<?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-7906331</id><updated>2011-04-22T00:48:03.375+01:00</updated><title type='text'>In perfeição</title><subtitle type='html'>Porque nada no Mundo é perfeito...Porque a cada dia que passa lutamos por ser cada vez menos In perfeitos...</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>73</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-115115559858340140</id><published>2006-06-24T14:16:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2006-06-24T14:26:39.456+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Promessa</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Voltarei ao mesmo lugar. Frio, sombrio mas sagrado pela passagem do Apostolo. Fiz um pedido que sei que vou alcançar mas nao me arrependo. É sempre apaziguador sentir a Providencia Divina. Segui os passos dos Peregrinos. Faltavam-me as botas de longas caminhadas e o simbolo, a concha de Vieira, que humildemente os identifica. Vivi um pouco da historia dos lendarios Caminhos de Santiago.  Em  "Campus Stella", local cuja a Lenda diz: "quem la nao for de vivo, vai de morto". Ja cumpri a tradição, fui de viva... e sei que vou voltar!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-115115559858340140?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/115115559858340140'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/115115559858340140'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2006/06/promessa.html' title='Promessa'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-115021423165343509</id><published>2006-06-13T16:46:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2006-06-13T16:57:11.733+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Fantasma</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Acordei pelo sopro da tua presença. Partilhamos o café da manhã em silêncio. Dividimos as migalhas que das torradas sobraram.  Em silêncio, começamos um dia igual a tantos outros. Há muito que não me visitavas...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-115021423165343509?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/115021423165343509'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/115021423165343509'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2006/06/fantasma.html' title='Fantasma'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-114824207515490871</id><published>2006-05-21T20:59:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2006-05-21T21:07:55.166+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Pensamento</title><content type='html'>"Nightswimming, remembering that night&lt;br /&gt;September's coming soon&lt;br /&gt;I'm pining for the moon&lt;br /&gt;And what if there were two&lt;br /&gt;Side by side in orbit&lt;br /&gt;Around the fairest sun?&lt;br /&gt;That bright, tight forever drum&lt;br /&gt;Could not describe nightswimming"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nightswimming, R.E.M.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hoje, esta música fez me pensar... Não ha palavras que descrevam o turbilhao de ideias que aqui se instalou...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Nightswimming... deserves a quiet night.."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And what do I deserve...?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E pus me a pensar....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-114824207515490871?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/114824207515490871'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/114824207515490871'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2006/05/pensamento.html' title='Pensamento'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-114762885269412633</id><published>2006-05-14T18:45:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2006-05-14T18:47:32.713+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Antídoto</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;              "Como o sangue, corremos dentro dos corpos no momento em que abismos os puxam e devoram. Atravessamos cada ramo das árvores interiores que crescem do peito e se estendem pelos braços, pelas pernas, pelos olhares. As raízes agarram-se ao coração e nós cobrimos cada dedo fino dessas raízes que se fecham e apertam e esmagam essa pedra de fogo. Como sangue, somos lágrimas. Como sangue, existimos dentro dos gestos. As palavras são, tantas vezes, feitas daquilo que significamos. E somos o vento, os caminhos do vento sobre os rostos. O vento dentro da escuridão como o único objecto que pode ser tocado. Debaixo da pele, envolvemos as memórias, as ideias, a esperança e o desencanto."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                                                                                                                         Antídoto, José Luís Peixoto &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-114762885269412633?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/114762885269412633'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/114762885269412633'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2006/05/antdoto.html' title='Antídoto'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-114752449311452487</id><published>2006-05-13T13:34:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2006-05-13T13:48:13.146+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Paradoxo</title><content type='html'>Procuro .... Algo que me faça seguir em frente. Saltito entre as nuvens que teimam em aparecer. Aprisiono a brisa que me revolve as madeixas. Um dia igual a tantos outros, algo insípido e inodoro. Olhando a janela, relembro as traquinices de criança, as gargalhadas soltas, de saltar riachos descalça, sem medos ou timidez. A idade e o reveses da Vida tornam-nos diferentes, mais sisudos e cautelosos...As aspirações tornam-se diferentes, deixamos de trocar sonhos ireais por outros mais inalcançaveis...Limitamos-nos a substituí-los por um tanto quanto de mágoa e frustação.&lt;br /&gt;Tenho pena...Gostava mais de quando não era assim! &lt;br /&gt;Nada fazia sentido e tudo tinha significado. E agora? Continua tudo a não fazer sentido mas teimo em atribuir-lhe significado.Grande Paradoxo. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What can I expect from life?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-114752449311452487?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/114752449311452487'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/114752449311452487'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2006/05/paradoxo.html' title='Paradoxo'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-114747834382675209</id><published>2006-05-13T00:52:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2006-05-13T13:27:48.766+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Sound of  the silence</title><content type='html'>Reencontro o silêncio de outrora. &lt;br /&gt;Há muito que não sentia este burburinho de nada se ouvir, de nada dizer. Procurei lembranças do passado, colhi alegrias perdidas, distribui os sorrisos que tanto gosto.&lt;br /&gt;Tenho vivido à parte do mim e do Mundo..&lt;br /&gt;E hoje tropecei em mim!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Enjoying the sound of the silence!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-114747834382675209?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/114747834382675209'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/114747834382675209'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2006/05/sound-of-silence.html' title='Sound of  the silence'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-114176621081437109</id><published>2006-03-07T21:50:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2006-03-07T22:16:50.893+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Carta a uma Amiga</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Querida Clara,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Faz hoje 15 dias que me falaste o teu drama tão bem escondido, que eu, amiga de longa data nunca consegui perceber. Tentei te ligar mas em vão. Nao atendes o telefone. Vou a tua casa mas tirando o som com que a campanhia  ninguem mais responde. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Porque foges de mim? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Ha 15 dias atras parte de mim fluiu a mingua das tuas lagrimas. Nunca pensei que os teus sonhos e castelos cor-de-rosa se tivesse transformado em algo que tão bem disfarças entre os presentes. Sempre que alguem fala de casamentos perfeitos, era sempre a ti que eu citava. Não o posso mais fazer. Não me pesa esse facto mas sim o facto de saber que a tua dor é silenciosa e que o sorriso é aparente! E isso custa me tanto por afinal sempre foste a minha " irmazita" caçula que sempre tentei proteger.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Escrevo-te esta carta, sabendo que não a vais ler... Porque sei que me vais dizer que eu nao tenho razão de dizer. Mas digo (e direi te quando voltares a falar comigo)! Não se pode gostar de alguém (Pelo menos nao deviamos) que não nos respeita e usa a força e o volume da voz como forma de coacção. Temos de mostrar antes de mais que gostamos de nos próprias e o respeito é algo nunca a imacular, seja em que tipo de relação seja. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Quem nos falta ao respeito nao nos merece, querida Amiga.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Agora penso melhor e acho que talvez devas ler este trecho... Tu e outras mulheres que sofrem em silêncio como tu, vitimas da mais brutal força de violência que aquela imposta por quem juraste "Amar na saúde e na doença ...e em todos os dias das nossa vidas!"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Custa me escrever isto em pleno Séc XXI...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Mas custa me mto mais saber que sabes isso tanto eu...e por isso nao me atendes o telefone!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;(Vou tentar outra vez...nao desisto, pequena!)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S. aos vistantes deste blog: Infelizmente é um caso verídico e o nome aqui empregue não corresponde ao verdadeiro.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-114176621081437109?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/114176621081437109'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/114176621081437109'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2006/03/carta-uma-amiga.html' title='Carta a uma Amiga'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-114159101629941149</id><published>2006-03-05T21:23:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2006-03-05T21:36:59.263+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Wake me up when September ends</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;Ausente.&lt;br /&gt;É esta a melhor definição dos meus dias.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Monotonia.&lt;br /&gt;A impediosa companheira deste periodo de tempo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Uma pitada de solidão a mistura.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Um quase nada de desespero por ser dificil concluir algo a que me propus. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"Wake me up when September ends!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-114159101629941149?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/114159101629941149'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/114159101629941149'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2006/03/wake-me-up-when-september-ends.html' title='Wake me up when September ends'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-113554009876939869</id><published>2005-12-25T20:41:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-12-25T20:49:56.186+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Natal</title><content type='html'>&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/Christmas%20by%20Sandy%20Wickersham.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/320/Christmas%20by%20Sandy%20Wickersham.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt; Christmas, by Sandy Wickersham&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;Procurei uma imagem que melhor ilustrasse o que é o Natal para mim.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;Encontrei esta. Gostei do que vi.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;E tu, o que significa o Natal para ti?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;Votos de um Santo e Feliz Natal para todos!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-113554009876939869?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/113554009876939869'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/113554009876939869'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2005/12/natal.html' title='Natal'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-113494921749595813</id><published>2005-12-19T00:34:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-12-19T00:40:17.506+01:00</updated><title type='text'>What do I gotta do?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;What do I gotta do to make you love me?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;What do I gotta do to make you care?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;What do I gotta when lightning strikes me&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And I wake to find that you're not there?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;Mary J. Blige, in "Sorry seems to be the hardest word"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-113494921749595813?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/113494921749595813'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/113494921749595813'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2005/12/what-do-i-gotta-do.html' title='What do I gotta do?'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-113270456022404781</id><published>2005-11-23T01:05:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-11-23T01:09:20.236+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Difícil Poema de Amor</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Separo-me de ti nos solstícios de verão, diante da mesa do juiz supremo dos amantes. Para que os juízes me possam julgar, conhecerão primeiro o amor desonesto infinito feito de marés ambulantes de espinhos nas pálpebras onde as ruas são os pontos únicos do furor erótico e onde todos os pontos únicos do amor são ruas estreitíssimas velocíssimas que se percorrem como um fio de prumo sem oscilação. "&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;Luísa Neto Jorge&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#999900;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.prof2000.pt/users/bibseia/Poetas/LuÃ&amp;shy;sa_Neto_Jorge.htm"&gt;(O poema integral pode ser lido aqui)&lt;/a&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/7906331-113270456022404781?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/113270456022404781'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/113270456022404781'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2005/11/difcil-poema-de-amor.html' title='Difícil Poema de Amor'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-113209699862863552</id><published>2005-11-16T00:07:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-11-16T00:23:18.720+01:00</updated><title type='text'>É preciso...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"É preciso partir..... para poder regressar"&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Faz tanto tempo que não escrevo neste meu cantinho. Iniciei uma viagem sem me despedir de ninguém. Corri o mundo, colhi flores cujos aromas desconhecia, sorri para rostos anónimos. Criei projectos de sonhos e construí maquetes de realidades. Valeu-me a força dos amigos nos momentos em que me faltava a peça certa, a base ou o incentivo a continuar.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A mim,  restou-me outros tantos projectos por concretizar. Algumas ideias fervilhantes e a razão a deitar "àgua na fervura". A paixão que não se explica. A verdade da qual não se quer acreditar. Um punhado de ilusões perdidas na mesma medida que se encontram novas esperanças... de seguir em frente! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E o balanço? Positivo.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ri, chorei, amei e odiei. Cresci.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E hoje, estou de volta. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Aqui.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-113209699862863552?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/113209699862863552'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/113209699862863552'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2005/11/preciso.html' title='É preciso...'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-112472217312083442</id><published>2005-08-22T15:44:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-08-22T15:49:33.126+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Que é das palavras??</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/Copy%20of%20words.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/400/Copy%20of%20words.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt; (imagem retirada &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.dailysnapshots.org/images/words.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;daqui&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"Que é das palavras? como chamar&lt;br /&gt;por quem as esconde se, sem elas&lt;br /&gt;nem o silêncio tem nome? "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Mª Rosario Pedreira, in o Canto do Vento nos Ciprestes&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/7906331-112472217312083442?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/112472217312083442'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/112472217312083442'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2005/08/que-das-palavras.html' title='Que é das palavras??'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-112358486592486274</id><published>2005-08-09T11:50:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-08-09T12:02:03.180+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Rain Drops</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="right"&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/raindrops.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/400/raindrops.jpg" border="0" /&gt; &lt;/a&gt;&lt;p align="right"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;(foto retirada &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://7art-screensavers.com/screenshots/wet-flowers/rain-drops-solar-system.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;daqui&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O &lt;a href="http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/08/in-perfeio_09.html"&gt;&lt;em&gt;"In Perfeição"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/a&gt; faz hoje o seu primeiro aniversário.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Nunca um dia de chuva me soube tão bem !!!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-112358486592486274?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/112358486592486274'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/112358486592486274'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2005/08/rain-drops.html' title='Rain Drops'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-112241773124355745</id><published>2005-07-26T23:33:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-07-26T23:42:11.253+01:00</updated><title type='text'>A Frustração</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;A Frustração é:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;O sentimento maior de quem passou o dia inteiro sentada ao PC, para tentar escrever 2 linhas da Tese e que, ao fim do dia, as apagou....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Porque não eram nada de jeito....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Mas que raio de dia este.....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-112241773124355745?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/112241773124355745'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/112241773124355745'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2005/07/frustrao.html' title='A Frustração'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-112172187143402679</id><published>2005-07-18T22:09:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-07-20T15:59:21.516+01:00</updated><title type='text'>There must be some explantion</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/2por_do_sol1024.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/320/2por_do_sol1024.jpg" border="0" /&gt; &lt;p align="right"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;(foto retirada &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www1.folha.uol.com.br/folha/interacao/images/2por_do_sol1024.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;daqui&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="right"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;"There must be some explanation&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;To all my frustrations&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Inside my head.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;I’ve always dreamt of what I could be&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;And I still dream...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;I know I can’t change my past,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;It’s time to move on, at last.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;I’ve not always been as strong as I can,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;But I know that I had my ups and downs...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;I lost myself yesterday...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Time moves mountains... They say... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;De do de do&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;I’m gonna change that tonight!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;De do de doI’m gonna feel allright!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;De do de do&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Just as long as the stars still shine...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;I’ve tried to do my best all my life,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;But time showed me it’s not enough to try,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;That no one can deny...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;I’m gonna get it right this time!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;De do de do&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;I’m gonna change that tonight!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;De do de do&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;I’m gonna feel allright!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;De do de do&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Just as long,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;As long,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;As the stars still shine...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;I’ve not always been as strong as I can...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;De do de do..."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="right"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Ricardo Azevedo by EZspecial&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-112172187143402679?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/112172187143402679'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/112172187143402679'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2005/07/there-must-be-some-explantion.html' title='There must be some explantion'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-112060052518328786</id><published>2005-07-05T22:49:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-07-05T22:55:25.196+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Agora...</title><content type='html'>&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 235px; HEIGHT: 256px" height="266" src="http://www.mulheres-ps20.ipp.pt/pilha_livros.jpg" width="291" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;"Agora há uma dor que pousa nas palavras.&lt;br /&gt;Não as digas – um nome basta para&lt;br /&gt;dividir o coração. Se me esqueceste entre&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;um livro e outro, finge que não sei; despede-te&lt;br /&gt;de mim como uma lâmpada antiga, deixa que&lt;br /&gt;a tua sombra seja a minha única paisagem. "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Maria do Rosário Pedreira, in Nenhum Nome Depois&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="right"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-112060052518328786?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/112060052518328786'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/112060052518328786'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2005/07/agora.html' title='Agora...'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-112016457547605414</id><published>2005-06-30T21:44:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-07-05T22:56:51.526+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Tentei....</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/cat-paw-feather.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/320/cat-paw-feather.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;(foto retirada &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mooseyscountrygarden.com/cat-dog-pictures/cat-paw-feather.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;daqui&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tentei...&lt;br /&gt;Mas não consegui salvar a vida a um gatinho "entalado" nas grades duma sargeta...&lt;br /&gt;Foi duro ...&lt;br /&gt;E ainda sinto o peso da frustação de não o ter conseguido...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hoje tou triste... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-112016457547605414?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/112016457547605414'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/112016457547605414'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2005/06/tentei.html' title='Tentei....'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-111978386198292695</id><published>2005-06-26T11:42:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-06-27T22:11:23.996+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Devias....</title><content type='html'>&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/girl.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 355px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 202px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="236" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/400/girl.jpg" width="383" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;(foto retirada &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://acid-lips.com/hiatus2.gif"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;daqui&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;"Devias estar aqui rente aos meus lábios&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;para dividir contigo esta amargura &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;dos meus dias partidos um a um&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;- Eu vi a terra limpa no teu rosto,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Só no teu rosto e nunca em mais nenhum "&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Eugénio de Andrade&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-111978386198292695?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/111978386198292695'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/111978386198292695'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2005/06/devias.html' title='Devias....'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-111912498197313210</id><published>2005-06-18T21:00:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-06-18T21:04:35.816+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Raizes</title><content type='html'>&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.megagaleria.com/pictures/Pic_3123_3.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Ando à procura das minhas....&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-111912498197313210?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/111912498197313210'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/111912498197313210'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2005/06/raizes.html' title='Raizes'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-111886948016354076</id><published>2005-06-15T21:00:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-06-15T22:23:04.973+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Hoje, apetece-me.....</title><content type='html'>&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 424px; HEIGHT: 288px" height="273" src="http://www.megagaleria.com/pictures/Pic_3123_2.jpg" width="348" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;(foto recebida via mail, desconheço o autor)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-111886948016354076?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/111886948016354076'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/111886948016354076'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2005/06/hoje-apetece-me.html' title='Hoje, apetece-me.....'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-111869300907482411</id><published>2005-06-13T20:45:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-06-13T21:18:49.120+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Adeus</title><content type='html'>&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.megagaleria.com/pictures/Pic_3122_4.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Tulip simplicity, Yumiko Ichikawa&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Adeus &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Já gastámos as palavras pela rua, meu amor,&lt;br /&gt;e o que nos ficou não chega&lt;br /&gt;para afastar o frio de quatro paredes.&lt;br /&gt;Gastámos tudo menos o silêncio.&lt;br /&gt;Gastámos os olhos com o sal das lágrimas,&lt;br /&gt;gastámos as mãos à força de as apertarmos,&lt;br /&gt;gastámos o relógio e as pedras das esquinas&lt;br /&gt;em esperas inúteis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meto as mãos nas algibeiras e não encontro nada.&lt;br /&gt;Antigamente tínhamos tanto para dar um ao outro!&lt;br /&gt;Era como se todas as coisas fossem minhas:&lt;br /&gt;quanto mais te dava mais tinha para te dar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Às vezes tu dizias: os teus olhos são peixes verdes!&lt;br /&gt;E eu acreditava!&lt;br /&gt;Acreditava,&lt;br /&gt;porque ao teu lado&lt;br /&gt;todas as coisas eram possíveis.&lt;br /&gt;Mas isso era no tempo dos segredos,&lt;br /&gt;no tempo em que o teu corpo era um aquário,&lt;br /&gt;no tempo em que os teus olhos&lt;br /&gt;eram peixes verdes.&lt;br /&gt;Hoje são apenas os teus olhos.&lt;br /&gt;É pouco, mas é verdade,&lt;br /&gt;uns olhos como todos os outros.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Já gastámos as palavras.&lt;br /&gt;Quando agora digo: meu amor...&lt;br /&gt;já não se passa absolutamente nada.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E, no entanto, antes das palavras gastas,&lt;br /&gt;tenho a certeza&lt;br /&gt;de que todas as coisas estremeciam&lt;br /&gt;só de murmurar o teu nome&lt;br /&gt;no silêncio do meu coração.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Não temos nada que dar.&lt;br /&gt;Dentro de ti&lt;br /&gt;Não há nada que me peça água.&lt;br /&gt;O passado é inútil como um trapo.&lt;br /&gt;E já te disse: as palavras estão gastas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Adeus. "&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Eugénio de Andrade&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Para sempre...Adeus!!!!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-111869300907482411?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/111869300907482411'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/111869300907482411'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2005/06/adeus.html' title='Adeus'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-111497004070322020</id><published>2005-05-01T18:34:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-05-01T18:59:58.160+01:00</updated><title type='text'>This the last time...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;"This is the last time&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;That I will say these words&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I remember the first time&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;The first of many lies&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Sweep it into the corner&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Or hide it under the bed&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Say these things, they go away&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;But they never do&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Something I wasn't sure of&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;But I was in the middle of&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Something I forget now&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;But I've seen too little of&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;The last time&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;You fall on me, for anything you like&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Your one last line&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;You fall on me, for anything you like&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And years make everything alright&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;You fall on me, for anything you like&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And I, no I don't mind"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;(....)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Keane, This is last time&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Domingo...&lt;/span&gt;Mais um dia cinzento...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Dia da Mãe...&lt;/span&gt; A sua presença na ausência que 400 Km impoem...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Desejo secreto...&lt;/span&gt; Nunca mais te rever ou encontrar...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Dia de reflexão...&lt;/span&gt;Que faço eu aqui?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Pensamento....&lt;/span&gt; Deverão estas serem a minhas últimas linhas aqui?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Is this the last time?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-111497004070322020?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/111497004070322020'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/111497004070322020'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2005/05/this-last-time.html' title='This the last time...'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-111324539816723591</id><published>2005-04-11T19:33:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-04-11T23:06:03.116+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Sehnsucht</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;"Sehnsucht nach der Vergangenheit, nach der verlorenen Kindheit, nach der ersten Liebe"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;In A Ignorância, Milan Kundera&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quem nunca sentiu saudades dos tempos de meninice? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Dos saltos a caminho da escola, das roupas semi-rasgadas das lutas e correrias? Das inocentes cantigas que entremeavam os saltos numa qualquer corda? Daqueles jogos do elástico, do "mata", dos "polícias e ladrões"? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Quem nunca sentiu desejo de voltar atrás, a esse belo período de vida? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;E a outros? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Quem esqueceu o primeiro Amor, a primeira rebeldia dum beijo roubado, das palpitações do coração que desperta, da velocidade a que o sangue corre nas veias na eminência do primeiro encontro?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Hoje senti saudades de tudo isso. Não me apeteceu viver o presente, talvez com o medo do Futuro.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Por isso resolvi me refugiar nos saudosos momentos do passado...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;E quem nunca fez isso?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-111324539816723591?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/111324539816723591'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/111324539816723591'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2005/04/sehnsucht.html' title='Sehnsucht'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-111169136446593284</id><published>2005-03-24T20:01:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-03-24T20:09:24.466+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Pensamento</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;"Só porque alguém não te ama como tu queres, não significa que não te ame com todo o seu ser"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;Gabriel Garcia Marquéz&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;(Citação que  encontrei &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://kwanblog.blogspot.com/2005/02/citaes-garca-marquz.html"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;aqui&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&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/7906331-111169136446593284?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/111169136446593284'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/111169136446593284'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2005/03/pensamento.html' title='Pensamento'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-111040687335504719</id><published>2005-03-09T22:18:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-03-09T23:21:13.356+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Psiuuuu!!</title><content type='html'>Alguém viu a minha inspiração por aí?&lt;br /&gt;Preciso que ela volte...&lt;br /&gt;Tenho saudades ...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-111040687335504719?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/111040687335504719'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/111040687335504719'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2005/03/psiuuuu.html' title='Psiuuuu!!'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-110953391822630423</id><published>2005-02-27T19:40:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-02-27T20:51:58.226+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Everybody´s changing</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;You say you wander your own land&lt;br /&gt;But when I think about it&lt;br /&gt;I don't see how you can&lt;br /&gt;You're aching, you're breaking&lt;br /&gt;And I can see the pain in your eyes&lt;br /&gt;Says everybody's changing and I don't know why&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;So little time&lt;br /&gt;Try to understand that I'm&lt;br /&gt;Trying to make a move just to stay in the game&lt;br /&gt;I try to stay awake and remember my name&lt;br /&gt;But everybody's changing and I don't feel the same&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;You're gone from here, soon you will disappear&lt;br /&gt;Fading into beautiful light&lt;br /&gt;Cos everybody's changing and I don't feel right&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;So little time&lt;br /&gt;Try to understand that I'm&lt;br /&gt;Trying to make a move just to stay in the game&lt;br /&gt;I try to stay awake and remember my name&lt;br /&gt;But everybody's changing and I don't feel the same&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;So little time&lt;br /&gt;Try to understand that I'm&lt;br /&gt;Trying to make a move just to stay in the game&lt;br /&gt;I try to stay awake and remember my name&lt;br /&gt;But everybody's changing and I don't feel the same&lt;br /&gt;Oh everybody's changing and I don't feel the same&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;Keane, Everybody´s changing&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;And I feel the same, today....&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-110953391822630423?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110953391822630423'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110953391822630423'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2005/02/everybodys-changing.html' title='Everybody´s changing'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-110902598283572247</id><published>2005-02-21T22:28:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-02-21T23:51:55.213+01:00</updated><title type='text'>My day...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span &gt;8:00 a.m.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span &gt;Protein extract, loading buffer, boiling samples, molecular weight marker, SDS-PAGE, acrilamide, resolving gel, stacking gel, electrophoresis buffer, electrophoresis...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span &gt;1:00 p.m.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span &gt;Lunch with a chronometer&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span &gt;2:00 p.m&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span &gt;Western blot, milipore filter paper, Nylon membrane, transfer buffer, blot apparatus, PBST, Poinceau S, Comassie, scanning of the membranes, protein imobilization, Molico non-fat, washing steps, agitation, first antibody incubation...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span &gt;8:30 p.m&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span &gt;End of the day....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span &gt;Devo ser doida, não é?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&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/7906331-110902598283572247?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110902598283572247'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110902598283572247'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2005/02/my-day.html' title='My day...'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-110842019358150555</id><published>2005-02-14T21:05:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-02-14T23:29:53.583+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Sabes que dia é hoje?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Após um alegre “olá”, eis que surge a pergunta fatal:&lt;br /&gt;“- Sabes que dia é hoje?”….&lt;br /&gt;Assustei-me com o tom sério da pergunta. Esquivei-me em risonhas desculpas de quem não pertence a este mundo mas que não esquece o peso dos factos e dos dias que passam por mim. Perante a insistência do outro lado do dia, lá libertei o dia da semana: é Segunda-feira. Mordi o lábio para não dizer a verdade. Passei o dia a vaguear pelas ruelas de Lisboa tentando me convencer que este telefonema não iria acontecer. Mas se a cabeça determinava a realidade do facto, por outro lado uma réstia de esperança tirava – me o sossego… Depois de deambular sem destino, refugio-me nos recantos labirínticos do mundo que é o meu “eu”, recolho-me ao lar e aquando exalo o ténue, esperançoso e último suspiro…Surges:&lt;br /&gt; “- Sabes que dia é hoje??”&lt;br /&gt;Não sei…Talvez nem queira saber…&lt;br /&gt;Porque dias como este só tem razão de existirem se forem perfeitos…&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-110842019358150555?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110842019358150555'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110842019358150555'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2005/02/sabes-que-dia-hoje.html' title='Sabes que dia é hoje?'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-110746530855818049</id><published>2005-02-03T21:20:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-02-03T22:29:11.753+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Porque não me apetece....</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Porque não me apetece escrever? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Procurei em todos os recantos do meu pensamento a melhor das desculpas mas não a achei.Tentei culpar o frio que se sente mas não...Gosto dos dias frios e solarengos e neles muitas vezes encontrei inspiração. Pensei ser falta de palavras mas elas saltitam cá dentro àvidas e irrequietas de saltar prá fora. Culpei o cansaço dos dias que fogem à mesma velocidade que o prazo termina...Mas nao fiquei convencida.... Procuro enganar-me mas não consigo...&lt;br /&gt;Então o que se passa...?&lt;br /&gt;Eu sei...mas é tão díficil dizer a voz alta o porquê....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-110746530855818049?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110746530855818049'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110746530855818049'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2005/02/porque-no-me-apetece.html' title='Porque não me apetece....'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-110601001446294189</id><published>2005-01-18T01:00:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-01-18T02:04:18.406+01:00</updated><title type='text'>O Silêncio</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"O silêncio, deixa-me ileso&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;E que importância tem?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Se assim, tu vês em mim&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Alguém melhor que alguém&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Sei que minto, pois o que sinto&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Não é diferente de ti&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Não cedo, este segredo&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;É frágil e é meu....."&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;In&lt;/em&gt; Eu não sei dizer, Silence4&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/7906331-110601001446294189?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110601001446294189'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110601001446294189'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2005/01/o-silncio.html' title='O Silêncio'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-110561923844725251</id><published>2005-01-13T13:26:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-01-13T13:27:18.446+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Odeio</title><content type='html'>Odeio a chuva perdida, que me deixa o cabelo encrespado, que apura o meu mau humor e me deixa com pouca vontade de sair do meu cantinho. Tu rejublias e felicidade, gostas de passear debaixo de chuva como se de um dia de sol se tratasse…Apetece-te sair de casa e tentas me arrastar contigo…Dizes que todos os dias deviam de ser de chuva pois só assim te sentes bem.&lt;br /&gt;O teu perfeito vs o meu imperfeito.&lt;br /&gt;Porque somos tão diferentes..mas tão iguais?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-110561923844725251?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110561923844725251'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110561923844725251'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2005/01/odeio.html' title='Odeio'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-110495043146979565</id><published>2005-01-05T18:36:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2005-01-05T19:42:26.980+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Pensamento</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;- "Qual é o estado da tua Alma?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu diria....ausente.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-110495043146979565?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110495043146979565'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110495043146979565'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2005/01/pensamento.html' title='Pensamento'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-110434946935338339</id><published>2004-12-29T20:38:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-12-29T20:44:29.353+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Há dias</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;"Há dias em que julgamos&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;que todo o lixo do mundo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;nos cai em cima &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;depois &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;ao chegarmos à varanda avistamos &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;as crianças correndo no molhe &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;enquanto cantam &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;não lhes sei o nome &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;uma ou outra parece-me comigo &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;quero eu dizer : &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;com o que fui &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;quando cheguei a ser luminosa&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;presença da graça &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;ou da alegria &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;um sorriso abre-se então&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;num verão antigo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;e dura &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;dura ainda. "&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Eugénio de Andrade, in Os lugares de Lume&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Para ti...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-110434946935338339?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110434946935338339'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110434946935338339'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/12/h-dias.html' title='Há dias'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-110375489917162866</id><published>2004-12-22T22:12:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-12-22T23:34:59.170+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Feliz Natal</title><content type='html'>&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.megagaleria.com/pictures/Pic_3122_1.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;Um Santo Natal rodeado daqueles que vos são mais queridos!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;Beijinhos&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;e&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;FELIZ NATAL!!!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-110375489917162866?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110375489917162866'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110375489917162866'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/12/feliz-natal.html' title='Feliz Natal'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-110349812478789210</id><published>2004-12-19T23:10:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-12-20T00:23:22.993+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Sunday Morning</title><content type='html'>&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.megagaleria.com/pictures/Pic_3122_3.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Antibes 1888, Claude Monet&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Sunday morning, praise the dawning&lt;br /&gt;It’s just a restless feeling by my side&lt;br /&gt;Early dawning, sunday morning&lt;br /&gt;It’s just the wasted years so close behind&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Watch out, the world’s behind you&lt;br /&gt;There’s always someone around you who will call&lt;br /&gt;It’s nothing at all&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sunday morning and I’m falling&lt;br /&gt;I’ve got a feeling I don’t want to know&lt;br /&gt;Early dawning, sunday morning&lt;br /&gt;It’s all the streets you crossed, not so long ago&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Watch out, the world’s behind you&lt;br /&gt;There’s always someone around you who will call&lt;br /&gt;It’s nothing at all&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Watch out, the world’s behind you&lt;br /&gt;There’s always someone around you who will call&lt;br /&gt;It’s nothing at all&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sunday morning&lt;br /&gt;Sunday morning&lt;br /&gt;Sunday morning "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Sunday morning, The Velvet Underground &amp;amp; Nico&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/7906331-110349812478789210?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110349812478789210'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110349812478789210'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/12/sunday-morning.html' title='Sunday Morning'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-110323982682817848</id><published>2004-12-17T01:23:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-12-17T00:30:26.830+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Há muito que...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Há muito que não dormia o sono dos justos. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Calmo, sereno e pacífico. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Hoje o acordar teve outro sabor. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Não me lembro se sonhei com algo. Talvez sonhasse, no entanto, o facto de nao existir algo memoravel torna o meu acordar sereno. Antecipei-me ao despertador e, ladina, esperei pelo ultimo segundo antes do seu toque e evitei que se esforçasse em vão. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Sinto que hoje vai ser um dia perfeito, no qual tudo teria um sentido concreto uma finalidade. Gosto do acordar suave e deliciar-me com esta transição entre os dois locais por onde vagueamos, o mundo dos sonho e o mundo em que lutamos por eles. O abrir os olhos ainda no escuro e permite-me ter a percepção da essência das coisas, permite-me senti-las.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Sabe-me bem o calor duma cama quente. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Relembra-me a ternura do despertar nos braços da pessoa amada, daquele momento mágico onde as palavras não se dizem. Sentem-se. Uma união de almas perfeita apenas maculada pelo som das respirações assincronas, pausadas. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Engraçado…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Apesar de sozinha, hoje acordei assim…&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/7906331-110323982682817848?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110323982682817848'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110323982682817848'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/12/h-muito-que.html' title='Há muito que...'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-110297411531040667</id><published>2004-12-13T22:11:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-12-13T22:44:39.253+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Obrigada!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.megagaleria.com/pictures/Pic_3122_2.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Stiller Winkel im Garten von Montgeron, Claude Monet&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Um obrigada pelos agradaveis momentos do jantar !!!!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Dedicado aos novos companheiros&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://formiguinha.blog.simplesnet.pt/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Formiguinha&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://pinguim.blogs.sapo.pt/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Pinguim&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://grocarkuantobaste.blogs.sapo.pt/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Leo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;, Siri, Luna, Zé, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://wolfie.blog.simplesnet.pt/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Wolfie&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://godzec.hostingportugal.net/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Godzec&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://sonhosurbanos.blogs.sapo.pt/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Jorge&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://partirgelo.blogs.sapo.pt/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Filipe &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;e &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://partirgelo.blogs.sapo.pt/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Hugo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-110297411531040667?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110297411531040667'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110297411531040667'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/12/obrigada.html' title='Obrigada!!!'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-110246223199965880</id><published>2004-12-08T01:12:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-12-08T00:51:23.213+01:00</updated><title type='text'>DesNORTEada</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;"Volto as costas ao vazio&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;procuro o vento frio&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;o caruncho pode desfrutar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;do meu velho sofá &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;deixo as manchas de café &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;o candeeiro de pé &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;vou em busca do meu Norte&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Levo imagens que sonhei &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;tesouros que roubei &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;a famosa gabardine azul &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;tem mais alguns rasgões &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;levo as horas que perdi &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;o espelho a quem menti &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;sigo em direcção ao Norte&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quantos pontos cardeais &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;ficarão no cais da solidão? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Quantos barcos irão naufragar, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;quantos irão encalhar na pequenez &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;da tripulação? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Deixo os dias sempre iguais&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;os mundos virtuais &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;deixo a civilização que herdei &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;colher o que plantou &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;abandono o carrossel&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;a Torre de Babel&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;deitei fora o passaporte &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Confio às constelações&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;as minhas convicções&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;quebro o gelo que se atravessar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;no rumo que eu escolhi&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;o astrolábio que há em mim&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;vai respirar enfim&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;hei-de alcançar o meu Norte"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Norte (o meu), &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.jorgepalma.web.pt/primeira.htm"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Jorge Palma&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Também hei-de alcançar o meu....&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Entretanto, os dias frios fazem-me sentir algo&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Des&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;norte&lt;/span&gt;ada...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&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/7906331-110246223199965880?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110246223199965880'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110246223199965880'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/12/desnorteada.html' title='DesNORTEada'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-110177063272183868</id><published>2004-11-30T01:02:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-11-30T00:23:52.736+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Prenda</title><content type='html'>&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 402px; HEIGHT: 576px" height="612" src="http://www.megagaleria.com/pictures/Pic_3123_1.jpg" width="402" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Uma prenda pa vocês!!!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;( possível graças à ajuda &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.eelkovanmulder.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;dele&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;obrigada !!)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-110177063272183868?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110177063272183868'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110177063272183868'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/11/prenda.html' title='Prenda'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-110150616411792650</id><published>2004-11-26T22:24:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-11-26T22:57:51.163+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Mousse de chocolate</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Separa-se a clara da gema de seis ovos. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Enquanto bates a claras em castelo, derreto em banho-maria a tablete de chocolate amargo juntamente um décimo do quilo de de manteiga. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;De seguida envolvemos a centena e meia de gramas açucar no castelo de claras que criaste, batendo até atingir o ponto de suspiro.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Depois de tirar do lume o creme de chocolate derretido, não resisto a tentaçao de lá molhar o dedo...Provo eu...Dou-te a provar...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Entretando este já arrefeceu e junto-lhe as gemas....&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Uma a uma... mexendo muito bem...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Olhas para mim e sorris: Tá quase, sim!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;A estocada final consiste em envolver muito bem os dois preparados anteriores. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;O branco no negro... o frio no quente.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Um momento perfeito onde os extremos se atraem... &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Enquanto mexemos, trocamos cúmplices olhares...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Saboreamos e suspiramos...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Esta é a nossa receita de mousse de chocolate....&lt;/strong&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/7906331-110150616411792650?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110150616411792650'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110150616411792650'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/11/mousse-de-chocolate.html' title='Mousse de chocolate'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-110116073664348612</id><published>2004-11-22T22:55:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-11-22T22:58:56.643+01:00</updated><title type='text'>If...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"If yesterday could only be tomorrow,&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;And I knew then the things that I know now,&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;There'd be so much to remember, &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;And nothing to regret.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;If I could do it all over somehow.  &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I only wish that I had held you closer;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Now you seem a million miles away&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;If yesterday could only be tomorrow,&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;And the clock had stopped just before it reached today. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;If yesterday could only be tomorrow,&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;And the clock had stopped just before it reached today. "&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Nat King Cole&lt;/strong&gt;&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/7906331-110116073664348612?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110116073664348612'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110116073664348612'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/11/if.html' title='If...'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-110082352328855611</id><published>2004-11-19T01:15:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-11-19T10:40:26.340+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Somos só...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Nada digo, nada dizes.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Apenas sorrimos.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Somos só, e apenas, &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;dois corpos que se abraçam.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Aqui.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Agora.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Nada mais importa....&lt;/strong&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/7906331-110082352328855611?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110082352328855611'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/110082352328855611'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/11/somos-s.html' title='Somos só...'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-109995478500419586</id><published>2004-11-08T23:56:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-11-09T00:01:28.873+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Que escolher?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;" O fardo mais pesado esmaga-nos, verga-nos, comprime-nos contra o solo. Mas, na poesia amorosa de todos os séculos, a mulher sempre desejou receber o fardo do corpo masculino. Portanto, o fardo mais pesado é também, ao mesmo tempo, a imagem do momento mais intenso de realização de uma vida. Quanto mais pesado for o fardo, mais próxima da terra se encontra a nossa vida e mais real e verdadeira é. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Em contrapartida, a ausência total de fardo faz com que o ser humano se torne mais leve do que o ar, fá-lo voar, afastar-se da terra, do ser terrestre, torna-o semi-real e os seus movimentos tão livres quanto insignificantes. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Que escolher, então? O peso ou a leveza?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In “ A Insustentável Leveza do Ser”, Milan Kundera&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/7906331-109995478500419586?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109995478500419586'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109995478500419586'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/11/que-escolher.html' title='Que escolher?'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-109856456465608779</id><published>2004-10-23T21:42:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-10-23T21:49:24.656+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Quem és tu, de novo?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;"Quando a janela se fecha e se transforma num ovo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Ou se desfaz em estilhaços de céu azul e magenta&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;E o meu olhar tem razões que o coração não frequenta&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Por favor diz-me quem és tu, de novo?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Quando o teu cheiro me leva às esquinas do vislumbre&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;E toda a verdade em ti é coisa incerta e tão vasta&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Quem sou eu para negar que a tua presença me arrasta?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Quem és tu, na imensidão do deslumbre?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;As redes são passageiras, as arquitecturas da fuga&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;De toda a água que corre, de todo o vento que passa&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Quando uma teia se rasga ergo à lua a minha taça&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;E vejo nascer no espelho mais uma ruga&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Quando o tecto se escancara e se confunde com a lua&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;A apontar-me o caminho melhor do que qualquer estrela&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Ninguém me faz duvidar que foste sempre a mais bela&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Por favor, diz-me que és alguém, de novo?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Quando a janela se fecha e se transforma num ovo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Ou se desfaz em estilhaços de céu azul e magenta&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;E o meu olhar tem razões que o coração não frequenta&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Por favor diz-me quem és tu, de novo?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Jorge Palma&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/7906331-109856456465608779?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109856456465608779'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109856456465608779'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/10/quem-s-tu-de-novo.html' title='Quem és tu, de novo?'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-109783374754571431</id><published>2004-10-15T10:45:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-10-15T10:49:07.546+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Perfect words...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"Qui addit scientiam, addit et dolorem"&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Encontrei a frase perfeita para o prefácio da minha tese.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt; A frase em Latim acima referida significa: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;"Quem aumenta o seu saber, aumenta a sua dor.."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Por vezes penso que é tão verdade...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-109783374754571431?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109783374754571431'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109783374754571431'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/10/perfect-words.html' title='Perfect words...'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-109770090773895639</id><published>2004-10-13T21:26:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-10-13T22:03:11.860+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Diferenças</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Hoje disseram-me:"- Estás diferente... O teu sorriso está diferente!!!"&lt;br /&gt;Fiquei apreensiva com esta observaçao...e, ignorando o comentário prossegui com o meu café.... Sim, de facto até mesmo eu própria sinto essa diferença e aproveitei para fazer uma introspectiva do que ditou a mesma.&lt;br /&gt;A minha vida não mudou muito (pensando bem, nao mudou nada!!)...mas mudei a minha atitude para com ela. Em vez de querer mudar o rumo da vida, passei a deixar-me levar por ela... Bons e maus momentos sempre existirão e achei que nao valia a pena querer mudar o mundo.&lt;br /&gt;Canalizei as energias para o que me faz feliz e me dá prazer: apostei no curso de Inglês que tanto queria; passei debitar na FNAC uma boa fasquia do meu ordenado a troco de ler os livros que sempre quis; inscrevi-me nas conferências mais longíquas e estou a "queimar os últimos cartuchos" do tempo disponível que tenho para acabar o trabalho prático... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;(logo é preciso escrever a tese mas..havemos de lá chegar!!! )&lt;br /&gt;Mais....muito mais mudei.&lt;br /&gt;Novo corte de cabelo, casa nova, paixão nova, etc, etc....&lt;br /&gt;Mas não mudou tudo: Eu...&lt;br /&gt;Eu continuo a mesma... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Gosto de sorrir, sempre gostei. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Talvez agora não existam tantas nuvens que o camuflem.. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Não interessa! Sinto me bem assim!! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-109770090773895639?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109770090773895639'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109770090773895639'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/10/diferenas.html' title='Diferenças'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-109752274063693344</id><published>2004-10-11T20:23:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-10-11T20:28:47.706+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Quem disse?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Quem disse que eu tinha saudades da chuva e não de ti?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Quem disse???&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/7906331-109752274063693344?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109752274063693344'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109752274063693344'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/10/quem-disse.html' title='Quem disse?'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-109723044372566969</id><published>2004-10-08T11:00:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-10-08T11:14:03.726+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Palavras que martelam...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;"Havia&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;uma palavra &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;no escuro. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;Minúscula.Ignorada. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;Martelava no escuro. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;Martelava &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;no chão da água. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;Do fundo do tempo, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;martelava. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;contra o muro. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;Uma palavra. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;No escuro. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;Que me chamava." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eugénio de Andrade, in Matéria Solar&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quem me dera poder desligar-me das palavras que martelam sem parar....&lt;br /&gt;A consciência ...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-109723044372566969?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109723044372566969'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109723044372566969'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/10/palavras-que-martelam.html' title='Palavras que martelam...'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-109699406147463871</id><published>2004-10-05T17:27:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-10-05T17:48:19.476+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Segredos</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;"Um beijo é um segredo que se diz na boca e não no ouvido "&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jean Rostand&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Conta-me os teus segredos...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-109699406147463871?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109699406147463871'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109699406147463871'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/10/segredos.html' title='Segredos'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-109682162223391873</id><published>2004-10-03T17:29:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-10-03T17:45:43.870+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Crepúsculo</title><content type='html'>O sol já se despede de nós, como uma criança que vai acenando timidamente por entre as neblinas que camuflam.&lt;br /&gt;Da cozinha irrompe um aroma a bolo de maçã e canela que eu própria acabei de fazer... Aqui, ao meu lado, deixo que a brisa do crepúsculo revolva as páginas não pontuadas do Saramago que estou a ler. Diante de mim, jaz uma chávena cujo café de sabor e cheiro intenso me confortou há momentos...&lt;br /&gt;Sinto a tua falta, sabias?&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/7906331-109682162223391873?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109682162223391873'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109682162223391873'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/10/crepsculo.html' title='Crepúsculo'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-109580523755323252</id><published>2004-09-21T23:13:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-09-21T23:20:37.553+01:00</updated><title type='text'>O prometido é devido....</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;"Naquele trilho secreto &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;Com palavras santo e senha &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;Eu fui língua e tu dialecto &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;Eu fui lume e tu foste lenha&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;Fomos guerras e alianças &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;Tratados de paz e péssangas &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;Fomos sardas pele e tranças &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;Popeline seda e ganga&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;Recordo aquele acordo &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;Bem claro e assumido &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;Eu trepava um eucalipto &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;E tu tiravas o vestido&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;Dessa vez tu não cumpriste &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;E faltaste ao prometido &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;Eu fiquei sentido e triste &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;Olha que isso não se faz &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;Disseste que se eu fosse audaz&lt;br /&gt;Tu tiravas o vestido &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;O prometido é devido&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;Rompi eu as minhas calças &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;Esfolei mãos e joelhos &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;E tu reduziste o acordo &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;A um montão de cacos velhos&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;Eu que vinha de tão longe &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;( do outro lado da rua ) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;Fazia o que tu quisesses &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;Só para te poder ver nua&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;Quero já os almanaques &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;Do fantasma e do patinhas &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;Os falcões e os mandrakes &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;Tão cedo não terás novas minhas "&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;Rui Veloso/Carlos Tê&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;A "minha" música deste dia.....&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;O prometido é devido!!!!!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-109580523755323252?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109580523755323252'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109580523755323252'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/09/o-prometido-devido.html' title='O prometido é devido....'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-109569976101292407</id><published>2004-09-20T17:55:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-09-20T18:02:41.013+01:00</updated><title type='text'>O que é escrever?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"Escrever é isto: comover para desconvocar a angústia e aligeirar o medo, que é sempre experimentado nos povos como uma infusão de laboratório, cada vez mais sofisticada. Eu penso que o escritor com maior sucesso (não de livraria, mas de indignação social profunda) é aquele que protege os homens do medo: por audácia, delírio, fantasia, piedade ou desfiguração. Mas porque a poética precisão de dum acto humano não corresponde totalmente à sua evidência. Ama-se a palavra, usa-se a escrita, despertam-se as coisas do silêncio em que foram criadas. Depois de tudo, escrever é um pouco corrigir a fortuna, que é cega, com um júbilo da Natureza, que é precavida."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.citador.pt/pensar.php?op=10&amp;refid=200404241330"&gt;Agustina Bessa-Luís&lt;/a&gt;, in 'Contemplação Carinhosa da Angústia'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dedicado à &lt;a href="http://pinguim.blogs.sapo.pt/"&gt;Pinguim&lt;/a&gt;, para que ela reencontre a sua inspiraçao!&lt;br /&gt;Porque vale a pena escrever!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-109569976101292407?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109569976101292407'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109569976101292407'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/09/o-que-escrever.html' title='O que é escrever?'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-109560738432212984</id><published>2004-09-19T16:16:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-09-19T16:23:04.323+01:00</updated><title type='text'>A perfeição</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#003300;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#003300;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#003300;"&gt; "A perfeição tem um grave defeito: tende a ser enfadonha ."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.citador.pt/"&gt;William Maugham &lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu sei, mas.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-109560738432212984?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109560738432212984'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109560738432212984'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/09/perfeio.html' title='A perfeição'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-109532803989792596</id><published>2004-09-16T10:44:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-09-16T10:47:19.896+01:00</updated><title type='text'>O sorriso</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;"Creio que foi o sorriso, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;o sorriso foi quem abriu a porta. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Era um sorriso com muita luz lá dentro,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;apetecia entrar nele,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;tirar a roupa,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;ficar nu dentro daquele sorriso. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Correr,navegar,morrer naquele sorriso. "&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eugénio de Andrade, in O Outro Nome da Terra&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-109532803989792596?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109532803989792596'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109532803989792596'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/09/o-sorriso.html' title='O sorriso'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-109528205070121499</id><published>2004-09-15T21:41:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-09-15T22:04:26.236+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Despedida</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;" A vida é feita de grandes coisas que nao acontecem ou de pequenas que se realizam...Sê humilde e serás feliz...."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Desconheço quem é o legitimo autor desta frase.&lt;br /&gt;Encontrei esta frase foi em cima da secretaria, escrita por uma ex-colega aquando seu ultimo dia de trabalho. Como estava ausente em férias, deixou-me este bilhete em jeito de despedida...&lt;br /&gt;Hoje senti a sua presença por entre a sua ausência e a lágrima que insiste em rolar a cada vez que releio e sinto a força destas palavras.&lt;br /&gt;De facto, foi neste"pequeno" bilhete que me apercebi dos laços de amizade que existiam... E da grande verdade que emerge desse "pequeno" conjunto de letras....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Este foi meu primeiro dia de regresso ao trabalho... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-109528205070121499?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109528205070121499'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109528205070121499'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/09/despedida.html' title='Despedida'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-109482113103816864</id><published>2004-09-10T13:31:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-09-10T14:14:02.986+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Frase do dia</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;"The first key to success is deciding exactly what do you want in life."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;(Frase recebida através do &lt;/em&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.orkut.com"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Orkut&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;em&gt;)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Dificil é decidir quando não se sabe o que nos espera....!!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-109482113103816864?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109482113103816864'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109482113103816864'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/09/frase-do-dia.html' title='Frase do dia'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-109473757580703975</id><published>2004-09-09T14:10:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-09-09T14:46:15.806+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Hoje roubei....</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;"Hoje roubei todas as rosas dos jardins &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;e cheguei ao pé de ti de mãos vazias. "&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Eugénio de Andrade&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cambridge Spy,&lt;br /&gt;Porque hoje é o teu dia....&lt;br /&gt;Muitos Parabéns!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-109473757580703975?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109473757580703975'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109473757580703975'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/09/hoje-roubei.html' title='Hoje roubei....'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-109467714847455609</id><published>2004-09-08T21:50:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-09-08T21:59:08.473+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Esperando veleiros perdidos...</title><content type='html'>Fiz-me ao mar com lua cheia&lt;br /&gt;A esse mar de ruas e cafés&lt;br /&gt;Com vagas de olhos a rolar&lt;br /&gt;Que nem me viam no convés&lt;br /&gt;Tão cegas no seu vogar&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E assim fui na monção&lt;br /&gt;Perdido na imensidão&lt;br /&gt;Deparei com uma ilha&lt;br /&gt;Uma pequena maravilha&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meio submersa&lt;br /&gt;Resistindo à toada&lt;br /&gt;Deu-me dois dedos de conversa&lt;br /&gt;Já cheia de andar calada&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tinha um olhar acanhado&lt;br /&gt;E uma blusa azul-grená&lt;br /&gt;Com o botão desapertado&lt;br /&gt;E por dentro tão ousado&lt;br /&gt;Um peito sem soutien&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ancoramos num rochedo&lt;br /&gt;Sacudimos o sal e o medo&lt;br /&gt;Falámos de música e cinema&lt;br /&gt;Lia fernando pessoa&lt;br /&gt;E às vezes também fazia um poema&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E no cabelo vi-lhe conchas&lt;br /&gt;E na boca uma pérola a brilhar&lt;br /&gt;Despiu o olhar de defesa&lt;br /&gt;Pôs-me o mapa sobre a mesa&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Deu-me conta dessas ilhas&lt;br /&gt;Arquipélagos ao luar&lt;br /&gt;Com os areais estendidos&lt;br /&gt;Contra a cegueira do mar&lt;br /&gt;Esperando veleiros perdidos&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A Ilha, Carlos Tê/Rui Veloso&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Esperando Veleiros perdidos....&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-109467714847455609?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109467714847455609'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109467714847455609'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/09/esperando-veleiros-perdidos.html' title='Esperando veleiros perdidos...'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-109432678293926300</id><published>2004-09-04T20:34:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-09-04T20:44:21.313+01:00</updated><title type='text'>A boca</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;A boca, &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;onde o fogo&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;de um verão&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;muito antigo&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;cintila, &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;a boca espera &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;(que pode uma boca&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;esperar&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;senão outra boca?) &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;espera o ardor&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;do vento&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;para ser ave,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;e cantar.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Eugénio de Andrade&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-109432678293926300?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109432678293926300'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109432678293926300'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/09/boca.html' title='A boca'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-109413792944765741</id><published>2004-09-02T15:45:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-09-02T16:15:19.440+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Ainda existe...?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;"...But now I'm free in you&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;I've got no worries on my mind&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;I know what to do&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;That's to treat you right&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;And love you kind&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Thank you ever on my mind&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Love is just like breathing&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;When it's true&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;And I'm free in you..."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Free in you, Indigo Girls&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Enquanto escutava este &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.indigogirlsonline.com/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;album&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt; fiquei a "matutar" no refrão desta musica...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;A liberdade de mente e corpo que sentimos quando estamos apaixonados, onde tudo parece &lt;em&gt;perfeito&lt;/em&gt;.... Onde os sorrisos e a profundidade do olhar é capaz de nos deixar num estado de enlevo que se prolonga nas noites em que o sono não surge... As palavras, as carícias parecem brotar como água fresca de uma nascente que se bebe, cada vez mais sem nunca ficar saciado...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Tudo é livre, quase institivo...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Tudo são sorrisos....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Mas o pior é quando &lt;em&gt;Amar&lt;/em&gt; se torna premeditado...quando ficamos condicionados a "ter" de sorrir, a escolher as palavras ou forçar um carinho?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Quando estar com alguém se torna uma prisão...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Ainda existe amor...Ou não?&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/7906331-109413792944765741?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109413792944765741'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109413792944765741'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/09/ainda-existe.html' title='Ainda existe...?'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-109380610466462914</id><published>2004-08-29T19:49:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-08-29T20:45:35.066+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Aniversário</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Opssssss!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;Hoje passei a ser um ano mais velha!!!&lt;br /&gt;A quem já me deu os Parabéns …. O meu muito obrigada!&lt;br /&gt;É sempre bom podermos partilhar estes dias felizes !!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;PS.: Há aqui bolo de aniversário!!!!!Alguém quer uma fatiazinha???&lt;/em&gt;&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/7906331-109380610466462914?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109380610466462914'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109380610466462914'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/08/aniversrio.html' title='Aniversário'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-109372590224560493</id><published>2004-08-28T21:31:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-08-28T21:45:02.246+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Quando eu for grande...</title><content type='html'>Durante as minhas deambulações virtuais, tropecei no blog  &lt;a href="http://noparapeito.blogspot.com"&gt;No parapeito &lt;/a&gt;já extinto (infelizmente!!!) da Rita Ferro Rodrigues. Vale a pena ler, acreditem.&lt;br /&gt;Enquanto remexia nos arquivos passados deste blog, rencontrei um post que me pensar e reflectir, isto porque amanhã é o meu aniversário...&lt;br /&gt;Chama-se  &lt;a href="http://noparapeito.blogspot.com/2003_10_01_noparapeito_archive.html#106729734728595356"&gt;Quando eu for grande&lt;/a&gt;....&lt;br /&gt;Enfim, fiquei saudosa dos tempos em que, inocentemente, dizia o que queria fazer e ser "Quando fosse grande"....&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/7906331-109372590224560493?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109372590224560493'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109372590224560493'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/08/quando-eu-for-grande.html' title='Quando eu for grande...'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-109363162482772874</id><published>2004-08-27T19:16:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-08-27T21:27:54.273+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Um dos meus favoritos</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Não adormeças...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Não adormeças: o vento ainda assobia no meu quarto&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;e a luz é fraca e treme e eu tenho medo&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;das sombras que desfilam pelas paredes como fantasmas&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;da casa e de tudo aquilo com que sonhes.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Não adormeças já. Diz-me outra vez do rio que palpitava&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;no coração da aldeia onde nasceste, da roupa que vinha&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;a cheirar a sonho e a musgo e ao trevo que nunca foi&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;de quatro folhas; e das ervas húmidas e chãs&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;com que em casa se cozinham perfumes que ainda hoje&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;te mordem os gestos e as palavras.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;O meu corpo gela à míngua dos teus dedos, o sol vai&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;demorar-se a regressar. Há tempo para uma história&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;que eu não saiba e eu juro que, se não adormeceres,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;serei tão leve que não hei-de pesar-te nunca na memória,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;como na minha pesará para sempre a pedra do teu sono&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;se agora apenas me olhares de longe e adormeceres.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;Maria do Rosário Pedreira, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;in A Casa e o Cheiro dos Livros&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Um dos meus poemas favoritos!!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;(em jeito de resposta ao post de hoje do blog &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;a href="http://in-quietude.blogspot.com/2004/08/poema-favorito.html"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;In-quietude&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;em&gt; !)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&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/7906331-109363162482772874?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109363162482772874'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109363162482772874'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/08/um-dos-meus-favoritos.html' title='Um dos meus favoritos'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-109355756748280479</id><published>2004-08-26T22:47:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-08-26T23:01:38.656+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Tell me.....</title><content type='html'>Tell me&lt;br /&gt;Just what you want me to be&lt;br /&gt;One kiss and boom you’re the only one to me&lt;br /&gt;So please tell me&lt;br /&gt;Why don’t you come around no more?&lt;br /&gt;Cause right now&lt;br /&gt;I’m Cryin' outside the door of your candy store&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It just takes a little bit of this, a little bit of that&lt;br /&gt;It started with a kiss, now we're up to bat&lt;br /&gt;A little bit of laughs, a little bit of pain&lt;br /&gt;I’m telling you my babe it’s all in the game of love…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;… is, whatever you make it to be&lt;br /&gt;Sunshine, set on this cold, lonely sea&lt;br /&gt;So please baby&lt;br /&gt;Try and use me for what&lt;br /&gt;I’m good for&lt;br /&gt;It ain’t sayin'&lt;br /&gt;Goodbye It’s knockin’ down the door of your candy store&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just takes a little bit of this, a little bit of that&lt;br /&gt;Started with a kiss, now we're up to bat&lt;br /&gt;A little bit of laughs, a little bit of pain&lt;br /&gt;I’m telling you my babe it’s all in the game of love&lt;br /&gt;It’s all in this game of love&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You roll me, control me, console me&lt;br /&gt;Please hold me&lt;br /&gt;You guide me, divide me into what&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So please tell me&lt;br /&gt;Why don’t you come around no more?&lt;br /&gt;Cause right now I’m&lt;br /&gt;Dying outside the door of your lovin' store&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just takes a little bit of this, a little bit of that&lt;br /&gt;Started with a kiss, now we're up to bat&lt;br /&gt;A little bit of laughs, a little bit of pain&lt;br /&gt;I’m telling you my babe it’s all in the game of love&lt;br /&gt;It’s all in this game of love, it’s all in the game of love&lt;br /&gt;Game of love&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Roll me, control me,&lt;br /&gt;Please hold me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Make me feel good yeah)&lt;br /&gt;(A little bit of laughs, a little bit of pains)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Game of Love&lt;/em&gt;, Santana&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Hoje a caminho da praia, o radio insistia em me fazer ouvir esta musica....&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-109355756748280479?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109355756748280479'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109355756748280479'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/08/tell-me.html' title='Tell me.....'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-109294565052953895</id><published>2004-08-19T20:55:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-08-19T21:00:50.530+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Raios de sol...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;           Ao contrário do que tem sido habitual, hoje acordei com uns tímidos raios dum sol envergonhado, que ainda se escondia por detrás das cinzentas nuvens que teimam em não desaparecer. Hoje está bom para passear, pensei. Ao fim do almoço, ousei dar um pulinho até a nossa vizinha Galiza. Ousei e concretizei e ao fim de 40 minutos, lá estava eu no Estrangeiro (eh eh eh), sentada num cafézito em Vigo, saboreando um “cortado”. Não é a primeira vez que o faço, aliás basta-me sentir as saudades de viajar e lá vou eu… (Ideal mesmo seria ir até França, país onde nasci e passei a maior parte da minha infância)… No entanto só o facto de ir ao encontro de um outro país, de me ver rodeada de pessoas com um dialecto diferente, por si só já me faz sentir melhor e de alguma forma mitiga a saudades que tenho dos locais por onde cresci…&lt;br /&gt;            Vigo não é das mais belas cidades que conheço…Tem o bulício típico das grandes cidades, um trânsito caótico, muito pouco regulado. O cinzento dos prédios contrasta com a beleza e simpatia das gentes que lá habitam. A serenidade dos sorrisos que emerge de seus rostos é algo muito apaziguador, quiçã reconfortante. O próprio cinzento-azulado do tempo confere algo de místico à caminhada pela avenida principal que, ao fundo, desagua no porto de mar. Do local onde estou apenas consegue-se avistar os mastros de alguns navios e um bando de gaivotas irrequietas que não param de balouçar. Antes de partir, não dispenso mais um “cortado” cujo aroma e sabor me consegue apaziguar a relutância do eminente regresso.&lt;br /&gt;Perfeito….. E neste contexto, pensei que devia fazer isto mais vezes….&lt;br /&gt;Ou melhor, devia pensar menos e ousar rasgar as “outras malhas” da rotina que se instalou, nestas férias de chuva, e que tanto me tem aprisionado.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-109294565052953895?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109294565052953895'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109294565052953895'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/08/raios-de-sol.html' title='Raios de sol...'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-109277649004326187</id><published>2004-08-17T21:53:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-08-17T22:01:30.043+01:00</updated><title type='text'>O tempo...</title><content type='html'>O tempo esta de mal comigo....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Por quê????&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;( ao som da Adriana Calcanhoto, &lt;em&gt;Fico assim sem você&lt;/em&gt;...)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-109277649004326187?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109277649004326187'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109277649004326187'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/08/o-tempo.html' title='O tempo...'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-109260771559119916</id><published>2004-08-15T22:54:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-08-15T23:08:35.590+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Chuva de Verão</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Sem sentido...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Procuro-me... nas gotas de chuva que ousam macular o para-brisas do carro. Pequenas pérolas preciosas que escorrem e se unem umas as outras, formando pequenos riachos, incognitos...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Mas que  escorrem sem sentido.....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Talvez assim como eu... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;E ao som do calor da chuva de verão continuo a pensar...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Talvez seja assim...ou talvez nao!&lt;/div&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/7906331-109260771559119916?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109260771559119916'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109260771559119916'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/08/chuva-de-vero.html' title='Chuva de Verão'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-109231706663585289</id><published>2004-08-12T14:04:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-08-13T11:52:58.530+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Suspiro</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;As férias já espreitam pela janela. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Hoje é o meu ultimo dia de trabalho e cumpro o tradicional ritual do arrumo da secretária. Fico sempre nostálgica quando me sinto na necessidade de encerrar um capitulo...Parece que existem sempre uma vontade de não virar a página....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Entre folhas de papéis, resgatei o último postal de viagem que me enviaram... Um vista sobre o Parque Guëll de Gaudi, Barcelona. Faz tanto tempo que não vou a "algum" lado, pensei. Colei-o na parede da frente. Sorri perante essa pequena janela aparecida. Recados espalhados,"post-its" fora de prazo, canetas que não escrevem, correspondência por catalogar...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Neste arrumar de papéis, há sempre um exame de consciência sobre o que se fez, como se fez e sobretudo o que ficou por pa fazer...Emergem sentimentos de culpa misturados e balanceados com a alegrias das pequenas vitórias. Emerge o que se aprendeu nesses meses de Vida, ao mesmo tempo que se tentar esquecer o que de melhor se perdeu dela...Neste encontro apenas a companhia do leve som dum rádio de pilhas... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;No verão os locais de trabalhos ficam praticamente despidos de Vida...Meia dúzia de mortais (como eu) encarregam-se de provar que o bulício há-de de voltar outra vez... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Suspiro... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Ainda nao fui e e já penso no regresso a Rotina...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Suspiro....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Em silêncio... porque há palavras &lt;em&gt;(in) perfeitas&lt;/em&gt; que não se dizem!!!!&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/7906331-109231706663585289?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109231706663585289'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109231706663585289'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/08/suspiro.html' title='Suspiro'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-109225912452260563</id><published>2004-08-11T22:13:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-08-11T22:18:44.523+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Chuva de estrelas</title><content type='html'>Esta noite há chuvas de estrelas!&lt;br /&gt;Pena o Céu estar tão encoberto, por um manto de nuvens que teimam em tornar &lt;em&gt;(In)&lt;/em&gt; o que poderia ser &lt;em&gt;perfeito...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vou me "pendurar" à varanda!&lt;br /&gt;Pode ser que eu agarre uma...&lt;br /&gt;Pode ser que seja agarrada por uma...&lt;br /&gt;Pode ser......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-109225912452260563?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109225912452260563'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109225912452260563'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/08/chuva-de-estrelas.html' title='Chuva de estrelas'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-109223144660420248</id><published>2004-08-11T14:34:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-08-11T22:25:14.893+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Ténue é a linha....</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Hoje tive um despertar especial.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Embora acordasse no meio duma manhã chuvosa, senti o despertar de uma forma particularmente radiosa. Senti que a contrastar com o negrume do céu, o meu sorriso parecia emergir tornando particularmente acolhedor estes pequenos instantes antes do levantar.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Gosto de acordar assim. Semi-envolvida ainda no sono, semi-desperta para a vida. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Gosto de sentir o calor dos lençóis ao mesmo tempo que um dos pés ja procura a frescura de estar fora deles. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Gosto de abraçar me a almofada como se fosse uma eterna despedida embalada apenas pela suave melodia do respirar. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Gosto de pensar nas coisas boas da vida, nas palavras belas, nos enledo dos olhares e sorrisos, nos momentos que foram únicos e por isso inesqueciveis, na serenidade do mar que tão bem personifica o meu eu… &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Entretanto… &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Num ímpeto, resolvo saltar deste cenário idilico. Caminhando descalça sobre o chão frio, tomo contacto com a fria realidade, é preciso sair. Enquanto preparo o café da manhã, abro os estores deixando que a luz se misture com o aroma do café feito. Encosto a testa à janela e penso: &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Como é ténue a linha que separa o &lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;perfeito&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt; do &lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;(in)perfeito&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;….&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-109223144660420248?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109223144660420248'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109223144660420248'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/08/tnue-linha.html' title='Ténue é a linha....'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-109213065372330397</id><published>2004-08-10T10:20:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-08-10T10:37:33.723+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Manhã (In)perfeita</title><content type='html'>Hoje parece que acordei numa manhã de fim de Setembro. Não que eu não goste do mês de Setembro (até gosto e muito) mas, sobretudo, pelo cinzento do céu que contagia de cinzento qualquer alma que nele se atreve a mexer. A caminho do trabalho deparo-me com uma melancolia que gradualmente se impõe e decide manipular o meu estado de espírito. Da janela do comboio vejo as gaivotas errantes, voando em rodopios sem nexo ou sentido, como que lutando contra uma má profecia ditada pela instabilidade do mar... E eu..? Eu encostada na janela do comboio medito sobre esta manhã imperfeita. Ainda me apeteceu desenhar uns rabiscos ao som do vapor que exalo...remanescências da minha meninice. Mas não posso...ou melhor não devo... Cheguei ao Destino, tenho de sair.&lt;br /&gt;E apresso-me a mergulhar nesta manhã revolta dum Agosto&lt;em&gt; in&lt;/em&gt; perfeito.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-109213065372330397?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109213065372330397'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109213065372330397'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/08/manh-inperfeita.html' title='Manhã (In)perfeita'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906331.post-109208072776177823</id><published>2004-08-09T20:44:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2004-08-09T20:45:54.876+01:00</updated><title type='text'>In perfeição</title><content type='html'>Porque nada no Mundo é perfeito...&lt;br /&gt;Porque a cada dia que passa lutamos por ser cada vez menos (In) perfeitos...&lt;br /&gt;Um dia perguntaram-me se eu tentava alcançar a perfeição...&lt;br /&gt;Respondi que não havia um dia,uma hora, um minuto ou segundo que eu não lutasse por isso!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;In&lt;/em&gt; perfeita!!!??&lt;br /&gt;Sei que sou....mas quem não luta por ser perfeito!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7906331-109208072776177823?l=inperfeicao.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109208072776177823'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7906331/posts/default/109208072776177823'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inperfeicao.blogspot.com/2004/08/in-perfeio_09.html' title='In perfeição'/><author><name>In perfeita</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11989318562269051736</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5394/510/1600/me.jpg'/></author></entry></feed>
