Impulsos- Jim Carrey

Un viejo monólogo de Jim Carrey acerca de los impulsos, muy bueno. Veanlo.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r6s3B6qcmCs

Balada para un Loco- Piazzolla y Goyeneche

Link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uzMisfTD3-k

Letra:

Las tardecitas de Buenos Aires tienen ese qué sé yo, ¿viste? Salís de tu casa, por Arenales. Lo de siempre: en la calle y en vos. . . Cuando, de repente, de atrás de un árbol, me aparezco yo. Mezcla rara de penúltimo linyera y de primer polizonte en el viaje a Venus: medio melón en la cabeza, las rayas de la camisa pintadas en la piel, dos medias suelas clavadas en los pies, y una banderita de taxi libre levantada en cada mano. ¡Te reís!... Pero sólo vos me ves: porque los maniquíes me guiñan; los semáforos me dan tres luces celestes, y las naranjas del frutero de la esquina me tiran azahares. ¡Vení!, que así, medio bailando y medio volando, me saco el melón para saludarte, te regalo una banderita, y te digo...

Ya sé que estoy piantao, piantao, piantao...

No ves que va la luna rodando por Callao;

que un corso de astronautas y niños, con un vals,

me baila alrededor... ¡Bailá! ¡Vení! ¡Volá!

Ya sé que estoy piantao, piantao, piantao...

Yo miro a Buenos Aires del nido de un gorrión;

y a vos te vi tan triste... ¡Vení! ¡Volá! ¡Sentí!...

el loco berretín que tengo para vos:

¡Loco! ¡Loco! ¡Loco!

Cuando anochezca en tu porteña soledad,

por la ribera de tu sábana vendré

con un poema y un trombón

a desvelarte el corazón.

¡Loco! ¡Loco! ¡Loco!

Como un acróbata demente saltaré,

sobre el abismo de tu escote hasta sentir

que enloquecí tu corazón de libertad...

¡Ya vas a ver!

Salgamos a volar, querida mía;

subite a mi ilusión super-sport,

y vamos a correr por las cornisas

¡con una golondrina en el motor!

De Vieytes nos aplauden: "¡Viva! ¡Viva!",

los locos que inventaron el Amor;

y un ángel y un soldado y una niña

nos dan un valsecito bailador.

Nos sale a saludar la gente linda...

Y loco, pero tuyo, ¡qué sé yo!:

provoco campanarios con la risa,

y al fin, te miro, y canto a media voz:

Quereme así, piantao, piantao, piantao...

Trepate a esta ternura de locos que hay en mí,

ponete esta peluca de alondras, ¡y volá!

¡Volá conmigo ya! ¡Vení, volá, vení!

Quereme así, piantao, piantao, piantao...

Abrite los amores que vamos a intentar

la mágica locura total de revivir...

¡Vení, volá, vení! ¡Trai-lai-la-larará!

¡Viva! ¡Viva! ¡Viva!

Loca ella y loco yo...

¡Locos! ¡Locos! ¡Locos!

¡Loca ella y loco yo

Waste Of Paint- Bright Eyes

Link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q77-ggkzWRI

I have a friend, he is mostly made of pain.

And he wakes up, drives to work,

and then straight back home again.

He once cut one of my nightmares out of paper.

I thought it was beautiful, I put it on a record cover.

And I tried to tell him he had a sense

of color and composition so magnificent.

And he said

"Thank you, please

but your flattery

is truly not

becoming me.

Your eyes are poor.

You're blind.

You see,

no beauty could have come from me.

I'm a waste

of breath,

of space,

of time."

I knew a woman, she was dignified and true.

And her love for her man was one of her many virtues.

Until one day, she found out that he had lied

and she decided the rest of her life from that point on would be a lie.

But she was grateful for everything that had happened.

And she was anxious for all that would come next.

But then she wept.

What did you expect?

In that big, old house

with the cars she kept.

"And such is life," she often said.

With one day leading

to the next,

you get a little closer to your death,

which was fine with her.

She never got upset

and with all the days she may have left,

she would never clean

another mess

or fold his shirts

or look her best.

She was free

to waste

away

alone.

Last night, my brother he got drunk and drove.

And this cop he pulled him off to the side of the road.

And he said, "Officer! Officer! You got the wrong man.

No, no, I'm a student of medicine, a son of a banker, you don't understand!"

The cop said, "No one got hurt, you should be thankful.

And your carelessness, it is something awful.

And no, I can't just let you go.

And though your father's name is known,

your decisions now are yours alone.

You are nothing but a stepping stone

on a path

to debt,

to loss,

to shame."

The last few months I have been living with this couple.

Yeah, you know, the kind who buy everything in doubles.

They fit together, like a puzzle.

And I love their love and I am thankful

that someone actually receives the prize that was promised

by all those fairy tales that drugged us.

And they still do me.

I'm sick, lonely,

no laurel tree,

just green envy.

Will my number come up eventually?

Like Love's some kind of lottery,

where you scratch and see

what's underneath.

It's "Sorry",

just one cherry,

or "Play Again."

Get lucky.

So I've been hanging out down by the train's depot.

No, I don't ride.

I just sit and watch the people there.

And they remind me of wind up cars in motion.

The way they spin and turn and jockey for positions.

And I want to scream out that it all is nonsense.

All your life's one track,

can't they see it's pointless?

But just then, my knees

give under me.

My head feels weak

and suddenly

it's clear to see

it's not them but me,

who has lost my self-identity.

As I hide behind

these books I read,

while scribbling

my poetry,

like art could save a wretch like me,

with some ideal ideology

that no one could hope to achieve.

And I am never real;

it is just a sketch in me.

And everything I made is trite

and cheap

and a waste

of paint,

of tape,

of time.

So now I park my car down by the cathedral,

where the floodlights point up at the steeples.

Choir practice was filling up with people.

I hear the sound escaping as an echo.

Sloping off the ceiling at an angle.

When the voices blend they sound like angels.

I hope there’s some room still in the middle.

But when I lift my voice up now to reach them.

The range is too high,

way up in heaven.

So I hold my tongue,

forget the song,

tie my shoe

start walking off.

And try to just keep moving on,

with my broken heart

and my absent God

and I have no faith

but it's all I want,

to be loved.

And believe,

in my soul...

Foto: Henri Cartier- Bresson, Nueva York 1947

"V de Vendetta"- Recomendación

Es una película del año 2005 basada en un cómic (V de Venganza). Toma como punto de partida la conspiración de la pólvora de 1605, en la cuál Guy Fawkes intentó de destruir el parlamento. Está situada en un futuro no muy lejano pero si ficticio, donde el protagonista, V (un hombre que lucha por la libertad disfrazado de Guy Fawkes), busca derrotar al gobierno fascista de Inglaterra. En el comienzo de la película, salva a la protagonista, Evey, de una situación de vida o muerte y la hace presenciar un ataque terrorista, convirtiéndola así en cómplice.



Les dejo el monólogo del principio para que lo vean y la transcripción de lo que dice. Disfruten, véanla.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WvmV5JILCeE

"Remember, remember, the Fifth of November, the Gunpowder Treason and Plot. I know of no reason why the Gunpowder Treason should ever be forgot.". But what of the man? I know his name was Guy Fawkes and I know, in 1605, he attempted to blow up the Houses of Parliament. But who was he really? What was he like? We are told to remember the idea, not the man, because a man can fail. He can be caught, he can be killed and forgotten, but 400 years later, an idea can still change the world. I’ve witnessed firsthand the power of ideas, I’ve seen people kill in the name of them, and die defending them… but you cannot kiss an idea, cannot touch it, or hold it… ideas do not bleed, they do not feel pain, they do not love… And it is not an idea that I miss, it is a man… A man that made me remember the Fifth of November. A man that I will never forget."