Assunto: O SONHO NÃO ACABOU PORRA NENHUMA – Delírios Utópicos de Claudio Prado“As historietas de Claudio Prado em Londrescheers!”j.
The Greatest War Photographer You’ve Never Heard Of
Very few women went to Vietnam as journalists, and even fewer as dedicated war photojournalists. In fact, for most of the 1960s, there were only two: Dickie Chapelle, who was killed by a grenade in 1965, and Catherine Leroy.
Leroy was widely considered the most daring photographer in Vietnam. She almost certainly spent the most time in combat — in part because she had no money, having traveled from her native France to Vietnam as a freelancer in 1966 with no contracts and a short list of published work. Living with soldiers meant that she could eat rations and sleep in the countryside.
Leroy faced no shortage of sexism. After she parachuted into combat during Operation Junction City, in early 1967, rumors circulated that she had slept with a colonel in exchange for permission. In fact, she had earned her parachutist license as a teenager, and had already jumped 84 times. Still, she developed a reputation as a photographer quickly, selling photos to The Associated Press and U.P.I.
At one point during the Tet offensive, in early 1968, she was captured by the North Vietnamese Army while with the French journalist Francois Mazure. There was a young lieutenant that they could converse with in French. They explained that they were journalists and would do no harm, so the soldiers decided to let them go. But first she persuaded them to let her take photos, saying that it was important because only one side of the story was being seen. The photos ran as a cover story in Life magazine, which she wrote herself.
Leroy never promoted herself or her work, which is one reason she remains largely unknown among the war photographers of the day (though not forgotten: In 2015 the writer and filmmaker Jacques Menasche completed a documentary about her career, “Cathy at War”; a clip from the film is available here). But she was one of the Vietnam War’s most lauded photojournalists, winning Picture of the Year from the George Polk Awards and, for her later work in Lebanon, the Robert Capa Gold Medal.
Later in life, Leroy ran a vintage clothing website. She died in Santa Monica, Calif., in 2006.
Assunto: Pedras rolando na rede“Salve, MauVal!Essa aqui eu soube pelo Bento Araújo, que publicou na página dele do Facebook: um colecionador, de nome Cristiano Grimaldi, digitalizou e disponibilizou na web todas edições da primeira encarnação da Rolling Stone brazuca. Confere: https://www.pedrarolante.com.br/Bom mergulho. 😉Abração,”Evilasio
Cheguei hoje para um novo período na terra onde sol brilha o ano todo e mesmo que o pão não seja tão bom, tem tapioca, acerola e pão de queijo.
Na bagagem, além do mestrado, o privilégio da experiência de uma nova língua, histórias, paisagens, pensamentos e culturas. A Alemanha é foda, tudo funciona, o social ainda prevalece, investem muito em cultura e a Berlim inspira mesmo! Por dois anos estudei no prédio da Bauhaus, absorvi muito de suas ideias e lá também desenvolvi habilidades manuais que jamais imaginei. Hoje meu sonho de consumo é uma puta furadeira sem fio, veja só! Também me meti no mundo novo da programação, voltei a estudar trigonometria, aprendi a soldar, fico feliz ao experimentar um novo sensor e tenho até um projeto de IoT em desenvolvimento. Sou do vídeo e este continua sendo meu principal meio de expressão, mas agora contar histórias ganhou mais ferramentas artísticas.
E virando os 30, veio o peso de decidir qual futuro eu quero, contrabalançado à leveza de saber que as coisas podem sempre mudar completamente. E mesmo contra todas as recomendações de exílio em tempo de governo ilegítimo, segurança crítica e trabalho escasso, decidi voltar pro Brasil, me juntar aos meus na luta e resistência. Junto com o processo usual de adaptação, peço paciência aos mais próximos… aprendi bem a reclamar com eles lá e vivi pouco do golpe ainda. Mas venho com força e coragem de fazer funcionar a vida por aqui!
E nossa maior arma é amar. Em meio a tanto ódio declarado ganhando espaço, é hora de amar ainda mais. Amar o próximo, o diferente e mesmo o incompreensível. Eu tenho a sorte grande de voltar a conviver com gente tão incrível e tão amada nas bandas de cá. Mais ainda tenho a alegria de ficar bem próxima agora do namorado que enfrentou a distância, acreditou nesse futuro juntos e tem me ajudado tanto nessa transição. Vai ter muito amor sim!
Rio, é carnaval!
Essa semana me encontra na rua, nas outras manda jobs! No ano inteiro, que seja gentil comigo!”
que a gente imprima essa derradeira mensagem da liana e a coloque, exatamente, no primeiro ponto que a vista alcança… diariamente, todos os dias, pra sempre…
this is religion
aconteceu em 10maio e publicado em 12maio1993 pelo glorioso pedro só…
40 mil colombianos lotaram o estádio atanasio girardot, em medelim, para exibir o maior ato de solidariedade que se tem notícia sobre a face da terra… em todos os tempos.
acontece, que fora do estádio havia tantas pessoas quanto dentro… que, por três horas, se esgoelaram para celebrar um time e uma cidade de outra galáxia (em todos os sentidos).
inacreditável o comportamento dos colombianos.
aí, vem a perguntinha marota que se faz necessária:
por exemplo (que serve para qualquer clube daqui), você acha que a torcida do fluminense lotaria o maracanã para se solidarizar com a equipe do colo colo, de santiago do chile, que se espatifou ao entrar em solo brazuka às vésperas de uma final de sulamericana?
ou a torcida do corinthians encheria o itaquerão para passar três horas gritando “dá-lhe boca, dá-lhe boca” no dia seguinte da rapaziada da bombonera dar um tibum no rio da prata?
agora, é um tremendo dever de casa imaginar as razões que levaram os cidadãos de medelim (eu disse medelim) darem esse exemplo absolutamente inoxidável à humanidade… simples assim!
reparou quem passou por aqui, ontem, na foto que o luiz mandou?
dessas coisas que acontecem no nosso poleiro.
Perhaps the most mythical of all Dylan’s unreleased gems, “I’m Not There” is an absolute mystery. A long, extended meditation built around a four-chord acoustic-guitar strum, it was recorded only once by Dylan and never finished or revisited. Lyrics and lines float by, some discernible, others elusive. Among Dylan fanatics, it’s a kind of Rosetta stone because it seems to capture the artist in the midst of his creative process. The magic of “I’m Not There” is its lack of definition. Critic Greil Marcus devotes five pages of The Old, Weird America to the song, writing that “?‘I’m Not There’ is barely written at all. Words are floated together in a dyslexia that is music itself, a dyslexia that seems meant to prove the claims of music over words, to see just how little words can do.”
True, but what’s most engaging about the song is the revelation it provides about Dylan’s creative process. Unlike many outtakes and bootlegged tracks, “I’m Not There” feels like someone channeling, speaking in tongues, handling snakes, conjuring out of the mist the blueprint of a song. In The Old, Weird America, Marcus quotes Band guitarist Robbie Robertson’s wonder at Dylan’s method: “He would pull these songs out of nowhere. We didn’t know if he wrote them or if he remembered them. When he sang them, you couldn’t tell.” No recording better illustrates Robertson’s point than “I’m Not There.” There’s something going on inside the song, but you’re not sure what it is. The narrator might be dead, and contemplating his relationship with an unnamed lover. He might have abandoned her. He seems sorry for something. Or angry.
Bootleg copies of the song have long been available, but until the arrival of the soundtrack to I’m Not There this month, it had remained undergound. For that reason alone, Dylan fans have reason to applaud Haynes and his music supervisors, Jim Dunbar and Randall Poster. With the release, a better picture of the circuitous route the song took from basement to film title is revealing itself. The widely bootlegged version has been tainted by engineers attempting — and failing — to liven the song. The true recording has been buried. “So it’s never been heard — except by a rarefied few folks, obviously — in its pure form, as it was straight to tape,” says Dunbar. “It’s like a field recording, almost.”
Among those rarefied few who heard the original recording was Neil Young, who, it turns out, possessed the most pristine and unadulterated copy of the so-called Basement Tapes, which he received from his longtime engineer Elliot Mazur. Mazur was assigned by Dylan’s manager, Albert Grossman, to transfer the original tapes for storage, and ended up dubbing a copy for himself. A few years later, Mazur duplicated them again with the intention of giving Young a copy, but accidentally gave him the original transfers, which sat in Young’s archives until they were unearthed a few years ago. With the song’s release on the fantastic I’m Not There soundtrack, those not exposed to the bootleg can finally attempt to discern meaning for themselves — if they dare.
Randall Poster would rather not. “I don’t approach it that literally, really,” he says. “To me it’s about a kinetic feeling, a song that brings me into the realm of ‘Positively Fourth Street.’ As a kid, the first time I heard that song, it taught me that there’s something that goes on between men and women that I hadn’t experienced yet, but that I was so hungry to experience. I sort of get that same feeling from ‘I’m Not There.’ In a sense, it speaks to a potential intimacy between people — it clearly exists in a sort of divine realm.”
“The song subtly builds,” adds Dunbar. “For me, it’s very intense. It starts off and you think, ‘Aw, there’s not much going on here.’ But by the end of it, it feels like an epic.” Asked what he thinks the song means, Dunbar pauses. “Uh, I don’t know. It’s, uh, definitely someone with . . . uh . . . uh . . . great regret.” Exactly.
I believe where she’d stop in if she wants time to care
I believe that she’d look upon beside him to care
And I go by the Lord and where she’s on my way, but I don’t belong there.
No I don’t belong to her, I don’t belong to every choir
She’s my prize forsaken angel, but she don’t hear me cry
She’s a long hearted mystic and she can’t carry on
When I’m there she’s alright, but when she’s not when I’m gone.
Heaven knows that the answers she’s don’t calling no one
She’s the way for sailing beautiful
She’s mine for the one
And I lost her attention by tempation as it runs
But she don’t bother me
But I’m not there I’m gone.
Now I’ve cried tonight like I cried the night before
And I’m leased on the high some
But I dream about the door
It’s so long she’s forsaken by a fate with the tale
It don’t hang approximation
She smiled Fare Thee Well.
Now when I’ll treat the way we all was born to love her
But she knows that the kingdom weighs so high above her
And I run but I wait
And it’s not too fast or slam
But I’ll not perceive her
I’m not there I’m gone.
Well it’s all about division
And I cry for a bail
I don’t need anybody now beside me to tell
And it’s all affirmation I received but it’s not
She’s a long haunting beauty
But she’s gone like the spark
And she’s gone.
Yes she’s gone like the rainbow that shined in yesterday
But now she’s home beside me
And I’d like to hear to stay
She’s a bone forsaking beauty and it don’t trust anyone
Now I wish I was beside her but I’m not there I’m gone.
Well it’s too hard to stake in
And I don’t far believe
It’s a bag full it’s amusing
That she’s hard too hard to lead.
It’s a load, it’s a crime
The way she mauled me around
Was she told for to hate me, but just don’t forethink in clown.
Yes I believe that it’s rightful
Oh I believe it in my mind
I been told like I said one night before
Carry on the grind.
And this song gypsy told her like I said carry on
I wish I was there to help her
But I’m not there I’m gone.