sexta-feira, 3 de abril de 2009
A Pior (e, ao que parece, inexplicavelmente bem sucedida) desculpa de sempre
Rabiscado na parede por flower_power mais ou menos em 4/03/2009 12:00:00 da manhãYeats, a propósito dos lendários montes irlandeses e de tudo o que estes escondem dentro de si, reconta a história que ouviu de um camponês:
"And he had heard too, of people who had been carried away into the hill, and how one man went to look for his wife there, and dug into the hill and all but got his wife again, but at the very moment she was coming out to him, the pick he was digging with struck her upon the head and killed her."
Sim, sim.
A picareta, sozinha.
Ele cavou no monte.
E, por acaso, a mulher ficou debaixo do monte.
A sério... será isto demasiados episódios de CSIs, Mentes Criminosas e sucedâneos?
"And he had heard too, of people who had been carried away into the hill, and how one man went to look for his wife there, and dug into the hill and all but got his wife again, but at the very moment she was coming out to him, the pick he was digging with struck her upon the head and killed her."
Sim, sim.
A picareta, sozinha.
Ele cavou no monte.
E, por acaso, a mulher ficou debaixo do monte.
A sério... será isto demasiados episódios de CSIs, Mentes Criminosas e sucedâneos?
Eggs, spam, bacon, spam, spam, spam and a arte do improvável, irlanda, yeats
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