<?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-3706359040467957163</id><updated>2011-08-07T21:23:00.135-07:00</updated><category term='Quase-contos e outras mentiras'/><category term='Constatações Cretinas'/><title type='text'>Corredor Polonês</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://corredorpolones.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3706359040467957163/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://corredorpolones.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Luis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15294763666983900018</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><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>12</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706359040467957163.post-4418246495070720660</id><published>2011-08-07T21:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-08-07T21:23:00.145-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Syd Barret e um reencontro com uma amiga</title><summary type='text'>Acho que, às vezes, é muito difícil perceber para onde se está indo de verdade.E o problema que há nisso  não é realmente se desconhecer para onde se está indo - se alguém quiser me dar uma passagem surpresa para Paris, por exemplo, eu não vou ficar triste. O problema é não conseguir voltar quando a gente chega num lugar em que não queriamos estar. E, claro, lugar aqui não significa realmente um </summary><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3706359040467957163&amp;postID=4418246495070720660&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3706359040467957163/posts/default/4418246495070720660'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3706359040467957163/posts/default/4418246495070720660'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://corredorpolones.blogspot.com/2011/08/syd-barret-e-um-reencontro-com-uma.html' title='Syd Barret e um reencontro com uma amiga'/><author><name>Luis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15294763666983900018</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><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706359040467957163.post-5915967331684310118</id><published>2010-03-05T22:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-06-13T16:36:30.837-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'></summary><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3706359040467957163&amp;postID=5915967331684310118&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3706359040467957163/posts/default/5915967331684310118'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3706359040467957163/posts/default/5915967331684310118'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://corredorpolones.blogspot.com/2010/03/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>Luis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15294763666983900018</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/_mdaWpSSqJfE/S5HzmH6aINI/AAAAAAAAANg/snydSv61TZw/s72-c/FearAndLoathing004.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706359040467957163.post-7663021670500607440</id><published>2009-11-19T16:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-22T10:20:09.547-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"..."</title><summary type='text'>Ainda me impressiona como pessoas pegam a primeira música que está tocando no Media Player e copiam um verso qualquer da música. Depois colam por ai a fora, como se fosse a frase feita sob medida pro momento da vida.Colam porque acham poético e bem escrito, e só. É a vontade de encaixar algo bonito no momento; romancear a coisa.Claro, se o intuito é ter algo bonito para outros lerem, então é esse</summary><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3706359040467957163&amp;postID=7663021670500607440&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3706359040467957163/posts/default/7663021670500607440'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3706359040467957163/posts/default/7663021670500607440'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://corredorpolones.blogspot.com/2009/11/blog-post.html' title='&quot;...&quot;'/><author><name>Luis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15294763666983900018</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><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706359040467957163.post-6984789280933947031</id><published>2009-11-11T17:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-11T17:52:51.407-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>"We rest here while we can, but we hear the ocean calling in our dreams,And we know by the morning, the wind will fill our sails to test the seams,The calm is on the water and part of us would linger by the shore,For ships are safe in harbor, but that's not what ships are for."  </summary><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3706359040467957163&amp;postID=6984789280933947031&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3706359040467957163/posts/default/6984789280933947031'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3706359040467957163/posts/default/6984789280933947031'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://corredorpolones.blogspot.com/2009/11/we-rest-here-while-we-can-but-we-hear.html' title=''/><author><name>Luis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15294763666983900018</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/_mdaWpSSqJfE/SvtoNjSqnvI/AAAAAAAAAM0/XTSoJeCEmAM/s72-c/asdsadsa545.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706359040467957163.post-1158760416200736012</id><published>2009-07-19T13:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-01-25T15:26:44.935-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Life (tutorial for dummies)</title><summary type='text'></summary><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3706359040467957163&amp;postID=1158760416200736012&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3706359040467957163/posts/default/1158760416200736012'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3706359040467957163/posts/default/1158760416200736012'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://corredorpolones.blogspot.com/2009/07/life-tutorial-for-dummies.html' title='Life (tutorial for dummies)'/><author><name>Luis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15294763666983900018</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/_mdaWpSSqJfE/SmOG8G35vCI/AAAAAAAAAMk/BavCbgn6H4I/s72-c/vida.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706359040467957163.post-3410781145397337460</id><published>2009-04-23T18:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-01-25T15:28:16.349-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dica Profissional</title><summary type='text'>Quando, na próxima festa, alguém te perguntar :- Você está bêbado ?Não hesite em dizer:- Estou apenas sendo pró-ativo e dinâmico.Soa mais profissional.</summary><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3706359040467957163&amp;postID=3410781145397337460&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3706359040467957163/posts/default/3410781145397337460'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3706359040467957163/posts/default/3410781145397337460'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://corredorpolones.blogspot.com/2009/04/dica-profissional.html' title='Dica Profissional'/><author><name>Luis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15294763666983900018</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><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706359040467957163.post-7677587849237745121</id><published>2008-10-27T12:32:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-01-25T15:50:16.844-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Oswaldo e as linhas</title><summary type='text'>    Oswaldo sempre preferiu linhas a pontos. Ou melhor, nunca viu um ponto na vida. Quando de pontos se tratava, a linhas sempre recorria.   Nos seus passeios, nunca lembrava do que via, só do que tivesse uma história, ou só do que tivesse um caminho pronto. Algo que fizesse sentido. E nunca fez sentido a contemplação pura, pois nunca houve um ponto, só pontos. Como na matemática, num gráfico, </summary><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3706359040467957163&amp;postID=7677587849237745121&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3706359040467957163/posts/default/7677587849237745121'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3706359040467957163/posts/default/7677587849237745121'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://corredorpolones.blogspot.com/2008/10/oswaldo-e-as-linhas.html' title='Oswaldo e as linhas'/><author><name>Luis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15294763666983900018</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/_mdaWpSSqJfE/SQTREybEdtI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/O0DLXzxbTGs/s72-c/The_Curves_Of_Existence_by_hougaard.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706359040467957163.post-5808875748672890762</id><published>2008-05-13T18:02:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-01-25T15:38:22.607-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Constatações Cretinas'/><title type='text'>Constatação Gastronômica(II)</title><summary type='text'>Macarrão sem sal, macarrão que passou do ponto; se bobiar até macarrão cru.É só procurar com cuidado na geladeira, achar a última tirinha de Bacon e tudo estará salvo.“Buscar-me-eis, e me achareis, quando me            buscardes de todo o vosso coração.”(Jeremias 29:13)                 O Bacon é o Messias da cozinha contemporânea.</summary><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3706359040467957163&amp;postID=5808875748672890762&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3706359040467957163/posts/default/5808875748672890762'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3706359040467957163/posts/default/5808875748672890762'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://corredorpolones.blogspot.com/2008/05/constatao-gastronmicaii.html' title='Constatação Gastronômica(II)'/><author><name>Luis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15294763666983900018</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><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706359040467957163.post-1212199385938041600</id><published>2007-12-10T13:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-25T15:50:20.202-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Emotional Colorblind</title><summary type='text'>-That´s why you hang on recovery groups;-You´re emotional colorblind, you use the right words, the feelings never come to pass-That´s not true-It is, Lila. You know the definitions in the dictionary for the feelings? Longing, Joy, Sorrow. You don´t have no idea-You´re wrong, I have feelings for you-You wanna have feelings for me. But they are just impulses.-Enough!-Primitive responses to imediate</summary><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3706359040467957163&amp;postID=1212199385938041600&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3706359040467957163/posts/default/1212199385938041600'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3706359040467957163/posts/default/1212199385938041600'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://corredorpolones.blogspot.com/2007/12/emotional-colorblind.html' title='Emotional Colorblind'/><author><name>Luis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15294763666983900018</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><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706359040467957163.post-1584298681831956376</id><published>2007-11-15T19:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-25T16:25:07.576-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Quase-contos e outras mentiras'/><title type='text'>A corte</title><summary type='text'>Era um sábado cinzento e mais uma vez ele acordava para ir desempenhar suas funções reais. Era rei, mas menos por vocação do que pelo princípio hereditário de sucessão. Mesmo assim, desempenhava seu cargo: sentava no trono com olhar intenso, fazendo referência ao infinito, e todo o resto da descrição charmosa - e essa descrição, o leitor que se vire, depende dele mesmo: se tiver imaginação verá </summary><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3706359040467957163&amp;postID=1584298681831956376&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3706359040467957163/posts/default/1584298681831956376'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3706359040467957163/posts/default/1584298681831956376'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://corredorpolones.blogspot.com/2007/11/corte.html' title='A corte'/><author><name>Luis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15294763666983900018</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><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706359040467957163.post-2316603851867366870</id><published>2007-09-17T20:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-01-25T15:50:24.320-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Entre a corda e a coragem.</title><summary type='text'>Nessas horas, quisera eles serem mais sensatos, cá entre nós, é tão árduo ser o próprio carrasco, enquanto por um lado lhes falta temeridade para extingir definitivamente a dor, encolhem-se a cada sol pertinaz a se pôr.Sinto afeição pelos que compartilham desse sentimento, não pense deles; seres infelizes, que perseguem a boa ventura, estão sim, perdidos entre a corda e a coragem. Pode soar como </summary><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3706359040467957163&amp;postID=2316603851867366870&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3706359040467957163/posts/default/2316603851867366870'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3706359040467957163/posts/default/2316603851867366870'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://corredorpolones.blogspot.com/2007/09/entre-corda-e-coragem.html' title='Entre a corda e a coragem.'/><author><name>Ricardo Goulart</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IZxwtNGhbC0/SxXOXMYJf7I/AAAAAAAAAJs/GXq5t36FnZ8/S220/eu1.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_IZxwtNGhbC0/Ru9HGdZjwnI/AAAAAAAAABQ/3Wyxv513kss/s72-c/gallows.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706359040467957163.post-9166833667347349243</id><published>2007-08-23T08:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-01-25T15:50:22.999-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Alegoria Pessoal</title><summary type='text'>  Erguido para sustentar um grande templo para Zeus, um único pilar que parecia já estar em queda foi motivo de grande confusão na cidade, assim foi convocado um grande sábio que viajava pelo mundo, famoso por fazer longas viagens tentando fazer suas idéias perfeitas se concretizarem no universo conhecido.     No entanto, este sábio demiurgo verificando a instabilidade desse antes sustentável </summary><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3706359040467957163&amp;postID=9166833667347349243&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3706359040467957163/posts/default/9166833667347349243'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3706359040467957163/posts/default/9166833667347349243'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://corredorpolones.blogspot.com/2007/08/alegoria-pessoal.html' title='Alegoria Pessoal'/><author><name>Ricardo Goulart</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IZxwtNGhbC0/SxXOXMYJf7I/AAAAAAAAAJs/GXq5t36FnZ8/S220/eu1.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_IZxwtNGhbC0/Rs2rT5Fj2VI/AAAAAAAAABI/tRAs8Hjbkbw/s72-c/euhein.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry></feed>
