<?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-5216266668980506541</id><updated>2012-01-20T12:06:09.537-02:00</updated><title type='text'>emilio fraia</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>riq</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>141</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-7402791006856489019</id><published>2011-12-21T12:44:00.015-02:00</published><updated>2012-01-05T18:12:54.007-02:00</updated><title type='text'>não é simples, não é uma história</title><summary type='text'>.
Cinco perguntas para Péter Esterházy:

Você disse estar tentando escrever uma história simples e que na sua escrivaninha há um bilhete: “história simples, 100 páginas”. Quão simples é escrever uma história simples de cem páginas?

É complicado. Geralmente, o que escrevo: 1) não é simples; 2) não é uma história; 3) não tem cem páginas. Mas acho que todo escritor de prosa deseja contar uma </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/7402791006856489019'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/7402791006856489019'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2011/12/nao-e-simples-nao-e-uma-historia.html' title='não é simples, não é uma história'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-1409003184432963936</id><published>2011-11-27T21:37:00.024-02:00</published><updated>2011-11-27T23:18:14.817-02:00</updated><title type='text'>chora, homenzinho</title><summary type='text'>."Como tantas outras vezes, coube a Homero jogar a primeira pedra. Penso num verso muitas vezes repetido da Odisseia: "E contemplava em lágrimas o grande deserto do mar" (Odisseia V, 84). Ele se refere ao episódio no qual o herói é novamente retido numa ilha, prisioneiro de uma mulher tomada de amores (no caso, a ninfa Calipso). Traduzido literalmente, o verso diz: "Para o mar, o infecundo, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/1409003184432963936'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/1409003184432963936'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2011/11/chora-homenzinho.html' title='chora, homenzinho'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-2836799474097565638</id><published>2011-11-06T11:29:00.024-02:00</published><updated>2011-11-06T20:58:02.886-02:00</updated><title type='text'>lições do morto-vivo</title><summary type='text'>.Texto de orelha que escrevi para A página assombrada por fantasmas, livro de contos do Antonio Xerxenesky..Na primeira destas nove histórias, na cena inicial, um sujeito lê um livro. Ainda não sabemos, mas essa imagem, essa réplica em escala reduzida do leitor real, prefigura um tema: são as leituras, e sobretudo as maneiras de ler, que fazem avançar os contos de A página assombrada por </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/2836799474097565638'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/2836799474097565638'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2011/11/licoes-do-morto-vivo.html' title='lições do morto-vivo'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-5786910073581175051</id><published>2011-10-15T18:26:00.008-03:00</published><updated>2011-10-15T20:36:14.680-03:00</updated><title type='text'>sábado à noite</title><summary type='text'>.....Peter Hujar, The World Trade Center at Night, 1976; New York Downtown at Night, 1976; Candy Darling on Her Deathbed, 1974; New York, 1976..</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/5786910073581175051'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/5786910073581175051'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2011/10/sabado-noite.html' title='sábado à noite'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hmgcS-BEO7E/Tpn_lnlsb-I/AAAAAAAAAac/KsfwmmnAbwU/s72-c/peter_hujar2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-4686773818488774731</id><published>2011-09-27T17:47:00.027-03:00</published><updated>2011-09-28T11:40:01.947-03:00</updated><title type='text'>diga xis</title><summary type='text'>.Dois trechos de Reflexos e sombras, livro de memórias de Saul Steinberg:1"O ofício de cartunista é difícil, sobretudo porque é preciso ser editor de si mesmo: cortar, cortar, cortar. Uma pintura, uma colagem de desenhos a lápis, uma paisagem — tudo isso eu faço com prazer e facilidade. São delícias em comparação com a tortura de encontrar uma ideia e representá-la em seguida do modo menos </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/4686773818488774731'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/4686773818488774731'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2011/09/diga-xis.html' title='diga xis'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-8715022250144620097</id><published>2011-09-08T13:46:00.022-03:00</published><updated>2011-09-19T21:43:31.684-03:00</updated><title type='text'>história do cabelo</title><summary type='text'>.Passei o último mês cercado por 1) expressões do tipo: "selva de cabelo", "juba de eletrocutado", "molotov capilar"; 2) produtos como o: Regenerador de Cabelo com Baba de Caracol; 3) salões de nome majestoso, com destaque para: Stilo Stella, Coca Peinados, Voilà, Vivian de Lyon; 4) e toneladas de: tintura, escova, pente, gel, gomalina, rede, bobe, grampos, alisamento quente, xampu, loção, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/8715022250144620097'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/8715022250144620097'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2011/09/historia-do-cabelo.html' title='história do cabelo'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jQJQe-Z9pEU/Tmj5ln6YXVI/AAAAAAAAAY8/ke4feaOCWYc/s72-c/hist%25C3%25B3ria_do_cabelo.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-9080003289982988625</id><published>2011-09-01T13:12:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2011-09-01T13:14:34.005-03:00</updated><title type='text'>lembro apenas da mulher que encontrei por acaso</title><summary type='text'>."Once I pass’d through a populous city, imprinting my brain, for future use, with its shows, architecture, customs, and traditions;	Yet now, of all that city, I remember only a woman I casually met there, who detain’d me for love of me;	Day by day and night by night we were together,—All else has long been forgotten by me;	I remember, I say, only that woman who passionately clung to me;	</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/9080003289982988625'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/9080003289982988625'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2011/09/lembro-apenas-da-mulher-que-encontrei.html' title='lembro apenas da mulher que encontrei por acaso'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-9194613555363288455</id><published>2011-08-30T10:09:00.010-03:00</published><updated>2011-09-01T13:16:23.391-03:00</updated><title type='text'>como se alguém pudesse saber alguma coisa</title><summary type='text'>."When I read the book, the biography famous,And is this, then, (said I) what the author calls a man’s life?And so will some one, when I am dead and gone, write my life?(As if any man really knew aught of my life;Why, even I myself, I often think, know little or nothing of my real life;Only a few hints—a few diffused, faint clues and indirections,I seek, for my own use, to trace out here.)"</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/9194613555363288455'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/9194613555363288455'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2011/08/como-se-alguem-pudesse-saber-alguma.html' title='como se alguém pudesse saber alguma coisa'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-1263516149141851741</id><published>2011-08-21T13:54:00.007-03:00</published><updated>2011-08-21T18:30:24.293-03:00</updated><title type='text'>garotas de harvard</title><summary type='text'>."Enquanto troto vagarosamente ao longo do rio Charles, alunas de Harvard parecendo calouras passam por mim. A maioria dessas garotas é pequena, magra, usa um traje bordô com o símbolo de Harvard, cabelo loiro preso num rabo de cavalo e iPods novos em folha, e correm como o vento. Pode-se definitivamente sentir uma espécie de ar desafiador e agressivo emanando delas. [...] Todas parecem muito </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/1263516149141851741'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/1263516149141851741'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2011/08/garotas-de-harvard.html' title='garotas de harvard'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-3778672030838288655</id><published>2011-07-26T12:40:00.006-03:00</published><updated>2011-08-17T16:31:18.635-03:00</updated><title type='text'>dois vídeos com mulheres (e sonho)</title><summary type='text'>.Muta, Lucrecia Martel, 2011."She wants", Metronomy, 2011.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/3778672030838288655'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/3778672030838288655'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2011/07/dois-videos-com-mulheres.html' title='dois vídeos com mulheres (e sonho)'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-34099616660762379</id><published>2011-07-04T12:38:00.013-03:00</published><updated>2011-07-26T13:18:31.284-03:00</updated><title type='text'>suéter vermelho vivo, calça rasgada na coxa</title><summary type='text'>."[...] Eu próprio, até essa data, passara anos sem usar terno, apresentando-me até então sempre de calça e suéter; mesmo ao teatro, quando ia, ia apenas de calça e suéter, de preferência uma calça cinza de lã e um suéter vermelho vivo de lã de ovelha, tricotado com pontos grossos, que um americano bem-humorado me dera de presente logo depois da guerra. Nesses trajes, lembro-me bem, viajei </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/34099616660762379'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/34099616660762379'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2011/07/sueter-vermelho-vivo-calca-rasgada-na.html' title='suéter vermelho vivo, calça rasgada na coxa'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-6650291686335842948</id><published>2011-05-31T21:52:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2011-06-17T10:41:04.240-03:00</updated><title type='text'>uma despedida</title><summary type='text'>."Heinrich e Shilinski se foram. Um aperto de mão e um adeus. Partiram. É bem provável que eu nunca mais os veja. Como são breves as despedidas. Quer-se dizer alguma coisa, mas, bem na hora, se esquece o apropriado a dizer e não se diz nada, ou se diz alguma idiotice. Despedir-se é horroroso, para quem parte e para quem fica. Momentos assim sacodem a vida humana, e sentimos vividamente o nada que</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/6650291686335842948'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/6650291686335842948'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2011/05/uma-despedida.html' title='uma despedida'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-711862523292261537</id><published>2011-05-16T22:06:00.005-03:00</published><updated>2011-05-17T00:50:43.823-03:00</updated><title type='text'>niagara / mississippi</title><summary type='text'>..Alec Soth, Niagara, 2005 ("Falls 8" e "Heart")..Alec Soth, Sleeping by the Mississippi, 2002 ("Helena" e "New Orleans").</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/711862523292261537'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/711862523292261537'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2011/05/niagara-mississippi.html' title='niagara / mississippi'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-V3PZ0dXcDUY/TdHQ1EPzaGI/AAAAAAAAAYw/w6LllSHm8Bs/s72-c/alec1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-2392313961264867024</id><published>2011-04-03T18:46:00.012-03:00</published><updated>2011-08-01T12:14:30.085-03:00</updated><title type='text'>I don't like to look at myself</title><summary type='text'>."I don't like to look at myself."Why?"I've always been suspicious. I don't even look into my face. I shaved this morning, and I look at my cheeks so that I don't cut myself, but I don't even want to know the color of my eyes. I think psychology and self-reflection is one of the major catastrophes of the twentieth century. A major, major mistake. And it's only one of the mistakes of the twentieth</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/2392313961264867024'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/2392313961264867024'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2011/04/i-dont-like-to-look-at-myself.html' title='I don&apos;t like to look at myself'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-6257654923008035466</id><published>2011-03-28T15:26:00.008-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-30T16:39:12.778-03:00</updated><title type='text'>emilia e julio, julia e emilio</title><summary type='text'>.Traduzi um trecho do Bonsái, de Alejandro Zambra. E, traduzida pelo Paulo Werneck, uma das entradas dos diários do Ricardo Piglia.."A primeira mentira que Julio contou a Emilia foi que tinha lido Marcel Proust. Não costumava mentir sobre suas leituras, mas naquela segunda noite, quando os dois sabiam que alguma coisa estava começando entre eles, e que essa coisa, durasse o que durasse, ia ser </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/6257654923008035466'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/6257654923008035466'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2011/03/emilia-e-julio-julia-e-emilio.html' title='emilia e julio, julia e emilio'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-7735114692020034999</id><published>2011-03-22T08:59:00.009-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-26T15:37:58.234-03:00</updated><title type='text'>música para varrer a casa</title><summary type='text'>.Vaccines, "Lack of understanding".</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/7735114692020034999'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/7735114692020034999'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2011/03/musica-para-varrer-casa.html' title='música para varrer a casa'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://img.youtube.com/vi/8lKH-BaxmPU/default.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-5278567117131502505</id><published>2011-03-18T17:18:00.007-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-18T17:55:46.564-03:00</updated><title type='text'>sobre a água</title><summary type='text'>."O que na água Bloom, amante da água, tirador de água, portador da água, voltando ao fogão, admirava? Sua universalidade: sua uniformidade democrática e constância em sua natureza em procurar o próprio nível: sua vastidão no oceano da projeção de Mercator: sua imensurável profundidade na fossa de Sunda excedendo 8000 braças: a inquietação de suas ondas e partículas superficiais percorrendo em </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/5278567117131502505'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/5278567117131502505'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2011/03/sobre-agua.html' title='sobre a água'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-7948476045115063043</id><published>2011-02-18T17:36:00.040-02:00</published><updated>2011-09-16T14:02:06.085-03:00</updated><title type='text'>precursor velado</title><summary type='text'>.Primeira de cinco partes do documentário de Ricardo Piglia e Andrés Di Tella sobre Macedonio Fernández, autor do sensacional Museu do Romance da Eterna, que editei e acaba de sair pela casa editorial cossaca.Além do Museu apontar muitos caminhos que a ficção portenha tomaria no século vinte, Macedonio, ele mesmo, nossa, valha-me Deus. Começou a escrever o Museu (sua obra mais importante) em 1904</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/7948476045115063043'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/7948476045115063043'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2011/02/o-precursor-velado.html' title='precursor velado'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://img.youtube.com/vi/phQXmpZ321Q/default.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-4632005055417718771</id><published>2011-02-14T14:36:00.003-02:00</published><updated>2011-02-14T14:48:38.501-02:00</updated><title type='text'>e talvez por isso se conte tanto</title><summary type='text'>."Contar deforma, contar os fatos deforma os fatos e os tergiversa e quase os nega, tudo o que se conta passa a ser irreal e aproximado embora seja verídico, a verdade não depende de que as coisas tenham sido ou acontecido, mas de que permaneçam ocultas e sejam desconhecidas e não contadas, enquanto se relatam ou se manifestam ou se mostram, mesmo que seja no que parece mais real, na televisão ou</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/4632005055417718771'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/4632005055417718771'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2011/02/e-talvez-por-isso-se-conte-tanto.html' title='e talvez por isso se conte tanto'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-4097166293271667468</id><published>2011-01-25T15:27:00.006-02:00</published><updated>2011-02-03T15:45:21.508-02:00</updated><title type='text'>dia de sol</title><summary type='text'>.Francesca Woodman, Untitled 1975-80."The sun, from the human point of view (in other words, as it is confused with the notion of noon) is the most elevated conception. It is also the most abstract object, since it is impossible to look at it fixedly at that time of day. If we describe the notion of the sun in the mind of one whose weak eyes compel him to emasculate it, that sun must be said to </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/4097166293271667468'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/4097166293271667468'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2011/01/dia-de-sol.html' title='dia de sol'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_57Zhap0vVp4/TT8Mct5RIgI/AAAAAAAAAYM/jlpft3s3wVo/s72-c/francesca.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-4943470875391037720</id><published>2010-11-29T11:29:00.008-02:00</published><updated>2010-11-29T17:03:33.800-02:00</updated><title type='text'>perder a cabeça</title><summary type='text'>."Fiz em 1914 meu primeiro busto de observação. Era meu irmão que posava. Meu pai era pintor. Eu tinha visto a reprodução de pequenos bustos sobre uma base e imediatamente tive vontade de fazer igual. Meu pai me comprou plastilina, e comecei. De início, senti um prazer extremo e tive a impressão de que a coisa viria bem facilmente, de que eu conseguiria fazer mais ou menos o que via -- ainda </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/4943470875391037720'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/4943470875391037720'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2010/11/perder-cabeca.html' title='perder a cabeça'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-1683747361419434650</id><published>2010-11-23T13:34:00.008-02:00</published><updated>2010-11-23T13:55:29.430-02:00</updated><title type='text'>para o alto</title><summary type='text'>.. ..Alex Prager, The big valley (2008) e Weekend (2010) .</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/1683747361419434650'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/1683747361419434650'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2010/11/para-o-alto.html' title='para o alto'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_57Zhap0vVp4/TOviBovA5vI/AAAAAAAAAYA/1IFh-CaWatU/s72-c/alexprager2.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-712273650173457024</id><published>2010-10-28T11:42:00.010-02:00</published><updated>2011-09-08T14:27:28.152-03:00</updated><title type='text'>ela me odeia, ultimamente</title><summary type='text'>.Quatro mulheres do Uma mulher, livro do Péter Esterházy que editei no mês passado (tradução do Paulo Schiller). Mais, aqui.."Há uma mulher. Eu a amo. Ela é do tamanho de um armário. De um prédio. De uma montanha. De um búfalo. Se me desse um tapa eu voaria pela janela, mas por que ela faria isso? Decide coisas o tempo todo, telefona, providencia, manda faxes, funda empresas, ou coisa parecida, e</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/712273650173457024'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/712273650173457024'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2010/10/ela-me-odeia-ultimamente.html' title='ela me odeia, ultimamente'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-8546296086571404494</id><published>2010-10-07T11:23:00.018-03:00</published><updated>2011-07-04T12:42:56.456-03:00</updated><title type='text'>hipopótamo, rei da selva</title><summary type='text'>.Mario Vargas Llosa acaba de ganhar o prêmio Nobel. Muito justo. Pode ter escrito alguns livros discutíveis nos últimos anos, mas Os filhotes, A cidade e os cachorros e Tia Julia e o escrevinhador merecem demais. No mês passado, em Madri, fui entrevistá-lo. Llosa mora no terceiro andar de um prédio no centro da cidade. Está com 74 anos. Acorda cedo, caminha todos os dias, faz musculação e </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/8546296086571404494'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/8546296086571404494'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2010/10/hipopotamo-rei-da-selva.html' title='hipopótamo, rei da selva'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_57Zhap0vVp4/TK3ZjTFv8XI/AAAAAAAAAXA/D6HJo7jy8NM/s72-c/llosa.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-315336772094410083</id><published>2010-10-05T11:43:00.013-03:00</published><updated>2010-10-06T11:15:26.103-03:00</updated><title type='text'>não perdoar, não pedir perdão</title><summary type='text'>.Volta de Jeff Bridges a filme dos irmãos Coen, remake de Bravura indômita (True grit). Acabou tudo..Trailer do filme original, de 1969. Pior trailer..</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/315336772094410083'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/315336772094410083'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2010/10/nao-perdoar-nao-pedir-perdao.html' title='não perdoar, não pedir perdão'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-4776498100204645363</id><published>2010-10-03T13:48:00.018-03:00</published><updated>2011-02-14T17:32:27.000-02:00</updated><title type='text'>em caso de perda, devolver para</title><summary type='text'>.Texto para a seção "Pequenos absurdos", do Outlook do fim de semana..Na volta para o quarto, uma pensãozinha vagabunda recomendada pelo Lonely Planet (“a truly lovely hideaway”), a Simone falou sobre o lugar onde havia tomado o chá de hortelã. Nos três dias que passaram na cidade, acabavam sempre naquele lugar. Era um barzinho no pé da montanha. Não tinha nada de especial, pelo contrário: dentro</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/4776498100204645363'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/4776498100204645363'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2010/10/em-caso-de-perda-devolver-para.html' title='em caso de perda, devolver para'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-5256431286208117409</id><published>2010-08-11T12:27:00.009-03:00</published><updated>2010-08-12T22:07:31.057-03:00</updated><title type='text'>meu programa de tevê favorito</title><summary type='text'>.Cooking with dog, narrado pelo cão, Francis....</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/5256431286208117409'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/5256431286208117409'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2010/08/meu-programa-de-teve-favorito.html' title='meu programa de tevê favorito'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-8841664114779494276</id><published>2010-07-23T16:31:00.008-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-19T10:56:23.495-03:00</updated><title type='text'>vida secreta</title><summary type='text'>.Texto para o Outlook do fim de semana. (E destaque, na mesma edição, para a elucidativa peça de André Conti sobre o Xis-Coração)..Todos nós, em maior ou menor grau, experimentamos (e alimentamos) aquilo que pode ser chamado de “a vida secreta”. O termo se refere aqui a coisas ínfimas que perderiam a graça e/ou soariam ridículas e sem sentido se fossem contadas (porque as palavras as diminuem).</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/8841664114779494276'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/8841664114779494276'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2010/07/vida-secreta.html' title='vida secreta'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-3251123325110983731</id><published>2010-07-14T18:03:00.006-03:00</published><updated>2012-01-07T18:22:11.312-02:00</updated><title type='text'>buscar o estilo</title><summary type='text'>.
"Lembro-me da forte impressão que o estilo de Damon Runyon, tão singular, produzia em mim quando eu era jovem. Era um estilo que saltava aos olhos e dizia: “Olhe bem para mim! Isto aqui é um estilo!” E Hemingway também tinha um estilo. São dois notáveis estilistas. Mas aí fui ler Graham Greene e não encontrei estilo nenhum. E me perguntei por que ele não tinha estilo. Eu gostava imensamente dos</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/3251123325110983731'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/3251123325110983731'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2010/07/buscar-o-estilo.html' title='buscar o estilo'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-4610520916331393863</id><published>2010-06-27T21:26:00.020-03:00</published><updated>2011-01-28T16:56:41.806-02:00</updated><title type='text'>a fila de wimbledon</title><summary type='text'>.Texto para o Outlook desta semana. Sobre antes do jogo..Para os britânicos, o tênis é um esporte empolgante, imprevisível e maravilhoso, principalmente quando se está do lado de fora do estádio, acampado, numa fila de vinte quilômetros. É por isso que o torneio de Wimbledon, cuja edição 2010 começou há alguns dias em Londres, é responsável pelo maior orgulho do país: a fila de Wimbledon.Trata-se</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/4610520916331393863'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/4610520916331393863'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2010/06/fila-de-wimbledon.html' title='a fila de wimbledon'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_57Zhap0vVp4/TCoNJGoLbTI/AAAAAAAAAWg/16_-380fo3o/s72-c/fila_brutal.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-379257527991257892</id><published>2010-06-08T01:15:00.010-03:00</published><updated>2010-10-03T18:41:15.874-03:00</updated><title type='text'>história do azul</title><summary type='text'>. Com o mestre DW, trabalhando na graphic novel (ainda sem título, mas azul) que deve ser publicada no próximo ano, pela Cia das Letras. . </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/379257527991257892'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/379257527991257892'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2010/06/historia-do-azul_08.html' title='história do azul'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_57Zhap0vVp4/TA3FERYZu1I/AAAAAAAAAWY/RsdalcejURI/s72-c/dw_emi3.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-2636749940799363773</id><published>2010-05-31T14:55:00.010-03:00</published><updated>2010-07-04T18:01:38.068-03:00</updated><title type='text'>ameixas, ame-as ou deixe-as</title><summary type='text'>.Texto para o Outlook do fim de semana. Sobre coisas deixadas por aí..Na última terça-feira, duas novas estações foram inauguradas no metrô de São Paulo, Faria Lima e Paulista. Mas elas ainda não existem. Para que uma estação de metrô – rodoviária ou aeroporto – passe a existir de fato, é necessário que alguém, em algum momento, perca um objeto. Guarda-chuva esquecido no banco, título de eleitor </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/2636749940799363773'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/2636749940799363773'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2010/05/ameixas-ame-as-ou-deixe-as.html' title='ameixas, ame-as ou deixe-as'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-8560588601513625327</id><published>2010-05-28T00:14:00.007-03:00</published><updated>2010-05-28T01:07:18.555-03:00</updated><title type='text'>assistência técnica marcel mauss</title><summary type='text'>.Marcel Mauss, em Sociologia e antropologia:"Técnicas do tossir e do cuspir. Uma garotinha não sabia cuspir, o que agravava seus resfriados. Fui informado de que na aldeia de seu pai e particularmente na família de seu pai, no Berry [província da França], ninguém sabia cuspir. Ensinei-lhe a fazer isso. Dava-lhe uma moeda por cuspida. Como ela queria muito ter uma bicicleta, aprendeu a cuspir. Foi</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/8560588601513625327'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/8560588601513625327'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2010/05/assistencia-tecnica-marcel-mauss.html' title='assistência técnica marcel mauss'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-7079130118207957558</id><published>2010-05-15T18:27:00.005-03:00</published><updated>2010-05-21T12:09:51.479-03:00</updated><title type='text'>casa nova</title><summary type='text'>.Girls, "Lust for life" (e no Don't look down, da Pitchfork. Oi, anos 90).</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/7079130118207957558'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/7079130118207957558'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2010/05/casa-nova.html' title='casa nova'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-2567307515620482104</id><published>2010-05-08T17:50:00.010-03:00</published><updated>2010-05-16T19:00:36.156-03:00</updated><title type='text'>nem parece banca</title><summary type='text'>.Texto do mês para o Outlook, do Fred Melo Paiva. Sobre figurinha..Desde a última semana, quando o roubo de figurinhas da Copa (135 mil pacotes; 675 mil cromos) substituiu o assalto a banco, o dinheiro como conhecemos perdeu a graça. O beija-flor, a onça-pintada e o mico-leão-dourado (notas de cem, cinquenta e vinte reais, respectivamente) deram lugar a expressões faciais como a do norte-coreano </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/2567307515620482104'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/2567307515620482104'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2010/05/que-e-roubar-uma-banca-comparado-com.html' title='nem parece banca'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-446952038940657354</id><published>2010-04-30T13:44:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2010-05-02T18:55:55.631-03:00</updated><title type='text'>feliz, todavia</title><summary type='text'>.It's August and I have notRead a book in six monthsexcept something called The Retreat from Moscowby CaulaincourtNevertheless, I am happyRiding in a car with my brotherand drinking from a pint of Old Crow.We do not have any place in mind to go,we are just driving.If I closed my eyes for a minuteI would be lost, yetI could gladly lie down and sleep foreverbeside this roadMy brother nudges me.Any </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/446952038940657354'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/446952038940657354'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2010/04/feliz-todavia.html' title='feliz, todavia'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-6869019986684189769</id><published>2010-04-18T20:59:00.008-03:00</published><updated>2011-01-25T16:30:54.962-02:00</updated><title type='text'>repara na barba</title><summary type='text'>.Carta do Flaubert a Louise Colet, agosto de 1846:"O que me impede de me levar a sério, embora eu tenha o espírito bastante grave, é que eu me acho muito ridículo, não deste ridículo relativo que é o cômico teatral, mas deste ridículo intrínseco à própria vida humana, e que brota da ação mais simples ou do gesto mais ordinário. Jamais, por exemplo, faço a barba sem rir, tanto que isso me parece </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/6869019986684189769'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/6869019986684189769'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2010/04/jamais-faco-barba-sem-rir.html' title='repara na barba'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-6496062117458089032</id><published>2010-04-05T09:45:00.004-03:00</published><updated>2010-04-27T22:24:25.339-03:00</updated><title type='text'>o mundo está cheio de objetos</title><summary type='text'>.Texto para o Outlook do Brasil Econômico desta semana..“O mundo está cheio de objetos, mais ou menos interessantes”, disse Douglas Huebler. Alguns somem, outros aparecem. Em São Paulo, os hidrantes voltaram para o seu planeta. Os telefones públicos e relógios de rua também começam a tomar o caminho de volta.Há cerca de dois meses, os 313 relógios de rua da cidade pararam de funcionar – antigos </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/6496062117458089032'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/6496062117458089032'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2010/04/o-mundo-esta-cheio-de-objetos.html' title='o mundo está cheio de objetos'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-889310267200455728</id><published>2010-03-26T13:01:00.016-03:00</published><updated>2010-03-26T18:31:17.113-03:00</updated><title type='text'>guia são paulo fim de semana</title><summary type='text'>.Fabrício passeia com Eva Green. Piva ciceroneia Fernando Pessoa.."(...) no fim do dia ver com Eva Green o sol se pôr na praça do Pôr do Sol/ se Eva Green for maconheira é melhor ter um baseado no bolso/ falar de Rimbaud com Eva Green/ mas Eva Green tem cara de quem prefere Baudelaire/ traduzir Bandeira para Eva Green/ Tom Jobim para Eva Green/ Bocage para Eva Green/ em hipótese alguma ler os </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/889310267200455728'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/889310267200455728'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2010/03/guia-sao-paulo-fim-de-semana.html' title='guia são paulo fim de semana'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-4234693050114231665</id><published>2010-03-10T15:12:00.016-03:00</published><updated>2011-02-03T15:36:10.423-02:00</updated><title type='text'>reeducação alimentar não é andar com brócolis embaixo do braço</title><summary type='text'>.Texto para o caderno Outlook do Brasil Econômico desta semana. Sobre tevê a cabo. A coluna é semanal (já escrevi relatos sobre sunga e carnaval), e divido o nobre espaço com os escriturários Chico Mattoso, Vanessa Barbara e André Sant'anna..Para alguns, como o assessor especial do presidente Lula, Marco Aurélio Garcia, a tevê a cabo é um “veículo propagador do capitalismo” (a chamada “encarnação</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/4234693050114231665'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/4234693050114231665'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2010/03/reeducacao-alimentar-nao-e-andar-com.html' title='reeducação alimentar não é andar com brócolis embaixo do braço'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-4073988664957009898</id><published>2010-03-08T20:48:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2010-03-08T20:53:19.527-03:00</updated><title type='text'>so much depends upon a red wheel barrow</title><summary type='text'>..Walker Evans, fotos em Birmingham e no Alabama, 1936.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/4073988664957009898'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/4073988664957009898'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2010/03/so-much-depends-upon-red-wheel-barrow.html' title='so much depends upon a red wheel barrow'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_57Zhap0vVp4/S5WNpZ4QQOI/AAAAAAAAAVM/c_ZdfOtCi3A/s72-c/evans3.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-6999084541198977305</id><published>2010-03-05T10:29:00.004-03:00</published><updated>2010-03-05T11:53:50.536-03:00</updated><title type='text'>o que falta aos peixes</title><summary type='text'>."Falta aos peixes qualquer meio de comunicação conosco; assim, não conseguem despertar a nossa compaixão. Abocanham a isca mesmo quando estão são e salvos na água! Além disso, a morte não lhes altera o aspecto. Sua dor, se existe, permanece perfeitamente escondida sob as escamas." Italo Svevo, no meu episódio preferido d'A consciência de Zeno (1923), o da pesca. Em tempo: não demora e o Zeno aí </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/6999084541198977305'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/6999084541198977305'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2010/03/o-que-falta-aos-peixes.html' title='o que falta aos peixes'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-1903319761548756403</id><published>2010-03-02T16:36:00.012-03:00</published><updated>2010-03-03T15:11:04.852-03:00</updated><title type='text'>happy days</title><summary type='text'>.Galeria de escritores arruinados pelo crack e suicidas, na revista Life. Abaixo, Faulkner bem verão e Jean Cocteau em chamas. Imagem de Stephen King, no entanto, deve ser evitada. Sério, não abram..</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/1903319761548756403'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/1903319761548756403'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2010/03/happy-days_02.html' title='happy days'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_57Zhap0vVp4/S41o3E_WjBI/AAAAAAAAAU8/e8qEcziXMO0/s72-c/blog_faulkner.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-461008955225895457</id><published>2010-02-19T16:34:00.003-02:00</published><updated>2010-02-19T16:44:22.176-02:00</updated><title type='text'>não pode faltar nas férias</title><summary type='text'>."Must-Haves" for the Holiday Season1. Food2. Air3. Water(Aubrey Cloutier, numa das listas da McSweeney's).</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/461008955225895457'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/461008955225895457'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2010/02/nao-pode-faltar-nas-ferias.html' title='não pode faltar nas férias'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-840657294460797636</id><published>2010-01-31T23:43:00.003-02:00</published><updated>2010-02-01T00:22:27.060-02:00</updated><title type='text'>rrraaahh!</title><summary type='text'>.Garry Winogrand. El Morocco, 1955.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/840657294460797636'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/840657294460797636'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2010/02/rrraaahh.html' title='rrraaahh!'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_57Zhap0vVp4/S2Yy0kOw9PI/AAAAAAAAAUM/8H29-FvaJ94/s72-c/morocco.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-685639937788534950</id><published>2010-01-12T19:49:00.017-02:00</published><updated>2012-01-07T18:30:44.830-02:00</updated><title type='text'>muito verão</title><summary type='text'>.
Conto de verão (1996) é meu filme preferido do Eric Rohmer. Grande história sobre o imponderável, o acaso e a escolha. (Cortázar, no Jogo da amarelinha: "indicando-lhe que talvez houvesse outros caminhos e que aquele que escolheu não era o único e não era o melhor, ou que talvez houvesse outros caminhos e que aquele que escolheu era o melhor, mas que talvez houvesse outros caminhos suaves de </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/685639937788534950'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/685639937788534950'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2010/01/maior-verao.html' title='muito verão'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-1402379273537363426</id><published>2010-01-10T18:02:00.006-02:00</published><updated>2010-01-10T20:07:41.785-02:00</updated><title type='text'>suco de tomate, por favor</title><summary type='text'>."Esse seu bigode, Fitzsimmons", disse Martin, "é fora do comum. Aventureiro e cheio de pompa.""É mesmo?""Extraordinariamente vulgar. Esplêndido também, claro, e elegante, de um modo muito irlandês e sardônico. Na hora do suco de tomate deve ser uma coisa de tirar o fôlego."(Do livro que acabei de editar, O grande jogo de Billy Phelan (1978), de Mr. William Kennedy, na nobre tradução de Sergio </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/1402379273537363426'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/1402379273537363426'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2010/01/suco-de-tomate-por-favor.html' title='suco de tomate, por favor'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-886319470208609335</id><published>2009-12-23T14:48:00.021-02:00</published><updated>2011-06-27T18:34:04.821-03:00</updated><title type='text'>conto de natal</title><summary type='text'>.RadiografiaMesmo que ninguém pergunte, e Domenico acenou da única janela acesa, a mais alta de um prédio de seis andares no bairro dos arcos. Não demorou: seu pai, que esperava no pátio, ouviu um eco (primeiro longe, sem forma), são os degraus, é um par de tênis e há os intervalos entre os lances de escada. O barulho das chaves. O portão rangeu e Domenico surgiu, a mala na mão.Domenico passou as</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/886319470208609335'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/886319470208609335'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/12/conto-de-natal.html' title='conto de natal'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-2793687228747626197</id><published>2009-12-09T12:14:00.002-02:00</published><updated>2009-12-09T13:12:41.813-02:00</updated><title type='text'>going under</title><summary type='text'>.Texto que escrevi em 2007 sobre o Zezão, na Huck Magazine. Na mesma redação, funciona ótima revista de cinema, Little white lies..</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/2793687228747626197'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/2793687228747626197'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/12/going-under.html' title='going under'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_57Zhap0vVp4/Sx--S7i9xRI/AAAAAAAAAUA/8EBXGvpD1io/s72-c/zezao4.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-8644113557786146499</id><published>2009-12-07T16:56:00.010-02:00</published><updated>2009-12-07T17:39:40.967-02:00</updated><title type='text'>para falar às pessoas nos dias de sol</title><summary type='text'>."Cremos que nuvens são injustamente amaldiçoadas e que a vida seria incomensuravelmente mais pobre sem elas. Para nós, elas são os poemas da Natureza, a mais igualitária de suas criações... Nos comprometemos a combater a 'mentalidade do céu azul' onde quer que ela exista. A vida seria tediosa se, dia após dia, tivéssemos de olhar para uma monotonia sem nuvens." (Da venerável Carta de princípios </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/8644113557786146499'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/8644113557786146499'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/12/para-falar-as-pessoas-nos-dias-de-sol.html' title='para falar às pessoas nos dias de sol'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-3922216262505060329</id><published>2009-11-23T09:31:00.003-02:00</published><updated>2009-11-23T09:35:04.188-02:00</updated><title type='text'>pretty, isn't it?</title><summary type='text'>."Yes, killed him. I killed him for money and for a woman. I didn't get the money and I didn't get the woman. Pretty, isn't it?"(Double Indemnity [Pacto de sangue]; Billy Wilder).</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/3922216262505060329'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/3922216262505060329'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/11/pretty-isnt-it.html' title='pretty, isn&apos;t it?'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-1891710588723340780</id><published>2009-11-19T10:28:00.023-02:00</published><updated>2010-10-03T18:45:13.964-03:00</updated><title type='text'>corvo reloaded</title><summary type='text'>.Trecho de "Poe: o poeta, o narrador e o crítico" (1956), do Cortázar."A poesia é uma urgência, cuja satisfação é alcançada, cumprindo-se certas formalidades, adotando-se certos procedimentos. Mas a noção de 'poema a frio', que parecia nascer do texto da Filosofia da composição [Poe, 1846], se vê sensivelmente diminuída. À luz desta admissão de um ímpeto poético que tem toda a violência daquele </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/1891710588723340780'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/1891710588723340780'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/11/corvo-reconsiderado.html' title='corvo reloaded'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_57Zhap0vVp4/SwVVPHSkqbI/AAAAAAAAAT4/17GdDSpypMw/s72-c/corvo.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-5310721623800043609</id><published>2009-11-11T21:50:00.016-02:00</published><updated>2010-10-03T19:58:47.813-03:00</updated><title type='text'>xampu no olho</title><summary type='text'>.Historinha para a revista Gloss deste mês..No dia em que a Manu e eu nos casamos, o Rio de Janeiro parecia o Vietnã. Ou pelo menos a minha ideia de Vietnã, mistura de verbete da Mirador e Bom dia, Vietnã.A chuva tinha parado, as bicicletas começavam a sair, o asfalto era a pele de uma rã (esfolada viva, porque isso é o Vietnã) e as árvores tinham um verde fluorescente, de arrozal. Eu nunca </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/5310721623800043609'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/5310721623800043609'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/11/xampu-no-olho.html' title='xampu no olho'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-3426025729651011106</id><published>2009-11-02T12:22:00.006-02:00</published><updated>2009-11-02T12:44:53.361-02:00</updated><title type='text'>fez sol no feriado</title><summary type='text'>...Jindřich Štreit, 1978–1990 The Village (Village is a World). . </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/3426025729651011106'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/3426025729651011106'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/11/meu-feriado.html' title='fez sol no feriado'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_57Zhap0vVp4/Su7uWg4rmBI/AAAAAAAAATA/AthkcsKPHGI/s72-c/streit1.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-8021083596943095218</id><published>2009-10-27T18:19:00.009-02:00</published><updated>2011-11-06T17:18:29.033-02:00</updated><title type='text'>toco de madeira que fala</title><summary type='text'>.Texto de orelha para um livro do Faulkner, A Árvore dos Desejos..Quando William Faulkner (1897-1962) escreveu A Árvore dos Desejos, em 1927, a imensa árvore-Faulkner ainda não existia na literatura. O condado de Yoknapatawpha, cenário fictício de seus principais livros, era só uma semente; O som e a fúria não havia sequer sido plantado; e estava longe de aflorar a grande enchente daquele que é </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/8021083596943095218'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/8021083596943095218'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/10/toco-de-madeira-que-fala.html' title='toco de madeira que fala'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-7293187549942608925</id><published>2009-10-25T12:33:00.020-02:00</published><updated>2010-10-03T20:04:18.576-03:00</updated><title type='text'>não fica me excitando que eu tô de sunga</title><summary type='text'>.Texto para o Brasil Econômico de sábado (p. 56). Sobre sunga..Embora a Declaração Universal dos Direitos Humanos da ONU nada diga acerca da sunga, é indiscutível no mundo de hoje o direito de cobrir as partes pudendas com o referido item do vestuário masculino (apud deputado Fernando Gabeira, sunga lilás de crochê, Ipanema, 1980).Na última semana, o senador Eduardo Suplicy desfilou pelos </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/7293187549942608925'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/7293187549942608925'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/10/nao-fica-me-excitando-que-eu-to-de.html' title='não fica me excitando que eu tô de sunga'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-1922276427115511766</id><published>2009-10-14T11:34:00.005-03:00</published><updated>2012-01-07T18:35:08.413-02:00</updated><title type='text'>fotos pós-chernobyl</title><summary type='text'>.
Martin Amis fala, em entrevista ao Michel:

“Não procuro por histórias tanto quanto por níveis de percepção. O que quero saber é a maneira como os escritores interpretam o mundo, em que nível isso se dá, mais do que a respeito de sagas familiares ou narrativas tradicionais. Não tem a ver com contar histórias ou não, e sim com como se escreve.”

“O grande pós-modernismo europeu está acabado como</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/1922276427115511766'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/1922276427115511766'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/10/fotos-pos-chernobyl.html' title='fotos pós-chernobyl'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-5180879272893508237</id><published>2009-10-09T12:34:00.006-03:00</published><updated>2009-10-09T20:38:26.080-03:00</updated><title type='text'>minha casa engordava</title><summary type='text'>.Esta é a história de como se vive na barriga de uma baleia.Esta é a continuação da história de como se vive na barriga da baleia:"E achando-me em dias tão difíceis decidi alimentara baleia que então me dava guarida:tive jornadas que excediam em muito as doze horase meus sonhos foram ofícios rigorosos, meu cansaçoengordava como o ventre da baleia:que trabalheira caçar os animais mais robustos,</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/5180879272893508237'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/5180879272893508237'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/10/minha-casa-engordava.html' title='minha casa engordava'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-1677081892275892197</id><published>2009-09-28T15:09:00.016-03:00</published><updated>2011-01-28T17:08:11.534-02:00</updated><title type='text'>it's difficult to love a woman whose vagina is a gateway to the world of the dead</title><summary type='text'>. A Abebooks inaugurou um departamento de livros bizarros. Títulos como The lost art of towel origami, Old Tractors and the Men Who Love Them: How to Keep Your Tractors Happy and Your Family Running e The haunted vagina (cuja descrição é: "it's difficult to love a woman whose vagina is a gateway to the world of the dead") estão entre as ofertas, além de obras sobre besouros e taxidermia para </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/1677081892275892197'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/1677081892275892197'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/09/its-difficult-to-love-woman-whose.html' title='it&apos;s difficult to love a woman whose vagina is a gateway to the world of the dead'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_57Zhap0vVp4/SsEGwZh2ylI/AAAAAAAAAS4/0Co-gc2K-Xo/s72-c/weird1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-2461796264738603214</id><published>2009-09-14T10:29:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2009-09-14T10:33:25.938-03:00</updated><title type='text'>bigode feelings</title><summary type='text'>.Peter Sarstedt, Where Do You Go To My Lovely, 1969.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/2461796264738603214'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/2461796264738603214'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/09/bigode-feelings.html' title='bigode feelings'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-5851014619048425554</id><published>2009-09-12T14:01:00.013-03:00</published><updated>2010-08-14T18:51:40.350-03:00</updated><title type='text'>yes, nós temos stimmung</title><summary type='text'>.Dando sequência às comemorações do Ano do Chibo no Brasil (que já teve entrevistas e trilha sonora), transcrevi alguns textos que o Eduardo Sterzi, o Manuel da Costa Pinto e o Julio Pimentel escreveram sobre o livro siamês. Aliás, em breve, o Verão entra em campo, nas oitavas-de-final da Copa de Literatura 2009. É chute na canela e areia no olho!."No filme Jeux interdits (no Brasil, Brinquedo </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/5851014619048425554'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/5851014619048425554'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/09/yes-nos-temos-stimmung.html' title='yes, nós temos stimmung'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-7153033975789373805</id><published>2009-08-18T16:17:00.004-03:00</published><updated>2009-08-18T16:30:59.594-03:00</updated><title type='text'>chega, de pé!</title><summary type='text'>."Vladimir: E o senhor, o senhor é Pozzo?Pozzo: Certamente, sou Pozzo.Vladimir: Os mesmos de ontem?Pozzo: De ontem?Vladimir: Nós nos vimos ontem. (Silêncio) O senhor não se lembra?Pozzo: Não me lembro de ter encontrado ninguém ontem. Mas amanhã não vou me lembrar de ter encontrado ninguém hoje. Não conte comigo para esclarecer nada. E além disso, chega. De pé!"Esperando Godot, Beckett, 1949.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/7153033975789373805'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/7153033975789373805'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/08/chega-de-pe.html' title='chega, de pé!'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-8134736827885128830</id><published>2009-08-14T19:31:00.007-03:00</published><updated>2011-01-25T16:26:08.725-02:00</updated><title type='text'>cabelo, o magnífico</title><summary type='text'>.Dakota hair, Ryan McGinley, 2004.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/8134736827885128830'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/8134736827885128830'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/08/vento-em-mala-fatra.html' title='cabelo, o magnífico'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_57Zhap0vVp4/SoXl937Wu2I/AAAAAAAAASw/ZBc-JKvq_pM/s72-c/mcginley_dakota_hair_2004.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-7345932849535404720</id><published>2009-08-06T22:27:00.008-03:00</published><updated>2009-08-06T22:58:46.443-03:00</updated><title type='text'>planos de fuga</title><summary type='text'>."Há várias coisas que as pessoas das pesquisas de opinião nunca se preocupam em perguntar. (...) Por exemplo, quantos adultos não têm um seriado de aventuras passando dentro de suas mentes? Quantos não sonham acordados, conscientemente, com uma história em que deixam de ser um funcionário da IBM para se transformar em um belo semideus, que frequenta palácios esplêndidos, salva donzelas de </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/7345932849535404720'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/7345932849535404720'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/08/planos-de-fuga.html' title='planos de fuga'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-634683242769564990</id><published>2009-07-21T15:16:00.006-03:00</published><updated>2009-07-22T00:08:16.562-03:00</updated><title type='text'>dia de festa</title><summary type='text'>.Jour de fête, Jacques Tati, 1949."Os famosos Comícios chegaram realmente! Já na manhã da solenidade todos os habitantes, em suas portas, entretinham-se com os preparativos; haviam enguirlandado com hera o frontão da prefeitura; no prado fora levantada uma tenda para o festim e, no meio da praça, diante da igreja, uma espécie de bombarda devia assinalar a chegada do Sr. Governador e o nome dos </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/634683242769564990'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/634683242769564990'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/07/dia-de-festa.html' title='dia de festa'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-6992852948932656592</id><published>2009-07-12T17:44:00.029-03:00</published><updated>2009-07-21T23:06:32.015-03:00</updated><title type='text'>o amigo da família renana</title><summary type='text'>.É a melhor mousse do Rio de Janeiro (de São Paulo, Baden, da Basiléia), é a melhor. Foi o Samuel (Titan Jr.) quem me apresentou, no ano da glória de 2006, e atende por Johann Peter Hebel. Parecem histórias tiradas da caixinha de tesouros do Reader's Digest, que eu lia quando era menor -- porque um dia meu pai assinou a revista e passamos a fazer parte do seletíssimo grupo que recebeu pelo resto </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/6992852948932656592'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/6992852948932656592'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/07/toupeira-aranha-os-planetas-e-cometas.html' title='o amigo da família renana'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-4780750732358296704</id><published>2009-07-11T00:03:00.012-03:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:08:41.561-03:00</updated><title type='text'>enquetes pilosas</title><summary type='text'>.O incrível debate sobre o bigode do Manuel Bandeira na piauí deste mês devia ter tido lugar na Flip que acabou há alguns dias. Uma mesa sobre a peluda celeuma, no mínimo. Em 1963, aos 77 anos, o autor de "Poema tirado de uma notícia de jornal" cortou-se fazendo a barba. Então, para disfarçar a ferida sob o nariz, decidiu deixar crescer o bigode. Acabou se afeiçoando ao amigo piloso e resolveu </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/4780750732358296704'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/4780750732358296704'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/07/enquetes-pilosas.html' title='enquetes pilosas'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-3297902056126781712</id><published>2009-06-18T16:01:00.007-03:00</published><updated>2009-06-19T02:08:09.275-03:00</updated><title type='text'>diga a verdade e corra</title><summary type='text'>."For many years I had been lonely.Then many people visited.I’d have been happy if they’d stayed.You are alone, was what they said."Attila József, trecho de "And So I've Found My Native Country", 1937.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/3297902056126781712'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/3297902056126781712'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/06/sempre-um-assombro-quando-paramos-pra.html' title='diga a verdade e corra'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-5514436755183537889</id><published>2009-06-12T15:09:00.008-03:00</published><updated>2009-06-12T15:42:53.336-03:00</updated><title type='text'>adorável sputnik</title><summary type='text'>. Praça do Patriarca..Praça da Sé.. Marginal Pinheiros..Viaduto Santa Ifigênia..Avenida Juscelino Kubitscheck. .Cassio Vasconcellos, Noturnos, 1988/2003.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/5514436755183537889'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/5514436755183537889'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/06/adoravel-sputnik.html' title='adorável sputnik'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_57Zhap0vVp4/SjKaknxDEhI/AAAAAAAAASo/UHfGYCMf88Q/s72-c/cassio6.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-3792909640658666270</id><published>2009-06-10T02:34:00.064-03:00</published><updated>2010-02-19T16:55:43.894-02:00</updated><title type='text'>cair feito um boeing</title><summary type='text'>.O conto abaixo eu escrevi pra Julia numa viagem que a gente fezem 2006. Passamos quase um mês entre a Bahia, Alagoas e um lugar chamado Canindé do São Francisco, em Sergipe (onde o rio São Francisco vira o Grande Cânion). Em Alagoas, a gente ia todo dia pra praia e lia (em jogral) O erotismo, do Bataille. Mas sobretudo tínhamos pavor do nada amistoso ventilador de teto do quarto que alugamos no </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/3792909640658666270'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/3792909640658666270'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/06/cair-feito-um-boeing.html' title='cair feito um boeing'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-3677256568067838474</id><published>2009-05-11T18:50:00.048-03:00</published><updated>2011-02-14T15:30:12.108-02:00</updated><title type='text'>dia da marmota</title><summary type='text'>.No mês passado, editei um volume de contos do Vila-Matas, Suicídios exemplares -- “um livro respeitado até por meus inimigos”. Em um dos e-mails trocados por causa de dúvidas de tradução etc, Vila-Matas comenta o efeito Dia da Marmota: "Chris Shaw — há muitos anos o engenheiro de som preferido de Bob Dylan — conta que um dia, no fim de um show, se aproximou de Dylan e, referindo-se à </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/3677256568067838474'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/3677256568067838474'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/05/dia-da-marmota.html' title='dia da marmota'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-2384600766215360337</id><published>2009-05-06T11:37:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2009-05-06T11:39:57.769-03:00</updated><title type='text'>deve ter acontecido</title><summary type='text'>."O que me custoufoi tudo ter acabadocomo tinha começadocomo se nada tivesse passadoduranteora o que se passou duranteainda hoje me incomodae portanto deve ter acontecido"Adilia Lopes, Um jogo bastante perigoso, 1985.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/2384600766215360337'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/2384600766215360337'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/05/deve-ter-acontecido_06.html' title='deve ter acontecido'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-5087323648515643550</id><published>2009-04-20T16:32:00.025-03:00</published><updated>2009-07-21T22:14:00.369-03:00</updated><title type='text'>millennium people</title><summary type='text'>. ..David Lamelas, The violent tapes of 1975 (1975).."People don't like themselves today... We tolerate everything, but we know that liberal values are designed to make us passive... We're deeply self-centred but can't cope with the idea of our finite selves. We believe in progress and the power of reason, but are haunted by the darker sides of human nature. We're obsessed with sex, but fear the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/5087323648515643550'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/5087323648515643550'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/04/millennium-people.html' title='millennium people'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_57Zhap0vVp4/SezVHdmw7cI/AAAAAAAAARI/MoaNRQ1IZFA/s72-c/violent+tapes.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-817714261888125020</id><published>2009-04-18T11:07:00.026-03:00</published><updated>2009-07-21T23:13:25.650-03:00</updated><title type='text'>não se finja de morto, pedale</title><summary type='text'>.Conto que a Vanessa e eu escrevemos juntos, em 2003..VibrafoneOlha, vamos esperar, juntos.Perde a mão no meu cabelo e ouve o chiado, a vitrola e como se arrastam intermináveis os mistérios às quatro da manhã. Ainda mais quando se trata do sumiço de um vibrafone numa música que não chega nunca. O jeito é esperar, fecha os olhos, pode. Se você dormir, tudo bem, e não se preocupa quanto ao disco: </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/817714261888125020'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/817714261888125020'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/04/nao-se-finja-de-morto-pedale.html' title='não se finja de morto, pedale'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-4948534259828442654</id><published>2009-03-21T13:39:00.012-03:00</published><updated>2009-05-06T11:41:27.218-03:00</updated><title type='text'>pássaro comanda</title><summary type='text'>."O pássaro é definitivopor isso não o procuremos:ele nos elegerá"Orides Fontela, o primeiro dos "Sete poemas sobre o pássaro".</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/4948534259828442654'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/4948534259828442654'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/03/o-passaro-e-definitivo.html' title='pássaro comanda'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-865724803098892346</id><published>2009-03-14T18:05:00.027-03:00</published><updated>2012-01-20T12:06:09.546-02:00</updated><title type='text'>100 metros rasos responder pesquisas</title><summary type='text'>.
Maratona de pesquisas na piauí deste mês.
.
Quiz show
O centro de São Paulo é o lugar onde mais se pergunta no Brasil 

Na sala picotada por divisórias, no primeiro andar de um prédio da Rua Sete de Abril, em São Paulo, uma mulher confessa que sim, tem o hábito de usar desodorizadores de ar. Embaixo, nas calçadas, homens de terno e homens-placa seguem na lida, sem desconfiar que naquele local </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/865724803098892346'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/865724803098892346'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/03/x-y-b.html' title='100 metros rasos responder pesquisas'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-6047749915576870172</id><published>2009-03-13T01:38:00.009-03:00</published><updated>2010-08-14T18:50:44.591-03:00</updated><title type='text'>segue o baile</title><summary type='text'>.Algumas pessoas me pediram a trilha sonora do livro siamês.É só baixar, aqui. As canciones são as seguintes:1. Louis Armstrong - "Potato Head Blues"2. Architecture in Helsinki - "The Cemetery"3. The Killers - "Mr. Brightside"4. Clap Your Hands And Say Yeah -"The Skin Of My Yellow Country Teeth"5. Jefferson Airplane - "White Rabbit"6. Current 93 - "All The Pretty Little Horses"7. Robert Johnson -</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/6047749915576870172'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/6047749915576870172'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/03/segue-o-baile_13.html' title='segue o baile'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-1505274809289768090</id><published>2009-01-25T19:26:00.009-02:00</published><updated>2009-07-21T23:22:50.720-03:00</updated><title type='text'>problemas da vista</title><summary type='text'>."— O senhor não ama com ternura o rei dos búlgaros?— De modo algum, pois nunca o vi."(Cândido, do Voltaire)."É um homem mau, que vem procurar as crianças que não querem ir pra cama. Joga punhados de areia em seus olhos, que tombam ensangüentados, e os apanha, os enfia numa bolsa, e os carrega para a lua para alimentar seus netinhos. Eles estão lá, empoleirados em seu ninho, com os bicos </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/1505274809289768090'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/1505274809289768090'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/01/conjuntivite.html' title='problemas da vista'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-705580993671289470</id><published>2009-01-20T10:02:00.014-02:00</published><updated>2009-07-21T22:48:24.398-03:00</updated><title type='text'>le cigare ou les femmes?</title><summary type='text'>..O filme que em menos de cinco minutos reúne o (fabuloso) "spinach tennis", uma tonelada de Charlie Parker e a cruel escolha entre o cigarro e as mulheres. (O sopro no coração, Louis Malle, 1971)..</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/705580993671289470'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/705580993671289470'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/01/le-cigare-ou-les-femmes.html' title='le cigare ou les femmes?'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-7865174368374748667</id><published>2009-01-14T12:46:00.037-02:00</published><updated>2010-05-08T18:58:25.976-03:00</updated><title type='text'>waterloo, mas com bexigas</title><summary type='text'>.Na edição deste mês da piauí escrevi um texto sobre o método de preparação de atores da Fátima Toledo. Minha idéia era tentar fazer a ponte entre o trabalho da Fátima e uma espécie de "vontade de verdade" (que é a nossa catapora favorita, basta pensar no sucesso dos reality shows, no atual prestígio dos documentários ou num tipo de realismo vinculado à impressão de autenticidade das imagens </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/7865174368374748667'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/7865174368374748667'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/01/hora-da-verdade.html' title='waterloo, mas com bexigas'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-2884633000026679153</id><published>2009-01-06T11:41:00.035-02:00</published><updated>2011-01-25T16:28:56.665-02:00</updated><title type='text'>as montanhas tirolesas me afligem</title><summary type='text'>."Mesmo permanecendo uma única noite em Chur, um homem pode se arruinar para a vida toda." Ou então: "A viagem de Viena a Linz não passa de uma viagem pelo mau gosto. E de Linz a Salzburgo a situação não é melhor. Além disso, as montanhas tirolesas me afligem." Daria pra colecionar as passagens, de um mau humor muito querido tipo Bernard Shaw ("se mais de 10% da população gostar de um quadro, ele</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/2884633000026679153'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/2884633000026679153'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2009/01/as-montanhas-tirolesas-me-afligem.html' title='as montanhas tirolesas me afligem'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-3052181727672450943</id><published>2008-12-02T14:34:00.007-02:00</published><updated>2009-06-19T02:08:50.518-03:00</updated><title type='text'>cara de paisagem</title><summary type='text'>.. .. ..(John Stezaker, Masks, 2006-07).</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/3052181727672450943'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/3052181727672450943'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2008/12/mscara.html' title='cara de paisagem'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_57Zhap0vVp4/STVkKZr0aKI/AAAAAAAAAQA/QQVGw5fXUXk/s72-c/Mask+LXV,+2007,+collage.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-6352383394399219485</id><published>2008-11-20T10:16:00.013-02:00</published><updated>2012-01-07T18:40:45.413-02:00</updated><title type='text'>um assombro quando paramos pra pensar</title><summary type='text'>.
"E ele acabou se convencendo de que tem o dever de acompanhá-la, que assim vai pagando à prestação a dívida que tem com ela, como está pagando a que tem comigo; e agora, nesta tarde de sábado, como em tantas noites e meio-dias, com bom tempo, às vezes com chuva que se junta à que sempre está regando o rosto dela, vão juntos para lá de Retiro, caminham pelo cais até que o barco parte, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/6352383394399219485'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/6352383394399219485'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2008/11/sempre-um-assombro-quando-paramos-para.html' title='um assombro quando paramos pra pensar'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-4596943795337200341</id><published>2008-11-16T11:10:00.049-02:00</published><updated>2012-01-07T18:14:21.399-02:00</updated><title type='text'>mundo à milanesa</title><summary type='text'>.
Há uns dois anos, fiz (para a Trip) uma entrevista com o Isay Weinfeld. Já conhecia o Isay por causa da Paula, filha dele, minha amiga. E também porque a gente se reunia nas noites de sexta pra sessões de cinema no apartamento dele. Foi lá que vi pela primeira vez o Fanny &amp; Alexander, do Bergman (filme em que pensei muito enquanto psicografava o Chibo). O Isay apresentou pra gente o Claude </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/4596943795337200341'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/4596943795337200341'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2008/11/mundo-milanesa.html' title='mundo à milanesa'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-8382441994218961006</id><published>2008-11-10T10:39:00.007-02:00</published><updated>2009-07-21T23:32:10.033-03:00</updated><title type='text'>o equivalente em diálogo</title><summary type='text'>."Para descrever bem um ruído, deve-se imaginar o que renderia o seu equivalente em diálogo. Na água-furtada, eu queria conseguir um som que tivesse o mesmo significado de uma frase que os pássaros poderiam eventualmente dizer a Melanie: 'Agora você não escapa. Vamos cair em cima de você. Não precisamos dar gritos de triunfo, não temos necessidade de nos enfurecer, iremos cometer um assassinato </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/8382441994218961006'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/8382441994218961006'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2008/11/o-equivalente-em-dilogo.html' title='o equivalente em diálogo'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-2788177621543502664</id><published>2008-10-30T21:38:00.013-02:00</published><updated>2009-07-21T23:33:07.119-03:00</updated><title type='text'>para tornar uma viagem de táxi mais animada</title><summary type='text'>.13 de maioAntes que eu me esqueça: a história das calcinhas de Britt Ekland. Mais ou menos um ano atrás, quando cheguei ao meu escritório no National Theatre, tirei um livro do bolso do meu sobretudo e com ele veio junto uma calcinha de Kathleen. Ela caiu no chão, bem diante dos olhos de Rozina, [secretária de Tynan]. Só por malícia, e pela vontade de testar a velocidade e a durabilidade de uma </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/2788177621543502664'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/2788177621543502664'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2008/10/para-tornar-uma-viagem-de-txi-mais.html' title='para tornar uma viagem de táxi mais animada'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-6075600223482018413</id><published>2008-10-15T15:27:00.050-03:00</published><updated>2009-07-21T23:33:46.356-03:00</updated><title type='text'>meu pai, 1965</title><summary type='text'>.Eu nunca estive em Lyon. Mas então a Flora, que é artista plástica, mandou a foto abaixo, parte de um trabalho que ela vai inscrever em um programa de residência na França. Ela pediu para que diferentes pessoas escrevessem textos a respeito da obra, só a partir de fotos, sem saber NADA sobre o que diabos é a obra.Pensei no chapéu de Stanley A. Perkins, a breve anedota que um dia a Vanessa contou</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/6075600223482018413'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/6075600223482018413'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2008/10/meu-pai-1965.html' title='meu pai, 1965'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_57Zhap0vVp4/SPY2k34oK5I/AAAAAAAAALM/qel2Hqj-FHQ/s72-c/plota_email.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-7907532979727954751</id><published>2008-09-24T12:35:00.014-03:00</published><updated>2009-07-21T22:52:39.810-03:00</updated><title type='text'>how the air would carry the papers</title><summary type='text'>.Hokusai, Ejiri in Suruga Province, 1830-33.Jeff Wall, A sudden gust of wind (after Hokusai), 1993."When I was making A sudden gust of wind I knew I wanted to show how the air would carry the papers. Hokusai had already solved some of those problems. If you analyze his composition, you realize that many of the little pieces of paper coincided with very important points on the rectangle. He </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/7907532979727954751'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/7907532979727954751'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2008/09/vento.html' title='how the air would carry the papers'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_57Zhap0vVp4/SNpgt3Dzb2I/AAAAAAAAAK8/lreMDEkHIf4/s72-c/Hokusai+Ejiri_in_the_Suruga_province.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-794271729655054470</id><published>2008-09-20T13:29:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2008-09-20T13:57:42.811-03:00</updated><title type='text'>tomado de furores abstratos</title><summary type='text'>."Eu, naquele inverno, estava tomado de furores abstratos. Não direi quais, não é isso que me proponho a contar. Mas é preciso dizer que eram abstratos, nada heróicos, nem vivos; de qualquer maneira, furores pelo gênero humano perdido. Vinha assim há muito tempo, e andava cabisbaixo. Via manchetes nos jornais sensacionalistas e abaixava a cabeça; estava com os amigos, uma hora, duas horas, e </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/794271729655054470'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/794271729655054470'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2008/09/furores-abstratos.html' title='tomado de furores abstratos'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-8357011957092699394</id><published>2008-09-18T11:09:00.009-03:00</published><updated>2009-07-21T23:34:22.301-03:00</updated><title type='text'>vietcongue</title><summary type='text'>..Organizando minhas fotos, encontrei esta, da Flip 2004. Eu e o Cardoso, síndico do COL (que faz 100 anos amanhã), cuidando da defesa antiaérea de Haiphong em pleno Vietnã.O momento foi imortalizado no mirabolante texto cardoseano sobre a referida Flip-Indochina do Sul:"VIETNAM:É aquele clássico drink game de FRAT BOY, que consiste em:1. abrir um BURACO no RODAPÉ de uma latinha de ceva;2. </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/8357011957092699394'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/8357011957092699394'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2008/09/vietcongue.html' title='vietcongue'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_57Zhap0vVp4/SNJhpNjQ5eI/AAAAAAAAAK0/3JB0QllOlF4/s72-c/vietn%C3%A3.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-7632403169188572175</id><published>2008-09-16T13:53:00.027-03:00</published><updated>2011-01-25T16:13:47.479-02:00</updated><title type='text'>cada um no seu quadrado</title><summary type='text'>.Mês passado entrevistei alguns quadrinistas pra uma reportagem. Muita coisa ficou fora do texto, então eu tentei agrupar aqui o que cada um disse sobre o próprio trabalho etc. Gosto bastante dessa primeira frase do Grampá: "meu traço melhora muito das duas às seis da madrugada". Aí ele fala da mão, que fica adormecida..Rafael Grampá: "Meu traço melhora muito das duas às seis da madrugada. Quando</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/7632403169188572175'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/7632403169188572175'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2008/09/auto-retrato.html' title='cada um no seu quadrado'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-7149539491701833203</id><published>2008-09-07T17:15:00.009-03:00</published><updated>2008-09-08T15:20:07.088-03:00</updated><title type='text'>gena é um gênio</title><summary type='text'>.Gena Rowlands, enormíssima.(A woman under the influence, John Cassavetes, 1974).</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/7149539491701833203'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/7149539491701833203'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2008/09/gena.html' title='gena é um gênio'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-5451377704675656530</id><published>2008-09-05T17:21:00.061-03:00</published><updated>2010-03-05T00:18:04.772-03:00</updated><title type='text'>receita de panqueca</title><summary type='text'>.Muita gente diz que, perto da realidade, a ficção é panqueca.Nos anos 60, o Tom Wolfe viu o jornalismo tomando o lugar do romance. "Os romancistas abandonaram o realismo", dizia. "A literatura mais importante escrita hoje na América é de não-ficção." Ele queria que o jornalismo, o Novo Jornalismo (reportagens apuradas com técnicas em geral associadas à literatura), alcançasse o "status" que </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/5451377704675656530'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/5451377704675656530'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2008/09/receita-de-panqueca.html' title='receita de panqueca'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-5947366741427989544</id><published>2008-08-25T23:48:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2008-08-25T23:58:08.707-03:00</updated><title type='text'>periscópio</title><summary type='text'>.Se os homens vivem na barriga de uma baleiasó podem sentir frio e falardas manadas periódicas de peixes e de muralhasescuras como uma boca aberta e sentir muito frio.Mas se os homens não querem falar sempre da mesma coisatratarão de construir um periscópio para sabercomo se desordenam as ilhas e o mare as demais baleias - se é que tudo isso existe.E o aparelho há de ser fabricado com as </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/5947366741427989544'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/5947366741427989544'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2008/08/periscpio.html' title='periscópio'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-4827870824713186542</id><published>2008-08-06T12:48:00.006-03:00</published><updated>2008-08-06T13:05:08.923-03:00</updated><title type='text'>tudo vira abóbora</title><summary type='text'>.Edward Hopper, Cape Cod Morning, 1950. Cindy Sherman, Untitled Film Still #48, 1979.Joel Sternfeld, McLean, Virginia, 1978.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/4827870824713186542'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/4827870824713186542'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2008/08/abboras.html' title='tudo vira abóbora'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_57Zhap0vVp4/SJnJYShG6lI/AAAAAAAAAKU/0MHwNTIrL5w/s72-c/isolation1.bmp' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-7107333807174451741</id><published>2008-07-28T14:12:00.033-03:00</published><updated>2012-01-07T18:57:40.921-02:00</updated><title type='text'>barômetros, um boné feioso, sinetas</title><summary type='text'>.
Escrevi o texto abaixo para a Entrelivros de agosto, uma edição sobre literatura &amp; jornalismo. É que toda vez que eu leio o Flaubert, eu penso que ele é ótimo jornalista (não emite opinião, mas faz com que a reflexão esteja dentro do que é contado). Daí tentei investigar o que há de Flaubert em uma das vertentes mais interessantes do new journalism, a Lillian Ross do livro Filme.
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Flaubert </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/7107333807174451741'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/7107333807174451741'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2008/07/crupis-de-um-cassino-desonesto.html' title='barômetros, um boné feioso, sinetas'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-3608554206501040135</id><published>2008-07-23T12:36:00.014-03:00</published><updated>2009-07-21T23:36:12.636-03:00</updated><title type='text'>mah-SHE-she</title><summary type='text'>."Today's curiosities are "maxixe" and "jiló." Both plants are thought to originate in Africa and to have been introduced into Brazil at the time of the slave trade. Maxixe (mah-SHE-she) is the prickly one that looks like a projectile of choice for teenage boys. It's actually just like a cucumber on the inside and can be eaten raw. I ate the spikes too since the ones I got weren't overly mature. </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/3608554206501040135'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/3608554206501040135'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2008/07/mah-she-she.html' title='mah-SHE-she'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_57Zhap0vVp4/SId8QFiR3XI/AAAAAAAAAKM/U6vrVQeJ2TQ/s72-c/repolho.bmp' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-7486585242798129373</id><published>2008-07-20T20:53:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2008-07-20T21:04:51.052-03:00</updated><title type='text'>ele nos aborrece, e isso basta</title><summary type='text'>."Somos cinco amigos, certa vez saímos um atrás do outro de uma casa, logo de início saiu o primeiro e se pôs ao lado do portão da rua, depois saiu o segundo, ou melhor: deslizou leve como uma bolinha de mercúrio, pela porta, e se colocou não muito distante do primeiro, depois o terceiro, em seguida o quarto, depois o quinto. No fim estávamos todos formando uma fila, em pé. As pessoas voltaram a </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/7486585242798129373'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/7486585242798129373'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2008/07/ele-nos-aborrece-e-isso-basta.html' title='ele nos aborrece, e isso basta'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-3642187003063881607</id><published>2008-07-13T19:25:00.013-03:00</published><updated>2009-06-18T16:27:56.434-03:00</updated><title type='text'>a xícara na arte moderna</title><summary type='text'>.Amanda Smith at Vincent Avenue, de Simon Davis,no BP Portrait Award 2008, da Portrait Gallery, em Londres.Kate, de Vicky White,na edição 2007 do prêmio..</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/3642187003063881607'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/3642187003063881607'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2008/07/um-caf.html' title='a xícara na arte moderna'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_57Zhap0vVp4/SHqFdkmDhdI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/oIW5rc5K8rk/s72-c/portrait4.bmp' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5216266668980506541.post-2939970021895888185</id><published>2008-07-08T23:32:00.032-03:00</published><updated>2009-10-14T16:49:32.152-03:00</updated><title type='text'>bustos domecq de nariz escorrendo</title><summary type='text'>.Desde que lançamos O Verão, a Vanessa e eu conversamos com alguns jornalistas sobre o livro e a história da escrita em dupla. Achei que seria legal reunir isso. Seguem abaixo quatro entrevistas que respondemos siameses. A primeira para o Miguel Conde, d'o Globo; a segunda para o Alvaro Costa e Silva, d'o Jornal do Brasil; a terceira para o Guilherme Bryan, da agência BRPress; e a outra para o </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/2939970021895888185'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5216266668980506541/posts/default/2939970021895888185'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emiliofraia.blogspot.com/2008/07/bustos-domecq-de-nariz-escorrendo.html' title='bustos domecq de nariz escorrendo'/><author><name>Emilio Fraia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03467910949952597215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry></feed>
