<?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-32165490</id><updated>2012-01-29T14:25:58.688Z</updated><title type='text'>Pipas com Sal</title><subtitle type='html'>'Uma mão cheia de nada e o mundo à cabeceira'</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>185</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-5441069608136219211</id><published>2012-01-29T14:25:00.002Z</published><updated>2012-01-29T14:25:58.691Z</updated><title type='text'>I'm still chasing shadows in my head.</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="color: #783f04;"&gt;It was all too soon. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-5441069608136219211?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/5441069608136219211/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=5441069608136219211&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/5441069608136219211'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/5441069608136219211'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2012/01/im-still-chasing-shadows-in-my-head.html' title='I&apos;m still chasing shadows in my head.'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-6753667884333360872</id><published>2012-01-12T22:17:00.000Z</published><updated>2012-01-12T22:17:43.393Z</updated><title type='text'>Fazer as pazes.</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #0c343d;"&gt;
Pouco a pouco. Bocadinho a bocadinho.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #0c343d;"&gt;
E sempre começando pelas que doem mais.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #0c343d;"&gt;
Mas tu percebes Ben e vais ter paciência comigo, sim? :)&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="color: #0c343d;"&gt;I have to face the truth&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br style="color: #0c343d;" /&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="color: #0c343d;"&gt;That no one could ever look at me like you do&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br style="color: #0c343d;" /&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="color: #0c343d;"&gt;Like I'm something worth holding to.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-6753667884333360872?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/6753667884333360872/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=6753667884333360872&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/6753667884333360872'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/6753667884333360872'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2012/01/fazer-as-pazes.html' title='Fazer as pazes.'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-3114232127517672943</id><published>2012-01-12T22:10:00.000Z</published><updated>2012-01-12T22:10:06.125Z</updated><title type='text'>Das saudades... *</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #783f04; text-align: center;"&gt;
Que tu de certeza já não tens, mas que eu continuo a ter muitas.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #783f04; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #783f04; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Cause, I built a home&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #783f04; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;for you&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #783f04; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;for me&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #783f04; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #783f04; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Until it disappeared&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #783f04; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;from me&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #783f04; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;from you&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #783f04; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now, it's time to leave and turn to dust.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #0c343d; text-align: center;"&gt;
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&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://0.gvt0.com/vi/bjjc59FgUpg/0.jpg"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/bjjc59FgUpg&amp;fs=1&amp;source=uds" /&gt;
&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /&gt;
&lt;embed width="320" height="266"  src="http://www.youtube.com/v/bjjc59FgUpg&amp;fs=1&amp;source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #783f04; text-align: center;"&gt;
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&lt;span style="color: #783f04; font-size: x-small;"&gt;*E das coisas que eram sempre boas e que agora são sempre más. Como esta canção. &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/32165490-3114232127517672943?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/3114232127517672943/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=3114232127517672943&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/3114232127517672943'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/3114232127517672943'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2012/01/das-saudades.html' title='Das saudades... *'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-7517476963453753429</id><published>2011-12-29T19:47:00.002Z</published><updated>2012-01-09T20:02:49.081Z</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;
You are someone else; I am still right here. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-7517476963453753429?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/7517476963453753429/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=7517476963453753429&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7517476963453753429'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7517476963453753429'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2011/12/you-are-someone-else-i-am-still-right.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-5412312064937115550</id><published>2011-12-19T15:50:00.002Z</published><updated>2011-12-19T15:50:16.035Z</updated><title type='text'>If you're gone - maybe it's time to go home.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://0.gvt0.com/vi/clKAdQnwJ7A/0.jpg"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/clKAdQnwJ7A&amp;fs=1&amp;source=uds" /&gt;
&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /&gt;
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&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #783f04;"&gt;
Há anos que não ouvia isto.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;span style="color: #783f04;"&gt;Há anos que não fazia tanto sentido. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-5412312064937115550?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/5412312064937115550/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=5412312064937115550&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/5412312064937115550'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/5412312064937115550'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2011/12/if-youre-gone-maybe-its-time-to-go-home.html' title='If you&apos;re gone - maybe it&apos;s time to go home.'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-5715090241444059376</id><published>2011-12-18T13:32:00.001Z</published><updated>2011-12-18T13:32:25.188Z</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;"&gt;
Paredes brancas. Tectos brancos. Batas brancas.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #783f04; text-align: justify;"&gt;
Lençóis brancos. Fronhas brancas. Luzes brancas.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;

&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
Nunca percebi muito bem se todo este branco era para dar mais luz ou 
para ver mais rápido e claramente o sujo. Mas sempre achei que lhe dava 
um tom demasiado imaculado para as coisas às vezes demasiado feias que 
podem ocorrer.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;


&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
Dentro destas quatro paredes a cabeça parece um mecanismo que nunca 
deixa de funcionar. Irónico como ao mesmo tempo tenho a sensação de que a
 cabeça está completamente vazia ou isenta de neurónios. &lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Uma coisa é certa: estou sozinha aqui. Não só porque aqui não há 
ninguém, mas porque mesmo na altura em que ainda havia continuava a 
sentir-me sozinha. São aquelas coisas que sentimos, mas que não dizemos.
 Para quê?&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;


&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
E os minutos passam, as horas passam. Ouvem-se gritos de dor, 
gargalhadas de alívio e os comentários de quem todos os dias conhece 
gente nova e tem de ter sempre um sorriso na cara. Verdade seja dita, 
nem sempre o conseguem. Mas a vida é complicada para todos.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-5715090241444059376?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/5715090241444059376/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=5715090241444059376&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/5715090241444059376'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/5715090241444059376'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2011/12/paredes-brancas.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-3855313330222376009</id><published>2011-12-14T18:58:00.002Z</published><updated>2011-12-14T19:01:07.888Z</updated><title type='text'>Don't you know? Karma is a bitch.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="color: #b45f06; text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b45f06; text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;"You didn't come here to see how I am. &lt;b style="color: #783f04;"&gt;You came here to see how you 
were, because you know in your heart what you did, you want to make sure
 you're okay.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="color: #783f04;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;(...) Don't use rational thought as a defense with me, not
 after all you and I have seen. (...) There is no rational thought.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b45f06; text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b45f06; text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;I
 can't even pretend to have a conversation about anything else with you.
 What it comes down to is faith. What I was hoping you would say is, 
'S., I gave up, I gave up on us. I lost faith.' But what you came here 
for was &lt;b style="color: #783f04;"&gt;closure&lt;/b&gt;, and&lt;b style="color: #783f04;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #783f04;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;there is not a chance you are getting that from me&lt;/b&gt;.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b45f06; text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b45f06; text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;I'm
 not going to say I understand. I'm not going to sympathize with you and
 tell you how hard it must be for you. But do you want to know how I am?
 I am horrible, V., &lt;b style="color: #783f04;"&gt;I am ripped apart&lt;/b&gt;. And not because I lost you, but 
because if it had been me, I would have waited. I would have found the 
truth. &lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="color: #783f04;"&gt;I wouldn't have given up on you. And now I realize what an 
absolute waste that would have been&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/b&gt;"&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #b45f06;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
Aquela sensação quando alguém que não sejas tu fala mal de alguém da tua família; aquela raiva quando alguém magoa uma das tuas pessoas só porque sim; aquela vontade de gritar com alguém que faz chorar ou sofrer as pessoas que amas.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
Quando um dia perceberes que não me perdeste só a mim, mas também à mãe que era, sem sombra de dúvida, uma das tuas melhores amigas e que te amava e te tratava como a uma filha, vais provavelmente cair em ti e pesar-te-á na consciência a atitude estúpida e infantil e completamente desnecessária e despropositada que tiveste para com ela.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
Isto se alguma coisa do que algum dia disseste era realmente verdade.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
E isto, infelizmente, não é uma ameaça; eu já desapareci da tua vida de vez. É apenas mais um acumular ao rasto de dor que deixaste nas pessoas que se preocupavam contigo. Mais do que, ao que parece, te importava ou (talvez) merecesses.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
Nada substitui a nada; ninguém substitui a ninguém. Garanto-te.&amp;nbsp; &lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
Um dia, será tarde de mais. Garanto-te.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-3855313330222376009?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/3855313330222376009/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=3855313330222376009&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/3855313330222376009'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/3855313330222376009'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2011/12/dont-you-know-karma-is-bitch.html' title='Don&apos;t you know? Karma is a bitch.'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-5906135931969626759</id><published>2011-12-12T22:37:00.003Z</published><updated>2011-12-12T22:38:19.754Z</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #783f04;"&gt;
Medo? Sim, mais que muito.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #783f04;"&gt;
Mas a mãe diz que vai correr tudo bem. :)&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #783f04;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #783f04;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-5906135931969626759?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/5906135931969626759/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=5906135931969626759&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/5906135931969626759'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/5906135931969626759'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2011/12/medo-sim-mais-que-muito.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-1222375044426731040</id><published>2011-12-12T22:36:00.003Z</published><updated>2011-12-12T22:36:30.730Z</updated><title type='text'>Life goes on, it gets so heavy*</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
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&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://0.gvt0.com/vi/1G4isv_Fylg/0.jpg"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/1G4isv_Fylg&amp;fs=1&amp;source=uds" /&gt;
&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /&gt;
&lt;embed width="320" height="266"  src="http://www.youtube.com/v/1G4isv_Fylg&amp;fs=1&amp;source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Elefantes e hipopótamos. Sim, acho que é isso. :)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #783f04;"&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: xx-small;"&gt;*&lt;span class="line line-s" id="line_14"&gt;Every tear a waterfall              &lt;/span&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/32165490-1222375044426731040?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/1222375044426731040/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=1222375044426731040&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/1222375044426731040'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/1222375044426731040'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2011/12/life-goes-on-it-gets-so-heavy.html' title='Life goes on, it gets so heavy*'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-1980231391959929340</id><published>2011-12-12T22:29:00.001Z</published><updated>2011-12-12T22:29:39.660Z</updated><title type='text'>Lie in the bed you know or go.</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;
Birmingham&lt;br /&gt;
Londres&lt;br /&gt;
Madrid&lt;br /&gt;
Porto&lt;br /&gt;
Newcastle&lt;br /&gt;
Saint-Lô&lt;br /&gt;
Caen&lt;br /&gt;
Paris&lt;br /&gt;
Berlim&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Mas o vazio continua cá. Embora cada vez o mereças menos.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-1980231391959929340?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/1980231391959929340/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=1980231391959929340&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/1980231391959929340'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/1980231391959929340'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2011/12/lie-in-bed-you-know-or-go.html' title='Lie in the bed you know or go.'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-3127997623784108927</id><published>2011-12-10T06:24:00.001Z</published><updated>2011-12-10T06:24:38.647Z</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br&gt;
"Ya no existes para m&amp;#237;; da igual si me sigues queriendo o no, para m&amp;#237; ya no existes".&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Hasta en mis sue&amp;#241;os (&amp;#191;pesadillas?) encuentras forma de hacerme sentir que (ya) no valgo nada.&lt;br&gt;
 &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-3127997623784108927?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/3127997623784108927/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=3127997623784108927&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/3127997623784108927'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/3127997623784108927'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2011/12/ya-no-existes-para-m-da-igual-si-me.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-8651712322665031292</id><published>2011-12-04T18:02:00.001Z</published><updated>2011-12-04T18:02:25.023Z</updated><title type='text'>How many special people change?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;p&gt;Acho que um dia vais perceber.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;br/&gt;&lt;img src='http://lh3.ggpht.com/-19Mb2GkChCk/Ttu1rrtVWGI/AAAAAAAAAHI/CYD-0mZdywQ/IMAG0382.png' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-8651712322665031292?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/8651712322665031292/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=8651712322665031292&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/8651712322665031292'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/8651712322665031292'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2011/12/how-many-special-people-change.html' title='How many special people change?'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://lh3.ggpht.com/-19Mb2GkChCk/Ttu1rrtVWGI/AAAAAAAAAHI/CYD-0mZdywQ/s72-c/IMAG0382.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-1889064670678927791</id><published>2011-12-01T17:35:00.001Z</published><updated>2011-12-01T18:01:59.622Z</updated><title type='text'>When did it stop being worth the time just to see it through?</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;
Gostava de ser do tipo de pessoas que esquece tudo facilmente;&lt;br /&gt;
gostava de não dar importância aos pequenos detalhes; &lt;br /&gt;
gostava de saber por que me desprezas a este ponto;&lt;br /&gt;
gostava de controlar melhor as minhas emoções;&lt;br /&gt;
gostava de não sempre acreditar em quem confio;&lt;br /&gt;
gostava de poder voltar a ouvir DCFC sem que me doesse até ao tutano; &lt;br /&gt;
gostava de saber o que fazer com isto que me deixaste;&lt;br /&gt;
gostava de poder dizer-te as coisas que ficaram por dizer;&lt;br /&gt;
gostava de conseguir sentir-me melhor com apenas um abraço de um amigo;&lt;br /&gt;
gostava de ter sabido as coisas antes de vivê-las na pele;&lt;br /&gt;
gostava de poder ser saudável e espadaúda; &lt;br /&gt;
gostava de perceber se fui tão especial para ti como tu para mim;&lt;br /&gt;
gostava de ser crescida e seguir em frente; &lt;br /&gt;
gostava de deixar de chorar todas as noites para adormecer; &lt;br /&gt;
gostava de poder sorrir francamente;&lt;br /&gt;
gostava de ainda poder cheirar o teu cabelo antes de ser vencida pelo sono; &lt;br /&gt;
gostava de sentir que isto realmente tem de ser assim;&lt;br /&gt;
gostava de ver o futuro com bright eyes;&lt;br /&gt;
gostava de pensar que quem não te quer não te merece; &lt;br /&gt;
gostava de acreditar no que diz a mãe;&lt;br /&gt;
gostava de respirar sem que o peito doesse;&lt;br /&gt;
gostava de saber o que foi que mudou tanto;&lt;br /&gt;
gostava de pensar que as pessoas podem mesmo mudar;&lt;br /&gt;
gostava de poder ignorar o mal que me desejam;&lt;br /&gt;
gostava de gritar até ficar sem voz;&lt;br /&gt;
gostava de viver e pensar que vale a pena;&lt;br /&gt;
gostava de não ser parva;&lt;br /&gt;
gostava de aceitar que já não há nada a fazer;&lt;br /&gt;
gostava de ir para bem longe daqui;&lt;br /&gt;
gostava de escrever algo que fizesse sentido;&lt;br /&gt;
gostava de voltar a ser a pessoa que te encantou;&lt;br /&gt;
gostava de pensar que não foi tudo culpa minha.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Lá gostar, eu gostava de muitas coisas.&lt;br /&gt;
Ou então... não gostava. What do I know?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-1889064670678927791?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/1889064670678927791/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=1889064670678927791&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/1889064670678927791'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/1889064670678927791'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2011/12/when-did-it-stop-being-worth-time-just.html' title='When did it stop being worth the time just to see it through?'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-7705929465561787161</id><published>2011-11-15T19:37:00.001Z</published><updated>2011-11-28T18:52:54.401Z</updated><title type='text'>Broken</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;
Rejeitar, &lt;i&gt;v. tr.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Desprezar, ter em pouca conta.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Rejeitar. Rejeição. Rejeitado.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
Ando há meses a pensar no assunto, a tentar perceber como se ultrapassa isto. E oiço as opiniões de toda a gente (até de ti) e sei que todos querem o melhor para mim (uns mais, outros menos), mas são tudo noções muito teóricas e todas vão desabar no mesmo… dar tempo ao tempo. Onde se fecha uma porta, abre-se uma janela. Se não foi assim, era porque não tinha de ser. E por aí.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
E o que mais quero é acreditar no que me dizem, é interiorizar as palavras sábias que poderiam dar paz ao meu espírito, mas não consigo. A impaciência é o pior dos meus defeitos e é como se já tivesse perdido a luta, muito antes sequer de começar a lutar. A minha intolerância para com os meus erros supera os limites do ridículo e às vezes gosto de pensar que isso nem é uma coisa tão má.. mas, parece que sim.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
E por mais que me digas que o problema não fui eu, não sou eu, não posso acreditar em ti. Não consigo. Acho que se as pessoas desistem de ti, tem de ser por algo que tu és, disseste ou fizeste. E esta desistência era algo a que já estava habituada. Fizeste-me pensar que as coisas podiam ser diferentes, que as relações podiam ser boas, fortes e equilibradas. E eu acreditei em ti. Acreditei em ti como uma criança inocente acredita nas coisas que a mãe lhe diz. Acreditei e confiei em ti. Entreguei-me. Enganei-me.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
Posso justificar tudo o que quiser, mas bottom line, tu não pudeste esperar. Não quiseste, não sabias (ou não quiseste saber) que ainda valia a pena esperar. E esta ruptura abrupta, too soon (como diz o Luke), deixou-me desfeita por dentro. Sinto-me como se fosse um serviço de loiça fina que cai inteiro no chão. Todos os cacos, pequeninos e desfeitos, demasiado pequenos para que possam ser recuperados, não vão poder remendar nada. E o que quer que seja construído depois de apanhados todos os cacos já nunca vai ser o mesmo que tinha antes. E isso, supostamente, é uma coisa boa. Ou, pelo menos, é isso que toda a gente me diz.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
Só falta mesmo que eu também acredite que sim. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-7705929465561787161?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/7705929465561787161/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=7705929465561787161&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7705929465561787161'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7705929465561787161'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2011/11/broken.html' title='Broken'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-687926509760133629</id><published>2011-11-03T12:50:00.000Z</published><updated>2011-11-03T12:56:57.998Z</updated><title type='text'>Muda o teu mundo que eu mudei o meu.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
Não te escrevo não porque não me apeteça, mas porque acho que prefiro guardar só para mim as coisas que tenho sentido ultimamente. Aprendi, com o tempo e a muito custo, que se conseguirmos calar-nos durante um tempo e guardar cá dentro as coisas feias e más, elas acabam por se tornar menos importantes. Acabam por doer menos e, chega aquele dia, em que a vontade de exteriorizá-las já nem existe.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
E isto não acontece com tudo, claro que não (era bom, era!), mas acontece com cada vez mais coisas, pessoas e situações. E de quem é a culpa? Não há culpas N., não há mesmo. Ou, pelo menos, não me parece que haja. Há apenas pessoas que vale a pena ter nas nossas vidas e outras que não.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
Tu, contrariamente ao que algum dia pude pensar, és daquelas que não.&lt;br /&gt;
And that's that. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-687926509760133629?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/687926509760133629/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=687926509760133629&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/687926509760133629'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/687926509760133629'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2011/11/muda-o-teu-mundo-que-eu-mudei-o-meu.html' title='Muda o teu mundo que eu mudei o meu.'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-5570295306181740423</id><published>2011-10-18T21:35:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2011-10-18T21:35:42.533+01:00</updated><title type='text'>You've been bought and sold.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;b style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0690186/"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;i style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;"&lt;/b&gt;You don't get to call me a whore. When I met you, I thought I had found  the person that I was going to spend the rest of my life with. I was  done. So all the boys, and all the bars, and all the obvious daddy  issues, who cared? Because I was done. You left me. You chose Addison. I'm all glued back together now. &lt;b&gt;I make no apologies for how I choose to  repair what you broke&lt;/b&gt;. You don't get to call me a whore."&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;Meredith Grey in Grey's Anatomy &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/32165490-5570295306181740423?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/5570295306181740423/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=5570295306181740423&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/5570295306181740423'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/5570295306181740423'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2011/10/youve-been-bought-and-sold.html' title='You&apos;ve been bought and sold.'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-6225710847979455745</id><published>2011-09-18T22:14:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2011-09-18T22:15:28.886+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;br&gt;Alguien dijo alguna vez que en el momento en que te paras a pensar si quieres a alguien, ya has dejado de quererle para siempre.&lt;br&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-6225710847979455745?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/6225710847979455745/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=6225710847979455745&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/6225710847979455745'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/6225710847979455745'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2011/09/alguien-dijo-alguna-vez-que-en-el.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-8663452575949767303</id><published>2011-09-01T11:07:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2011-09-01T11:07:30.623+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;br&gt;"Espero que estés bien."&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;

Sí, estoy genial, no lo ves? &lt;br&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-8663452575949767303?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/8663452575949767303/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=8663452575949767303&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/8663452575949767303'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/8663452575949767303'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2011/09/espero-que-estes-bien.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-7101833478743199922</id><published>2011-08-30T12:45:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2011-08-30T12:48:13.409+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Skunk Anansie - Secretly</title><content type='html'>&lt;br&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;"The line 'You wanna do someone else, so you should be by yourself' really seems to me like it's about people who say they want '&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;space&lt;/span&gt;' and to be by themselves, when really they just &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;want to sleep with someone else&lt;/span&gt;."&lt;/span&gt; &lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;


Indeed. &lt;br&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-7101833478743199922?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/7101833478743199922/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=7101833478743199922&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7101833478743199922'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7101833478743199922'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2011/08/skunk-anansie-secretly.html' title='Skunk Anansie - Secretly'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-8862431151697047053</id><published>2011-08-14T18:54:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2011-08-14T18:54:05.309+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Por todo me acuerdo de ti.</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&amp;#160;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Olho para o ecrã e penso que há mil coisas que te podia escrever, dizer, sussurrar. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Volto a olhar e o ecrã continua vazio. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Porquê? Porque já não serve de nada.. já não tenho nada para te dizer que ainda queiras ouvir. E conseguiste fazer com que uma das melhores coisas que tinha ficasse manchada por uma parvoíce. Ou se calhar tu não conseguiste nada, eu é que deixei que conseguisses. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;A moeda tem sempre dois lados. Ainda sabes isso ou também já te esqueceste? &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-8862431151697047053?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/8862431151697047053/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=8862431151697047053&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/8862431151697047053'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/8862431151697047053'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2011/08/por-todo-me-acuerdo-de-ti.html' title='Por todo me acuerdo de ti.'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-7812985524612701084</id><published>2011-08-10T09:18:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2011-08-10T09:18:52.037+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;br&gt;Ponto final. &lt;br&gt;Parágrafo. &lt;br&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-7812985524612701084?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/7812985524612701084/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=7812985524612701084&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7812985524612701084'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7812985524612701084'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2011/08/ponto-final.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-58988861792889915</id><published>2011-07-20T10:35:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2011-07-20T10:35:58.792+01:00</updated><title type='text'>- How often do you find the right person?  - Quite often, as it seems.  </title><content type='html'>&lt;iframe width="425" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/NPcyTyilmYY?fs=1" frameborder="0" allowFullScreen=""&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;
 &lt;br&gt; &lt;br&gt;

A Alanis é que sabe.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-58988861792889915?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/58988861792889915/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=58988861792889915&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/58988861792889915'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/58988861792889915'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2011/07/how-often-do-you-find-right-person.html' title='- How often do you find the right person? &lt;br&gt; - Quite often, as it seems. &lt;br&gt; &lt;br&gt;'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://img.youtube.com/vi/NPcyTyilmYY/default.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-5560512119631344241</id><published>2011-07-08T16:03:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2011-07-08T16:04:03.826+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;br&gt;Don't lose yourself in your fear.&lt;br&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-5560512119631344241?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/5560512119631344241/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=5560512119631344241&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/5560512119631344241'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/5560512119631344241'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2011/07/dont-lose-yourself-in-your-fear.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-3632617113862363513</id><published>2011-06-12T14:04:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2011-06-12T14:06:11.182+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;p&gt;Sem ti, a vida n&amp;#227;o tem qualquer sentido.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-3632617113862363513?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/3632617113862363513/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=3632617113862363513&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/3632617113862363513'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/3632617113862363513'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2011/06/sem-ti-vida-n-tem-qualquer-sentido.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-6646363705368898560</id><published>2011-04-01T11:33:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2011-04-01T11:33:49.761+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Cogumelo, já dizia o outro.</title><content type='html'>&lt;br&gt;
&lt;iframe width="480" height="295" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/spqgpkobEh4?fs=1" frameborder="0" allowFullScreen=""&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;
&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;
You gave me a life I never chose&lt;br&gt;
I wanna leave but the world won't let me go.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;

I was the one with the world at my feet.&lt;br&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-6646363705368898560?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/6646363705368898560/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=6646363705368898560&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/6646363705368898560'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/6646363705368898560'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2011/04/cogumelo-ja-dizia-o-outro.html' title='Cogumelo, já dizia o outro.'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://img.youtube.com/vi/spqgpkobEh4/default.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-1880042909795955839</id><published>2011-03-03T12:03:00.001Z</published><updated>2011-03-03T12:04:38.913Z</updated><title type='text'>187   2148</title><content type='html'>&lt;br&gt;Porque, afinal de contas, o que importa é mesmo a família. &lt;br&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-1880042909795955839?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/1880042909795955839/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=1880042909795955839&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/1880042909795955839'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/1880042909795955839'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2011/03/187-2148.html' title='187   2148'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-4139162888662248143</id><published>2011-02-20T11:15:00.003Z</published><updated>2011-02-20T11:18:16.035Z</updated><title type='text'>Not being tied down ain't the same as being free</title><content type='html'>&lt;br&gt;- Are you falling asleep?
&lt;br&gt;- I'm... falling apart. &lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-4139162888662248143?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/4139162888662248143/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=4139162888662248143&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/4139162888662248143'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/4139162888662248143'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2011/02/not-being-tied-down-aint-same-as-being.html' title='Not being tied down ain&apos;t the same as being free'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-3535688662868366058</id><published>2011-02-17T20:09:00.003Z</published><updated>2011-02-17T20:13:50.802Z</updated><title type='text'>Post-mortem</title><content type='html'>&lt;br&gt;Isn't it hard. Standing in the rain.&lt;br&gt;
You're on the verge of going crazy and your heart's in pain&lt;br&gt;
No one can hear, but you're screaming so loud&lt;br&gt;
You feel like you're all alone in a faceless crowd&lt;br&gt;
Isn't it strange how we all get a little bit weird sometimes.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;

Sitting on the side. Waiting for a sign. Hoping that my luck will change.&lt;br&gt;
Reaching for a hand that can understand, someone who feels the same.&lt;br&gt;
When you live in a cookie cutter world being different is a sin.&lt;br&gt;
&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;So you don't stand out and you don't fit in.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;br&gt;
Weird.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;

Falta muito para voltar a ser minimamente normal? &lt;br&gt;
Or has that ship already sailed? &lt;br&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-3535688662868366058?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/3535688662868366058/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=3535688662868366058&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/3535688662868366058'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/3535688662868366058'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2011/02/post-mortem.html' title='Post-mortem'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-8605704277139105285</id><published>2010-11-22T11:28:00.002Z</published><updated>2010-11-22T11:30:55.468Z</updated><title type='text'>Adenda (ao post anterior)</title><content type='html'>&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;They said the past won't rest&lt;br&gt;
Until we jump the fence and leave it behind.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;

Estamos sempre a aprender. &lt;br&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-8605704277139105285?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/8605704277139105285/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=8605704277139105285&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/8605704277139105285'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/8605704277139105285'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2010/11/adenda-ao-post-anterior.html' title='Adenda (ao post anterior)'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-347412328463869367</id><published>2010-11-15T20:23:00.002Z</published><updated>2010-11-15T20:25:16.026Z</updated><title type='text'>Motionless.</title><content type='html'>&lt;br&gt;Há coisas que valem mesmo a pena. Há outras que nem por isso.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;

Sorte que ainda há gente fascinante como esta que consegue traduzi-lo bastante bem na letra de uma canção.




&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;


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&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;



But you started a war that you can't win&lt;br&gt;

They keep erasing all the streets we grew up in&lt;br&gt;

Now the music divides us into tribes&lt;br&gt;

You choose your side, I'll choose my side&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;


All my old friends, they don't know me now&lt;br&gt;

All my old friends are staring through me now&lt;br&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-347412328463869367?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/347412328463869367/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=347412328463869367&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/347412328463869367'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/347412328463869367'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2010/11/motionless.html' title='Motionless.'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-3082001478301005379</id><published>2010-10-30T18:42:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2010-10-30T18:43:10.668+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;

Difícil de aceitar, doloroso de viver, impossível de perceber.

&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-3082001478301005379?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/3082001478301005379/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=3082001478301005379&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/3082001478301005379'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/3082001478301005379'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2010/10/dificil-de-aceitar-doloroso-de-viver.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-113688348554205342</id><published>2010-09-24T22:26:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2010-09-24T22:26:11.421+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Life changing method.</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;Reza a história que tudo mudou com o dia D. Aquele grande 6 de Junho de 1944.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

 Com tudo o que tem acontecido nos últimos meses, por dentro, por fora e  pelos lados, acho que me posso permitir o meu próprio dia D. E está  quase quase a chegar. Na minha cabeça, já chegou. E a vida é nova, ou  vai ser e não há volta atrás e nem quero que haja. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

 This is the beginning of a new era. Acho que isto vem dos Friends, não? :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

E a banda sonora? Esta. Para o bom e para o mau. Tem e terá sempre a letra mais adequada para tudo. Amo. (L)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;


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&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-113688348554205342?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/113688348554205342/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=113688348554205342&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/113688348554205342'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/113688348554205342'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2010/09/life-changing-method.html' title='Life changing method.'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-4843696743619937771</id><published>2010-06-09T13:10:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2010-06-09T13:10:54.082+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Landon Pigg - The Way It Ends</title><content type='html'>&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If this is the way it ends&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span&gt;This is the way it's meant to be&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span&gt;
Under  my skin they fade away&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span&gt;Here's to life with no regrets&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span&gt;See you  again all one day&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span&gt;Give me love or give me death&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span&gt;Can anyone ever  really say&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span&gt;
This is the way it ends&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;


P.S. - Afinal foi o mês de Maio que me trocou as voltas. É estranho nunca saber como vai ser o dia de amanhã. Ou então, é a coisa mais normal do mundo. Not quite sure. :) Nos entretantos, chove muito lá fora (again!) e esta canção faz todo o sentido. &lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;



&lt;object style="background-image: url(&amp;quot;http://i4.ytimg.com/vi/ofXlykBj1VM/hqdefault.jpg&amp;quot;);" height="344" width="425"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ofXlykBj1VM&amp;amp;hl=pt_PT&amp;amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ofXlykBj1VM&amp;amp;hl=pt_PT&amp;amp;fs=1" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" height="344" width="425"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-4843696743619937771?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/4843696743619937771/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=4843696743619937771&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/4843696743619937771'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/4843696743619937771'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2010/06/landon-pigg-way-it-ends.html' title='Landon Pigg - The Way It Ends'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-7022547289869305226</id><published>2010-04-19T21:06:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2010-04-19T21:11:05.694+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;Continuo a odiar o mês de Abril.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-7022547289869305226?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/7022547289869305226/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=7022547289869305226&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7022547289869305226'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7022547289869305226'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2010/04/continuo-odiar-o-mes-de-abril.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-6260575190598323656</id><published>2010-02-13T19:23:00.001Z</published><updated>2010-02-13T19:23:59.140Z</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;Frio, frio e mais frio! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-6260575190598323656?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/6260575190598323656/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=6260575190598323656&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/6260575190598323656'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/6260575190598323656'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2010/02/frio-frio-e-mais-frio.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-7402021393728858342</id><published>2009-11-23T19:58:00.003Z</published><updated>2009-11-23T20:10:13.660Z</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;Dava-me jeito um bilhete só de ida para uma ilha deserta. Só precisava de levar livros e música. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

E vá... um pacotinho de pipas também. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-7402021393728858342?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/7402021393728858342/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=7402021393728858342&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7402021393728858342'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7402021393728858342'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2009/11/dava-me-jeito-um-bilhete-de-so-de-ida.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-7418132917938680017</id><published>2009-11-23T19:23:00.003Z</published><updated>2009-11-23T19:30:50.132Z</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;Odeio (e não tenho qualquer tipo de respeito por) pessoas que comem laranjas (ou derivados) em sítios públicos, incluindo autocarros e Metro. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-7418132917938680017?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/7418132917938680017/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=7418132917938680017&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7418132917938680017'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7418132917938680017'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2009/11/odeio-e-nao-tenho-qualquer-tipo-de.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-2745194946442728983</id><published>2009-06-27T13:01:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2009-06-27T21:54:59.516+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;Acho que fui a última pessoa do mundo a saber que o Michael Jackson tinha morrido.
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;

Estou de luto.
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-2745194946442728983?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/2745194946442728983/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=2745194946442728983&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/2745194946442728983'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/2745194946442728983'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2009/06/acho-que-fui-ultima-pessoa-do-mundo.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-2929860171005491793</id><published>2009-02-24T08:49:00.003Z</published><updated>2009-02-24T08:58:22.424Z</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A vida tem coisas estranhas. Não sou só eu que o digo, há mais gente que o afirma. E todo o tempo que perco a pensar como escrever o que quero dizer, torna-se inútil aos olhos de quem não procura nada, de quem só espera receber. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

E não me queixo; por agora, não me queixo. Mas terás de me ouvir, terás de me entender, porque a vida tem coisas estranhas e são as pessoas e as relações que criamos com elas que nos permitem manter um pé firme nisto a que chamam de realidade. No lo tengo muy claro, para ser sincera, mas prefiro acreditar no que me vai chegando aos ouvidos cada dia. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

Não somos iguais, mas somos todos muito parecidos. &lt;br /&gt;
Eu, tu e todos os demais. E não me queixo. Não é disso que se trata. &lt;br /&gt;
Mas opino, muito e em quantidades industriais. &lt;br /&gt;
It's what I'm made of. Y tú lo sabes. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-2929860171005491793?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/2929860171005491793/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=2929860171005491793&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/2929860171005491793'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/2929860171005491793'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2009/02/vida-tem-coisas-estranhas.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-9098470321290495121</id><published>2008-12-07T10:55:00.002Z</published><updated>2008-12-07T10:58:49.497Z</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;Descobri que há coisas que podemos lembrar-nos menos. &lt;br /&gt;
Não esquecer, lembrar menos. Ou seja, retirar-lhes importância. &lt;br /&gt;
Uma das regras é não guardar ou registar nada que nos possa levar ao momento que pretendemos esquecer. Quero dizer, não lembrar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

Nada disto justifica a ausência ou é sequer justificação para o facto de estar semanas sem escrever. Partilhava apenas uma das coisas que descobri nos últimos tempos. Ou melhor, que assimilei. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-9098470321290495121?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/9098470321290495121/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=9098470321290495121&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/9098470321290495121'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/9098470321290495121'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2008/12/descobri-que-h-coisas-que-podemos.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-3848912093086722449</id><published>2008-09-29T20:50:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2008-09-29T20:59:07.560+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;Ando com isto metido na cabeça...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Caí por crecer, callé por hablar. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;Confundo el agua con la sal.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;Aprendimos a mirar con la duda &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;entre los dedos y a tientas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;Descubrimos que al final, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;las palabras que no existen&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;nos pueden salvar... sin hablar."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nem sei porquê. Mas, gosto. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-3848912093086722449?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/3848912093086722449/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=3848912093086722449&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/3848912093086722449'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/3848912093086722449'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2008/09/ando-com-isto-metido-na-cabea.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-5109097056788336255</id><published>2008-09-27T10:10:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2008-09-27T10:11:26.351+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;Pausa. Respirar fundo. Recomeçar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-5109097056788336255?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/5109097056788336255/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=5109097056788336255&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/5109097056788336255'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/5109097056788336255'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2008/09/pausa.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-1770893504821686503</id><published>2008-07-04T11:00:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2008-07-04T11:25:32.176+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sento-me aqui e começo a escrever; coisas sem sentido, frases que não se interligam entre si. Acho que tenho demasiada coisa para dizer e uma vontade nula de me debruçar sobre os assuntos. Sei que esta situação não será pendente por muito mais tempo... Já mudei de instalações e tudo. E que giras ficaram! :D &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

E depois ainda é o nervoso de voltar a um sítio onde vivi coisas muito boas e outras muito más. É o saber que vou rever duas pessoas que, a bem ou a mal, fazem parte e também ajudaram a criar aquilo que sou hoje, sobretudo a M., que é, na verdade, como olhar-me no espelho. E dá medo. Dá medo não saber como serão as coisas depois... dá medo saber que me vão espetar coisas e me vão magoar, com a promessa de que depois tudo melhora. Quem me garante? E o abraço, onde está?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

E, como se não bastasse, há conversas parvas que não lembram a ninguém, numa altura como esta. Há coisas que se fazem com a melhor das intenções e, no fim, parece que não era bem aquilo e a p*ta somos sempre nós, já dizia o meu amigo M. Guardião. Olha, é o que temos. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

Por agora, continuo por aqui. Tentando não pensar muito no que está para vir, neste futuro imediato. Tentando não dar importância às semanas que se sucedem, arrastando consigo uma saudade já anunciada. E claro, podia falar sobre tudo isto; mas, com quem? :) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;


&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"We'll love you just the way you are&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;If you're perfect."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-1770893504821686503?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/1770893504821686503/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=1770893504821686503&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/1770893504821686503'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/1770893504821686503'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2008/07/sento-me-aqui-e-comeo-escrever-coisas.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-4004429135518222290</id><published>2008-06-30T11:56:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2008-06-30T11:59:29.730+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;Por lo menos... ha ganado &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);"&gt;ES&lt;/span&gt;-&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;PA&lt;/span&gt;-&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);"&gt;ÑA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;! :D &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-4004429135518222290?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/4004429135518222290/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=4004429135518222290&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/4004429135518222290'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/4004429135518222290'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2008/06/por-lo-menos.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-2017721203650871871</id><published>2008-06-19T21:38:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2008-06-19T21:39:55.028+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;Três palavrinhas:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"&gt;LAN&lt;/span&gt;-&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);"&gt;GO&lt;/span&gt;-&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;NHAS&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-2017721203650871871?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/2017721203650871871/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=2017721203650871871&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/2017721203650871871'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/2017721203650871871'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2008/06/trs-palavrinhas-lan-go-nhas.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-1034262922742334246</id><published>2008-06-09T13:05:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2008-06-09T13:08:15.354+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;"I just got lost&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;Every river that I've tried to cross&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;And every door I ever tried was locked&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;And I'm just waiting till the shine wears off..."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;


Saudades de que dissesses quase tudo, da melhor maneira.&lt;br /&gt;
Também temos encontro marcado. :) E bom que é sabê-lo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-1034262922742334246?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/1034262922742334246/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=1034262922742334246&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/1034262922742334246'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/1034262922742334246'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2008/06/i-just-got-lost-every-river-that-ive.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-7994774854609802463</id><published>2008-06-04T22:49:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2008-06-04T22:50:08.523+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.summercase.com/indexen.html"&gt;Summercase&lt;/a&gt;! A este, sim, EU VOU! :D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

Os Kookinhos que me aguardem... (L)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-7994774854609802463?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/7994774854609802463/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=7994774854609802463&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7994774854609802463'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7994774854609802463'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2008/06/summercase-este-sim-eu-vou-d-os.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-7211899164370002859</id><published>2008-05-26T23:15:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2008-05-26T23:16:32.290+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;25 dias...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;...and counting.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt; &lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Bolas!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&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/32165490-7211899164370002859?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/7211899164370002859/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=7211899164370002859&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7211899164370002859'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7211899164370002859'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2008/05/25-dias.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-7868437300154678805</id><published>2008-05-26T13:38:00.004+01:00</published><updated>2008-05-26T13:44:36.433+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Death Cab for Cutie, Grapevine Fires</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ninguém fala melhor sobre este tema. &lt;br /&gt;
Ninguém me deixa mais tranquila com a maneira como canta sobre o assunto.
Depois de "What Sarah Said", acho que encontrei a outra canção a tocar no meu funeral. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;...We bought some wine and some paper cups&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Near your daughter's school when we picked her up&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And drove to a cemetery on a hill&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;On a hill&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
 
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And we watched the plumes paint the sky gray&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;But she laughed and danced through the field of graves&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And there I knew it would be alright&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;That everything would be alright...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;Obrigada, Ben. Por tudo. Vemo-nos em Julho. (L)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-7868437300154678805?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/7868437300154678805/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=7868437300154678805&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7868437300154678805'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7868437300154678805'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2008/05/death-cab-for-cutie-grapevine-fires.html' title='Death Cab for Cutie, Grapevine Fires'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-1533360860512033083</id><published>2008-05-26T12:23:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2008-05-26T13:35:18.867+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Começo a achar que não tenho queda para isto dos blogues. Não é que não tenha muito para dizer ou vontade de escrever, mas acabo sempre por me decidir a ocupar o tempo com outra coisa. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

Estou a viver num impasse. Sinto-me como se me arrastasse pelos dias, sem grande aprumo no que ando a fazer e sempre a correr de um lado para o outro. Não é que tenha realmente pressa de ir para algum lado, mas sinto-me como impelida por uma força que não se vê. Acho que se chama responsabilidade.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

Acho que preciso de mudar de vida, como na canção do outro. Acho não, tenho a certeza. E ando a tentar aproveitar as coisas que surgem e que ainda tenho oportunidade de fazer, mas acho que não anda a correr muito bem. Mudei assim um bocadinho desde há uns meses para cá e depois de várias conversas com um amigo meu sobre como viver sem papar fretes, acho que estou no bom caminho. Claro que não agrada a toda a gente, mas, es lo que hay. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

E há ainda muita coisa para aprender, há ainda muitas coisas nas quais me devo aperfeiçoar e há ainda muitas discussões que tenho de ter. Uma coisa de cada vez, um passo e depois o salto. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

Resta dizer que estou feliz, ou bem, ou tranquila, ou bem disposta. Ou nada disto, mas também nada de mau. Estou assim, como há-de ir. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-1533360860512033083?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/1533360860512033083/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=1533360860512033083&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/1533360860512033083'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/1533360860512033083'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2008/05/comeo-achar-que-no-tenho-queda-para.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-5032840810562971483</id><published>2008-04-29T22:30:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2008-04-29T22:38:04.604+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Constatações.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Nada Surf + Barcelona?&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;

Sim. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;



Sol + Barcelona?&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;

Sim.&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;



Eu e vocês? &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;

Sim.&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;




Eu e tu?&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;

Sempre. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;





&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"I'd like to return this spell&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;

&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; It's not my size&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;

&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; Your lies are so much bigger&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;

&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; Than my lies&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;

&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; And your ties are made of things&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;

&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; That shouldn't make ties&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;



&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt; Oh fuck it (fuck it)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;

&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt; I'm gonna have a party!"&lt;br /&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/32165490-5032840810562971483?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/5032840810562971483/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=5032840810562971483&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/5032840810562971483'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/5032840810562971483'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2008/04/constataes.html' title='Constatações.'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-2304218651105500296</id><published>2008-04-19T02:14:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2008-04-19T02:33:37.358+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chove como se não houvesse amanhã. Os dias parecem-me inúteis e deprimentes. Por mais planos que faça, nada corre de maneira adequada. E sinto-me a fraquejar. Sinto-me com vontade de ficar aqui sentada, sozinha, à espera de que voltes. À espera que entendas que sem ti não posso continuar; não consigo. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

Estou numa fase complicada. Não gosto da maior parte daquilo que faço; não me sinto suficiente para nada; não tenho um ombro onde encostar a cabeça, no fim do dia; não posso falar de coisas importantes com pessoas de quem gosto; não tenho solução para nenhum dos meus problemas. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

E sei, bem sei que não mudaria grande coisa se aqui estivesses. Mas, creio que teria mudado a forma em como chegámos até aqui. Eu, tu e todos eles. As coisas sucedem-se umas às outras e ninguém pára para pensar no que realmente aconteceu. Achas normal? Não sei se será esta a forma de lidar com isto. &lt;br /&gt;

Mas estou aqui, sim. Por agora, estou. Mas não quero estar... não quero sentir que perco mais tempo, que nada foi como tinha imaginado. E não, nada do que possas dizer me confortará.
Desculpa, eu sei que nada disto é culpa tua. Sete anos é imenso tempo. Repara como, no final de contas, ninguém mudou para melhor. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

Que saudades tenho tuas. Que saudades tenho do que representavas. Que saudades tenho do antes de tudo isto. Que saudades tenho deles. Que saudades de não saber tanto sobre tudo. Que saudades da inocência.
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Temo que nada do que me lembro, tenha sido realmente assim.&lt;br /&gt;
É sufocante. Juro que sim. Eu odeio o mês de Abril. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;

&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;

&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I didn't hear you leave  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I wonder how am I still here&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And I don't want to move a thin&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;g  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;It might change my memory  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(...)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And I won't go  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I won't sleep  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I can't breathe  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Until you're resting here with me  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(...)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And I won't leave  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I can't hide  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I cannot be  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Until you're resting here with me  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-2304218651105500296?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/2304218651105500296/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=2304218651105500296&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/2304218651105500296'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/2304218651105500296'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2008/04/chove-como-se-no-houvesse-amanh.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-3797912675868209596</id><published>2008-03-30T13:15:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2008-03-30T13:22:40.736+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Odeio o mês de Abril. Não sei porquê. Quer dizer, até sei. &lt;br /&gt;
É um ódio minimamente recente e cada ano gosto menos. &lt;br /&gt;
Acho que tem a ver com a maneira como se diz. E do "Abril, chuvas mil". Sempre me soou muito mal.&lt;br /&gt;
Abro a excepção para o "25 de Abril", porque já se disse tantas vezes que fica entranhado. E é sinónimo de coisas. Coisas boas, algumas. Não sei.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

Manias parvas que as pessoas têm. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-3797912675868209596?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/3797912675868209596/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=3797912675868209596&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/3797912675868209596'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/3797912675868209596'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2008/03/odeio-o-ms-de-abril.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-867947105871551878</id><published>2008-03-30T12:44:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2008-03-30T13:12:03.234+01:00</updated><title type='text'>We Are Scientists - After Hours</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Voltei a andar pelo norte. Desta vez, sem Rede Nacional de Expressos que me valesse. Ou O., que cada dia acorda com uma decisão nova. Tinha comigo o Javardo e mais uma ou outra coisa de grande valor. :) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

É quase como se fosse um voltar a casa, que não é minha, mas que me traz aquela familiaridade típica das casas onde crescemos ou onde passamos muito tempo em pequenos. Que não é nada disso, já que duvido ter crescido em altura desde 2005, mas que podia ser, num universo assim para o paralelo. Porque também se cresce quando já se é crescida. E não, não é só para os lados. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
A C. desafia todos os meus sentidos, traz sempre algo de novo e enche-me de orgulho, por saber que a tenho na minha vida. Como diria o Rui Veloso, "haverá gente informada,  se é amor isto que sinto". E creio que sim. Não se chama ninguém de mana velha à toa e depois as consequências estão à vista. Um relação de cão e gato, mas que vai sempre crescendo e que dá saudades, aún que no sea de presença, de conversa ou de toque. A saudade tem para aí muitas variantes. :)
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
E visitam-se coisas, fica-se acordado até tarde, em conversas ou de nada, ou de tudo. Não há grandes pressas, não há mapas e não há grande vontade em sair do carro, porque do lado de fora o conforto é menor. E partilha-se muito. Tanto que se perde a conta. E quem falta, está por perto, nem que seja no silêncio de um auricular. E, por momentos, pensa-se que a vida pode ser mesmo só isto. Uns bocadinhos aqui e ali, resmunguices e buzinadelas nos entretantos, uma chuva que molha até aos ossos, seguida de um sol que nos fere a vista. &lt;br /&gt;
E, no fim do dia, a certeza de que isto não acaba aqui. It wouldn't make any sense.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" &gt;
"We're all right where we're supposed to be."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;b style="color: black; background-color: rgb(153, 255, 153);"&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-867947105871551878?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/867947105871551878/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=867947105871551878&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/867947105871551878'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/867947105871551878'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2008/03/we-are-scientists-after-hours.html' title='We Are Scientists - After Hours'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-1823883121647664388</id><published>2008-03-30T12:21:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2008-03-30T12:40:57.877+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Procrastinar, é a palavra do momento.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Tenho imensa vontade de escrever. De tudo, sobre tudo. &lt;br /&gt;

É algo que me anda a perseguir há já uns dias. &lt;br /&gt;

Curiosamente, é a última coisa que tenho feito. &lt;br /&gt;

Seja em blogs, em Zap books, em Word ou onde quer que seja. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;


Acho que vem tudo da preguiça. Sabia há já uns tempos que ia ter uma semana "livre", então fiz uma dezena de planos, de coisas que queria fazer e resolver nesse espaço de tempo. Que, parecendo que não, ainda é muito. Prometi a mim mesma que não me ia preocupar muito com o outside world e  que ia mesmo fazer o que tinha pensado. Claro, claro; com certeza.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;


Primeiro, foi um favor que já vinha atrasado, depois foi a J. que foi para França, depois foi o favor ao meu irmão, depois foi isto e depois foi aquilo. Por fim, fui eu que desisti dessa ideia e resignei-me ao facto de ter de dar a semana como perdida. E hoje, domingo, dou o feito por não feito e sei que amanhã vai ser tudo à última da hora. Há coisas que são mesmo assim.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;





&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;P.S. - Aproveito para informar que a secção de favores está fechada para obras, com reabertura incerta, sobretudo se o assunto envolver tempo perdido sem rendimento que se note e/ou computadores. Muito agradecida.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-1823883121647664388?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/1823883121647664388/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=1823883121647664388&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/1823883121647664388'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/1823883121647664388'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2008/03/procrastinar-palavra-do-momento.html' title='Procrastinar, é a palavra do momento.'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-883060560437726124</id><published>2008-03-07T11:58:00.003Z</published><updated>2008-03-07T12:03:54.564Z</updated><title type='text'>The National</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know I dreamed about you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; for twenty-nine years before I saw you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;You know I dreamed about you,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; I missed you for&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;... for twenty-nine years.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;

Esta música é... (L).&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;

&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;E sim, como disse  a &lt;a href="http://borboletasnabarriga.blogspot.com/2008/02/onze-do-cinco-de-dois-mil-e-oito.html"&gt;M.&lt;/a&gt;, tivesse ele tido twenty-four and 2/3 , e seria perfeito. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;


Ninguém tem por aí um bilhete a mais, não? Pretty please? :\&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://borboletasnabarriga.blogspot.com/2008/02/onze-do-cinco-de-dois-mil-e-oito.html"&gt; &lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://borboletasnabarriga.blogspot.com/2008/02/onze-do-cinco-de-dois-mil-e-oito.html"&gt; &lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-883060560437726124?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/883060560437726124/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=883060560437726124&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/883060560437726124'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/883060560437726124'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2008/03/national.html' title='The National'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-2719493531551973021</id><published>2008-02-09T23:34:00.000Z</published><updated>2008-02-09T23:36:11.728Z</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish the world was flat like the old days&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;Then I could travel just by folding a map&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;No more airplanes, or speedtrains, or freeways&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;There'd be no distance that could hold us back.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;

&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;
Eh. Se fosse só pedir de boca...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-2719493531551973021?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/2719493531551973021/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=2719493531551973021&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/2719493531551973021'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/2719493531551973021'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2008/02/i-wish-world-was-flat-like-old-days.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-160558595693980998</id><published>2008-02-04T10:45:00.000Z</published><updated>2008-02-10T14:44:12.234Z</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;"I was an accomplished practitioner of delayed gratification.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;Hugh once said people who could delay gratification were highly mature. I could put off happiness for days, months, years. That's how 'mature' I was.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;I learned it from eating Tootsie Roll Pops as a child. Mike would crunch through the candy shell immediately to get to the chocolate in the middle, while I licked and licked, wearing it down in an agonizingly slow process."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;in &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;" &gt;The Mermaid Chair&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;, Sue Monk Kidd&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;


&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;Quem diz Tootsie Roll Pops diz outra coisa qualquer; na minha perspectiva, sempre algo sem chocolate, claro. But, yup, that's me. Sem sombra de dúvida. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;
&lt;/span&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/32165490-160558595693980998?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/160558595693980998/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=160558595693980998&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/160558595693980998'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/160558595693980998'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2008/02/i-was-accomplished-practitioner-of_04.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-3840303786982346002</id><published>2008-01-31T00:12:00.000Z</published><updated>2008-01-31T00:28:21.024Z</updated><title type='text'>Nada Surf - See These Bones</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Ouvia dizer quando era miúda que "o tempo cura tudo". Achei sempre que isso era só conversa, mas, com o passar dos anos, começo a achar que não. O problema do tempo é que não o podemos realmente controlar. Claro que podemos ter agendas, marcar coisas para cada cinco minutos e tudo isso, mas, no fundo, bem lá no fundo, não o controlamos. E porquê? Porque existem imensas coisas que não dependem unica e exclusivamente de nós. E é uma chatice. &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
Nestes últimos tempos tenho visto, ouvido e vivido um pouco de tudo. E embora não me sinta "curada" por nada do que o tempo me tenha feito, noto algumas mudanças que, embora ligeiras, são estupidamente atenuantes. &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Sinto-me tentada a fazer listas de tudo e de todos. Listas das coisas que já fiz, das que gostava de fazer e das que não tenho bem a certeza. Listas das pessoas com quem realmente me importo, das que já não fazem parte da minha vida e daquelas que vão e vêm, só porque acham que podem. Listas de coisas. &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
Acho que a ideia é a de que, ao fazer as listas, estou a organizar ainda mais a minha vida. Não é que ela esteja assim tão desorganizada, mas este complexo de Monica Geller é uma coisa que não me larga. Nunca uma personagem fictícia me assentou tão bem. :)&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;

E pronto, nos entretantos e nos imediatos, cá estou. Afectada por este tempo doido, que traz o calor primaveril de tarde e o frio normal de Inverno pela noite. Tento dia após dia domar as minhas crianças, mas não sei se terei sucesso. O Castelhano melhora a olhos vistos, graças a umas ajudas assim por fora. Preciso de ter mais trabalho. Alguém a precisar dos meus serviços? Não? Ah, e já agora, estou farta da capa deste livro aqui na página do blog, mas, a verdade verdadinha, é que ainda não o acabei de ler. Que desmazelo. &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;

(Re)apaixonei-me por Nada Surf. Tudo culpa desta música. (L)&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;


&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I don't like to call or write&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Except when is too late at night and&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I am mostly just thinking in the dark.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&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/32165490-3840303786982346002?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/3840303786982346002/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=3840303786982346002&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/3840303786982346002'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/3840303786982346002'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2008/01/nada-surf-see-these-bones.html' title='Nada Surf - See These Bones'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-2838833010885491849</id><published>2008-01-19T19:56:00.000Z</published><updated>2008-01-19T20:43:44.352Z</updated><title type='text'>Voxtrot, Every Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Não sei porque não tenho vontade de escrever. Na verdade, também é "falta de tempo", mas, no fundo, é mesmo uma preguiça. Mas daquelas preguiças que não têm solução. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

E depois é esta coisa de ter de me justificar. Que não tenho, mas acho sempre que sim. E não tive resoluções de Ano Novo. Sinto-me como um Ben Gibbard, mas sem o mínimo talento. É estranho.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

Mas estou bem, tão bem. E isso não consigo descrever. Há coisas que já não sei partilhar. E temo, mais do que tudo, que não interessem minimamente aos demais. Coisas. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;

&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is no easy way when I&lt;br /&gt;
Crane my neck to kiss your head, I know&lt;br /&gt;
That there is something that I can rely on&lt;br /&gt;
And when I strain my thoughts to push this thread I sew&lt;br /&gt;
It's some kind of future that I can be sure of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-2838833010885491849?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/2838833010885491849/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=2838833010885491849&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/2838833010885491849'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/2838833010885491849'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2008/01/voxtrot-every-day.html' title='Voxtrot, Every Day'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-6440317903861354546</id><published>2007-12-03T01:07:00.001Z</published><updated>2007-12-03T01:09:33.018Z</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vamos por partes; um mês é imenso tempo.&lt;br /&gt;
Este mês? Ui, pareceu dois (ou três).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

Tenho de me sentar com o Tico e com o Teco; temos de ter uma conversa séria. Só nós os três, sem mais ninguém a opinar ou a interferir. A vida tem destas coisas. Às vezes, temos mesmo de parar, ouvir e aprender. E, quem sabe, assimilar também. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-6440317903861354546?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/6440317903861354546/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=6440317903861354546&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/6440317903861354546'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/6440317903861354546'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/12/vamos-por-partes-um-ms-imenso-tempo.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-1338002365830266794</id><published>2007-11-02T14:51:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-11-02T15:02:16.253Z</updated><title type='text'>Band of Horses - Is There a Ghost?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quando queremos muito uma coisa e o tempo parece que não passa. &lt;br /&gt;
Quando contamos com um projecto e depois nada corre como planeámos.&lt;br /&gt;
Quando confiamos no bom senso de alguém e acabamos por nos desiludir.&lt;br /&gt;
Quando nos é dada uma outra oportunidade e nem sabemos como agir.&lt;br /&gt;
Quando a nossa imaginação nos dá a volta ao juízo, mas não nos importamos.&lt;br /&gt;
Quando o riso é desculpa para o que quer que seja.&lt;br /&gt;
Quando os bons amigos nunca, mas nunca nos falham.&lt;br /&gt;
Quando a música pode, aqui e agora, dizer tudo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

There is no such thing as perfection, mas há sempre aquelas coisas que podem ser mesmo muito boas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

Tu sabe-lo e eu também. Just wait and see. :)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-1338002365830266794?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/1338002365830266794/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=1338002365830266794&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/1338002365830266794'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/1338002365830266794'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/11/band-of-horses-is-there-ghost.html' title='Band of Horses - Is There a Ghost?'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-6004743259224046456</id><published>2007-10-29T18:22:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-10-29T18:43:39.510Z</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;Razões que me mostram que os anos passam:*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;

&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;1.º - &lt;/span&gt;No outro dia, eu e a mãe assistirmos, incrédulas, a uma conversa entre o pai e o mano sobre GILETES! O_o&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;

&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;2.º - &lt;/span&gt;Alguém me perguntar, com alguma desconfiança, se ainda posso ter Cartão Jovem;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;

&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;3.º -&lt;/span&gt; Quando sou eu que, aos domingos de manhã, ofereço boleia. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;


Damn. Humpf.&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;


&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;*ou isso, ou que estou mesmo a ficar (mais) velha. Bah.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;br /&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/32165490-6004743259224046456?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/6004743259224046456/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=6004743259224046456&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/6004743259224046456'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/6004743259224046456'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/10/razes-que-me-mostram-que-os-anos-passam.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-8980204000359355444</id><published>2007-10-26T09:24:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-10-26T09:55:12.557+01:00</updated><title type='text'>The Perishers - Come Out of the Shade</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;É um estado de plenitude. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

É, a sério. É o ir para a cama a sorrir e acordar ainda mais bem disposta. Saber que, por pior que seja o tipo de projecto, vou dar a volta por cima da melhor maneira e vou poder respirar de alívio quando o e-mail seguir. Mas não é só isso. É mesmo o facto de tudo parecer ter o seu lugar agora. De um momento para o outro, certas coisas deixaram de pesar, de fazer sombra. E sorrio, sorrio. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

Continuo a ouvir-te e a deixar que me digas todos os sítios onde te dói. O porquê, o onde, o como e o quando. Nada disso deixou de estar comigo, mas agora consigo discernir onde acaba o teu problema e onde começa o meu. E eu sei, é estranho. Mas está a acontecer e não posso, nem quero, mudar esta maneira de encarar as coisas. Não aprendi em lado nenhum, não andei a ver se mudava de atitude. Aconteceu. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

Assim como aconteceu tudo à minha volta parecer mais cor-de-rosinha. Os meus pais deitarem corações todo o dia e a boa disposição com o mano ser uma constante. Começo seriamente a acreditar que ninguém ri tanto como nós cá em casa, por tantas horas do dia, pelas mais variadas razões. E upa upa, é quase Natal. Bolos, primos giríssimos e crescidos em volta da mesa a dizer parvoíces.  (L) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

E o Outono já chegou. E não foi um Outono qualquer, foi um daqueles como eu gosto. Com o vento fresquinho a bater na cara, ao mesmo tempo que o sol aquece as bochechas. :) E sorrio, sorrio. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

A sério, se não fosse cá por coisas, dizia mesmo que ando "feliz". :) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-8980204000359355444?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/8980204000359355444/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=8980204000359355444&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/8980204000359355444'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/8980204000359355444'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/10/perishers-come-out-of-shade.html' title='The Perishers - Come Out of the Shade'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-476654353309223778</id><published>2007-10-23T10:46:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-10-23T10:47:23.461+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You look like the songs that I've heard my whole life coming true."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

:)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-476654353309223778?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/476654353309223778/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=476654353309223778&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/476654353309223778'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/476654353309223778'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/10/you-look-like-songs-that-ive-heard-my.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-2901719219281325781</id><published>2007-10-18T03:11:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-10-18T03:36:58.768+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Rosie Thomas - All My Life</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O filme de hoje lembrou-me de ti. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

Não pela história em si, mas pelo tipo de percurso mental que se faz quando se vê um filme francês, daqueles do cinema dito independente. Acho que terias gostado, tal foi a loucura de cenário parisiense. :D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;



Tinha lá o &lt;a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0004965/"&gt;Adam Goldberg&lt;/a&gt;, que pode ser o homem que menos me atrai no mundo, mas que não deixa de ser um actor que sabe o que faz e que me fez rir o filme quase todo. Tinha lá aquela &lt;a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000365/"&gt;miúda francesa&lt;/a&gt; que entrou naqueles filmes de que gostas muito, os do amanhecer e do anoitecer. :P E ainda tinha o &lt;a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0117709"&gt;miúdo&lt;/a&gt; do &lt;a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0301357/"&gt;Goodbye Lenin!&lt;/a&gt; (que vai-se a ver e nasceu em Barcelona), com ar de psicopata. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

Aliás, foi mesmo a Julie Deply que realizou e escreveu o argumento deste filme, portanto podes deduzir o que te esperava. &lt;br /&gt;



O que importa aqui é que tenho saudades tuas. Saudades do cinema bem partilhado, dos crepes com gelado + banana, das conversas de tudo e nada no Super S., à espera do bus e a morrermos de sono, das longas horas de telefone só de coscuvilhice parva, dos serões a ver séries (e eu a dormir já), das saídas no Bairro e dos abracinhos no fim de um dia bera. &lt;br /&gt;Falta muito para Janeiro, gorda? :P&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;



E sim, pronto... o "I've been waiting for you to come" pode ser para ti. &lt;br /&gt;
Só hoje. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;





&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" &gt;P.S. - Nos entretantos, haja P. fofinhos para rirem connosco no cinema e dizerem as coisas mais parvas deste mundo. Aqueles tontos mais-do-que-tudo. (L)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&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/32165490-2901719219281325781?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/2901719219281325781/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=2901719219281325781&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/2901719219281325781'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/2901719219281325781'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/10/rosie-thomas-all-my-life.html' title='Rosie Thomas - All My Life'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-2655355771150267516</id><published>2007-10-18T01:18:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-10-26T09:58:58.606+01:00</updated><title type='text'>The Cinematic Orchestra ft. Patrick Watson - To Build a Home</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;Quanto mais tempo passa sobre uma coisa, menos nos conseguimos distanciar do que teve realmente impacto. Quanto mais pensamos sobre isso, menos vontade temos de partilhar, tal é o medo de que algo se perca.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

&lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;Não esperava nada do que se passou. Mas não sonhei nada, não foi fruto da minha imaginação.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;





Não sou muito tímida; pelo menos, nunca me foi apontado nada que me fizesse crer o contrário. Sou embirrante, isso sim. Não é toda a gente que me arranca um sorriso sincero, que me faz dar atenção ao que é dito. E, ao contrário do que se diz por aí, eu até custo a deixar que as pessoas façam mesmo parte da minha vida.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;




&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A0q94SRnu3Q/RxayU3hZDVI/AAAAAAAAACM/xAluDRVKCeg/s1600-h/CIMG4426.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A0q94SRnu3Q/RxayU3hZDVI/AAAAAAAAACM/xAluDRVKCeg/s200/CIMG4426.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5122477697751649618" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;

&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Portanto, não sei explicar o que aconteceu. Não sei exactamente dizer como não me senti deslocada. Como nada do que se dizia ou fazia me parecia perfeitamente descabido e fora do contexto do que tenho para mim como divertimento.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;




&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A0q94SRnu3Q/RxaxW3hZDTI/AAAAAAAAAB8/J4w2shVPnpA/s1600-h/CIMG4151.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A0q94SRnu3Q/RxaxW3hZDTI/AAAAAAAAAB8/J4w2shVPnpA/s200/CIMG4151.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5122476632599760178" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A0q94SRnu3Q/Rxax9HhZDUI/AAAAAAAAACE/4dCFXUe9Jc8/s1600-h/PICT0103.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A0q94SRnu3Q/Rxax9HhZDUI/AAAAAAAAACE/4dCFXUe9Jc8/s200/PICT0103.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5122477289729756482" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;










&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sim, claro que há diferenças. Almoça-se a meio da tarde e janta-se quase à hora de dormir. Fala-se uma língua com uns e outra com outros. Defende-se a terra com unhas e dentes e não se dá sequer espaço ao que não faz parte daquilo em que acreditamos, com medo de que nos tirem o que agora já nosso. Não existe "se faz favor", "com licença" e "obrigado". E quando os há, ouvem-se mal. As ruas desenham-se todas pelo mesmo traço. A cor das fachadas não destoa. Os passeios estão limpos e o verde abunda. Não acompanhamos o mesmo ritmo. O metro chega sempre do lado contrário. O cão até ladra noutra onomatopeia.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;







Há uma luz diferente.&lt;br /&gt;



Há pessoas que se descobrem e que não nos são estranhas.&lt;br /&gt;



Há abraços que se dão, que contam mesmo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;






Não sei. Não consigo dizer como foi; de tão bom. &lt;br /&gt;



Português, Catalão, Inglês, Castelhano e até um pouco de Italiano.



A comunicação nem sempre parecia correcta, mas surgia sempre da maneira mais fácil. E todos nos entendemos. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;






&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A0q94SRnu3Q/RxayuHhZDWI/AAAAAAAAACU/QRsHUsDDON8/s1600-h/DSCN3101.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A0q94SRnu3Q/RxayuHhZDWI/AAAAAAAAACU/QRsHUsDDON8/s320/DSCN3101.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5122478131543346530" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;


&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;É um mundo, é uma vida. É mais do que uma mão cheia de pessoas novas, de histórias que ainda não conhecíamos, de músicas que ainda não partilhámos. E quero mais. E vou ter. Já não falta muito para a acarinhar como uma casa; minha também. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-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/32165490-2655355771150267516?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/2655355771150267516/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=2655355771150267516&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/2655355771150267516'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/2655355771150267516'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/10/cinematic-orchestra-feat-patrick-watson.html' title='The Cinematic Orchestra ft. Patrick Watson - To Build a Home'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A0q94SRnu3Q/RxayU3hZDVI/AAAAAAAAACM/xAluDRVKCeg/s72-c/CIMG4426.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-8480852156855005264</id><published>2007-10-10T21:47:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-10-10T21:49:48.286+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Radiohead - House of Cards</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Picky&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;

Acho que é esta a palavra. E não há nada a fazer.&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-8480852156855005264?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/8480852156855005264/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=8480852156855005264&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/8480852156855005264'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/8480852156855005264'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/10/radiohead-house-of-cards.html' title='Radiohead - House of Cards'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-1618021083217019467</id><published>2007-10-03T11:34:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-10-03T11:58:35.636+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I was on your porch,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The smoke sank into my skin,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;So I came inside to be with you,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;We talked all night, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;About everything you could imagine,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;'Cause come the morning, I'll be gone,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And as our eyes start to close, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I turn to you and I let you know, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;That I love you. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(...)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;He grabs me by the shoulder and he tells me, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Whats left to lose? You've done enough, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And if you fail then you fail but not to us, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;'Cause these last three years, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I know they have been hard, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;But now it's time to get out of the desert and into the sun,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Even if it's alone.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The Format&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;


&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;A vontade era a de te abraçar, a de te dizer que tudo vai ficar bem. Mas sei que não vai e eu nunca aprendi a mentir-te. Descobri um pouco mais de ti agora. Conheço e sei de onde vêm as tuas histórias. Sei de que cores te vestes e o que te faz (ainda) sorrir. Não imagino sequer como se levanta a cabeça no not-so-happily ever after. Sei, no entanto, que mão que te apazigua. Sei a paz que não vais voltar a ter tão cedo e vejo cair sobre ti tudo o que te faz curvar. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;

Mas amo-te como se ama alguém que nos pertence de sangue e de alma. Amo-te de uma forma que não se diz nem se brada só por ser bonito. E estou aqui, já nem tão longe quanto isso. E tu sabe-lo, que eu sei. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&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/32165490-1618021083217019467?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/1618021083217019467/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=1618021083217019467&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/1618021083217019467'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/1618021083217019467'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/10/i-was-on-your-porch-smoke-sank-into-my.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-1562085512421847859</id><published>2007-10-03T11:05:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-10-03T11:31:54.549+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;Uma pessoa deixa passar tudo em vão, mas as coisas realmente tiveram o seu significado.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;




&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A0q94SRnu3Q/RwNtbnhZDSI/AAAAAAAAAB0/aqH8nUBJ-xE/s1600-h/logo_sudoeste2007%283%29.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A0q94SRnu3Q/RwNtbnhZDSI/AAAAAAAAAB0/aqH8nUBJ-xE/s200/logo_sudoeste2007%283%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5117053922855947554" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Ora portanto, estreei-me no belo do &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;Sudoeste&lt;/span&gt; (putos, pó, putos e mais pó), que até foi benzinho. Claro que sou muito mais dada a concertos do que andar feita parva a rebolar pelo chão. Acho que cada um sabe de si, though. :)&lt;br /&gt;
Vi bandas que não veria assim à toa, porque nem devem voltar tão cedo a Portugal. Bom, muito bom. Tive pena de não ver o Sérgio, mas pronto, não se pode ter tudo. &lt;br /&gt;
No meio disto tudo, eu e a P. ainda fizemos uns amigos. LOL&lt;br /&gt;
Realmente... ele há com cada coisa. E acho que nunca mais vamos ter uns banhos tão... tão... alternativos, digamos assim. &lt;br /&gt;"Olhe, desculpe, podíamos usar a sua mangueira?" :D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A0q94SRnu3Q/RwNtNnhZDRI/AAAAAAAAABs/2WE0pewR4qg/s1600-h/large.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A0q94SRnu3Q/RwNtNnhZDRI/AAAAAAAAABs/2WE0pewR4qg/s200/large.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5117053682337778962" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;

E para colmatar o Verão, como não podia deixar de ser, a querida &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;Festa do Avante&lt;/span&gt;. A 8.ª, se não estou em erro. A música não foi tão boa este ano, confesso. Contudo, a magia permanece a mesma; assim como o facto de levar sempre gente nova todos os anos, ou de passar as noites de sexta sempre na mesma companhia ou de dançar a Carvalhesa cada vez com mais gente! (Nem comento os amoches que os miúdos agora acham que fica bem nos entretantos. Haja paciência.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;





&lt;br /&gt;All in all, parece que tudo vale a pena. &lt;br /&gt;
Nem que seja só porque sim e também porque na volta a casa, vou cansada, mas feliz.&lt;br /&gt;
E haja &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;J&lt;/span&gt;a&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;V&lt;/span&gt;ardo nas nossas vidas. :D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-1562085512421847859?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/1562085512421847859/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=1562085512421847859&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/1562085512421847859'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/1562085512421847859'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/10/uma-pessoa-deixa-passar-tudo-em-vo-mas.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A0q94SRnu3Q/RwNtbnhZDSI/AAAAAAAAAB0/aqH8nUBJ-xE/s72-c/logo_sudoeste2007%283%29.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-9037117951452128400</id><published>2007-10-03T10:33:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-10-03T10:50:04.758+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Filled with sweet scents of autumn blooms.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gosto do Outono. Acho que nem é só gostar... tenho-lhe assim um amor imensurável. E sim, eu sei, é sempre bom ir para a praia, andar com pouca roupa, não achar o tempo deprimente, etc.; mas eu, euzinha, gosto do Outono. Acho que não há altura do ano em que o aconchego saiba melhor. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

O Outono sempre foi sinónimo de regresso às aulas, acho que é isso.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

Mas também é o vestir do casaco ao fim do dia, quando o fresquinho já incomoda.
E o regresso das chávenas de chá com leite, das manhãs com menos claridade, do ânimo para um novo dia de trabalho, das saídas para sítios onde se possa dançar com menos mau cheiro e dos bocadinhos de praia, em silêncio, só com os pés descalços na areia. :D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

 Gosto do Outono, gosto mesmo. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-9037117951452128400?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/9037117951452128400/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=9037117951452128400&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/9037117951452128400'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/9037117951452128400'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/10/filled-with-sweet-scents-of-autumn.html' title='Filled with sweet scents of autumn blooms.'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-7067403041399071566</id><published>2007-09-21T22:55:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-09-21T23:21:44.181+01:00</updated><title type='text'>The Darkness - Growing on Me</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Acho que mais estranho do que reatar com ex-namorados, é reatar com "ex-amigos". Que nunca chegam verdadeiramente a ser exs, daí que se consiga reatar. Se calhar, com os namorados passa-se o mesmo e nem nos damos conta. Eu devia, though. Já que tenho um doutoramento no assunto, quase. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;



Mas é estranho só nos primeiros instantes. Nas primeiras conversas, nas primeiras noitadas. Sobretudo porque vamos desfiando histórias, rotinas e pessoas que não fazem parte do que nos lembramos ser comum. Depois, é um bem-estar indescritível. O toque, os olhares, a cumplicidade e o riso.
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;


Nada como nos darmos com gente que usa e abusa da espontaneidade. Gente a quem se diz "vamos?" e vamos mesmo. Seja onde e a que horas for. Gente que não perde muito tempo com coisas que não interessam muito. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;



Amigos, daqueles que sabem bem e que ainda nos fazem festinhas, só porque sim. Amigos que dormem connosco na mesma cama e que partilham mergulhos na piscina. Amigos que nos levam a passear e a quem damos mimos, que é como quem diz gelados e bolos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

Amigos, dos bons e sem dramas. :)&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/32165490-7067403041399071566?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/7067403041399071566/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=7067403041399071566&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7067403041399071566'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7067403041399071566'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/09/darkness-growing-on-me.html' title='The Darkness - Growing on Me'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-7602784808360945140</id><published>2007-09-20T09:05:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-09-21T22:52:57.999+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sinto-me em dívida. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;



Não sei bem porquê ou para com quem, mas sinto-me em dívida. É como uma espécie de compromisso, eu escrevo, tu lês e a sintonia acaba por ser perfeita. Assim, é do meu lado que têm saído mal as notas. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;



E tanta coisa que já escrevi na minha cabeça e sei que nunca vai passar para o ecrã. Dias com novas prioridades, dias com coisas diferentes.&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/32165490-7602784808360945140?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/7602784808360945140/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=7602784808360945140&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7602784808360945140'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7602784808360945140'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/09/sinto-me-em-dvida.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-7968410195460698174</id><published>2007-08-24T16:53:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-08-24T16:55:35.901+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Desencanto</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tardou a chegar, mas [parece-me que] veio para ficar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-7968410195460698174?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/7968410195460698174/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=7968410195460698174&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7968410195460698174'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7968410195460698174'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/08/desencanto.html' title='Desencanto'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-905757691086579363</id><published>2007-08-12T13:14:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-08-12T13:20:24.730+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Glen Hansard &amp; Markéta Irglová - Falling Slowly</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;É uma sensação de perda. É achar que não devia estar aqui, que isto não é o lugar que me prometeram. Acho que é ver o mundo de cima, lá longe e em &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;fast forward&lt;/span&gt;. É perceber que nada importa e que é tudo criado nas nossas cabeças e pela nossa imaginação. A ficção não ajuda... e a realidade não abunda.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

Quero aqueles Outonos de volta. Quero aquele sorriso de ingenuidade. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-905757691086579363?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/905757691086579363/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=905757691086579363&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/905757691086579363'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/905757691086579363'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/08/glen-hansard-markta-irglov-falling.html' title='Glen Hansard &amp; Markéta Irglová - Falling Slowly'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-6590210996445997105</id><published>2007-07-27T21:44:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-07-27T22:33:40.859+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Jorge Palma</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Olá! Sempre apanhaste o tal comboio?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Eu já perdi dois ou três&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;entre o ócio e as esquinas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;ganhei o vício da estrada&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;nesta outra encruzilhada&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;talvez agora a coisa dê&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;o passado foi à história&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;cá estamos nós outra vez&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 
 
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Conheço a tua cara, mas não sei o teu nome&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;eu escrevo já aqui, não sei o quê, arroba-ponto-com&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;vou-te reencontrar noutro bar de estação&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;ou talvez quando perder mais um avião&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;o barco vai de saída, tu estás tão bronzeada&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;é tão bom ver-te assim, ardente&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;tão queimada&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 
 
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Eu quero reencontrar-te noutra esquina qualquer&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;sem saber o teu nome ou se ainda és mulher&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;quero reconhecer-te e beber um café&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;dizer-te de onde venho e perguntar-te porquê&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;sorrir-te cá do fundo, subir os degraus&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;eu quero dar-te um beijo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;a cinquenta e tal graus&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

(...)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;

&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Sempre apanhaste o tal comboio?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Eu já perdi dois ou três&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;entre o ócio e as esquinas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;ganhei o vício da estrada&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;nesta outra encruzilhada&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;talvez agora a coisa dê&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;o passado foi à história&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;cá estamos nós outra vez&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
  &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;cá estamos nós outra vez&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;[Nunca fui propriamente fã do Jorge Palma... aprendi a gostar dele nas várias vezes que o vi ao vivo. Mas este álbum, e sobretudo esta música, mudam completamente o cenário. Aquela última frase, a esta altura do campeonato, é das que faz mais sentido.]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-6590210996445997105?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/6590210996445997105/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=6590210996445997105&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/6590210996445997105'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/6590210996445997105'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/07/jorge-palma.html' title='Jorge Palma'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-5454991367794229596</id><published>2007-07-19T13:16:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2007-07-19T13:46:17.910+01:00</updated><title type='text'>"Who the fuck's Arctic Monkeys?"</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

Esta moda nova de se passar os concertos a tirar fotos com o telemóvel só para se ter provas de que se esteve mesmo lá, ou a de fazer vídeos para pôr no youtube, ou a de fazer moche nas músicas que não têm nada a ver... hum... aborrece-me. Pergunto-me o que desfruta esta gente do concerto propriamente dito? Da música ao vivo?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;





Depois é assim que uma pessoa se torna elitista ou armada em mete-nojo. É assim que já não ponho os pés numa plateia com pouco espaço, é assim que prefiro o meu lugar nas bancadas, onde vejo bem e posso dançar à minha vontade. E nem tenho de cheirar o sovaco do miúdo ainda sem barba! Claro que é tudo próprio da idade (desculpam-nos as mães), mas então deve ser próprio da minha idade já não ter o mínimo de pachorra para gente parva e mal educada. E bem sei que isto não se aplica exclusivamente aos menores, mas ontem estavam - claramente - em maioria.
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;





Nevertheless, &lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;(L)&lt;/span&gt; do tamanho de uma coisa grande para os meus macacos preferidos! &lt;br /&gt;


E não sei se já disse, mas cá para mim estas são das melhores frases deste último álbum.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;


&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And do me a favour, and ask if you need some help!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;She said, do me a favour and stop flattering yourself!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;How to tear apart the ties that bind, perhaps fuck off might be too kind,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;perhaps fuck off might be too kind.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-5454991367794229596?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/5454991367794229596/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=5454991367794229596&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/5454991367794229596'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/5454991367794229596'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/07/esta-moda-nova-de-se-passar-os.html' title='&quot;Who the fuck&apos;s Arctic Monkeys?&quot;'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-8158702713826894377</id><published>2007-07-19T11:51:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-07-19T13:13:27.673+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Post-its</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Às vezes dou por mim a pensar que já nem me lembro da última conversa de amigos que tivemos. Não me lembro. Nem do quando, nem do porquê. Até já estou habituada a que as pessoas saiam da minha vida pela porta dos fundos, pela janela ou até mesmo saltando o muro. Mas tu... tu saíste pela porta da frente. E não a fechaste simplesmente... bateste com ela, de tal modo que fiquei atordoada e sem saber como reagir. Agora ficamos assim, um sem o outro, só porque tu achaste que sim. Ou tu, ou ela."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;


&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"É que já nem é o passado que me chateia. Já nem é o que fizeste ou disseste ou deixaste de fazer ou dizer. És tu, mesmo. Não suporto a tua presença. O teu sorrisinho cínico. O facto de te passeares por aquela empresa como se fosses o senhor e o dono da razão e tivesses todo e qualquer motivo para andar de cabeça erguida. E ouve, se há alguém que teria todas as razões para complexo de avestruz, tu és uma delas. Acho que nunca me dei tão a sério com alguém que depois desprezasse tanto."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"Queria que entendesses que isto não é um arrufo. Pelo menos, não é um daqueles que a tua mãe costumava apelidar de namorados. Aliás, eu nem sei o que isto é. Falta de comunicação, mais do que qualquer coisa. Qual é exactamente o problema? Estás zangada porquê? Ou não estás... é desprezo puro, então.  Eu sei,  sim; sempre soube. Eu preciso mais de ti, do que tu de mim. Mas o tempo passa também... e a importância das coisas acaba por desaparecer. Estás a perder o que não devias, estás a privar-me de coisas que não podias. Enfim... talvez um dia as coisas melhorem. Talvez um dia percebas que não é por não falarmos das coisas, que elas se extinguem e deixam de ter significado. Até lá, não esperes por mim."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"Já chega, entendes? Já chega dessa atitude parva e um tanto ou quanto infantil. És uma mulher feita, já bem crescida. Que lógica é que têm essas parvoíces? Estás a dar cabo de ti e a constranger os que te rodeiam. Sou tua amiga, sim. Sempre fui. Mas não entro nesses joguinhos de toma lá, dá cá. Nessas histórias de promessas vãs, de discursos não pensados e de choro sem sentido. Queres mudar as coisas? Então pára de falar sobre o assunto e age. Se não queres, então não me envolvas em nada disso... simplesmente porque eu não posso, nem quero ter qualquer papel nesse filme. Já me bastam os meus."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"Irrita-me que sejas assim. Irrita-me que aches que podes ser a melhor amiga quando te convém e ficar meses sem dizer nada, quando já não precisas de "desabafar". Acho que não eras assim. Acho que nunca foste tão self-centred, foste? E eu sei que acabar um curso é complicado. Eu sei que no primeiro ano passamos por muitas coisas e que a entrada no mundo do trabalho e dos ditos crescidos não é coisa fácil, mas e daí? Achas que foste a única? Achas que só a ti é que te surgiram dúvidas? Achas que é justo que só te lembres das pessoas quando as coisas não te correm bem? E depois dizes à boca cheia que sou das tuas melhores amigas. Que sou das pessoas que melhor te conhece. Maybe so. Mas, clearly, tu não és das que melhor me conhece. E é uma pena, já que tínhamos tudo para que assim fosse."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"Não percebo o que pretendes de mim. A sério que não. É uma sensação de não come, nem deixa comer. E bem sei que toda a nossa "estória" não abona a favor de nada. Pouco de mim, mas tão menos de ti também. Entendes isso? Nunca foi só de um lado, nunca. E podes levar o resto da tua vida a dizê-lo em voz alta. Podes dizer isso de mim, da outra e da outra. Mas põe a mão na consciência... pensa comigo... não estás propriamente inocente, estás? E nem podias, porque nunca ninguém o está. E não, agora não quero nada disso. E nem devia precisar de me justificar. As coisas não podem ser como tu queres porque não podem. Sabes tão bem as razões como eu, portanto e como diria a Harriet Hayes: Don't play stupid, it's incredibly rude. (...) These are acts of cruelty, disguised as cuteness."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&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/32165490-8158702713826894377?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/8158702713826894377/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=8158702713826894377&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/8158702713826894377'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/8158702713826894377'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/07/post-its.html' title='Post-its'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-6262614160498837111</id><published>2007-07-19T11:30:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-07-19T11:36:22.991+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Arcade Fire - Neighborhood #3 (Power Out)*</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;Um post só para &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 51, 0);"&gt;Arcade Fire&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;
Bons, bons, tão bons. A sério. &lt;br /&gt;
Deixo de ser o que quer que seja que sou e oiço-os. Depois, volto a mim.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 102, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 102, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;And the power's out in the heart of man,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 102, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;take it from your heart put in your hand.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 102, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;And there's something wrong in the heart of man,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 102, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;Take it from your heart and put it in your hand!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;

&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;*porque cada semana me (re)apaixono por uma. &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/32165490-6262614160498837111?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/6262614160498837111/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=6262614160498837111&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/6262614160498837111'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/6262614160498837111'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/07/arcade-fire-neighborhood-3-power-out.html' title='Arcade Fire - Neighborhood #3 (Power Out)*'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-8200290777393162686</id><published>2007-07-19T10:40:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-07-19T11:16:52.859+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;


&lt;div&gt;  &lt;/div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt; &lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A0q94SRnu3Q/Rp82ejxJOdI/AAAAAAAAABM/d6mTOW6U7l8/s1600-h/DSCN2441.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A0q94SRnu3Q/Rp82ejxJOdI/AAAAAAAAABM/d6mTOW6U7l8/s200/DSCN2441.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5088846002577291730" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A0q94SRnu3Q/Rp82WTxJOcI/AAAAAAAAABE/8jgMAX4md2k/s1600-h/DSCN2592+%28Large%29.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A0q94SRnu3Q/Rp82WTxJOcI/AAAAAAAAABE/8jgMAX4md2k/s200/DSCN2592+%28Large%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5088845860843370946" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;

&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;





&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;

Sempre tive um medo muito grande de ter visitas em casa. Nem sei bem porquê... mas acho que sempre achei que as pessoas depressa iam preferir estar noutro lugar que não aqui. Isto deve ser porque sempre fui muito mais visita do que visitada, quando era miúda. Não é fácil combater o comodismo infantil... e quem cresce com a J. como melhor amiga, tem de se fazer à vida! Que é como quem diz, ir ter com ela senão fico meses sem a ver. :P&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;







Mas, ultimamente, até tem sido com alguma frequência que visto o meu melhor fato, me armo em Monica Geller e deixo tudo a brilhar e me imagino como a melhor anfitriã do mundo. :D Tenho perfeita noção de que é tudo uma ilusão, mas ao menos tento.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;







Assim sendo, passou-se mais uma semana em regime bilingue. E sim, eu tenho mesmo de aprender Catalão. Deitar tarde, levantar tarde, almoçar tarde e nem jantar! Mas oh, rica vida... e oh, que grandes concertos. (L)&lt;br /&gt;



Apesar de todas aquelas coisas que só têm importância nos segundos em que decorrem, até não deve ter sido assim tão mau. Or so I hope.
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;







Um (L) enorme para a &lt;a href="http://www.fotolog.com/laloore"&gt;L.&lt;/a&gt; e outro não maior, mas diferente para o &lt;a href="http://www.fotolog.com/steadierfooting"&gt;A.&lt;/a&gt;! :P&lt;br /&gt;


Falta muito para Setembro? :D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;

&lt;img src="file:///C:/Users/Pipoca/Pictures/Fotos/Arnau%20e%20Lorena%20em%20Portugal%20%5E%5E%202-7%20de%20Julho/DSCN2441.JPG" alt="" /&gt;



&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A0q94SRnu3Q/Rp82pjxJOeI/AAAAAAAAABU/T4ktGlFGOrs/s1600-h/DSCN2575+%28Large%29.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A0q94SRnu3Q/Rp82pjxJOeI/AAAAAAAAABU/T4ktGlFGOrs/s200/DSCN2575+%28Large%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5088846191555852770" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-8200290777393162686?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/8200290777393162686/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=8200290777393162686&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/8200290777393162686'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/8200290777393162686'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/07/sempre-tive-um-medo-muito-grande-de-ter.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A0q94SRnu3Q/Rp82ejxJOdI/AAAAAAAAABM/d6mTOW6U7l8/s72-c/DSCN2441.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-6192736950571509123</id><published>2007-07-19T10:14:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2007-07-19T10:23:38.249+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Sting - Fields of Gold</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sou de grandes paixões. Sou daquele tipo de pessoas que quando é, é para ser mesmo. Verdade que não o é muitas vezes, mas isso eu já não controlo. &lt;br /&gt;
E depois há aquelas paixões que deixam de ter uma presença física e constante, mas que ficam a fazer parte de tudo... mais que não seja num cantinho daquela estante, no quarto do Tico e do Teco, que alberga tudo o que realmente importa. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

&lt;a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0485842"&gt;Isto&lt;/a&gt;, entrou directamente para um favourite spot. Ficção de qualidade.&lt;br /&gt;
E esta música, que nunca me disse nada. &lt;br /&gt;
E sim, o &lt;a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0001612"&gt;Matthew Perry&lt;/a&gt; podia ser o homem da minha vida. Todos os dias.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-6192736950571509123?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/6192736950571509123/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=6192736950571509123&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/6192736950571509123'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/6192736950571509123'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/07/sting-fields-of-gold.html' title='Sting - Fields of Gold'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-6314925287818203816</id><published>2007-07-19T10:05:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-07-19T10:14:07.278+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O mal de se deixar passar muito tempo entre uma coisa e outra, é que depois já não sabemos exactamente o quão importante foram as palavras, os gestos e os olhares naqueles determinados momentos.&lt;br /&gt;
O mal da falta de tempo de que toda a gente se queixa, é que nos deixa a vida a meio. Sem princípio, meio e fim. Tudo e nada, aqui e ali, agora e depois. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Tudo uma questão de hábito, dizem. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-6314925287818203816?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/6314925287818203816/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=6314925287818203816&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/6314925287818203816'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/6314925287818203816'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/07/o-mal-de-se-deixar-passar-muito-tempo.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-7453214702857839042</id><published>2007-06-24T23:26:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-06-24T23:39:37.277+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A0q94SRnu3Q/Rn7xsqOJGVI/AAAAAAAAAAs/sTASSWgv5kE/s1600-h/PIC_1856.JPG"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A0q94SRnu3Q/Rn7xsqOJGVI/AAAAAAAAAAs/sTASSWgv5kE/s1600-h/PIC_1856.JPG"&gt;

&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A0q94SRnu3Q/Rn7xsqOJGVI/AAAAAAAAAAs/sTASSWgv5kE/s1600-h/PIC_1856.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 319px; height: 213px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A0q94SRnu3Q/Rn7xsqOJGVI/AAAAAAAAAAs/sTASSWgv5kE/s320/PIC_1856.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5079763179270642002" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;



&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;


Avessadas; &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;



Marco de Canaveses;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;



Guimarães;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;



Braga;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;



Porto;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;



Espinho;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;



Capela do Senhor da Pedra;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;



a C. e o O;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;



e... o grande S. João! :D&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;

&lt;/div&gt;

&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;


&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;Há fins-de-semana assim: &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;perfeitos&lt;/span&gt;! (L) &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&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/32165490-7453214702857839042?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/7453214702857839042/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=7453214702857839042&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7453214702857839042'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7453214702857839042'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/06/avessadas-marco-de-canaveses-guimares.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A0q94SRnu3Q/Rn7xsqOJGVI/AAAAAAAAAAs/sTASSWgv5kE/s72-c/PIC_1856.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-8474642644285746618</id><published>2007-06-19T10:11:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-06-19T10:23:31.272+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Acho uma piada à "minha geração".&lt;br /&gt;
Ora portanto... se uma pessoa se deita às 5/6h da manhã e dorme no outro dia até às 16/17h, é uma resistente, uma fixe, uma dos cá da malta, uma maluca. Se uma pessoa tem sono e se deita à meia-noite, até porque no outro dia tem de acordar pouco depois das 7h, é uma farsolas, não tem vida para isto, está a ficar velha e é uma cocó. Mesmo que continue a ser a que dorme menos horas. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

Sim, senhor. A lógica da batata. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Até porque tudo nesta vida parece ser uma competição.&lt;br /&gt;
Três palavrinhas: &lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#663300;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;SO-COR-RO&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-8474642644285746618?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/8474642644285746618/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=8474642644285746618&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/8474642644285746618'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/8474642644285746618'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/06/acho-uma-piada-minha-gerao.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-3253086052115786325</id><published>2007-06-19T01:42:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-06-19T01:55:22.180+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Coldplay - Warning Sign</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hoje ouvi das coisas mais absurdas. E, para além disso, soube de uma coisa que me deixou mesmo mesmo surpreendida. E é engraçado... acaba por ter piada as voltas que a vida dá. Ou as voltas que as pessoas dão, para acabarem exactamente no mesmo sítio onde outrora acharam que tudo tinha começado. Não vale a pena gozar com ou apontar o dedo a... calha a todos, sem excepção. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

Não sou de todo uma pessoa rancorosa, o que tem o seu lado bom e mau. Devia era ter também muito má memória, isso sim. Não se pode &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;mesmo&lt;/span&gt; ter tudo. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;

&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;[&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;A warning sign,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;It came back to haunt me and I realized,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;That you were an island and I passed you by,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And you were an island to discover.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;
When the truth is, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I miss you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;
And I'm tired, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I should not have let you go.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Ai ai... culpa da &lt;a href="http://www.fotolog.com/laloore"&gt;L&lt;/a&gt;.]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&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/32165490-3253086052115786325?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/3253086052115786325/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=3253086052115786325&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/3253086052115786325'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/3253086052115786325'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/06/coldplay-warning-sign.html' title='Coldplay - Warning Sign'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-6963183302299200470</id><published>2007-06-19T01:32:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-06-19T01:42:12.993+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;Oração de São Francisco de Assis&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Senhor, fazei de mim um instrumento de vossa paz;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Onde houver ódio, que eu  leve o amor;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Onde houver discórdia, que eu leve a união;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Onde houver  dúvidas, que eu leve a fé;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Onde houver erros, que eu leve a verdade;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Onde  houver ofensa, que eu leve o perdão;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Onde houver desespero, que eu leve a  esperança;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Onde houver tristeza, que eu leve a alegria;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Onde houver  trevas, que eu leve a luz.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Ó Mestre, fazei com que eu procure mais  consolar,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;que ser consolado;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Compreender, que ser compreendido;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Amar,  que ser amado;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Pois é dando que se recebe;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;É perdoando, que se é  perdoado;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;E é morrendo que se vive para a vida eterna.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;


Não por fazer sentido, mas porque nem sempre tem de o fazer.

E não, eu não sou desse tipo de pessoa. Eu sou mais daquele tipo que faz sempre a cama antes de sair de casa. No matter what. :)
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-6963183302299200470?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/6963183302299200470/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=6963183302299200470&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/6963183302299200470'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/6963183302299200470'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/06/orao-de-so-francisco-de-assis-senhor.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-188549608728472387</id><published>2007-06-15T11:31:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-06-15T11:42:21.444+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu não sou muito destas coisas, mas &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;odeio&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt; odeio&lt;/span&gt; odeio &lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;odeio&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt; odeio&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; gente que fala alto nos autocarros. Ou no metro. Ou em qualquer outro meio de transporte ou local público, for that matter. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;E um ódio pouco mais ou menos igual (e misturado com asco) para aqueles que teimam em partilhar a língua e a saliva com o resto da população envolvente. Eu já sei há muito tempo como se faz, obrigada. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Argh. Chiça, penico.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-188549608728472387?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/188549608728472387/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=188549608728472387&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/188549608728472387'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/188549608728472387'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/06/eu-no-sou-muito-destas-coisas-mas-odeio.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-2886393893834038386</id><published>2007-06-12T08:39:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-06-12T08:43:48.485+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Arcade Fire - No Cars Go</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="font-style: italic; text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Between the click of the light and the start of the dream&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
 &lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div style="font-style: italic; text-align: justify;"&gt;Little babies? Let's go!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
 &lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div style="font-style: italic; text-align: justify;"&gt;Women and children? Let's go!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
 &lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div style="font-style: italic; text-align: justify;"&gt;Old folks? Let's go!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
 &lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div style="font-style: italic; text-align: justify;"&gt;Don't know where we're going.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

(L)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-2886393893834038386?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/2886393893834038386/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=2886393893834038386&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/2886393893834038386'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/2886393893834038386'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/06/arcade-fire-no-cars-go.html' title='Arcade Fire - No Cars Go'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-8189495462260848160</id><published>2007-06-11T20:51:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-06-11T20:53:28.377+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;sorte&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;

&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;s. f.&lt;/span&gt;,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;

&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;destino;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;fado;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;dita, fortuna, ventura;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;acaso;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;risco;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;quinhão que tocou em partilha;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;sorteio militar;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;bilhete ou esferazinha nas rifas ou lotarias.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;

&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;fig.&lt;/span&gt;,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;desgraça;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;maneira, forma;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;espécie;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;qualidade.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;

Há uns tempos, numa daquelas dúvidas que assolam aquelas quatro secretárias na empresa, acabei por ir parar a um dos melhores blogs que já li. &lt;a href="http://japensastenisto.blogspot.com/2006/02/o-portugus-mesmo-sortudo.html"&gt;Um&lt;/a&gt; dos posts nesse blog era exactamente sobre este assunto da sorte. Realmente... por piores que as coisas estejam, parece que temos sempre "sorte". É uma questão de mentalidade e a nossa é assim. E somos tão generosos que a sorte chega a passar fronteiras.&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
Quase que chega a ser engraçado... do género... um casal deixa os filhos sozinhos e levam-lhes a filha. Tiveram "sorte", podiam ter levado os três filhos. O primo é diagnosticado com meningite viral. Teve "sorte", podia ter sido a bacteriana. Somos um dos países da UE que menos aproveita os seus recursos. Temos "sorte", podíamos ser o pior mesmo. Os amigos deixam de nos falar só porque sim. Temos "sorte", podiam ter sido os nossos pais. O carro anda três meses com a inspecção fora de prazo e descobre-se no dia em que mais polícia existe na cidade. Temos "sorte", podíamos ter sido multados antes.&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
E a lista continua... portanto não há nada a fazer, parece que a "sorte" não nos larga. &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;

E depois ainda há aquelas pessoas que não distinguem o "há" de haver e o "à" que é a contracção do artigo definido feminino singular com a preposição "a". Lá está... não tiveram a "sorte" de terem sido bem ensinados ou de ler estas coisas explicadas, como se faz &lt;a href="http://embomportugues.blogs.sapo.pt/tag/%C3%A0"&gt;aqui&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;

Sempre fui muito desconfiada com esta coisa da sorte. E cheira-me que vou continuar a sê-lo. Parece-me tudo muito volátil. &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&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/32165490-8189495462260848160?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/8189495462260848160/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=8189495462260848160&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/8189495462260848160'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/8189495462260848160'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/06/sorte-s_11.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-8652825403026682077</id><published>2007-06-07T09:39:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2007-06-07T09:43:00.666+01:00</updated><title type='text'>To tear apart the ties that bind...*</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A0q94SRnu3Q/RmfEbaOJGTI/AAAAAAAAAAc/CGWyUhBIGPs/s1600-h/Imagem%28185%29.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A0q94SRnu3Q/RmfEbaOJGTI/AAAAAAAAAAc/CGWyUhBIGPs/s320/Imagem%28185%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5073239480430303538" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Durante pouco mais de uma semana, não há melhor sítio para se estar, senão &lt;a href="http://www.festroia.pt/"&gt;aqui&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;

&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;*perhaps ‘fuck off’ might be too kind.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-8652825403026682077?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/8652825403026682077/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=8652825403026682077&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/8652825403026682077'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/8652825403026682077'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/06/to-tear-apart-ties-that-bind.html' title='To tear apart the ties that bind...*'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A0q94SRnu3Q/RmfEbaOJGTI/AAAAAAAAAAc/CGWyUhBIGPs/s72-c/Imagem%28185%29.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-7111430334947566815</id><published>2007-06-01T11:30:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-06-12T10:55:37.460+01:00</updated><title type='text'>From my language I see...</title><content type='html'>&lt;h1 style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-GB"   style="font-family:';font-size:12;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: normal; FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;?xml:namespace prefix = o /&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h1&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-GB"  style="font-family:Chasm;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-GB"  style="font-family:Gaze;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A beautiful field when the sun first arrives in the spring&lt;br /&gt;

The singing of the birds on the trees&lt;br /&gt;

A warm country that late emerged to be&lt;br /&gt;

Caring people that live near you&lt;br /&gt;

Cold people who would walk past you
&lt;br /&gt;
And we’re all locked in the same things&lt;br /&gt;

Told to feel exactly the same things&lt;br /&gt;

Expected to become pretty much the same&lt;br /&gt;

Still the sun keeps shinning out of the window
&lt;br /&gt;
Bringing deep blue to the surface of the sea&lt;br /&gt;

Now that dreams seem so far away&lt;br /&gt;

Laughter of children brings you back&lt;br /&gt;

It seems now you’re in a new way&lt;br /&gt;

Everything seems to be ok again.&lt;br /&gt;

From my language I see&lt;br /&gt;

Different people expecting to be&lt;br /&gt;

All a new you or a new me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-GB"  style="font-family:Gaze;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;[Aqueles trabalhos das aulas de Inglês com a EMC.]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-7111430334947566815?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/7111430334947566815/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=7111430334947566815&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7111430334947566815'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7111430334947566815'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/06/from-my-language-i-see.html' title='From my language I see...'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-4737798404829086273</id><published>2007-05-20T19:51:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-05-20T20:09:49.904+01:00</updated><title type='text'>The Thrills - Not for All the Love in the World</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br&gt;Acho que não sei viver em contra-relógio. Pior do que isso... acho que não sei viver uma coisa de cada vez. Quero fazer tudo e não quero perder nada. Ou então quero apenas um bocadinho para ficar aqui, sentada, quieta. Só que não é fácil este estar sozinha no aftermath; custa perceber quão de tudo o que nos rodeia é realmente importante. &lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;

Bem sei que não foi pelas melhores razões que entrei naquilo. Também sei que nem sempre vi e ouvi o que devia e que raramente fui parcial. Tornou-se uma casa, though. Se o que define casa é um sítio para onde vamos e nos conhecem... nem sempre nos recebem da melhor maneira, mas nunca nos fecham a porta na cara. Melhor ou pior, os ocupantes passam a fazer parte da nossa vida. Sei que não expliquei tudo; sei também que não perguntaram com grande vontade de saber. Achei que estava a fazer o melhor que podia. Achei que esta sim era a melhor decisão. E ainda acho. Mas como em tudo na minha vida... acabo sempre por achar que podia ter feito de outra maneira, que podia ter evitado muita coisa. Mas não podia. Claro que não podia. Há coisas que não estão ao nosso alcance. A vida não dura muito e eu sinto-me a perder tempo.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;

Demasiados planos. Demasiadas perguntas. Demasiadas dúvidas. Tanto medo de que as coisas não tenham um final minimamente agradável. E não... não adiantou de nada terem avisado que isto ia ser assim. Não muda em nada a maneira como me sinto. Acho que nem todo o amor do mundo podia fazer com que pensasse de outra maneira; agora, neste instante. &lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;

Gostava que me percebesses sem que eu tivesse sequer de falar. &lt;br&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-4737798404829086273?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/4737798404829086273/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=4737798404829086273&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/4737798404829086273'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/4737798404829086273'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/05/thrills-not-for-all-love-in-world.html' title='The Thrills - Not for All the Love in the World'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-7028567397830936826</id><published>2007-05-20T01:50:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-05-20T01:55:57.544+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I'm fooled by something inside my head&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;If I lay down now&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I might seem kinda dead...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Just keep on wasting time.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;

&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;
Não, não deve ser assim que as coisas funcionam. Ou, pelo menos, sempre quis acreditar que não. Sim, já sei... Sou too self-conscious and self-controlled. But so what?&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&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/32165490-7028567397830936826?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/7028567397830936826/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=7028567397830936826&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7028567397830936826'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7028567397830936826'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/05/im-fooled-by-something-inside-my-head.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-3406646325389649941</id><published>2007-05-18T01:19:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-05-18T01:25:52.058+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A partir de amanhã, novas prioridades no pensamento:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

Concertos, concertos, concertos, concertos, concertos, concertos, concertos, concertos, concertos, concertos, concertos, concertos, concertos, concertos; festivais, festivais, festivais, festivais, festivais, festivais, festivais, festivais, festivais, festivais, festivais, festivais, festivais; férias, férias, férias, férias, férias, férias, férias, férias, férias, férias, férias, férias, férias, férias, férias, férias, férias, férias, férias;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

e depois... haja bebida, sol, praia, amigos, música da boa e da putice, com a dita a acompanhar (de preferência)! :D&lt;br /&gt;   &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-3406646325389649941?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/3406646325389649941/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=3406646325389649941&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/3406646325389649941'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/3406646325389649941'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/05/partir-de-amanh-novas-prioridades-no.html' title=''/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-6381137195294052171</id><published>2007-05-14T01:41:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-05-14T01:47:17.687+01:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm secretly on your side.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Estou tão cansada que nem consigo forçar-me a dormir. Sinto que devia e sei que o corpo precisa desse descanso, mas deito a cabeça na almofada e não consigo coordenar ordens com acções. Que raio de semana.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

Acho que mesmo quando não se quer, as coisas que acontecem mudam-nos os planos que tínhamos previamente delineado. Deve ser normal uma azáfama quando se planeiam festas. Ou passeios, ou nadas. Há pormenores a que dou muita importância, outros que nem por isso. De vez em quando, deixo que pensem que estão a decidir coisas por mim. Deixo-me levar por essa ilusão de que alguém pode ter um controlo sobre a minha vida, os meus gostos e as minhas decisões.
É estranho. Não é real, though. E tu sabe-lo, mesmo que finjas que não. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-6381137195294052171?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/6381137195294052171/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=6381137195294052171&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/6381137195294052171'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/6381137195294052171'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/05/im-secretly-on-your-side.html' title='I&apos;m secretly on your side.'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-7775287390082396731</id><published>2007-05-13T23:15:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-05-14T01:40:29.308+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Lie in the bed you know or go.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Durante a semana traços planos para mil e uma coisas que quero fazer nas 48h do fim-de-semana. É inevitável, acho eu, que assim o seja. Fico com os minutos todos contados e com os trajectos já todos planeados. Não me importo, a sério que não. Contudo, não passa de uma ilusão. &lt;br /&gt;
 Primeiro, porque nada sai como planeamos e segundo porque eu nunca consigo saber nada com muita antecedência, no que diz respeito aos sítios onde vou e com quem estou. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

 Não sou nada calculista e até costumo ser espontânea q.b., daí os planos saírem todos baralhados. Até combino coisas em cima umas das outras, porque a cabeça já não é o que era. Depois esqueço-me das pessoas e dos assuntos, não é bonito. Durmo pouco e mal vejo os ruços com quem vivo. Falho a coisas que já são um tanto ou quanto &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;habitué&lt;/span&gt; e não tenho como me justificar. Isto tudo porque acho que devo ser mais organizada com o tempo livre de que disponho. &lt;br /&gt;
 Que parvoíce. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

 Quando era miúda e os amigos se dividiam em várias frentes, costumava sentir-me da mesma maneira. Desdobrava-me em várias para conseguir fazer tudo e estar com todos em tempo igual. A mãe dizia-me sempre: "Não podes assistir a todos os altares, S.!" Achei sempre que ela estava a exagerar e as coisas só acalmaram mais quando a rotina mudou. Mas, e conforme o que sempre me disse, a mãe tem sempre razão. :) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

 Não posso assistir a todos os altares, não posso agradar a toda a gente, não posso fazer com que toda a gente me compreenda e perceba a razão de certas atitudes que tenho e/ou decisões que tomo. E depois? Isso é grave? Pois, já ouvi dizer que não... mas alguém consegue explicá-lo ao Tico e ao Teco? É que anda a tornar-se complicado. Ironicamente, dizer que não foi das primeiras coisas que aprendi, mas hoje é das que mais me custa a assimilar. E isto toma proporções brutais, quando o assunto toca oportunidades de estar calada. "Ah, gostava de ir, mas não tenho dinheiro" - não sejas parva, eu empresto-te. "Oh, queria saber arranjar aquilo, mas não percebo patavina" - não te preocupes, eu passo aí e resolvo-te isso. "Estou mesmo a sentir-me mal, precisava de desabafar" - eu deixo o que estou a fazer e vou já para aí. "Oh, não sejas parva, assim ficas tu prejudicada" - cala-te e vamos embora. "Não, achas que te fazia isso? Alguma vez te falhei?" - não, não... está tudo bem. "Não consigo lidar com isto, não consigo" - calma, não fiques assim, eu posso ajudar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

 Tenho um mau feitio do tamanho do mundo, quando me chega a neura, torna-se mesmo complicado dar a volta a certos assuntos... mas sou uma estúpida com pessoas de quem gosto. E prejudico-me sim, para dor de cabeça da mãe, que revê em mim muitos erros que também ela cometeu. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

 Eu não queria passar do 8 para o 80, queria apenas que as coisas acontecessem uma de cada vez. Queria poder dormir mais, ter mais tempo para mim e para as coisas de que gosto. Queria receber um bocadinho daquelas pessoas a quem dou tanto. Queria que não me mentissem, só porque sim. Queria que não me usassem, só porque sabem que perdoo. Queria que não se afastassem sem uma justificação, só porque sabem que depois as aceito de volta. Queria que me dissessem que não, quando depreendem que me vai prejudicar. Ninguém tem obrigação de nada, nem com ninguém... mas isso também é só uma maneira de falar. Não é propriamente verdade e toda a gente o sabe. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

E estou cansada. Cansada ao ponto de há já uma semana não conseguir ler no autocarro. Cansada ao ponto de não ver séries. Cansada ao ponto de não conseguir dormir, quando me deito de noite. E queria parar com as correrias, queria ter um colo onde me aninhar quando as coisas não correm exactamente como planeei. Devo ter sido eu que escolhi ter uma vida assim, até porque já dura desde que me lembro de ser gente, mas, ao contrário do que acredito, às vezes é mesmo possível mudar determinadas coisas. E eu quero; quero mais do que tudo mudar esta maneira de agir... esta loucura de dias e de noites em que não devia haver necessidade deste desgaste. Quero porque sim, porque só eu posso ser minha amiga a sério. &lt;br /&gt;
Eu sei, eu sei disso. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

 Sorte que tenho a melhor música do mundo para ouvir... pelo menos, a melhor música do meu mundo. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-7775287390082396731?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/7775287390082396731/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=7775287390082396731&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7775287390082396731'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/7775287390082396731'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/05/lie-in-bed-you-know-or-go.html' title='Lie in the bed you know or go.'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-6360032603742694200</id><published>2007-05-11T01:24:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-05-11T01:26:08.554+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Imogen Heap - Useless</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;É isso, sim. Uma chapada daquelas bem grandes, mas que nem nos toca. &lt;br /&gt;
Aquela pessoa ali não sou eu. Aquele ali, és mesmo tu?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-6360032603742694200?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/6360032603742694200/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=6360032603742694200&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/6360032603742694200'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/6360032603742694200'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/05/imogen-heap-useless.html' title='Imogen Heap - Useless'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-159075644740175860</id><published>2007-04-25T10:38:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-04-25T10:45:12.886+01:00</updated><title type='text'>The Slip, Life in Disguise</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well the world is only a stage&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; And I'm just a man&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; With a sound caught in his throat&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; And a pick in his hand&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; But when the song comes tumbling out you understand&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; There's no great demand&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; Well it's there under your breath, behind your eyes&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; And you don't have to say nothing cause I realize &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; That everything somehow in someway eventually dies&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; It's life in disguise&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; It's your room and your board and your fireside &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; It's a shell that's been washed by a million tides&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; And if you're there you can see just how bright it shines&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
 
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; When there's nobody left in your heart, left in your head&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; When the whole world has packed up in shadows and left you for dead&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; When you can't fake a smile and you just can't get out of your bed&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; When the people you led turn to you looking so hungry and bare &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; And you were the one that had brought them there&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; And all you can do is just stare at your hands and whisper my name&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32165490-159075644740175860?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/159075644740175860/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=159075644740175860&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/159075644740175860'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/159075644740175860'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/04/slip-life-in-disguise.html' title='The Slip, Life in Disguise'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-37191412614641756</id><published>2007-04-22T10:18:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-04-22T10:54:36.713+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Klaxons - Golden Skans</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Depois de mais de cinco anos a viver nesta casa, ontem voltei a apaixonar-me por ela. Há já uns tempos que andávamos meio zangadas uma com a outra... por nada em especial, temos tidos uns horários complicados de conciliar. Umas tarefas que implicam não desfrutar dos momentos juntas da melhor maneira. :) &lt;br /&gt;
Ontem, numas poucas horas e sem os homens em casa, eu e a mãe demos a volta a isto tudo - como deve de ser - e não tardou a que o cheiro a Primavera (que é como quem diz a um daqueles produtos que lava o chão e que tem cor LOL) emanasse por toda a casa. Não que isto só aconteça na Primavera (ahem) , mas ultimamente andava a ser um pouco injusta - não só com a casa, mas sobretudo com a mãe. &lt;br /&gt;
Foi aí que, do nada, redescobri aquele cantinho. Era início de tarde, o sol já não batia directamente, mas continuava a aquecer a parede do lado de fora. Sentei-me no chão da varanda... encostada à minha janela e pensei... que saudades de te querer tanto. De querer esta casa, pela qual me apaixonei desde o primeiro momento. E até nem fui só eu... visto que a comprámos. :) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;


Nada como trabalhar em equipa com alguém de quem gostamos; nada como depois ver o resultado desse trabalho; nada como depois aproveitá-lo. Tudo ao som da melhor música.&lt;br /&gt;
E ainda ter tempo para passar o resto do tempo livre na rua, a aproveitar o sol, a companhia e as noites em que já sabe bem chegar tarde. Sabendo sempre que ela continua aqui, de braços abertos e com os cantinhos todos disponíveis, mesmo quando o nosso mau feitio nos coíbe de lhes dar o devido valor. Se ao menos o produto que lava o chão pudesse wash off as lembranças entranhadas por todo o lado. As boas e as más. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;

O John Howard Payne tinha toda a razão quando, em 1823, se lembrou de escrever a letra para a música &lt;a href="http://www.trivia-library.com/a/origins-of-famous-songs-home-sweet-home.htm"&gt;Home, Sweet Home&lt;/a&gt;. Se gostarmos do sítio onde vivemos, pouco ou nada nos pode meter medo, porque temos sempre um porto seguro para onde voltar. Pior é quando crescemos e percebemos que nada dura para sempre, contrariamente ao que aquelas histórias que nos contaram faziam crer. Mas bom, uma coisa de cada vez. :) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;


&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;A hall of records, or numbers, or spaces still undone. (L) &lt;br /&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/32165490-37191412614641756?l=pipascomsal.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/feeds/37191412614641756/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32165490&amp;postID=37191412614641756&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/37191412614641756'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32165490/posts/default/37191412614641756'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pipascomsal.blogspot.com/2007/04/klaxons-golden-skans.html' title='Klaxons - Golden Skans'/><author><name>Madeline</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01986031544952210421</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GB-NOdgrvhA/TneUa65Lz3I/AAAAAAAAAGY/byEXzg6xtMQ/s220/DSC_0491.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32165490.post-8552006196961270264</id><published>2007-04-22T09:53:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2007-04-22T10:18:32.795+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;Quem faz festas a galego, ainda mais galego é. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;


Já dizia a minha avó I. e acho que ela tinha - definitivamente - razão.&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;
So, I guess I'm over and done with it. &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;



&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And we'll both take our revenge&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;But we still don't feel any better&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;
(...)&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I'm scraped and sober, but there's no one listening to me at all.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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