sexta-feira, dezembro 30, 2005

Faixas preferidas da banda sonora do "Senhor dos Anéis":

quarta-feira, dezembro 28, 2005

O fórum já voltou

E eu ando a pintar as paredes à casa.

http://s13.invisionfree.com/GotikaBlog/

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segunda-feira, dezembro 26, 2005

Eu não acredito!

O meu fórum está em baixo desde dia 21 (eu só reparei no dia 22).
Agora que eu tinha regressado, por ter tempo e um bocadinho de disponibilidade mental para me dedicar às nossas conversas... não é justo! Não é! Image hosted by Photobucket.com

Notícias do fórum de apoio (o nosso servidor é o nº 13 Image hosted by Photobucket.com)...


Will it be done today / tomorrow / insert day here?
We don't know. The datacenter has not released any more information.

Did the server get hacked?
No, the server simply failed. Could've happened to anyone, and it was not preventable.

Can you do me a favor and e-mail me list X of (members, posts, sigs, e-mails)

If we had access to the information, we'd restore your board, not spend time e-mailing everyone. We don't have access to the data yet.

If you don't use this datacenter, does that mean you'll wipe s13?
We have moved datacenters before. You will not notice any change. We will move all data to a new server if we choose this course of action.
N.B. a datacenter is simply a building with lots of servers in it and a fast connection to the Internet. Some of the PMs I get make me think you don't know what a datacenter is.


E é isto. Conheço mais fóruns gratuitos e posso garantir-vos que se vão abaixo muito mais vezes. Até agora nunca tinha tido problemas com este alojamento. Mas há mais sítios onde criar um fórum gratuito caso seja necessário.

Era tudo.

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sábado, dezembro 24, 2005

Um Natal gótico

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through our house
was blasting the "St. Vitus Dance" by Bauhaus;
Torn fishnets were draped on my forearms with care,
And two cans of Aquanet applied to my hair;
My thoughts were of graveyards, and horror and dread,
Black visions of pain and despair in my head;
And Bianca, whose face was as pale as the moon,
Had thrown up her arm for this evening's swoon,
When out by the gravestones there came such a clatter,
I sprang from the coffin to find out the matter.


Away to the window I flew like a ghost,
Expecting to find a dark devilish host.
The moon on the breast of the uncaring snow
Threw ominous shadows on objects below,
When, before my tormented eyes did traverse,
But a gorgeous black Crane & Breed carved-panel hearse,
With a gaunt, shrouded driver, who filled me with fear,
And eight skeletal creatures that might have been deer.
More rapid than vultures his coursers they came,
And his deep Andrew Eldritch voice called them by name;


Now, Murphy! Now, Morgoth! Now, Torment and Woe!
On, Dreadful! On, Lovecraft! Mephisto and Poe!
To the top of the gravestones where fog wisps its breath!
With a weight on my soul I consign you to death!


As dead leaves that before hellish hurricanes fly,
When they flutter like giant bats' wings to the sky,
So up to the crypt-top the coursers they leapt,
While dearest Bianca, like death, still but slept.
And then, to my horror, I heard on the roof
The clicking and scratching of each bone-white hoof.
As I drew in my arm, and was whirling around,
Down the ebony chimney he came without sound.


He was clad all in black, and he looked oh-so-goth,
A billowy ensemble of crushed velvet cloth;
His boots were knee-high, quite buckled and zipped,
And the Spandex and fishnets 'round his legs were ripped.
His eyes glowed with bluish fire, deathly and cold,
A black eye-liner'd face neither youthful nor old.
A broad lipless mouth drawn with torment and hurt,
And his sorrowful face was as white as my shirt.


A smoldering cigarette tight in his grasp,
Its smoke curling eerily 'round his cloak clasp;
His gaunt frame was topped with long ebon hair,
And a sharp scent of brimstone and cloves choked the air.
His arms were outspread in the shape of a cross,
And I quailed when I saw him, feeling sorrow and loss;
He narrowed his eyes with a twist of his head,
And I felt the full weight of his angst and dread.


He spoke not a word, but went straight to his task,
Left some Dead Can Dance CD's; before I could ask,
A single tear fell across his aquiline nose,
And then, like an angel, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his hearse, to his team he then hissed,
And away they all drifted like early dawn's mist.
But I heard him intone, ere he vanished from sight,
"Gothic Christmas to all, and to all a good fright

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quinta-feira, dezembro 22, 2005

Parece que o servidor do fórum está em baixo. Por isso... esperemos.

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terça-feira, dezembro 20, 2005

Conversas de Deus

Porque o Natal NÃO são as prendas.

Desculpem não me apetecer traduzir.



"Yet I tell you this. You are worthy. As is everyone else. Unworthiness is the worst indictment ever visited upon the human race. You have based your sense of worthiness on the past, while I base your sense of worthiness on the future.
The future, the future, always the future! That is where your life is, not in the past. The future. That is where your truth is, not in the past.
What you have done is unimportant compared to what you are about to do. How you have erred is insignificant compared to how you are about to create.
I forgive your mistakes. All of them. I forgive your misplaced passions. All of them. I forgive your erroneous notions, your misguided understandings, your hurtful actions, your selfish decisions. All of them.
Others may not forgive you, but I do. Others may not release you from your guilt, but I do. Others may not let you forget, allow you to go on, become something new, but I do. For I know that you are not what you were, but are, and always will be, what you are now.
A sinner can become a saint in one minute. In one second. In one breath.
In truth, there is no such thing as a “sinner,” for no one can be sinned against—least of all Me. That is why I say that I “forgive” you. I use the phrase because it is one you seem to understand.
In truth, I do not forgive you, and will not forgive you ever, for anything. I do not have to. There is nothing to forgive. But I can release you. And I hereby do. Now. Once again. As I have done so often in the past, through the teachings of so many other teachers."

"Why have we not heard them? Why have we not believed this, Your greatest promise?"

"Because you cannot believe in the goodness of God. Forget, then, about believing in My goodness. Believe, instead, in simple logic.
The reason I have no need to forgive you is that you cannot offend Me, nor can I be damaged or destroyed. Yet you imagine yourself capable of offending, even damaging, Me. What an illusion! What a magnificent obsession!
You cannot hurt Me, nor can I be harmed in any way. For I am the Unharmable. And that which cannot be harmed cannot, and would not, harm another.
You understand now the logic behind the truth that I do not condemn, nor shall I punish, nor have I a need to seek retribution. I have no such need, for I have not been, and cannot be, offended or damaged or hurt in any way.
The same is true of you. And of all others—though all of you imagine that you can be, and have been, hurt and damaged and destroyed.
Because you imagine damage, you require revenge. Because you experience pain, you need another to experience pain as retribution for your own. Yet what possible justification can that be for inflicting pain upon another? Because (you imagine) someone has inflicted injury upon you, you feel it right and proper to inflict injury in return? That which you say is not okay for human beings to do to each other, is okay for you to do, so long as you are justified?
This is insanity. And what you do not see in this in-sanity is that all people who inflict pain on others assume themselves to be justified. Every action a person takes is understood by that person to be the right action, given what it is they seek and desire.
By your definition, what they seek and desire is wrong. But by their definition, it is not. You may not agree with their model of the world, with their moral and ethical constructions, with their theological understandings, nor with their decisions, choices, and actions . . . but they agree with them, based on their values.
You call their values “wrong.” But who is to say your values are “right”? Only you. Your values are “right” because you say they are. Even this might make some sense if you kept your word about it, but you, yourself, change your mind constantly about what you consider “right” and “wrong.” You do this as individuals, and you do this as societies.
What your society considered “right” just a few decades ago, you consider “wrong” today. What you considered “wrong” in the not-too-distant past, you now call “right.” Who can tell what is what? How do you know the players without a scorecard?"

"And yet we dare to sit in judgment of one another. We dare to condemn, because some other person has failed to keep up with our own changing ideas about what is permitted and what is not. Whew. We’re really something. We can’t even keep our own minds made up about what’s “okay” and what’s not."

"That isn’t the problem. Changing your ideas of what’s “right” and “wrong” isn’t the problem. You have to change those ideas, or you would never grow. Changing is a product of evolution.
No, the problem is not that you have changed, or that your values have changed. The problem is that so many of you insist on thinking that the values you now have are the right and perfect ones, and that everyone else should adhere to them. Some of you have become self-justified and self-righteous.
Stick to your beliefs, if that serves you. Hold tight. Do not waiver. For your ideas about “right” and “wrong” are your definitions of Who You Are. Yet do not require that others define themselves according to your terms. And do not stay so “stuck” in your present beliefs and customs that you halt the process of evolution itself.
Actually, you could not do that if you wanted to, for life goes on, with you or without you. Nothing stays the same, nor can anything remain unchanged. To be unchanged is to not move. And to not move is to die.
All of life is motion. Even rocks are filled with motion. Everything moves. Everything. There is nothing that is not in motion. Therefore, by the very fact of motion, nothing is the same from one moment to the next. Nothing.
Remaining the same, or seeking to, moves against the laws of life. This is foolish, because in this struggle, life will always win.
So change! Yes, change! Change your ideas of “right” and “wrong.” Change your notions of this and that. Change your structures, your constructions, your models, your theories.
Allow your deepest truths to be altered. Alter them yourself, for goodness’ sake. I mean that quite literally. Alter them yourself, for goodness’ sake. Because your new idea of Who You Are is where the growth is. Your new idea of What Is So is where evolution accelerates. Your new idea of the Who, What, Where, When, How, and Why of it is where the mystery gets solved, the plot unravels, the story ends. Then you can begin a new story, and a grander one.
Your new idea about all of it is where the excitement is, where the creation is, where God-in-you is made manifest and becomes fully realized.
No matter how “good” you think things have been, they can be better. No matter how wonderful you think your theologies, your ideologies, your cosmologies, they can be full of even more wonder. For there are “more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
Be open, therefore. Be OPEN. Don’t close off the possibility of new truth because you have been comfortable with an old one. Life begins at the end of your comfort zone.
Yet be not quick to judge another. Rather, seek to avoid judgment, for another person’s “wrongs” were your “rights” of yestermorn; another person’s mistakes are your own past actions, now corrected; another person’s choices and decisions are as “hurtful” and “harmful,” as “selfish” and “unforgivable,” as many of your own have been.
It is when you “just can’t imagine” how another person could “do such a thing” that you have forgotten where you came from, and where both you and the other person are going.
And to those of you who think yourselves to be the evil ones, who think yourselves to be unworthy and irredeemable, I tell you this: There is not a one among you who is lost forever, nor will there ever be. For you are all, all, in the process of becoming. You are all, all, moving though the experience of evolution.
That is what I am up to.
Through you."




In "Conversations With God" (volume 3), Neale Donald Walsch

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segunda-feira, dezembro 19, 2005

O post que eu nunca conseguirei fazer

Comentário do Goldmundo no post abaixo:

De resto tenho a dizer isto: compreendo os que aqui passam e dizem "força, ânimo, esperança, coragem, alegria". Compreendo-os, porque já aprendi a compreender os homens, tão frágeis. Mas os que dizem essas coisas, esses ainda não compreendeream nada. Tomáramos nós todos ter metade da força da Gotika, metade da coragem. Tomáramos nós aprender a ler, acordar a tempo. Neste lugar que é igual a um lugar sagrado, desde há dois anos que a noite enfrenta a sombra baça do mundo. Desde há dois anos que cada palavra aqui é um grito de guerra. "Diário do terror quotidiano", e não os desabafos de menina adolescente nem os gestos mimados das pessoas-mortas que enchem as ruas. É um olhar directo sobre o mundo-tal-como-é, CNN negra. As coisas são ASSIM.

"O blog está semi-abandonado", diz a Gotika. Não está. Até o silêncio tem aqui a forma de um grito. E se mais ninguém houver, eu fico aqui. É o mínimo que posso fazer. Não sei se a noite irá derrotar a sombra. O mundo chega ao ponto mais baixo (Aquário, dizem alguns... e também nada entenderam), e os que tinham sono já foram dormir. Quem sabe o frio os despertará, quem sabe as trevas.

E mais uma vez, não perguntes por quem os sinos dobram: eles dobram por ti.

18/12/05 14:21


Ele sabe do que fala.

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domingo, dezembro 18, 2005

2 anos

Este blog faz hoje dois anos.
Quando comecei nunca pensei que se passassem dois anos inteiros de muita escrita e muitos desabafos.
Neste ponto da minha vida, falta-me a criatividade para escrever. Falta-me a paciência para partilhar. Acima de tudo, falta-me tolerância para ouvir. Tenho coisas muito sérias e urgentes a considerar. Coisas em que penso 24 horas por dia mas que não desejo registar aqui.
O blog está semi-abandonado. Tenho esperança de voltar a uma situação em que a criatividade tenha espaço e floresça. Neste momento está asfixiada pelas necessidades mais primárias da vida.
Haverá alguns, mais experientes, que compreenderão estas palavras. A esses deixo a certeza de que não pretendo desistir, nem do blog nem de nada, se bem que já não saiba onde ir buscar força. Ao instinto de sobrevivência, talvez.
Outros serão demasiado novos para compreender exactamente o que digo.
A todos quero agradecer o terem-me acompanhado durante estes dois anos.

It can't rain all the time.

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sábado, dezembro 17, 2005

Aviso importante

Uma vez que não consultei o meu email do Hotmail durante mais de 30 dias, perdi tudo o que tinha na minha conta. Emails, contactos, tudo. Por isso, se alguém me escreveu, peço desculpa, não li. E os contactos que já tinha também se foram.
Bem, eu dei a entender que andava desorientada mas não me apercebi que não consultava o email há um mês. Quem é que eu estou a enganar? Nem me lembrei disso. Podem acreditar que tive muito mais em que pensar. A minha necessidade de isolamento foi de facto mais importante que tudo.
E, mais uma, vez as minhas sinceras desculpas. A intenção era ler as coisas mais tarde, não perdê-las para sempre.

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quarta-feira, dezembro 14, 2005

I'm on fire

Havia tanto que eu teria para dizer. Que me apetece matar alguém seria dizer muito e dizer nada.
As coisas foram de mal a pior. A minha ausência pode estender-se indefinidamente mas neste dia em particular eu regresso. Envolta em nuvens negras de fúria, eu regresso.
As pessoas estúpidas serão sumariamente executadas da minha presença. Há demasiadas pessoas estúpidas. Pior, a inveja anda agarrada à estupidez como a merda anda às moscas.
A mediocridade auto compensa-se.

Mas não é sequer por isto que a minha ausência pode tornar-se definitiva. E não é neste momento que vou explicar, se é que o explicarei algum dia.

Vou andar por aqui enquanto der. É como a vida. Anda-se por cá enquanto dá. Um dia deixa de dar.

Neste momento não tenho nada a dizer.



PS: Sim, tenho. Obrigado a todos os que demonstraram o vosso apoio. Será registado.

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domingo, dezembro 04, 2005

Onde esperança e desespero são iguais

'We must walk open-eyed into that trap, with courage, but small hope for ourselves. For, my lords, it may well prove that we ourselves shall perish utterly in a black battle far from the living lands; so that even if Barad-dûr be thrown down, we shall not live to see a new age. But this, I deem, is our duty. And better so than to perish nonetheless – as we surely shall, if we sit here – and know as we die that no new age shall be.'

They were silent for a while. At length Aragorn spoke. 'As I have begun, so I will go on. We come now to the very brink, where hope and despair are akin. To waver is to fall.


"The Lord of the Rings, The Return of the King", Tolkien

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