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Aprende-se muito a ler os Antigos

por beatriz j a, em 31.05.18

 

 

... e a ler sobre os Antigos. Como nascem, florescem e morrem as civilizações. Um dia hei-de ir a Creta, à terra dos Minóicos, invadida e ocupada por tantas civilizações posteriores. Para já vou ler o livro, The Minoans, de J. Lesley Fitton.

 Palácio em Cnossos, fresco com golfinhos, c. 1500 BC. Museu arqueológico em Heraclião, Creta.

 

 

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Autoria e outros dados (tags, etc)

publicado às 17:26


🙂

por beatriz j a, em 31.05.18

 

 

 

Autoria e outros dados (tags, etc)

Tags:

publicado às 14:35


Jazz Lounge - Quizas Quizas Quizas

por beatriz j a, em 31.05.18

 

 

brahim Ferrer & Omara Portuondo

 

Autoria e outros dados (tags, etc)

publicado às 12:43


Como criar um melómano 🙂

por beatriz j a, em 31.05.18

 

 

 

Autoria e outros dados (tags, etc)

publicado às 12:40

 

 

Hoje, último dia de Maio de um fim de semana comprido, para quem faz ponte, com um tempo belíssimo, as praias da Arrábida, geralmente cheias de gente nesta altura do ano estavam completamente desertas. No tempo em que lá andámos a caminhar, umas duas horas, vimos quatro pessoas. Isto deve-se, não a ter-se proibido o trânsito de carros numa parte importante do acesso às praias, pois podiam tê-lo feito desde que houvesse transportes públicos acessíves e frequentes. Mas não. Os transportes públicos custam 1.77€ por viagem, o que é incomportável para a maioria das famílias da zona que não têm posses e querem fazer praia com a família todos os dias, um dos poucos prazeres que restam aos portugueses menos favorecidos: o sol e o mar. O transporte, de qualquer modo, acaba na praia da Figueirinha, onde estão a pôr parquímetros que vão custar, ao que dizem, 3€ à hora. Quem é que pode estar um dia inteiro ou meio dia na praia, durante os meses de Verão, por esses preços? Primeiro expulsaram as pessoas da Tróia com os preços exageradamente caros dos ferry-boats, agora expulsam-nas da Arrábida com os preços dos parquementos e dos transportes.

Uma pessoa paga impostos nacionais e camarários altíssimos que o IMI é uma vergonha e em cima disso tem de pagar mais impostos para ir à praia. Portugal é um país quase todo à borda de água com milhares de praias e prainhas, sendo o sol e o mar dos poucos prazeres que as pessoas têm acessíveis mas o povo está impedido de as frequentar porque as câmaras querem ganhar dinheiro ou tornar as praias exclusivas para turistas. Entretanto, uns restaurantes de cimento horríveis em cima da praia estão todos renovados, quem sabe se com ajudas da câmara. Isto é uma câmara comunista... mas como sabemos, isso de ideologias políticas, hoje em dia, são só para inglês ver...

 

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 praias da arrábida

Autoria e outros dados (tags, etc)

publicado às 11:57

 

 

 

O 'macronismo' em França de que fala o artigo não é muito diferente do 'costismo/centenismo' português que cede sempre aos interesses dos lobbies dos grandes grupos económico-financeiros, como se viu e vê no caso da prospecção de petróleo no Algarve e costa do Alentejo e na banca também. Porquê? O artigo não responde propriamente à pergunta que faz, apenas diz que os poderes públicos, em vez de incitarem à reconversão urgente das práticas dos grupos económicos e financeiros que alimentaram a crise, pensam poder, com discursos, incitar esses mesmos poderes a salvarem-nos do perigo iminente.

Pessoalmente acho que os lobbies vencem sempre porque a política está dominada por um certo tipo de pessoas a quem falta visão, pensamento e profundidade e têm de sobra deslumbramento com o poder e consigo próprios. Falta-lhes umas tintas de Filosofia, como dizia o Bertrand Russel.

 

Ecologie : pourquoi les lobbys gagnent-ils toujours à la fin ?

De son côté, Nicolas Hulot prétend «réconcilier économie et écologie».A l’analyse, cette approche revient, d’abord et avant tout, à confier encore plus de responsabilités aux entreprises privées et aux lobbys économiques pour résoudre les problèmes contemporains. Quitte à suspendre les réglementations environnementales pour desserrer «l’étau réglementaire» ou à faire de Michael Bloomberg, Bill Gates et Richard Branson, tous pris dans des révélations concernant des pratiques d’évasion fiscale qui grèvent les budgets publics, ceux qui vont financer la lutte contre les dérèglements climatiques.

 

Autoria e outros dados (tags, etc)

publicado às 11:30


A pobreza da entrevista de Constâncio

por beatriz j a, em 31.05.18

 

 

Não há uma ideia, uma estratégia, apenas a gestão da conta corrente. Reforça o preconceito de que o problema do Sul está nos povos não se importarem de se endividar enquando os alemães (de quem fala como se fossem todo o Norte) não gostam de endividar-se, nomeadamente os do Sul compram casas e os alemães alugam... a sério que o problema da crise do euro se resume a isto?? Ainda ameaça a Itália dizendo que se não entrar nos eixos -isto é, comportar-se de maneira que agrade ao mercado, que segundo este pobre de espírito se auto-corrige, The euro area has started to fix itself- a UE não os ajuda. Este pobre de espírito, mais um que defende a pobreza alheia depois de assegurar a sua vidinha, foi o vice-presidente do BCE durante uma data de anos. Mas vendo bem, talvez os alemães o tenham escolhido para o cargo devido ao seu espírito de ovelhinha amestrada. 

 

ECB Vice President Constâncio'Italy Knows the Rules'

spiegel online 

 

Autoria e outros dados (tags, etc)

publicado às 05:28

 

 

My dear Theo,
It’s with some reluctance that I write to you, not having done so for so long, and that for many a reason. Up to a certain point you’ve become a stranger to me, and I too am one to you, perhaps more than you think; perhaps it would be better for us not to go on this way.
(...)
What moulting is to birds, the time when they change their feathers, that’s adversity or misfortune, hard times, for us human beings. One may remain in this period of moulting, one may also come out of it renewed, but it’s not to be done in public, however; it’s scarcely entertaining, it’s not cheerful, so it’s a matter of making oneself scarce. Well, so be it. Now, although it may be a thing of rather demoralizing difficulty to regain the trust of an entire family perhaps not entirely devoid of prejudices and other similarly honourable and fashionable qualities, nevertheless, I’m not utterly without hope that little by little, slowly and surely, a good understanding may be re-established with this person and that.
In the first place, then, I’d like to see this good understanding, to say no more, re-established between my father and me, and I would also be very keen that it be re-established between the two of us. Good understanding is infinitely better than misunderstanding.
I must now bore you with certain abstract things; however, I’d like you to listen to them patiently.
I, for one, am a man of passions, capable of and liable to do rather foolish things for which I sometimes feel rather sorry. I do often find myself speaking or acting somewhat too quickly when it would be better to wait more patiently. I think that other people may also sometimes do similar foolish things. Now that being so, what’s to be done, must one consider oneself a dangerous man, incapable of anything at all? I don’t think so. But it’s a matter of trying by every means to turn even these passions to good account. For example, to name one passion among others, I have a more or less irresistible passion for books, and I have a need continually to educate myself, to study, if you like, precisely as I need to eat my bread. You’ll be able to understand that yourself. When I was in different surroundings, in surroundings of paintings and works of art, you well know that I then took a violent passion for those surroundings that went as far as enthusiasm. And I don’t repent it, and now, far from the country again, I often feel homesick for the country of paintings. 
You may perhaps clearly remember that I knew very well (and it may well be that I still know) what Rembrandt was or what Millet was, or Jules Dupré or Delacroix or Millais or M. Maris.
Good — now I no longer have those surroundings — however, that something that’s called soul, they claim that it never dies and that it lives for ever and seeks for ever and for ever and for evermore.
So instead of succumbing to homesickness, I said to myself, one’s country or native land is everywhere. So instead of giving way to despair, I took the way of active melancholy as long as I had strength for activity, or in other words, I preferred the melancholy that hopes and aspires and searches to the one that despairs, mournful and stagnant. So I studied the books I had to hand rather seriously, such as the Bible and Michelet’s La révolution Française, and then last winter, Shakespeare and a little V. Hugo and Dickens and Beecher Stowe, and then recently Aeschylus, and then several other less classic authors, several good minor masters. You well know that one who is ranked among the minor (?) masters is called Fabritius or Bida.
Now the man who is absorbed in all that is sometimes shocking, to others, and without wishing to, offends to a greater or lesser degree against certain forms and customs and social conventions. It’s a pity, though, when people take that in bad part. For example, you well know that I’ve frequently neglected my appearance, I admit it, and I admit that it’s shocking. But look, money troubles and poverty have something to do with it, and then a profound discouragement also has something to do with it, and then it’s sometimes a good means of ensuring for oneself the solitude needed to be able to go somewhat more deeply into this or that field of study with which one is preoccupied. One very necessary field of study is medicine; there’s hardly a man who doesn’t try to know a little bit about it, who doesn’t try to understand at least what it’s about, and here I still don’t know anything at all about it. But all of that absorbs you, but all of that preoccupies you, but all of that makes you dream, ponder, think.
And now for as much as 5 years, perhaps, I don’t know exactly, I’ve been more or less without a position, wandering hither and thither. Now you say, from such and such a time you’ve been going downhill, you’ve faded away, you’ve done nothing. Is that entirely true?
It’s true that sometimes I’ve earned my crust of bread, sometimes some friend has given me it as a favour; I’ve lived as best I could, better or worse, as things went; it’s true that I’ve lost several people’s trust, it’s true that my financial affairs are in a sorry state, it’s true that the future’s not a little dark, it’s true that I could have done better, it’s true that just in terms of earning my living I’ve lost time, it’s true that my studies themselves are in a rather sorry and disheartening state, and that I lack more, infinitely more than I have. But is that called going downhill, and is that called doing nothing?
Perhaps you’ll say, but why didn’t you continue as people would have wished you to continue, along the university road?
To that I’d say only this, it costs too much and then, that future was no better than the present one, on the road that I’m on.   But on the road that I’m on I must continue; if I do nothing, if I don’t study, if I don’t keep on trying, then I’m lost, then woe betide me. That’s how I see this, to keep on, keep on, that’s what’s needed.
But what’s your ultimate goal, you’ll say. That goal will become clearer, will take shape slowly and surely, as the croquis becomes a sketch and the sketch a painting, as one works more seriously, as one digs deeper into the originally vague idea, the first fugitive, passing thought, unless it becomes firm.
You must know that it’s the same with evangelists as with artists. There’s an old, often detestable, tyrannical academic school, the abomination of desolation, in fact — men having, so to speak, a suit of armour, a steel breastplate of prejudices and conventions. Those men, when they’re in charge of things, have positions at their disposal, and by a system of circumlocution seek to support their protégés, and to exclude the natural man from among them.
Their God is like the God of Shakespeare’s drunkard, Falstaff, ‘the inside of a church’; in truth, certain evangelical (???) gentlemen find themselves, by a strange conjunction (perhaps they themselves, if they were capable of human feeling, would be somewhat surprised) find themselves holding the very same point of view as the drunkard in spiritual matters. But there’s little fear that their blindness will ever turn into clear-sightedness on the subject.
This state of affairs has its bad side for someone who doesn’t agree with all that, and who protests against it with all his heart and with all his soul and with all the indignation of which he is capable.
Myself, I respect academicians who are not like those academicians, but the respectable ones are more thinly scattered than one would believe at first glance. Now one of the reasons why I’m now without a position, why I’ve been without a position for years, it’s quite simply because I have different ideas from these gentlemen who give positions to individuals who think like them.
It’s not a simple matter of appearance, as people have hypocritically held it against me, it’s something more serious than that, I assure you.
Why am I telling you all this? — not to grumble, not to apologize for things in which I may be more or less wrong, but quite simply to tell you this: on your last visit, last summer, when we walked together near the disused mine they call La Sorcière, you reminded me that there was a time when we also walked together near the old canal and mill of Rijswijk, and then, you said, we were in agreement on many things, but, you added — you’ve really changed since then, you’re not the same any more. Well, that’s not quite how it is; what has changed is that my life was less difficult then and my future less dark, but as far as my inner self, as far as my way of seeing and thinking are concerned, they haven’t changed. But if in fact there were a change, it’s that now I think and I believe and I love more seriously what then, too, I already thought, I believed and I loved.
So it would be a misunderstanding if you were to persist in believing that, for example, I would be less warm now towards Rembrandt or Millet or Delacroix, or whomever or whatever, because it’s the opposite. But you see, there are several things that are to be believed and to be loved; there’s something of Rembrandt in Shakespeare and something of Correggio or Sarto in Michelet, and something of Delacroix in V. Hugo, and in Beecher Stowe there’s something of Ary Scheffer. And in Bunyan there’s something of M. Maris or of Millet, a reality more real than reality, so to speak, but you have to know how to read him; then there are extraordinary things in him, and he knows how to say inexpressible things; and then there’s something of Rembrandt in the Gospels or of the Gospels in Rembrandt, as you wish, it comes to more or less the same, provided that one understands it rightly, without trying to twist it in the wrong direction, and if one bears in mind the equivalents of the comparisons, which make no claim to diminish the merits of the original figures.
If now you can forgive a man for going more deeply into paintings, admit also that the love of books is as holy as that of Rembrandt, and I even think that the two complement each other.
I really love the portrait of a man by Fabritius, which one day, also while taking a walk together, we looked at for a long time in the Haarlem museum. Good, but I love Dickens’s ‘Richard Cartone’ in his Paris et Londres en 1793 just as much, and I could show you other strangely vivid figures in yet other books, with more or less striking resemblance. And I think that Kent, a man in Shakespeare’s King Lear, is just as noble and distinguished a character as any figure of Th. de Keyser, although Kent and King Lear are supposed to have lived a long time earlier. To put it no higher, my God, how beautiful that is. Shakespeare — who is as mysterious as he? — his language and his way of doing things are surely the equal of any brush trembling with fever and emotion. But one has to learn to read, as one has to learn to see and learn to live.
So you mustn’t think that I’m rejecting this or that; in my unbelief I’m a believer, in a way, and though having changed I am the same, and my torment is none other than this, what could I be good for, couldn’t I serve and be useful in some way, how could I come to know more thoroughly, and go more deeply into this subject or that? Do you see, it continually torments me, and then you feel a prisoner in penury, excluded from participating in this work or that, and such and such necessary things are beyond your reach. Because of that, you’re not without melancholy, and you feel emptiness where there could be friendship and high and serious affections, and you feel a terrible discouragement gnawing at your psychic energy itself, and fate seems able to put a barrier against the instincts for affection, or a tide of revulsion that overcomes you. And then you say, How long, O Lord! Well, then, what can I say; does what goes on inside show on the outside? Someone has a great fire in his soul and nobody ever comes to warm themselves at it, and passers-by see nothing but a little smoke at the top of the chimney and then go on their way. So now what are we to do, keep this fire alive inside, have salt in ourselves, wait patiently, but with how much impatience, await the hour, I say, when whoever wants to, will come and sit down there, will stay there, for all I know? May whoever believes in God await the hour, which will come sooner or later.
Now for the moment all my affairs are going badly, so it would seem, and that has been so for a not so inconsiderable period of time, and it may stay that way for a future of longer or shorter duration, but it may be that after everything has seemed to go wrong, it may then all go better. I’m not counting on it, perhaps it won’t happen, but supposing there were to come some change for the better, I would count that as so much gained; I’d be pleased about it, I’d say, well then, there you are, there was something, after all. 
But you’ll say, though, you’re an execrable creature since you have impossible ideas on religion and childish scruples of conscience. If I have any that are impossible or childish, may I be freed from them; I’d like nothing better. But here’s where I am on this subject, more or less. You’ll find in Souvestre’s Le philosophe sous les toits how a man of the people, a simple workman, very wretched, if you will, imagined his mother country, ‘Perhaps you have never thought about what your mother country is, he continued, putting a hand on my shoulder; it’s everything that surrounds you, everything that raised and nourished you, everything you have loved. This countryside that you see, these houses, these trees, these young girls, laughing as they pass by over there, that’s your mother country! The laws that protect you, the bread that is the reward of your labour, the words that you exchange, the joy and sadness that come to you from the men and the things among which you live, that’s your mother country! The little room where you once used to see your mother, the memories she left you, the earth in which she rests, that’s your mother country! You see it, you breathe it everywhere! Just think, your rights and your duties, your attachments and your needs, your memories and your gratitude, put all that together under a single name, and that name will be your mother country.’

 

Now likewise, everything in men and in their works that is truly good, and beautiful with an inner moral, spiritual and sublime beauty, I think that that comes from God, and that everything that is bad and wicked in the works of men and in men, that’s not from God, and God doesn’t find it good, either. But without intending it, I’m always inclined to believe that the best way of knowing God is to love a great deal. Love that friend, that person, that thing, whatever you like, you’ll be on the right path to knowing more thoroughly, afterwards; that’s what I say to myself. But you must love with a high, serious intimate sympathy, with a will, with intelligence, and you must always seek to know more thoroughly, better, and more. That leads to God, that leads to unshakeable faith.
Someone, to give an example, will love Rembrandt, but seriously, that man will know there is a God, he’ll believe firmly in Him.
Someone will make a deep study of the history of the French Revolution — he will not be an unbeliever, he will see that in great things, too, there is a sovereign power that manifests itself.
Someone will have attended, for a time only, the free course at the great university of poverty, and will have paid attention to the things he sees with his eyes and hears with his ears, and will have thought about it; he too, will come to believe, and will perhaps learn more about it than he could say.
Try to understand the last word of what the great artists, the serious masters, say in their masterpieces; there will be God in it. Someone has written or said it in a book, someone in a painting.
And quite simply read the Bible, and the Gospels, because that will give you something to think about, and a great deal to think about and everything to think about, well then, think about this great deal, think about this everything, it raises your thinking above the ordinary level, despite yourself. Since we know how to read, let’s read, then!
Now, afterwards, we may well at times be a little absent-minded, a little dreamy; there are those who become a little too absent-minded, a little too dreamy; that happens to me, perhaps, but it’s my own fault. And after all, who knows, wasn’t there some cause; it was for this or that reason that I was absorbed, preoccupied, anxious, but you get over that. The dreamer sometimes falls into a pit, but they say that afterwards he comes up out of it again. 
And the absent-minded man, at times he too has his presence of mind, as if in compensation. He’s sometimes a character who has his raison d’être for one reason or another which one doesn’t always see right away, or which one forgets through being absent-minded, mostly unintentionally. One who has been rolling along for ages as if tossed on a stormy sea arrives at his destination at last; one who has seemed good for nothing and incapable of filling any position, any role, finds one in the end, and, active and capable of action, shows himself entirely different from what he had seemed at first sight.
I’m writing you somewhat at random whatever comes into my pen; I would be very happy if you could somehow see in me something other than some sort of idler.
Because there are idlers and idlers, who form a contrast.
There’s the one who’s an idler through laziness and weakness of character, through the baseness of his nature; you may, if you think fit, take me for such a one. Then there’s the other idler, the idler truly despite himself, who is gnawed inwardly by a great desire for action, who does nothing because he finds it impossible to do anything since he’s imprisoned in something, so to speak, because he doesn’t have what he would need to be productive, because the inevitability of circumstances is reducing him to this point. Such a person doesn’t always know himself what he could do, but he feels by instinct, I’m good for something, even so! I feel I have a raison d’être! I know that I could be a quite different man! For what then could I be of use, for what could I serve! There’s something within me, so what is it! That’s an entirely different idler; you may, if you think fit, take me for such a one.
In the springtime a bird in a cage knows very well that there’s something he’d be good for; he feels very clearly that there’s something to be done but he can’t do it; what it is he can’t clearly remember, and he has vague ideas and says to himself, ‘the others are building their nests and making their little ones and raising the brood’, and he bangs his head against the bars of his cage. And then the cage stays there and the bird is mad with suffering. ‘Look, there’s an idler’, says another passing bird — that fellow’s a sort of man of leisure. And yet the prisoner lives and doesn’t die; nothing of what’s going on within shows outside, he’s in good health, he’s rather cheerful in the sunshine. But then comes the season of migration. A bout of melancholy — but, say the children who look after him, he’s got everything that he needs in his cage, after all — but he looks at the sky outside, heavy with storm clouds, and within himself feels a rebellion against fate. I’m in a cage, I’m in a cage, and so I lack for nothing, you fools! Me, I have everything I need! Ah, for pity’s sake, freedom, to be a bird like other birds! 
An idle man like that resembles an idle bird like that.
And it’s often impossible for men to do anything, prisoners in I don’t know what kind of horrible, horrible, very horrible cage. There is also, I know, release, belated release. A reputation ruined rightly or wrongly, poverty, inevitability of circumstances, misfortune; that creates prisoners.
You may not always be able to say what it is that confines, that immures, that seems to bury, and yet you feel I know not what bars, I know not what gates — walls.
Is all that imaginary, a fantasy? I don’t think so; and then you ask yourself, Dear God, is this for long, is this for ever, is this for eternity?
You know, what makes the prison disappear is every deep, serious attachment. To be friends, to be brothers, to love; that opens the prison through sovereign power, through a most powerful spell. But he who doesn’t have that remains in death. But where sympathy springs up again, life springs up again.
And the prison is sometimes called Prejudice, misunderstanding, fatal ignorance of this or that, mistrust, false shame.
But to speak of something else, if I’ve come down in the world, you, on the other hand, have gone up. And while I may have lost friendships, you have won them. That’s what I’m happy about, I say it in truth, and that will always make me glad. If you were not very serious and not very profound, I might fear that it won’t last, but since I think you are very serious and very profound, I’m inclined to believe that it will last.  
But if it became possible for you to see in me something other than an idler of the bad kind, I would be very pleased about that.
And if I could ever do something for you, be useful to you in some way, know that I am at your service. Since I’ve accepted what you gave me, you could equally ask me for something if I could be of service to you in some way or another; it would make me happy and I would consider it a sign of trust. We’re quite distant from one another, and in certain respects we may have different ways of seeing, but nevertheless, sometime or some day one of us might be able to be of use to the other. For today, I shake your hand, thanking you again for the kindness you’ve shown me.
Now if you’d like to write to me one of these days, my address is care of C. Decrucq, rue du Pavillon 8, Cuesmes, near Mons, and know that by writing you’ll do me good.

 

Yours truly,
Vincent

 

Autoria e outros dados (tags, etc)

publicado às 21:03

 

 

 

Autoria e outros dados (tags, etc)

publicado às 20:19


Today Playlist 3. The Rascals - Good Lovin'

por beatriz j a, em 29.05.18

 

 

 

Autoria e outros dados (tags, etc)

publicado às 19:35


Today Playlist 2. Elton John - Rocket Man

por beatriz j a, em 29.05.18

 

 

 

Autoria e outros dados (tags, etc)

publicado às 19:05

 

 

 

Autoria e outros dados (tags, etc)

publicado às 18:57


Canibalismo, ainda que simbólico

por beatriz j a, em 29.05.18

 

 

Só falta cozinharem e comerem o cérebro do homem. Uma falta de respeito pela pessoa para satisfazer curiosidades mórbidas.

 

Fragmentos do cérebro de Albert Einstein vão ser expostos na Alemanha

Quando o cientista alemão Albert Einstein morreu, em Abril de 1955, a sua vontade era ser cremado. “Quero ser cremado para que as pessoas não venham venerar os meus ossos”, contava o físico ao seu biógrafo Abraham Pais. 

 

 

Autoria e outros dados (tags, etc)

publicado às 15:56

 

Saindo da torre de marfim

Torre de marfim" designa um mundo onde académicos se envolvem em investigações esotéricas, superespecializadas, e desdenhosas de preocupações de relevância.

(...) A Universidade Nova está extraordinariamente atenta a estes novos desafios e tem como grande prioridade estratégica fomentar entre os seus professores e investigadores uma cultura de preocupação com o impacto e a relevância económica e social da sua investigação. No fundo, e em palavras simples, criar ambientes de trabalho onde sejam naturais e frequentes as perguntas "para quê" e "para quem".

 

Preocupa-me que um vice-reitor de uma universidade importante tenha uma visão darwinista da investigação científica: ou a investigação tem uma função prática imediata ou é um exercício sem relevância. Preocupa-me que uma pessoa que tem poder de decisão numa universidade não tenha conhecimento da história da ciência e não saiba que muitos dos grandes avanços da ciência foram feitos a partir de investigações esotéricas e especializadas de outros investigadores que desenvolveram trabalhos super-especializados em áreas que na altura não tinham nenhuma aplicação prática e pareciam não servir para nada a não ser para o deleite de quem as criou mas que vieram a servir de fundamento, às vezes séculos mais tarde, para descobertas e trabalhos de outros cientistas que viram nelas aplicações. Isso vê-se muito na matemática, por exemplo, mas não só. 

Esta ideia de que a universidade se deve reduzir à lógica do mercado, do que funciona e serve no momento a alguém, vai contra o espírito livre da investigação cientifica. Não digo que não é bom ter investigação aplicada a questões e necessidades práticas, claro que é. Queremos que os cientistas resolvam os problemas práticos que há para resolver como descobrir a cura para doenças ou maneiras baratas de dessalinizar a água do mar, etc., mas reduzir a investigação à prática imediata funcionalista com o argumento de que tudo o que se afasta dela é desdenhoso parece-me um reducionismo próprio da ditadura do darwinismo dogmático.

 

Autoria e outros dados (tags, etc)

publicado às 15:46


Costa em versão mr. Tangas

por beatriz j a, em 29.05.18

 

 

 

No encerramento do Congresso do PS, no domingo, na Batalha, o primeiro-ministro e secretário-geral socialista anunciou que vai resgatar o regresso dos que deixaram o país nos anos da crise. "O próximo Orçamento do Estado vai criar condições para que os portugueses que queiram regressar o possam fazer", defendeu.

 

 

Costa sabe que não vai fazer regressar ninguém, a não talvez algum filho ou primo de algum Mastim que tem sempre lugar assegurado num tacho bem pago.

As pessoas que saíram, sobretudo as mais novas, fizeram-no por falta de oportunidade de emprego digno ou mesmo de emprego de modo que seria preciso pôr o país a produzir e a economia a crescer, não 1% ou 2% que isso é nada, nem com empregos sazonais relacionados com o turismo.

Conheço imensa gente, entre pessoas de família e ex-alunos que se foram embora. Alguns vão no 12º ano quando vêm pessoas de Inglaterra, Alemanha, Holanda, etc., recrutá-las directamente às escolas secundárias com ofertas de curso pago e futuro emprego garantido com benefícios; outros vão depois de acabar mestrados e andar aqui à procura de um emprego que não lhes pague 500 euros ou lhes queira até pagar em géneros, que os 'empresários' aqui do rectângulo são tudo gente que, salvo raríssimas excepções, não valoriza os trabalhadores, a começar pelo próprio governo, que dá o exemplo, como se vê na educação e na saúde.

Alguns tentaram voltar de Inglaterra depois do Brexit, com receio das dificuldades que adivinham. Estiveram cá uns meses à procura de trabalho que não fosse precário, como contratados a prazo a ganhar miseravelmente e a ser escravizado e voltaram para lá onde estão a trabalhar.

Uma amiga que foi para lá trabalhar mais o, agora, marido, disse-me há dias que poupou mais dinheiro lá em cinco anos do que alguma vez cá ganharia em vinte, sendo que quando tentou cá arranjar trabalho só lhe ofereciam contratos a prazo a ganhar, na altura, 200 euros.

Chegou lá, fez um segundo mestrado e passados dois anos era editora-chefe da editora onde trabalha. Todos os anos a promovem. Trabalha no que gosta. O marido dela é engenheiro. Quando foi para lá já levava um contrato de trabalho muito bom. Isto é o comum nos jovens com formação que saíram daqui.

Portanto, muitos dos jovens com formação que sairam, são pessoas que estudaram, que têm iniciativa, são empreendedores, querem trabalhar e trabalham bem mas, não estão dispostos a regressar de boas condições de vida para fazerem de escravos num país onde se desvalorizam os trabalhadores. Os únicos que hão-de regressar, se o fizerem, são pessoas como o pseudo-ministro da educação que regressou directamente para um lugar na política... lá está... 

Isto quer dizer que o Costa só vai conseguir fazer regressar gente sem formação que esteja disposta a trabalhar no turismo e a ganhar miseravelmente. E ele sabe isto perfeitamente...

 

Autoria e outros dados (tags, etc)

publicado às 05:32

 

Professores convocam greve às avaliações finais

 

Para nos dar trabalho a nós, professores, e mais nada. As notas dos alunos nos anos de escolaridade a que a greve se refere não são decisivas em nada a não ser que atrasam as matrículas dos alunos, o que significa mais trabalho para nós, professores. Para o ME e para os pais o incómodo é pequeno e os custos nenhuns. Talvez atrase as férias de alguns pais, nada mais.

Então para quê esta greve? Para os sindicatos fingirem que estão do lado dos professores e depois negociarem um acordo de nos descongelarem os anos de trabalho até 2050 quando estivermos todos a fazer tijolo. Para salvarem a face destes anos de submissão à austeridade das cativações do ministro das finanças, aquelas que usam os professores como palhaços a quem se vai buscar dinheiro fácil para dar à banca e amigos, aquelas do governo da pseudo-esquerda a quem os sindicatos fazem voto de obediência como militantes amestrados que são.

Quantos professores vão alinhar nesta iniciativa fantoche? A minha previsão é que quase nenhuns. Apenas aqueles que fazem parte do rebanho das militâncias acéfalas arrebanhadas pelo poder do momento.

 

Autoria e outros dados (tags, etc)

publicado às 04:59

 

 

"Açude Insuflável de Abrantes. Rio Tejo "colorido e espumante".

 

Autoria e outros dados (tags, etc)

publicado às 07:02


Partidos políticos?

por beatriz j a, em 27.05.18

 

 

 

Autoria e outros dados (tags, etc)

publicado às 06:55

 

 

O Rolha foi a alcunha com que ficou conhecido o Costa Gomes (Costa Gomes viveu entre dois mundos: o militar e o político; a guerra e a ciência; a esquerda e a direita; o socialismo e a democracia; a revolução e o Estado de direito; as "conquistas" e a legalidade; a discrição e a ribalta) o general que assistia ao afundanço dos outros nesses anos da Revolução onde as cabeças rolavam por dá cá aquela palha e ficava sempre a boiar à tona de água. O Costa (por acaso até tem o nome do Rolha original) com o seu espírito pragmático do género, 'adapto-me a tudo', seja a um acordo com o PCP e o BE seja com o PSD, ou com quem mais for preciso: não foi ele o número 2 do Socas(?) não quer saber de valores. Valores? Quais valores? Isso são meras palavras que se adaptam a qualquer coisa que nos garanta o poder. Enfim, é o Rolha destes tempos e assume a sua qualidade de boiador. Acima de tudo quer estar à tona de água. 

 

Se achava que o congresso do PS ia discutir se o partido deve estar mais à esquerda ou mais à direita, António Costa matou o assunto à partida. O PS está onde sempre esteve, garante: um partido que adapta os seus valores “aos nossos tempos”, pragmático, com boas contas públicas e sem “amanhãs que cantam”.

 

 

Autoria e outros dados (tags, etc)

publicado às 16:11


Isto foi hoje

por beatriz j a, em 26.05.18

 

 

Eu sentada numa pedra enquanto o Rogério andava a apanhar e a pôr no contentor do lixo chapéus de sol escangalhados que os grunhos da temporada deixaram atrás de um pinheiro à borda da estrada.

 

IMG_1960.jpg

 

Autoria e outros dados (tags, etc)

publicado às 12:38

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