. Muitas vezes é melhor calar. Não chega ao extremo do "mais vale uma mentira que me carregue a uma verdade que me derrube", mas acho que tange um ponto - a definição de uma possibilidade ainda indefinida que, pronunciada, ganha ares de verdade recorrente. Tirar os band-aids? Não... pensei em comprar gaze, iodo e microporo. Nunca se sabe!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir: sobrecarregar um órgão ferido pode fazer com que as cicatrizes dos cortes se inflamem e a recurperação seja mais lenta.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-8784010212302576372?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/8784010212302576372/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=8784010212302576372&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/8784010212302576372'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/8784010212302576372'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/05/mon-coeur-se-balance.html' title='Mon Coeur Balance'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-548041431144033835</id><published>2007-05-13T21:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-13T21:26:42.505-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Je M'Emboîte En Toi</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Azul, azul, vermelho, azul, verde, amarelo, amarelo-azul, verde, rosa, rosa, azul, azul... De distintas cores e infinitas possibidades, porém, com uma única combinação - independentemente de como, as duas peças sempre se encaixam perfeitamente. E a vida fica azul, azul... e a vida fica rosa, como o meu mundo. E mesmo se a pecinha menor estiver sem cor ou amarelinha, ainda assim, misturada com o azul, faz restar um tom de esperança...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br&gt;Comme devoir: tudo tem um lugar e, em todos eles, deve haver a paciência.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-548041431144033835?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/548041431144033835/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=548041431144033835&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/548041431144033835'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/548041431144033835'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/05/je-membote-en-toi.html' title='Je M&apos;Emboîte En Toi'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-1067681703263304550</id><published>2007-04-23T18:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-23T19:00:00.725-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Quelque Leçon</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Qualquer dia desses, numa das minhas aulas de História da Arte, poderei me observar ao fundo de algum Rafael, colando um chiclete na cruz de Jesus ou jogando um guardanapo usado na bandeja onde está a cabeça de S. João. &lt;em&gt;Karma&lt;/em&gt;, dizem os orientais e a minha sócia...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Comme devoir: definitivamente, a alma é o segredo do negócio!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-1067681703263304550?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/1067681703263304550/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=1067681703263304550&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/1067681703263304550'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/1067681703263304550'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/04/quelque-leon.html' title='Quelque Leçon'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-6079450350217319950</id><published>2007-04-17T20:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-17T21:03:36.584-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Le Syndrome de Stendhal</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Nessa época de indefinições e aquecimento global, nós, os neo-medievos, que supervalorizamos a ciência quântica como ressurreição do Deus nietzschiniano,  deveríamos nos propor um exuberante e glorioso Renascimento. Se a escolha fosse minha, seria um neo-Romântico eco-ativo - uma valorização do mundo como ele sempre foi e não sua substituição pelos derivados (e aficcionados!) do petróleo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Comme devoir: se tudo é construção, cabe a nós a escolha que definirá nossa própria felicidade.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-6079450350217319950?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/6079450350217319950/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=6079450350217319950&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/6079450350217319950'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/6079450350217319950'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/04/le-syndrome-de-stendhal.html' title='Le Syndrome de Stendhal'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-3892707043955088986</id><published>2007-04-11T07:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-11T08:06:41.300-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Parodie</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Se, naquela época, Drummond se definia com as retinas fatigadas, imagine o termo que ele usaria para uma pessoa como eu, que passa mais de 14 horas na frente do computador... Eu não imagino... Talvez a própria pedra fosse de minha autoria virtual. De qualquer forma, melhor olhar bastante agora antes que seja tarde demais!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Comme devoir: quem anda pelo caminho não tem dor no ciático!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-3892707043955088986?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/3892707043955088986/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=3892707043955088986&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/3892707043955088986'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/3892707043955088986'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/04/parodie.html' title='Parodie'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-1518364329961864929</id><published>2007-04-03T12:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T13:15:37.073-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dicton Arabe</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6OqI7ZU8KL8/RhKm7v0WQBI/AAAAAAAAAAM/3qjNptTx5mI/s1600-h/DictÃ©e.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5049281677614268434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6OqI7ZU8KL8/RhKm7v0WQBI/AAAAAAAAAAM/3qjNptTx5mI/s320/Dict%C3%A9e.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-1518364329961864929?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/1518364329961864929/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=1518364329961864929&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/1518364329961864929'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/1518364329961864929'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/04/dicton-arabe.html' title='Dicton Arabe'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6OqI7ZU8KL8/RhKm7v0WQBI/AAAAAAAAAAM/3qjNptTx5mI/s72-c/Dict%C3%A9e.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-3337226199049061633</id><published>2007-03-22T05:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-22T06:04:31.264-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wilderness</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Como num elogio à hermenêutica do desbravador da América, cunho, nessa nossa época individualista e narcista, o termo &lt;em&gt;effortless&lt;/em&gt;. Essa palavra, vinda do inglês, envolve um contexto muito maior do que se pode supor sua banal tentativa de tradução. Dentre as linguas latinas, o conjunto que mais se aproxima do sentido real do &lt;em&gt;effortless&lt;/em&gt; vem do francês &lt;em&gt;imbecil&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir (1): existem pessoas que simplesmente não valem a pena. PONTO FINAL!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Comme devoir (2): o leito de morte não faz as pessoas serem melhores. PASSO A RÉGUA E FECHO A CONTA!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-3337226199049061633?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/3337226199049061633/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=3337226199049061633&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/3337226199049061633'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/3337226199049061633'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/03/wilderness.html' title='Wilderness'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-1057532121543391889</id><published>2007-03-20T07:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-21T20:00:39.754-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Des Enfants de la Patrie</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;“&lt;em&gt;Eu sustento que a única finalidade da ciência &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;está em aliviar a canseira da existência humana&lt;/em&gt;”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt; - Bertolt Brecht - &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br&gt;Ao ouvir as histórias da juventude de 1935, 1964 e 1980, assim, pessoalmente e pela boca de pessoas que, pra mim, eram letras no papel, mestres bidimensionais, sinto no fundo do meu ser a dor de pertencer a uma geração que não sabe pensar e nem viver; a decepção de ser parte de um todo binal, superficial e sem a menor poesia. Sem encanto, não é vida - é &lt;em&gt;via crucis&lt;/em&gt;!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br&gt;Comme devoir: a palavra é 'interação'. Conhece-te, mas, conheça e relacione-se com tudo que está ao seu redor. Aí está a mágica. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S.: Henriques, você perdeu 'Os Hôme'!&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-1057532121543391889?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/1057532121543391889/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=1057532121543391889&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/1057532121543391889'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/1057532121543391889'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/03/des-enfants-de-la-patrie.html' title='Des Enfants de la Patrie'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-116161491015355278</id><published>2007-03-14T17:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-14T17:55:07.897-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Desolée</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Se você bobeou e o trem te alcançou, pegue seus caquinhos e saia de mansinho...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Comme devoir: quaresma really sucks!!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-116161491015355278?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/116161491015355278/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=116161491015355278&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/116161491015355278'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/116161491015355278'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/03/se-voc-bobeou-e-o-trem-te-alcanou-pegue.html' title='Desolée'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-4427951420248004238</id><published>2007-03-13T19:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-13T19:42:42.136-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ma Couleur</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Quando eu penso: 'vou comer sushi', inconscientemente eu visto uma blusa branca. Isso é estranho, uma vez que meu vestuário é predominantemente preto. E, então, depois de me deliciar com os peixinhos, volto pra casa com bolinhas de shoyu borrifadas no meu luto oriental. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Quando eu penso: 'vou doar sangue', inconscientemente eu visto uma blusa preta. Isso é normal, uma vez que meu vestuário é predominantemente preto. E, então, na hora de botar a agulha, a enfermeira erra a veia e um borrifo de sangue jorra sobre meu peito. E o preto absorve o vermelho, absorve o sangue. Volto pra casa como se não fosse nada.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Comme devoir: às vezes quando a gente tira o band-aid sangra um pouco...&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-4427951420248004238?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/4427951420248004238/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=4427951420248004238&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/4427951420248004238'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/4427951420248004238'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/03/ma-couleur.html' title='Ma Couleur'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-6769887903475808721</id><published>2007-03-07T10:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-07T10:30:24.530-08:00</updated><title type='text'>La Caisse Vert</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Que a escolha do meu curso de graduação tenha sido um desastre, vá lá. Mas, a despeito do meu despeito, algumas coisas simplesmente têm valor por si só. Um bilhete trocado, um maço de papel, algumas fotografias, uns anos de vida, o pouco que eu pude aceitar... memórias importantes e suficientes apenas para preencher uma caixa. E corta o coração pensar que, assim, num lapso de destino, sem querer, o que o cupim não jantou, o lixeiro levou. O tempo volta a ter um só braço. Adeus, caixa verde! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br&gt;Comme devoir: às vezes o privilégio da ordem é o caos.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-6769887903475808721?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/6769887903475808721/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=6769887903475808721&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/6769887903475808721'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/6769887903475808721'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/03/la-caisse-vert.html' title='La Caisse Vert'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-8621689504761276604</id><published>2007-02-26T12:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-07T10:41:01.645-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Maladie</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Ao que me permite morcegar, percebo agora... na verdade, é a necessidade de cuidar, de zelar pelo sono dos outros e depois descansar enquanto zelam pelo meu. Talvez um resquício do tempo das cavernas, mas, ainda assim uma troca justa. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br&gt;Comme devoir: uma taça de vinho todos os dias antes de deitar é melhor que Lexotan - além do prazer da degustação, faz bem pro coração!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-8621689504761276604?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/8621689504761276604/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=8621689504761276604&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/8621689504761276604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/8621689504761276604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/02/maladie.html' title='Maladie'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-6484964080852408959</id><published>2007-02-02T10:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-02T10:49:59.233-08:00</updated><title type='text'>De L'Âme Féminine</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;O Prozac decididamente foi criado depois da entrada da mulher no mercado de trabalho. É um fato! Se não é, deveria ser!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir: ohmmmmmmmmmm....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-6484964080852408959?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/6484964080852408959/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=6484964080852408959&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/6484964080852408959'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/6484964080852408959'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/02/de-lme-fminine.html' title='De L&apos;Âme Féminine'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-117001527139738282</id><published>2007-01-28T11:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-28T12:16:35.990-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Filosofia Pós-Eureka</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Em momentos de papéis vagos, me dedico à criação de tipos. Existe uma única letra que sempre tive dificuldade em fazer - o S. Foram anos de orelhas de cadernos e notas avulsas até entender sua mecânica. Tudo isso, porque um bom 's', de linha dupla, decorado, não se escreve: se desenha. E minha relação com o desenho é bastante tumultuada. Ontem, sem querer, eu consegui fazê-lo à maneira com que sempre desejei. E pra minha surpresa, desenhá-lo foi um alívio. Percebi o seguinte: o meu 's' é constituído, não de uma única linha curva, mas de uma sequência de linhas que tomam rumos diferentes no decorrer o traçado - ora são curvas, ora são retas. Formam como que dois mundos pararelos, complementares, consecultivos e infinitos - caminho-montanha-vale, caminho-vale-montanha. Mas, o importante da história não é a receita, e sim, perceber porque só agora consegui uma réplica da minha figura mental. Existem muitas formas de se desenhar. E eu acho que posso desenhar minhas idéias de forma muito mais clara usando palavras e não as mãos. Simples assim.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir: o microondas não serve apenas para esquentar comida (espero não levar outros 27 anos até descobrir uma nova função no meu cérebro).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-117001527139738282?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/117001527139738282/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=117001527139738282&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/117001527139738282'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/117001527139738282'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/01/filosofia-ps-eureka.html' title='Filosofia Pós-Eureka'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-116881774043831630</id><published>2007-01-14T15:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-14T16:05:59.576-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Naturallement</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Acho que ainda não manifestei meu gosto pelo interior. Gostaria de fazer alguma coisa da vida que me permitisse virar 'jeca'. Na impossibilidade, um descanso no sítio já basta. O cheiro de mato molhado, os vagalumes, o coachar dos sapos e até mesmo as aranhas horripilantes são componentes reais da vida que deveria ser verdadeira. E se, porventura um dia, eu ganhar ou adquirir de alguma forma um cachorro (talvez um São Bernardo malhado ou um Retriever champagne ou vira-latas simpático) há de se chamar Piparote.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Comme devoir: o concreto é a calcificação do tecido. Sometimes a &lt;em&gt;modernidade&lt;/em&gt; sucks!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-116881774043831630?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/116881774043831630/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=116881774043831630&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/116881774043831630'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/116881774043831630'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/01/naturallement.html' title='Naturallement'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-116812093065848915</id><published>2007-01-06T13:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-06T14:02:10.673-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sur La Beauté</title><content type='html'>&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Adonis que me perdoe, mas as pessoas que me atraem precisam ter um 'quê' humano, uma graça implícita, algo extremamente peculiar que me chame atenção para sua descoberta. Admiro a beleza, como todo mundo, mas não vivo em função dela. Sou mais um sorriso secreto, uma tirada inteligente, um 'ora' qualquer. Eis o grande paradoxo do olhar sentidor: nem tudo o que reluz é ouro, nenhum diamante nasce embrulhado.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Comme devoir: garimpa, desgraçada! Lerê... lerê...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-116812093065848915?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/116812093065848915/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=116812093065848915&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/116812093065848915'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/116812093065848915'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/01/sur-la-beaut.html' title='Sur La Beauté'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-116802235747222654</id><published>2007-01-05T10:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-05T10:40:50.986-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Seulement Pour Noter</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Achei ótimas as palavras do meu amigo Eddie: "Bauhaus? Aquele lugar que foi a Hogwarts dos designers e arquitetos no começo do século?" Penso que no tempo atual, não poderia achar melhor definição. Será que Gropius tinha uma marca na testa? Teria ele conhecido Van de Velde jogando quadribol? Será que Hogwarts, nascida num plano paralelo, é uma espécie de Deutscher Werkbund astral? Perguntas que permanecem sem resposta. Talvez eu faça uma tese sobre isso.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; &lt;/br&gt;Comme devoir: preciso parar de ver televisão, o que não exclui o fato da comparação ser genial! Merci, mon ami!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-116802235747222654?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/116802235747222654/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=116802235747222654&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/116802235747222654'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/116802235747222654'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/01/seulement-pour-noter.html' title='Seulement Pour Noter'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-116788669833730426</id><published>2007-01-03T20:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-03T20:58:18.350-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Aucune</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Paguei caro para me livrar do estigma e mais caro ainda pra perceber que não mudou absolutamente nada. Na verdade mudou: eu tenho um par de pernas que não podem ver o sol. Irônico, hã? Eu acho que pra esse Ano Novo eu devo realmente acreditar naquilo que digo da boca pra fora: certas coisas não foram feitas pra primatas como eu!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir: ter feito a unha não é motivo pra não passar blondor. Os macacos albinos são melhores que os outros.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-116788669833730426?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/116788669833730426/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=116788669833730426&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/116788669833730426'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/116788669833730426'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2007/01/aucune.html' title='Aucune'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-116632012941923325</id><published>2006-12-16T17:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-16T17:48:49.430-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Très Chaud</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Música errada, ambiente errado, temperatura errada... Um tímido garçom, magro e bem alto,  serve a mesa com atenção; um cozinheiro desleixado erra no tempero - o que os olhos não vêem o coração não sente. Peço um suco de morango. O garçom deixa o copo na mesa e me observa do bar com um risinho estranho... um canudo grande e outro pela metade é uma forma sutil de flerte. Tem coisas não acontecem com outras pessoas.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Comme devoir: não compre gato por lebre - caca de nariz não é orégano!!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-116632012941923325?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/116632012941923325/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=116632012941923325&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/116632012941923325'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/116632012941923325'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2006/12/trs-chaud.html' title='Très Chaud'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-116415017112963544</id><published>2006-11-21T14:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-21T15:06:59.496-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Réflexion Sur M.A.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Por motivo de força irmã-menor, acabo de reler Dom Casmurro (isso misturado com o chá-de-cozinha que estou organizando gerou o infame comme devoir: ao espremedor as batatas... sinto muito!). Resolvi que vou escrever um livro que se chamará 'Glória' e contará a verdade sobre a mãe de Bentinho, que de santa tinha só a cara. Aposto que a real promessa que essa havia feito era pra que ninguém descobrisse que Bentinho não era filho do homem no retrato da sala. Meu livro também há de tirar Escobar do armário... bofe! Amo Xaxado (que me permita a intimidade) mas Millôr também tem seus motivos...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir: psicóticos pensam que amam... mas, é interessante Capitu ter olhos de ressaca e Escobar ter morrido no mar bravio... mistééééério!!!&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-116415017112963544?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/116415017112963544/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=116415017112963544&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/116415017112963544'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/116415017112963544'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2006/11/rflexion-sur-ma.html' title='Réflexion Sur M.A.'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-116399046690383525</id><published>2006-11-19T18:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-19T18:41:35.290-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Le Jour Avec La Conscience Noir</title><content type='html'>&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Disseram-me que a temperatura da Terra vai subir 5 graus nos próximos 7 anos. Existe mais gás carbônico entre o céu e a terra do que jamais sonhara qualquer filosofia. Viva o Protocolo de Kyoto! Viva os negros, que povoarão a Terra depois que os brancos idiotas tiverem morrido de câncer de pele !!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir: ao espremedor as batatas!&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-116399046690383525?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/116399046690383525/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=116399046690383525&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/116399046690383525'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/116399046690383525'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2006/11/le-jour-avec-la-conscience-noir.html' title='Le Jour Avec La Conscience Noir'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-116367641443676778</id><published>2006-11-16T03:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-16T03:32:04.556-08:00</updated><title type='text'>La Porte</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Quando eu era pequena eu ficava embaixo da porta da sala tentando alcançar a parte superior do batente com a ponta dos dedos. Eu me esforçava, me esticava, pulava, vinha de impulso. Nada adiantava. Ontem eu cruzei a porta e dei um tapinha no batente. A palma da minha mão não apenas toca como ultrapassa a madeira. Só não me lembro mais por que eu precisava pegar no batente...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/br&gt; Comme devoir: cada vez que a gente olha a mesma vida, ela é diferente. A gente só rasga o tempo-espaço uma vez.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-116367641443676778?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/116367641443676778/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=116367641443676778&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/116367641443676778'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/116367641443676778'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2006/11/la-porte.html' title='La Porte'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-116361673374680359</id><published>2006-11-15T10:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-16T03:32:38.833-08:00</updated><title type='text'>La Femme Célèbre</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Analisando o legado dos grandes mestres, vejo que preciso urgentemente de um cargo público. Talvez a burocracia melhore as letras (ou Letras). Outro dia estava num sebo perto da FNAC e conheci um simpático senhor que me interrogou: "&lt;em&gt;Por que uma moça tão bonita e tão jovem se interessa por história e literatura? Filha, tem coisas que enchem o coração mas não a barriga&lt;/em&gt;..." Bambeei. Claro que a conversa foi bem maior (e o desestímulo também!). O dono do sebo me disse que o velhinho é colunista do Estado. Não podia piorar. Sai de lá, sentei num café alí perto, olhei meu Nietzsche recém-adquirido e pensei: "&lt;em&gt;Por que não tenho uma alta por finanças?&lt;/em&gt;" Mas lembrei que o máximo da administração do meu próprio dinheiro foi uma reles poupança que gastei no ingresso do BB King. Antes d'eu terminar o café meu celular tocou e alguém me pediu ajuda em uma análise do Xaxado. Eu sorri e pensei: "Tadinho do tiozinho..." Tem coisas que simplesmente brotam na minha cabeça. Confiança é tudo!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/br&gt; Comme devoir: De tanto piscar o olho eu fiquei como o Pestana - bem com os homens, mal comigo mesma.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-116361673374680359?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/116361673374680359/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=116361673374680359&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/116361673374680359'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/116361673374680359'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2006/11/la-femme-clbre.html' title='La Femme Célèbre'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-116307767939078352</id><published>2006-11-09T04:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-16T03:33:49.563-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Seulement un idée</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Um jato a jato. 518.400 minutos para pensar, para formular um passo. No bico do corvo, seria pedir muito? Uma venda, um alucinante movimento de rotação e quem acertar o rabo do cavalo (ou burro) ganha. Um 'mais pra esquerda' ajudaria.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Comme devoir: como diria a D. Dilma, o problema é esse &lt;em&gt;tali do pobre&lt;/em&gt;*! (Minha nota) Três palavras mágicas - Mega Sena Acumulada!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;* o tal do pobre&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-116307767939078352?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/116307767939078352/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=116307767939078352&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/116307767939078352'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/116307767939078352'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2006/11/seulement-un-ide.html' title='Seulement un idée'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-116283130659271025</id><published>2006-11-06T08:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-06T08:42:29.893-08:00</updated><title type='text'>POUS</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Depois de um feriado de indignação, eis que encontro as origens do problema: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://pous.no.sapo.pt/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;http://pous.no.sapo.pt/&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;O Partido Operário de Unidade Socialista (POUS), é um partido trotskista português.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt; A sua líder histórica é Carmelinda Pereira&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;O POUS foi fundado por Aires Rodrigues e Carmelinda Pereira &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;em 1976. Estas duas figuras criaram este partido para contestarem o rumo que o Partido Socialista&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;em&gt; seguia. Segundo eles, o partido estava mais virado para compromissos com a direita do que com a esquerda.&lt;br /&gt;O POUS pertence ao Secretariado Internacional da Quarta Internacional (1993)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;, uma das "quartas internacionais" (trotskista) existentes.&lt;br /&gt;O Partido tem sofrido enormes desastres eleitorais, podendo enfrentar a extincão. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://pt.wikipedia.org/wiki/Partido_OperÃ¡rio_de_Unidade_Socialista"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;http://pt.wikipedia.org/wiki/Partido_OperÃ¡rio_de_Unidade_Socialista&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Comme devoir: o ócio não leva a nada a não ser à preguiça. Mas, eu penso nisso mais tarde...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-116283130659271025?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/116283130659271025/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=116283130659271025&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/116283130659271025'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/116283130659271025'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2006/11/pous.html' title='POUS'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-116238686657047941</id><published>2006-11-01T05:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-01T05:15:31.596-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Voltaire</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Perguntai ao sapo o que é a beleza (...) Responder-vos-á ser a sapa com os dois olhos exagerados e redondos encaixados na cabeça minúscula, a boca larga e chata, o ventre amarelo, o dorso pardo (...)"&lt;/em&gt; Será que o anfíbio pensou que meu Celta era uma sapona-flecha? Tadeeenho... só queria um beijinho... Podia ter comprado no Mercado Livre, ao invés de se atirar nos braços da primeira que passasse!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Comme devoir: Chega dessa história de sapo! Ponto final!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-116238686657047941?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/116238686657047941/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=116238686657047941&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/116238686657047941'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/116238686657047941'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2006/11/voltaire.html' title='Voltaire'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-116217553100098720</id><published>2006-10-29T18:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-10-30T03:44:40.736-08:00</updated><title type='text'>La dernière semaine</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;A melhor notícia é que eu posso ter feito uma boa ação mesmo sem querer. O sapo podia conter uma maldição. Alguém que, num ímpeto raivoso, enfiou a foto de um desafeto na boca do batráquio e costurou, exconjurando o infeliz. Agora, o (des)afetado (no bom sentido!) pode ter se livrado do destino fatídico que o esperava. Eu já vi atropelarem tudo na cidade grande... menos sapo! (ainda inconformada!) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Comme devoir: Se eu andasse escrevendo, certamente ninguém entenderia nada porque a letra sairia tremida. Além do mais, eu já teria ganho um belo galo num poste da vida. Outro.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-116217553100098720?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/116217553100098720/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=116217553100098720&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/116217553100098720'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/116217553100098720'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2006/10/la-dernire-semaine.html' title='La dernière semaine'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-116131293858343385</id><published>2006-10-19T19:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-20T05:22:55.860-07:00</updated><title type='text'>De Temps En Temps</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Chuviscava. Chovera o dia todo. Eu pensava no futuro próximo, no passado composto e no imperfeito. Zero, mal desempenho, falta de estudo. Fiz a curva na rotatória. O pneu cantou inesperadamente um tango dramático em homenagem ao futuro do pretérito. Quanto tempo ainda tenho de esperar antes de reencontrar l'homme de ma vie? Meu pensamento é cortado: um salto, um estrondo. Choque. Minha gargalhada ecoa pela névoa branca que se fazia entre as árvores. Minha última chance havia se perdido... 22h30, em frente à FFLCH eu atropelei um sapo!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir: se uma cartomante disser que você vai conhecer o homem da sua vida depois de atropelá-lo, acredite! Mas, não o esmague contra o seu parachoque. Certifique-se que ele ainda respira...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-116131293858343385?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/116131293858343385/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=116131293858343385&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/116131293858343385'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/116131293858343385'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2006/10/de-temps-en-temps.html' title='De Temps En Temps'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-116043027945626588</id><published>2006-10-09T14:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-20T05:23:43.703-07:00</updated><title type='text'>La Brunete Brûlée</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Devia ouvir mais meu diabinho. Sócrates tinha um, Descartes também tinha o seu e eu quero ter o meu! Só um porém: para uma amante do ócio, como separar a premonição da preguiça? Cair no 0,01% do erro médico não tem preço!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir 1: mais vale uma feia inteira do que uma bonita pela metade.&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir 2: Lord Vader, eu sei quanto doeu!!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-116043027945626588?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/116043027945626588/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=116043027945626588&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/116043027945626588'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/116043027945626588'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2006/10/la-brunete-brle.html' title='La Brunete Brûlée'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-115998637289041917</id><published>2006-10-04T11:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-04T11:26:12.896-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Le Président</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;A nata da nata é superficialmente visível; a escória da escória é pesada e decanta ao fundo. O duro é essa mediocridade, que pensa que é nata mas, na verdade, é dejeto com leite.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Comme devoir: ohmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-115998637289041917?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/115998637289041917/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=115998637289041917&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/115998637289041917'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/115998637289041917'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2006/10/le-prsident.html' title='Le Président'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-115949666401620236</id><published>2006-09-28T19:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-29T05:03:49.540-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Le Petit Dictionnaire</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Digo baixinho, meio que encobrindo a vergonha ... &lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;'sou designer...'&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt; Mas, sou metida a crítica social. Não se iluda!! Na verdade, eu sou &lt;em&gt;layouter&lt;/em&gt;! Eu não crio, porque isso é impossível. Tudo já foi feito. Alguém pensou em tudo. Eu apenas agrupo e sugiro: "Veja se assim está bom..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir: Encontrar o desengonçado bicho verde de Clarice.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-115949666401620236?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/115949666401620236/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=115949666401620236&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/115949666401620236'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/115949666401620236'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2006/09/le-petit-dictionnaire.html' title='Le Petit Dictionnaire'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-115875407270145846</id><published>2006-09-20T04:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-22T10:17:40.403-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Occupes toi de tes ognion</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Trem lotado. Pas d'argent. Pouco tempo pra ler um livro ou cantar uma bela canção. Pouco descanso. O esforço de edificar bloco a bloco, de fundar bases concretas para a elevação do templo da prática das querências (e não querelas) parece documentário do History Channel mediante a rapidez dos pré-fabricados. Quanto já duram as pirâmides?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir: existem pessoas que simplesmente não merecem atenção.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-115875407270145846?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/115875407270145846/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=115875407270145846&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/115875407270145846'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/115875407270145846'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2006/09/occupes-toi-de-tes-ognion.html' title='Occupes toi de tes ognion'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-115858390687304206</id><published>2006-09-18T05:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-22T10:16:58.940-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Le Plus Beau du Quartier</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;A combinação competência plus simplicidade ainda me impressiona demais. Chico Buarque dispensa comentários. Mas, ouvir de um jovem músico extremamente talentoso e em alta no mercado "Que bom te ver, vc sumiu..." me faz ter esperanças na raça humana. A humildade é o sangue mais azul que te pode correr nas veias.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir: o mundo gira muito além do msn&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-115858390687304206?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/115858390687304206/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=115858390687304206&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/115858390687304206'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/115858390687304206'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2006/09/le-plus-beau-du-quartier.html' title='Le Plus Beau du Quartier'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-115844904549745112</id><published>2006-09-16T16:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-29T18:56:34.240-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Rien de rien</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Eu nunca 'sou' plenamente suficiente no que deveria ser, no lugar em que tenho de 'ser'. Posso fazer isso em qualquer lugar, menos 'lá'. Posso viver nessa alternância: às vezes elimino, às vezes sou eliminada. C'est la vie!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir: Let it snow, let it snow, let it iiiiiiiisnoooooow...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-115844904549745112?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/115844904549745112/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=115844904549745112&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/115844904549745112'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/115844904549745112'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2006/09/rien-de-rien.html' title='Rien de rien'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-115807042985021902</id><published>2006-09-12T07:04:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-12T07:16:07.023-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Exceção e a Regra</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Estranhem o que não for estranho.&lt;br /&gt;Tomem por inexplicável o habitual.&lt;br /&gt;Sintam-se perplexos ante o cotidiano.&lt;br /&gt;Tratem de achar um remédio para o abuso&lt;br /&gt;Mas não se esqueçam de que o abuso é sempre a regra.&lt;br /&gt;[Bertold Brecht]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comme devoir: aprender a ser &lt;em&gt;voyeur&lt;/em&gt; (sem sacanagem!) - 2x ESC: ESCutar e ESCrever.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-115807042985021902?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/115807042985021902/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=115807042985021902&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/115807042985021902'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/115807042985021902'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2006/09/exceo-e-regra_115807042985021902.html' title='A Exceção e a Regra'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34231903.post-115800413287353598</id><published>2006-09-11T12:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-22T10:15:33.466-07:00</updated><title type='text'>1DLC</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;De laço no sapato, em um minuto eu desço. Segundona baixa-caloria, previsão de raios e trovoadas. Ainda pensando na coluna 'A Princesa Romântica', que ajudaria os românticos incuráveis a manejar a arte de Maquiavel e Sun Tzu a seu favor - essa é a diferença de pedir um cowboy ou duas pedras de gelo. Razão.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Comme devoir: Aprender a ser elogiada!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34231903-115800413287353598?l=pous-shorts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/feeds/115800413287353598/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34231903&amp;postID=115800413287353598&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/115800413287353598'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34231903/posts/default/115800413287353598'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pous-shorts.blogspot.com/2006/09/1dlc.html' title='1DLC'/><author><name>Pous</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09668932542021189740</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/547/3744/1600/pous_leque.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
