Nepenthe

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I guess I have always been deeply terrified at to really be someone’s wife since I know from life one cannot love another, ever, really  * Only parts of us will ever touch only parts of others – one’s own truth is just that really — one’s own truth. We can only share the part that is understood by within another’s knowing acceptable to the other — therefore so one is for most part alone . As it is meant to be in evidently in nature — at best though perhaps it could make our understanding seek another’s loneliness out. * Life – I am of both of your directions Life Somehow remaining hanging downward the most but strong as a cobweb in the wind — I exist more with the cold glistening frost. But my beaded rays have the colors I’ve seen in a painting s — ah life they have cheated you * Oh damn I wish that I were dead — absolutely nonexistent – gone away from here — from everywhere but how would I do it There is always bridges — the ...

  When first seen by botanist and explorer Joseph Dalton Hooker in 1859, he described them as "one of the most striking vegetable productions hither-to discovered," but it wasn't until 1862 that someone first notice just how unusual these plants really were. Nepenthes Rajah is the largest of the pitcher plants, and is also the largest carnivorous plant in the world, sometimes referred to as the King of the Pitcher Plants. It is essentially a trap filled with up to three and half liters of water and two and a half liters of digestive fluid. It is evolved to lure insects to it, and when the insects fall in, they are unable to escape and are digested by the plant. While insects, particularly ants, are by far the Giant Malaysian Pitcher Plant (aka the Rajah Brooke's Pitcher Plant, aka the King of Nepenthes, aka Nepenthes rajah) main staple, occasionally the large plants catch bigger prey. On a number of occasions rats have been found half-digested inside the pi...

1. About halfway through  A Clash of Kings , the second installment of George R.R. Martin’s epic fantasy series  A Song of Ice and Fire , a refugee princess—she is fourteen years old but already a widow, has silver hair and purple eyes, and happens to be part dragon—stands exhausted before the walls of a fabulous, vaguely Babylonian citadel called Qarth. The last surviving scion of the deposed ruling family of a faraway land called Westeros, she has led a ragtag band of followers through the desert in the hopes of finding shelter here—and, ultimately, of obtaining military and financial support for her plan to recapture the Westerosi throne. Her first glimpse of Qarth leaves her bemused: Three thick walls encircled Qarth, elaborately carved. The outer was red sandstone, thirty feet high and decorated with animals: snakes slithering, kites flying, fish swimming, intermingled with wolves of the red waste and striped zorses and monstrous elephants. The middle wall, f...

by Libba Bray I take it to the sofa and tear away the paper. It's a copy of Elizabeth Barrett Browning's Sonnets from the Portuguese . "Oh," I say, hoping I don't sound as disappointed as I feel. "A book." "It was your mother's. They were her favorites. She used to read them to me in the evenings." He breaks off, unable to continue. “Father?" He pulls me to him, holding me close. "I'm glad you're home, Gemma."

My friends keep moving to Oakland. Gone from San Francisco for greener pastures and cheaper rents, because it’s just gotten too hard, by which I really mean too expensive. Their move signals that something has gone terribly wrong in this most progressive of American cities. In some ways, we came by the problem innocently. San Francisco had the good fortune to be one of the very few 19th century industrial cities to successfully make the transition to a new, post-industrial economic base. It wasn’t just bohemians who set up shop here—all kinds of entrepreneurs and creative business people decided to call San Francisco home. As wave after wave of older industrial jobs moved out of town, new types of work were created to replace them. At the same time, San Francisco was a great place to live. Partly from historical inheritance and partly from the work of activists who chose to make the city the focus of their activism, the city remained a walkable, urban paradise compared to most o...

Il lui manquait de faire son Napoléon avec Al Pacino...  Dossier dedié au metteur en scène(s) sur Slate.fr

Santa uva que estais no Paraíso, purificada Sejais vós sem enxofre, Venha a nós o vosso Líquido, para ser bebido À nossa vontade Tanto em casa como na Taberna,três litros Por cada hora nos dai  Hoje, perdoai-nos As vezes em que bebemos menos, Assim como o mal que  Nos fazeis, não nos  Deixeis cair atordoados e  Livrai-nos Da Polícia e da GNR  a horas mortas… 

Why is writing about sex so difficult? GEOFF DYER:  Sex scenes are difficult to write partly because the choice of verbs and nouns is so limited. You can mint new verbs — one of Martin Amis’s characters speaks of having “Mailered” a woman — but this tends to take us into the realm of comedy, and sex, if it’s going well, is not comic. Even when it’s going badly, i.e., not going at all, it tends to be embarrassing rather than funny. Because having sex with someone for the first time is a leap into another reality — one moment you’re having drinks, the next you’re doing stuff you have dreamed of since you were 13 — it seems to demand a shift into a new register. Except, it seems, if you’re writing about gay male sex. In Alan Hollinghurst’s novels you get these day-to-day scenes, described in meticulous, almost classical prose, and then, without any change of gear, we are in a demotic tangle of body parts. Writing my first novel in the 1980s, at the height of the feminist terror...

Tradução minha para as Edições Saída de Emergência

com Cristina Belo, para a Casa das Letras

blog da autora tradução minha para as Edições ASA 

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