UM MUNDO COMO UMA GRANDE NAU NEGRA A AFASTAR-SE DAS MARGENS DA RAZÃO ARRASTANDO PARA A LOUCURA SETE BILIÕES E PICOS DE TRIPULANTES E PASSAGEIROS OCASIONAIS

TALVEZ POSSAMOS LIBERTAR O OPERÁRIO DA FÁBRICA DE MUNIÇÕES

OU O TÉCNICO DO INSTITUTO DAS CULTURAS PATOGÉNICAS EM 2115

DE ONDE NÃO NOS POSSAM FAZER VOLTAR

PARA QUEIMAR OS NOSSOS LIVROS

CENSURAR OS NOSSOS PENSAMENTOS

ATERRORIZAR AS NOSSAS ALMAS

FAZER-NOS MARCHAR EM FILAS OU EM FALANGES CERRADAS...

ATORDOAR-NOS COM A RÁDIO ...A TV EM 2115 FUNCIONAVA MAL

ESTAVAM NO MÉXICO EM 1938

EH! TURISTAS AMERICANOS, JÁ ESTOU FARTO DE MEXICANOS

O DESÂNIMO GOSTA DE COMPANHIA

EU SOU O DESÂNIMO

AQUELES SÃO MR E MRS. COMO DETESTO O MÉXICO

OS HABITANTES DO FUTURO NÃO GOSTARÃO QUE HAJA PESSOAS COMO VOCÊS

OS MORIBUNDOS GOSTAM DE SABER QUE OS OUTROS TAMBÉM MORRERÃO COM

ELES OU COMO ELES NO FUNDO DESDE QUE ATINJAM O OBJECTIVO TANTO FAZ...

É UMA CONSOLAÇÃO SABER QUE NÃO SE VAI SOZINHO FAZER TIJOLO...

UM LIVRO FEITO DE CONTOS UM HOMEM ILUSTRADO EM CONTOS VIVOS

QUE O TATUAM

MARCIANOS INVASORES ABSORVIDOS PELA CIVILIZAÇÃO ALIENANTE E ALIENÍGENA

AUTÓMATOS VIVOS OU DE BORRACHA ROSADA QUE MASCAM GOMA

45 MIL TRANSFORMADOS POR ANO EM MARMELADA DENTRO DE CAIXAS

EMBALADOS DENTRO DOS SEUS AUTOMÓVEIS

UMA PRESSÃO ARTERIAL DE DIMENSÕES ALGÉBRICAS

MARCIANOS ACOLHIDOS PELOS TERRESTRES COMO CLIENTES DAS BUGIGANGAS

TERRESTRES UM MERCADO POTENCIAL A EXPLORAR

É SÓ MUDAR TERRESTRES POR CHINESES E MARCIANOS POR AFRICANOS

OU OUTROS UH MANOS

YOU HAVE ETERNITY BEFORE YOU...IN ECONOMIC HEAVEN LIGHT DON'T VARY...IT WAS SIMPLY A BORINGLY LONG TIME ... A GORGEUS PALACE CONSTRUCTED OF PRECIOUS STONE IS A WONDERFUL SIGHT TO SEE, A DOZEN CAN BE DOZEN WONDERFUL SIGHT'S TO SEE, BUT A HUNDRED MILES OF SUCH PALACES WILL PUT YOU TO SLEEP, AND SIX HUNDRED MILES OF THE SAME IS DEADLY DULL- ROBERT ANSON HEINLEIN

NO, SATAN NEVER DOES ANY WORK . HE OWNS THIS PLANET...

- THIS IS A PLANET?

-YOU THINK MAYBE IT HAS A COMET?

NO SNAKES, NO TAX COLLECTORS NO PREACHERS ONLY TWO LAWYERS...

- YOU MAKE IT SOUND LIKE HEAVEN

- I'VE BEEN HERE SINCE 1588 AND I'VE NEVER LAID EYES ON THE OWNER

I'VE NEVER THOUGHT OF TRYING TO SEE HIM....

REDIGIDO POR UM SOCIO EFÉCTIVO DA REAL ACADEMIA DE TRETAS - INDIGNA-ME ESTA INGNORANCIA ASSOLUTA QUE A JENTE TEMOS, DA LINGUA NASSIONAL LÊ-CE POUCO, ESCRÉVE-SE MUNTO MAL

EU K INTENDIA QUE PRA ESTA ACADEMIA

SÓ HAVÉRA DE INTRAR

SÓ QUEM ÇOBESSE LÊR, ISCREVER E CONTAR

SUFFRIVELMENTE E PARA SE SER LAURIADO

SABER PEGAR TOIROS E CANTAR O FADO

CARPE NOCTEM - THERE IS NO FUTURE THERE IS NO MORE PAST NO ROOTS NOR FRUITS BUT MOMENTARY FLOWERS LIE STILL ONLY LIE STILL AND NIGHT WILL LAST SILENT AND DARK

460 THE WORLD OF ALDOUS HUXLEY 

The glaucous gold of her rivery tresses 
Each haunts the traveler, each possesses 
The drunken wavering soul awhile; 
Then with a phantom's cock-crow smile 
Mocks craving with sheer vanishment. 

Mole-eyes grow hawk's: knowledge is lent 
In grudging driblets that pay high 
Unconscionable usury 
To unrelenting life. Mole learns 
To travel more secure; the turns 
Of his long way less puzzling seem, 
And all those magic forms that gleam 
In airy invitation cheat 
Less often than they did of old. 

The earth slopes upward, fold by fold 
Of quiet hills that meet the gold 
Serenity of western skies. 
Over the world's edge with clear eyes 
Our mole transcendent sees his way 
Tunneled in light: he must obey 
Necessity again and thrid 
Close catacombs as erst he did, 
Fate's tunnelings, himself must bore 
Through the sunset's inmost core. 
The guiding walls to each-hand shine 
Luminous and crystalline; 
And mole shall tunnel on and on, 
Till night let fall oblivion. 



First Philosopher's Song 

From Leda 



A POOR degenerate from the ape, 

Whose hands are four, whose tail's a limb, 

I contemplate my flaccid shape 

And know I may not rival him, 



FIFTH PHILOSOPHER'S SONG 461 

Save with my mind a nimbler beast 
Possessing a thousand sinewy tails, 
A thousand hands, with which it scales, 
Greedy of luscious truth, the greased 

Poles and the coco palms of thought, 
Thrids easily through the mangrove maze 
Of metaphysics, walks the taut 
Frail dangerous liana ways 

That link across wide gulfs remote 
Analogies between tree and tree; 
Outruns the hare, outhops the goat; 
Mind fabulous, mind sublime and free! 

But oh, the sound of simian mirth! 
Mind, issued from the monkey's womb, 
Is still umbilical to earth, 
Earth its home and earth its tomb. 



Fifth Philosopher's Song 

From Leda 



A MILLION million spermatozoa, 

All of them alive: 
Out of their cataclysm but one poor Noah 

Dare hope to survive. 

And among that billion minus one 

Might have chanced to be 
Shakespeare, another Newton, a new Donne 

But the One was Me. 

Shame to have ousted your betters thus, 

Taking ark while the others remained outside! 

Better for all of us, froward Homunculus, 
If you'd quietly died! 



462 THE WORLD OF ALDOUS HUXLEY 

Mediterranean 

From The Cicadas 



THIS tideless sapphire uniformly brims 

Its jeweled circle of Tyrrhenian shore. 

No vapors tarnish, not a cloud bedims, 

And time descending only more and more 

Makes rich, makes deep the unretiring gem. 

And yet for me who look on it, how wide 

The world of mud to which my thoughts condemn 

This loathing vision of a sunken tide! 

The ebb is mine. Life to its lowest neap 

Withdrawn reveals that black and hideous shoal 

Where I lie stranded. Oh deliver me 

From this defiling death! Moon of the soul, 

Call back the tide that ran so strong and deep, 

Call back the shining jewel of the sea. 



Carpe Noctem 

From The Cicadas 



THERE is no future, there is no more past, 

No roots nor fruits, but momentary flowers. 

Lie still, only lie still and night will last, 

Silent and dark, not for a space of hours, 

But everlastingly. Let me forget 

All but your perfume, every night but this, 

The shame, the fruitless weeping, the regret. 

Only lie still: this faint and quiet bliss 

Shall flower upon the brink of sleep and spread, 

Till there is nothing else but you and I 

Clasped in a timeless silence. But like one 

Who, doomed to die, at morning will be dead, 

I know, though night seem dateless, that the sky 

Must brighten soon before tomorrow's sun. 



THE CICADAS 463 

Midsummer Day 

From The Cicadas 



THIS day was midsummer, the longest tarrying 

Time makes between two sleeps. What have I done 

With this longest of so few days, how spent, 

Dear God, the golden, golden gift of sun? 

Virginal, when I rose, the morning lay 

Ready for beauty's rape, for wisdom's marrying. 

I wrote: only an inky spider went, 

Smear after smear, across the unsullied day. 

If there were other places, if there were 

But other days than this longest of few; 

If one had courage, did one dare to do 

That which alone might kill what now defaces 

This the one place of all the countless places, 

This only day when one will never dare! 



The Cicadas 

From The Cicadas 



SIGHTLESS, I breathe and touch; this night of pines 
Is needly, resinous and rough with bark. 
Through every crevice in the tangible dark 
The moonlessness above it all but shines. 

Limp hangs the leafy sky; never a breeze 
Stirs, nor a foot in all this sleeping ground; 
And there is silence underneath the trees 
The living silence of continuous sound. 

For like inveterate remorse, like shrill 
Delirium throbbing in the fevered brain, 
An unseen people of cicadas fill 
Night with their one harsh note, again, again. 



464 THE WORLB OF ALDOUS HUXLEY 

Again, again, with what insensate zest! 
What fury of persistence, hour by hour! 
Filled with what devil that denies them rest, 
Drunk with what source of pleasure and of power! 

Life is their madness, life that all night long 
Bids them to sing and sing, they know not why; 
Mad cause and senseless burden of their song; 
For life commands, and Life! is all their cry. 

I hear them sing, who in the double night 
Of clouds and branches fancied that I went 
Through my own spirit's dark discouragement, 
Deprived of inward as of outward sight: 

Who, seeking, even as here in the wild wood, 
A lamp to beckon through my tangled fate, 
Found only darkness and, disconsolate, 
Mourned the lost purpose and the vanished good. 

Now in my empty heart the crickets* shout 
Re-echoing denies and still denies 
With stubborn folly all my learned doubt, 
In madness more than I in reason wise. 



Life, life! The word is magical. They sing, 
And in my darkened soul the great sun shines; 
My fancy blossoms with remembered spring, 
And all my autumns ripen on the vines. 

Life! and each knuckle of the fig tree's pale 
Dead skeleton breaks out with emerald fire. 
Life! and the tulips blow, the nightingale 
Calls back the rose, calls back the old desire: 

And old desire that is forever new, 
Desire, life's earliest and latest birth, 
Life's instrument to suffer and to do, 
Springs with the roses from the teeming earth; 



THE CICADAs



Desire that from the world's bright body strips 
Deforming time and makes each kiss the first; 
That gives to hearts, to satiated lips 
The endless bounty of tomorrow's thirst. 

Time passes, and the watery moonrise peers 
Between the tree trunks. But no outer light 
Tempers the chances of our groping years, 
No moon beyond our labyrinthine night. 

Clueless we go; but I have heard thy voice, 
Divine Unreason! harping in the leaves, 
And grieve no more; for wisdom never grieves, 
And thou hast taught me wisdom; I rejoice. 

I hope, for his own sake, that he took my advice. For it was good
advice the fruit of much experience and many meditations. But I am
afraid that, being a rather foolish young man, he merely laughed at what
he must have supposed was only a silly joke: laughed, as I myself foolishly
laughed when, years ago, that charming and talented and extraordinary
man, Ronald Firbank, once told me that he wanted to write a novel about
life in Mayfair and so was just off to the West Indies to look for copy
among the Negroes. I laughed at the time; but I see now that he was
quite right. Primitive people, like children and animals, are simply
civilized people with the lid off, so to speak the heavy elaborate lid of
manners, conventions, traditions of thought and feeling beneath which
each one of us passes his or her existence. This lid can be very con-
veniently studied in Mayfair, shall we say, or Passy, or Park Avenue. But
what goes on underneath the lid in these polished and elegant districts?
Direct observation (unless we happen to be endowed witfi a very pene-
trating intuition) tells us but little; and, if we cannot infer what is going
on under other lids from what we see, introspectively, by peeping under
our own, then the best thing we can do is to take the next boat for the
West Indies, or else, less expensively, pass a few mornings in the nursery,
or alternatively, as I suggested to my literary young friend, buy a pair of
cats.

Yes, a pair of cats. Siamese by preference; for they are certainly the
most 'Tiuman" of all the race of cats. Also the strangest, and, if not the
most beautiful, certainly the most striking and fantastic. For what dis-
quieting pale-blue eyes stare out from the black-velvet mask of their
faces! Snow white at birth, their bodies gradually darken to a rich mulatto
color.

QUOD PROCUL A NOBIS FLECTAT FORTUNA GUBERNANS

The learned Æolists maintain the original cause of all things to be wind, from which
principle this whole universe was at first produced, and into which it must at last be
resolved, that the same breath which had kindled and blew up the flame of Nature
should one day blow it out.
This is what the Adepti understand by their anima mundi, that is to say, the spirit, or
breath, or wind of the world; or examine the whole system by the particulars of Nature,
and you will find it not to be disputed. For whether you please to call the forma
informans of man by the name of spiritus, animus, afflatus, or anima, what are all these
but several appellations for wind, which is the ruling element in every compound, and
into which they all resolve upon their corruption. Further, what is life itself but, as it is
commonly called, the breath of our nostrils, whence it is very justly observed by
naturalists that wind still continues of great emolument in certain mysteries not to be
named, giving occasion for those happy epithets of turgidus and inflatus, applied either
to the emittent or recipient organs.
By what I have gathered out of ancient records, I find the compass of their doctrine took
in two-and-thirty points, wherein it would be tedious to be very particular

DOS LIVROS PARA COMBATER A ILITERACIA A GOLPES DE MARTELO E DE FOICE - 100 LIVRES POUR NOUS DÉLIVRER DE NOS FLÉAUX ARREMATOU E É GOLO ZAZIE VELHOTA CUM ESTALECA HEIN,,,,,

100 livros ou livres para acabar de vez com a e li terá cia a golpes de martelo

livro 1 - QUINQUAGENARIO 1858-1908

CINCOENTA ANNOS DE ACTIVIDADE MENTAL DE THEOPHILO BRAGA JULGADOS PELA CRITICA CONTEMPORÂNEA DE TRES GERAÇÕES LITTERARIAS DE ILETRADOS

ANTIGA CASA BERTRAND

A OBRA DE RENOVAÇÃO FILOSÓFICA E POLÍTICA

LIVRE 2 - LA VIE INESTIMABLE DU GRAND GARGANTUA, PÉRE DE PANTAGRUEL....LYON LIVRO POLÍTICO CONTRA A ILITERACIA PAR FRANÇOIS DE RABE LAIS

LIVRO 3 - UM DE RANGEL DITTO O ALBERTO
DOM PEDRO PRIMEIRO SALTAVA DO ESCUDEIRO PRÁ MARQUESA DE SANTOS

VIAGEM POLÍTICA POR CARTAS ÍNTIMAS E OUTROS DO CU MENTO'S PÚBICOS
E MAIS PRIVADOS

HISTÓRIA DO PHODER EM CIMA DE DONA DOMITILIa DE CASTRO CANTO E MELLO

1928 APENAS 400 E TAL PÁGINAS E UMAS 20 NÃ TÊM NADA ESCRITO

PODEM SER LIDAS PERFEITAMENTE POR ANALFABETOS

AS OUTRAS DIGA-SE DE PASSSAGEM TAMBÉM

 JÁ A AZIA VINHA AZINHA COM VIÑO disse...

É claro que A ILITERACIA  foi mais que negociada e os juros DO ANALFABETISMO EM BETOS E BETAS ANALFAS baixaram, ao contrário do que a neotontice da altura dizia.

Mas isso foi há 200  anos.RELAÇÃO DA SOLENE ACÇÃO DE GRAÇAS QUE O CORPO DO COMMERCIO

ORDENOU QUE SE RENDESSE AO ALTÍSSIMO PARA QUE O COMMERCIO AMELHORE

PELA FELIZ UNIÃO DO GOVERNO DO REYNO COM O DE LISBOA,,,,

V.s descobrem a pólvora tarde é pá, apaguem este tarado que não se aguenta.ÚLTIMAS PALAVRAS QUE O JÚLIO DE MATOS OUVIU ANTES DE LHE ABRIREM UNS BURACOS EXTRA

COMO DISSE O MALUCO QUE DEU 6 BALÁZIOS NO EGAS MONIZ TARADO EU? TARADÃO É O SENHOR DOUTOR QUE NEM SABE TRATAR AS PESSOAS QUE ANDAM NO SEU PERFEITO JUÍZO

VICUÑA NUM É MANGA D'ALPACA?

LIVRO IV- CYRIL RAY - THE HOUSE OF WARRE
LIVRO PRA VELHOTAS QUE GOSTAM D'EMBORCAR 300 ANOS DE SUBMISSÃO AO PORT WINE
1670-1970
300 ANNOS DE DAR MASSA AOS INGLESES E AGRADECER A ROUBALHEIRA CIVILIZADORA

LIVRO V - THE MOORS IN SPAIN AND PORTUCALE BY JEAN READ É DE 1974

ÚLTIMA OBRA SUBSIDIADA PELO IMPÉRIO COLONIAL....

LIVRO VI -VELLHOTAS HAVE BAD TRIPS BY ROB DITTO O SILVER BERG 1974 V

MONTANHA DE PRATA

OU SEJA GRANDE E CHEIO DE BRANCAS

TRIPS CARS WITH TWO RODINHAS AND TREAD-BELTS DIZIMAM A ECONOMIA NORTE-AMARIKADA 

NAMED UNITED FEDERAL COLUMBIAN REPUBLIC

MANUAL DO WARRIOR OF LIGHT AND PEDAL DO GUERREIRO DAS SOMBRAS - DOS LIVROS DE FRASES ENIGMÁTICAS E DOGMÁTICAS E DE SENTENÇA CURTA PARA LONGAS PENAS.....

NA PRAIA EXISTE UMA ILHA COM UM GIGANTESCO TEMPLO, CHEIO DE SINOS

O ESCRITOR INDICA QUE ESTÁ COM UMA GRANDE ERECÇÃO EM COPACABANA

OLHANDO OS SINOS QUE PASSAM

UM GUERREIRO DE LUZ PRESTA ATENÇÃO AOS OLHOS DE UMA CRIANÇA

DAQUI SE DEPREENDE QUE O HERÓI DO LIVRO.....

OU É OFTALMOLOGISTA DA ORDEM DOS HOSPITALÁRIOS

OU É PADRE NO ENGATE

PORQUE ELAS SABEM VER O MUNDO SEM AMARGURA

REFERE-SE AOS RECÉM-NASCIDOS QUE MENINO DE RUA EM BRASILEIRO

SE CHAMA MOLECADA MESMO ....MENINO DE TRAPICHE

HITLER ACABOU ENSINANDO ALGO POIS O HOMEM DO SÉCULO XX ENSINOU QUE É

POSSÍVEL FECHAR OS OLHOS AOS MASSACRES DOS SÉCULOS ANTERIORES

MAS NÃO AOS DOS SÉCULOS FUTUROS PORQUE PROPAGANDA DE HOLOCAUSTOS

NÃO DURA MUITO BASTA PERGUNTAR AOS BABILÓNIOS E AOS NEANDERTHAIS

E TAIS...

APARENTEMENTE O TAL HOMEM DO SÉCULO XX RESSSUSCITOU UMA TORTURA

QUE ANDOU SEMPRE VIVA E CRIOU O CAMPO DE CONCENTRAÇÃO

NA GUERRA ANGLO-BOER DANTES OS GENGIS KHAN'S DE SERVIÇO

 LIMITAVAM-SE A MATAR TUDO

E A VENDER O QUE RESTAVA EM BOM ESTADO...

USA A RAIVA DO LEITOR ESGANADO POR LIVROS DESTES

PRA MOSTRAR O VALOR DA PAX JULIA OU DA PAX AMERICANA ASSIS OR ASSAD

«O que é um guerreiro da luz? 
É aquele que é capaz de entender o milagre da vida, lutar até ao fim por algo em que acredita, e – então – escutar os sinos que o mar faz tocar no seu leito.(...) Todos são capazes disto. E ninguém se julga guerreiro da luz, embora todos o sejam.» 
O Autor apresenta textos breves sobre a SACRO-ILÍACA OU SACRO ILÍADA LUTA sagrada luta que todos nós travamos nas nossas jornadas.
Ele fala-nos de conquistas e derrotas, escolha e destino, paixão e esperança, gratidão e amizade, passageiro e definitivo, entre muitos outros temas essenciais da arte de viver.....MORRENDO DIA SIM E DIA NÃO