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<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;Ck8CR3s6eCp7ImA9WhRaEUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7727195265507410283</id><updated>2012-02-14T02:41:06.510-01:00</updated><category term="GUERRA" /><title>João das Letras</title><subtitle type="html">Sobre...Tudo. O tx acompanhando a imagem, a montagem delas e suas legendas; ou simplesmente uma crônica. Dessas q ainda tem acentos mas abrevia palavras. Ou se reinventa... sejam bem-vindos (ainda com hífen)a este universo literário. Cheio de ilustrações e muito bem acompanhado...</subtitle><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://joaodasletras.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://joaodasletras.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>João Bueno / João das Letras</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04024374586851373438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fKChLwNTzuI/Thocsek4WeI/AAAAAAAAAgo/bRAxx7ULCXs/s220/Jdas%2Bletras%2B4.jpg" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>815</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/JooDasLetras" /><feedburner:info uri="joodasletras" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><feedburner:emailServiceId>JooDasLetras</feedburner:emailServiceId><feedburner:feedburnerHostname>http://feedburner.google.com</feedburner:feedburnerHostname><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkIGQn05fCp7ImA9WhRaEUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7727195265507410283.post-6691339795585007383</id><published>2012-02-14T02:30:00.002-01:00</published><updated>2012-02-14T02:35:23.324-01:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-02-14T02:35:23.324-01:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/6691339795585007383?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/6691339795585007383?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~3/6yRy7fZBKTI/mas-todo-mangue-tambem-e-ninho.html" title="" /><author><name>João Bueno / João das Letras</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04024374586851373438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fKChLwNTzuI/Thocsek4WeI/AAAAAAAAAgo/bRAxx7ULCXs/s220/Jdas%2Bletras%2B4.jpg" /></author><content type="html">
Mas todo mangue também é ninho. Infestado de mosquitos e muriçocas alucinadas. Quando percebemos que o contato físico soa repugnante e o ar periférico parece ruim, não realizamos que a lama esconde um imenso berço. Um útero natural parindo vida em sincopada velocidade. O milagre dissipado de milhares. Ninguém é de todo bom ou ruim... Nem ele. Nem assuntos. Ou pessoas ou lugares...
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ANM6kYtAjeTbu6G6A_Xq4ctwK5Q/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ANM6kYtAjeTbu6G6A_Xq4ctwK5Q/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ANM6kYtAjeTbu6G6A_Xq4ctwK5Q/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ANM6kYtAjeTbu6G6A_Xq4ctwK5Q/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~4/6yRy7fZBKTI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://joaodasletras.blogspot.com/2012/02/mas-todo-mangue-tambem-e-ninho.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkcARn4yfip7ImA9WhRaEUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7727195265507410283.post-7382748971454188681</id><published>2012-02-14T02:27:00.002-01:00</published><updated>2012-02-14T02:27:27.096-01:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-02-14T02:27:27.096-01:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/7382748971454188681?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/7382748971454188681?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~3/NaAHpMFeTzI/7-glauber-acorda-acorda-deus-e-o-diabo.html" title="" /><author><name>João Bueno / João das Letras</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04024374586851373438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fKChLwNTzuI/Thocsek4WeI/AAAAAAAAAgo/bRAxx7ULCXs/s220/Jdas%2Bletras%2B4.jpg" /></author><content type="html">
7

Glauber //

Acorda, acorda!
Deus e o Diabo na terra do sol //
Ainda caminham em preto e branco //


&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/1IOtVPoT79DSi4qPpDOEPYyCZWE/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/1IOtVPoT79DSi4qPpDOEPYyCZWE/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/1IOtVPoT79DSi4qPpDOEPYyCZWE/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/1IOtVPoT79DSi4qPpDOEPYyCZWE/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~4/NaAHpMFeTzI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://joaodasletras.blogspot.com/2012/02/7-glauber-acorda-acorda-deus-e-o-diabo.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0MBQHc6eCp7ImA9WhRaEUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7727195265507410283.post-1144847997388711150</id><published>2012-02-14T02:17:00.000-01:00</published><updated>2012-02-14T02:17:31.910-01:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-02-14T02:17:31.910-01:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/1144847997388711150?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/1144847997388711150?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~3/LscLU5J54Z8/blog-post_14.html" title="" /><author><name>João Bueno / João das Letras</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04024374586851373438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fKChLwNTzuI/Thocsek4WeI/AAAAAAAAAgo/bRAxx7ULCXs/s220/Jdas%2Bletras%2B4.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://img.youtube.com/vi/le7UnUaxv90/default.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2pZUWH9HV21V_ftJ3xXE_VyPYsc/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2pZUWH9HV21V_ftJ3xXE_VyPYsc/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2pZUWH9HV21V_ftJ3xXE_VyPYsc/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2pZUWH9HV21V_ftJ3xXE_VyPYsc/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~4/LscLU5J54Z8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://joaodasletras.blogspot.com/2012/02/blog-post_14.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0QHRX85eyp7ImA9WhRaEUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7727195265507410283.post-8757032643207679504</id><published>2012-02-14T02:14:00.001-01:00</published><updated>2012-02-14T02:15:34.123-01:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-02-14T02:15:34.123-01:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/8757032643207679504?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/8757032643207679504?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~3/uoO-t24zCbc/repito-e-dedico-ao-amigo-q-pediu.html" title="" /><author><name>João Bueno / João das Letras</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04024374586851373438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fKChLwNTzuI/Thocsek4WeI/AAAAAAAAAgo/bRAxx7ULCXs/s220/Jdas%2Bletras%2B4.jpg" /></author><content type="html">
 ENSINARAM-ME Q ERA ERRADO FICAR EM SILÊNCIO e REZAR PARA 1 DEUS Q NÃO FOSSE ABSOLUTO e DORMIR A CALMARIA DO MAR SEM MOVIMENTO e PAGAR PARA REVER O AUTORETRATO. DISSERAM-ME P NÃO FALAR NOME FEIO, MAS RECEIO TORNAR MEU JURAMENTO INDECENTE. É PQ PALAVRA CONTIDA NÃO É A VOZ Q SOA; É A OUTRA; Q NÃO MENTE...
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rma_IUmIJ9t88IFHV5vjS2N-8VY/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rma_IUmIJ9t88IFHV5vjS2N-8VY/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rma_IUmIJ9t88IFHV5vjS2N-8VY/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rma_IUmIJ9t88IFHV5vjS2N-8VY/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~4/uoO-t24zCbc" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://joaodasletras.blogspot.com/2012/02/repito-e-dedico-ao-amigo-q-pediu.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkAGQHY4eyp7ImA9WhRaEUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7727195265507410283.post-3220009540773090206</id><published>2012-02-06T15:55:00.002-01:00</published><updated>2012-02-14T02:38:41.833-01:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-02-14T02:38:41.833-01:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/3220009540773090206?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/3220009540773090206?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~3/wq0-83qqeOU/certa-vez-me-disseram-que-eu-nao.html" title="" /><author><name>João Bueno / João das Letras</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04024374586851373438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fKChLwNTzuI/Thocsek4WeI/AAAAAAAAAgo/bRAxx7ULCXs/s220/Jdas%2Bletras%2B4.jpg" /></author><content type="html">Certa vez me disseram que eu não deveria mais contar estrelas. Silenciar o tempo. Respirar a letargia de uma filosofia budista, por exemplo, que contrapunha todo o resto a que durante uma vida inteira estive acostumado. Falavam que deveria ter pressa, pois havia um mote de valores que deveriam circular no curral da sala de jantar e contas e pessoas que precisam de pessoas. E mulheres que se 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/LRmLNON4tQO993ypofnkMuKZQNw/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/LRmLNON4tQO993ypofnkMuKZQNw/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~4/wq0-83qqeOU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://joaodasletras.blogspot.com/2012/02/certa-vez-me-disseram-que-eu-nao.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEMNSX88cSp7ImA9WhRbEk4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7727195265507410283.post-8873127411436084272</id><published>2012-02-03T01:34:00.000-01:00</published><updated>2012-02-03T01:34:58.179-01:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-02-03T01:34:58.179-01:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/8873127411436084272?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/8873127411436084272?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~3/vEfglVaDw1w/queria-poder-desaparecer-e-acordar-sem.html" title="" /><author><name>João Bueno / João das Letras</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04024374586851373438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fKChLwNTzuI/Thocsek4WeI/AAAAAAAAAgo/bRAxx7ULCXs/s220/Jdas%2Bletras%2B4.jpg" /></author><content type="html">Queria poder desaparecer e acordar sem identidade; num lugar chamado casa, q fica na rua Terra, ao lado do entardecer; tomaria café, falaria do violão, até a próxima chuva forte, q derretesse minhas ilusões de sabonete...!

A poesia derramada à conta gotas sobrevive na alma! Tão concentrado o néctar, q sustenta em pé “sua fonte”. Quisera soubessem a dor de escrever; poderia dizer. Sobre o alívio 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/yviblKlhilx8i9h7J8qb-bfmtwk/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/yviblKlhilx8i9h7J8qb-bfmtwk/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~4/vEfglVaDw1w" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://joaodasletras.blogspot.com/2012/02/queria-poder-desaparecer-e-acordar-sem.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ak4NSXo5fyp7ImA9WhRbEUk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7727195265507410283.post-7396364788367717688</id><published>2012-02-02T01:14:00.001-01:00</published><updated>2012-02-02T01:16:38.427-01:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-02-02T01:16:38.427-01:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/7396364788367717688?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/7396364788367717688?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~3/Wd2BuviBkFI/burca-e-sao-paulo-nao-sabia-da.html" title="" /><author><name>João Bueno / João das Letras</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04024374586851373438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fKChLwNTzuI/Thocsek4WeI/AAAAAAAAAgo/bRAxx7ULCXs/s220/Jdas%2Bletras%2B4.jpg" /></author><content type="html">A Burca e São Paulo / Não sabia da espessura da vestimenta! Relatos revelam que é similar ao jeans barato, duro, quente, de impossível balançar. Tornando os movimentos rudes! É como se fosse o resumo de qualquer sugestão à escravidão dos costumes e suas dezenas de dúvidas. Também pensava nas barbas de religiosos que contrapunham ao desejo dos espelhos. O próprio significado do binômio 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hExN2UvOW8s-DNlBvViN-_oHteo/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hExN2UvOW8s-DNlBvViN-_oHteo/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hExN2UvOW8s-DNlBvViN-_oHteo/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hExN2UvOW8s-DNlBvViN-_oHteo/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~4/Wd2BuviBkFI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://joaodasletras.blogspot.com/2012/02/burca-e-sao-paulo-nao-sabia-da.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkUNQHc4eyp7ImA9WhRbEUk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7727195265507410283.post-5153126414910494915</id><published>2012-02-02T01:04:00.002-01:00</published><updated>2012-02-02T01:04:51.933-01:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-02-02T01:04:51.933-01:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/5153126414910494915?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/5153126414910494915?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~3/TZEM4nHorYE/joao-das-letras.html" title="" /><author><name>João Bueno / João das Letras</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04024374586851373438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fKChLwNTzuI/Thocsek4WeI/AAAAAAAAAgo/bRAxx7ULCXs/s220/Jdas%2Bletras%2B4.jpg" /></author><content type="html">Joao Das Letras ‎...  "Meu tempo é quando" disse o poeta Vinícius de Morais. E o seu, irmão?  Corre vento e ventania, toda hora e todo dia; içar velas, mergulhar; é  água q não rega a pele mas inunda pensamentos e lava / Há 1 vulcão q  somos todos nós; daí tantas contradições e convivência. Saudade de yoga,  das "pessoas q são pessoas". Tranqüilo! Esvaziar o pote...
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Qqmf-1SOGwqtYb_ZF2CVLWg9oro/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Qqmf-1SOGwqtYb_ZF2CVLWg9oro/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Qqmf-1SOGwqtYb_ZF2CVLWg9oro/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Qqmf-1SOGwqtYb_ZF2CVLWg9oro/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~4/TZEM4nHorYE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://joaodasletras.blogspot.com/2012/02/joao-das-letras.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkcNRnw5fip7ImA9WhRbEUk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7727195265507410283.post-3393239275361331445</id><published>2012-02-02T01:00:00.003-01:00</published><updated>2012-02-02T01:01:37.226-01:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-02-02T01:01:37.226-01:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/3393239275361331445?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/3393239275361331445?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~3/a421h29h7AI/joao-das-letras-70-mortos-numa-briga-de.html" title="" /><author><name>João Bueno / João das Letras</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04024374586851373438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fKChLwNTzuI/Thocsek4WeI/AAAAAAAAAgo/bRAxx7ULCXs/s220/Jdas%2Bletras%2B4.jpg" /></author><content type="html">Joao Das Letras‎70  MORTOS NUMA BRIGA DE TORCIDA NO ... EGITO! É! ANOS DE CONHECIMENTO E  TRUCIDARAM RIVAIS EM NÚMERO MENOR. MILHARES DE ANOS DE CULTURA; AÍ SURGE  A NOVA E MODERNA  EXPRESSÃO:"GLADIADORES MODERNOS" NA MAIOR EMISSORA DO  PAÍS, QDO O ASSUNTO É MMA. SERÁ Q ESPORTISTAS SUBSTITUIRÃO CANHÕES? A  IDÉIA TRABALHADA NÃO É RUIM; MAS FORAM 70 NO EGITO; TÊM FARAÓ MORRENDO  DE VERGONHA EM 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/f_T0N584yxHK4ZTmGg5RNI-v2vI/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/f_T0N584yxHK4ZTmGg5RNI-v2vI/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/f_T0N584yxHK4ZTmGg5RNI-v2vI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/f_T0N584yxHK4ZTmGg5RNI-v2vI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~4/a421h29h7AI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://joaodasletras.blogspot.com/2012/02/joao-das-letras-70-mortos-numa-briga-de.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUABQ3k-fSp7ImA9WhRUGUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7727195265507410283.post-1708176643580142420</id><published>2012-01-31T03:22:00.000-01:00</published><updated>2012-01-31T03:22:32.755-01:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-31T03:22:32.755-01:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/1708176643580142420?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/1708176643580142420?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~3/y4jvPaNLCwE/joao-das-letras-amanha-cedo-parto-p.html" title="" /><author><name>João Bueno / João das Letras</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04024374586851373438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fKChLwNTzuI/Thocsek4WeI/AAAAAAAAAgo/bRAxx7ULCXs/s220/Jdas%2Bletras%2B4.jpg" /></author><content type="html">Joao Das Letras Amanhã  cedo parto p Minas p levar os meninos. Volto logo; mas penso como não  me acostumo em de repente "deixar de ser" pai; todas as horas; e amores e  repressões necessárias. E novamente de longe rezar baixinho; sem  respiração de filho ressoando perto. Sabe passarinhada na roça ou ar  condicionado moderno; os silêncios; é isso... Quando perto... Calmaria  de alma!
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IwxMbYGbYXDYwpb5n4ooJVzy_0U/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IwxMbYGbYXDYwpb5n4ooJVzy_0U/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IwxMbYGbYXDYwpb5n4ooJVzy_0U/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IwxMbYGbYXDYwpb5n4ooJVzy_0U/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~4/y4jvPaNLCwE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://joaodasletras.blogspot.com/2012/01/joao-das-letras-amanha-cedo-parto-p.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUICQHs-eip7ImA9WhRUGUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7727195265507410283.post-4639186641292119188</id><published>2012-01-31T03:19:00.000-01:00</published><updated>2012-01-31T03:19:21.552-01:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-31T03:19:21.552-01:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/4639186641292119188?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/4639186641292119188?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~3/MpyUJRa2OmM/impressionante.html" title="" /><author><name>João Bueno / João das Letras</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04024374586851373438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fKChLwNTzuI/Thocsek4WeI/AAAAAAAAAgo/bRAxx7ULCXs/s220/Jdas%2Bletras%2B4.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://img.youtube.com/vi/8dSMLXxj3hI/default.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><content type="html">

IMPRESSIONANTE ... O TX É DE 1 ÍNDIO. IMPERDÍVEL SIM!
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/-EGWDlAvAJ76DpOtU_2bCBMWlw8/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/-EGWDlAvAJ76DpOtU_2bCBMWlw8/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/-EGWDlAvAJ76DpOtU_2bCBMWlw8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/-EGWDlAvAJ76DpOtU_2bCBMWlw8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~4/MpyUJRa2OmM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://joaodasletras.blogspot.com/2012/01/impressionante.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0cNRns-fip7ImA9WhRUGE8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7727195265507410283.post-72416413790279972</id><published>2012-01-29T06:08:00.001-01:00</published><updated>2012-01-29T06:11:37.556-01:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-29T06:11:37.556-01:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/72416413790279972?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/72416413790279972?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~3/5zOMHWaABGY/todo-dia-e-dia-delas-mas-ser-crianca-em.html" title="" /><author><name>João Bueno / João das Letras</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04024374586851373438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fKChLwNTzuI/Thocsek4WeI/AAAAAAAAAgo/bRAxx7ULCXs/s220/Jdas%2Bletras%2B4.jpg" /></author><content type="html">TODO DIA É DIA DELAS! MAS SER CRIANÇA EM SINTONIA COLETIVA; TALVEZ SEJA UM ARCO-ÍRIS... PLANTANDO BANANEIRA! 

Dedico AO FIM DAS MARAVILHOSAS FÉRIAS C FILHOS E SOBRINHOS 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/T3-Z69iWAwGUEF4A5GfGJVjp6v4/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/T3-Z69iWAwGUEF4A5GfGJVjp6v4/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/T3-Z69iWAwGUEF4A5GfGJVjp6v4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/T3-Z69iWAwGUEF4A5GfGJVjp6v4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~4/5zOMHWaABGY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://joaodasletras.blogspot.com/2012/01/todo-dia-e-dia-delas-mas-ser-crianca-em.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkEEQHwzfCp7ImA9WhRUGE8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7727195265507410283.post-5083829283708873418</id><published>2012-01-29T06:03:00.000-01:00</published><updated>2012-01-29T06:03:21.284-01:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-29T06:03:21.284-01:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/5083829283708873418?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/5083829283708873418?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~3/YgnTXEb9UYk/ontem-sonhei-c-um-mundo-melhor-uma-mesa.html" title="" /><author><name>João Bueno / João das Letras</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04024374586851373438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fKChLwNTzuI/Thocsek4WeI/AAAAAAAAAgo/bRAxx7ULCXs/s220/Jdas%2Bletras%2B4.jpg" /></author><content type="html">Ontem sonhei c um mundo melhor; uma mesa de jantar q se perdia de vista e atravessava oceanos. Havia grãos e todos os dentes ornamentando bocas sadias q sorriam sem parar. Tinha: gargalhada de bola e pique; polícia sem ladrão; arma de espada p defender o castelo q era... D todo mundo! Pq criança só é dona; qdo pais se esquecem de dizer o essencial! E arrotam poderes "maiores" q 1 eu T AMO filho. 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/6OjFTRCv6gfZV7JdUh0N0m7RVcs/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/6OjFTRCv6gfZV7JdUh0N0m7RVcs/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/6OjFTRCv6gfZV7JdUh0N0m7RVcs/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/6OjFTRCv6gfZV7JdUh0N0m7RVcs/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~4/YgnTXEb9UYk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://joaodasletras.blogspot.com/2012/01/ontem-sonhei-c-um-mundo-melhor-uma-mesa.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkcMRno9eyp7ImA9WhRUGE8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7727195265507410283.post-28980421156280523</id><published>2012-01-29T05:54:00.000-01:00</published><updated>2012-01-29T05:54:47.463-01:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-29T05:54:47.463-01:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/28980421156280523?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/28980421156280523?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~3/2-VUoXuQTnM/poetas.html" title="" /><author><name>João Bueno / João das Letras</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04024374586851373438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fKChLwNTzuI/Thocsek4WeI/AAAAAAAAAgo/bRAxx7ULCXs/s220/Jdas%2Bletras%2B4.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://img.youtube.com/vi/Gm0vgiyhT1A/default.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><content type="html">

POETAS ... SOMOS OU NÃO SOMOS POETAS ? FALA MESTRE
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/qNhEjAMsJubVCn87XfiZGCGwGic/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/qNhEjAMsJubVCn87XfiZGCGwGic/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/qNhEjAMsJubVCn87XfiZGCGwGic/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/qNhEjAMsJubVCn87XfiZGCGwGic/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~4/2-VUoXuQTnM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://joaodasletras.blogspot.com/2012/01/poetas.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0UGQXw5fCp7ImA9WhRUF04.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7727195265507410283.post-7039728830659335465</id><published>2012-01-28T06:20:00.000-01:00</published><updated>2012-01-28T06:20:20.224-01:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-28T06:20:20.224-01:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/7039728830659335465?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/7039728830659335465?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~3/dS3PA477zp4/joao-das-letras-encostei-meu-ego-na.html" title="" /><author><name>João Bueno / João das Letras</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04024374586851373438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fKChLwNTzuI/Thocsek4WeI/AAAAAAAAAgo/bRAxx7ULCXs/s220/Jdas%2Bletras%2B4.jpg" /></author><content type="html">Joao Das Letras Encostei  meu ego na parede e disse: pq corremos tanto? Qta cobrança; calma! Fez  yoga? Respira p o mundo fluir... E agradece o dia, antes mesmo da  primeira atitude. Por menor q pareça, a diferença é vizinha do  raciocínio. Pelo menos hj! Não sejamos reativos. Todo perdão é pouco e  principalmente; exigir do espelho, outros movimentos. Aquelas são as  suas fronteiras; o seu 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8q_mYuyyzvJ7tspB6DUyQCFNgnk/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8q_mYuyyzvJ7tspB6DUyQCFNgnk/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8q_mYuyyzvJ7tspB6DUyQCFNgnk/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8q_mYuyyzvJ7tspB6DUyQCFNgnk/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~4/dS3PA477zp4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://joaodasletras.blogspot.com/2012/01/joao-das-letras-encostei-meu-ego-na.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkEAR3w6cCp7ImA9WhRUF04.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7727195265507410283.post-1071452021001045031</id><published>2012-01-28T06:08:00.003-01:00</published><updated>2012-01-28T06:10:46.218-01:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-28T06:10:46.218-01:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/1071452021001045031?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/1071452021001045031?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~3/hbRgCiPxm7M/poderia-pedir-oracoes-velas-pensamentos.html" title="" /><author><name>João Bueno / João das Letras</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04024374586851373438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fKChLwNTzuI/Thocsek4WeI/AAAAAAAAAgo/bRAxx7ULCXs/s220/Jdas%2Bletras%2B4.jpg" /></author><content type="html">Poderia  pedir orações, velas, pensamentos etc. Ando cansado. 1 mínimo de  satisfação e adequada punição aos culpados. Prédios não vem abaixo todos  os dias. Sendo fato isolado, para bom entendedor, foge a legalidade.  Quem pôs abaixo; ou o q? Fala-se em estruturas removidas em obras q não  deveriam; ou odores de gás. E as famílias senhor governador. Mesadinha e  foda-se! Perdoem o desabafo. RJ 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2FBc2f4SteBorwTEVBD3HS1dJDA/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2FBc2f4SteBorwTEVBD3HS1dJDA/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2FBc2f4SteBorwTEVBD3HS1dJDA/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2FBc2f4SteBorwTEVBD3HS1dJDA/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~4/hbRgCiPxm7M" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://joaodasletras.blogspot.com/2012/01/poderia-pedir-oracoes-velas-pensamentos.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkQFQXY-eSp7ImA9WhRUF04.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7727195265507410283.post-3431108387234262584</id><published>2012-01-28T06:05:00.000-01:00</published><updated>2012-01-28T06:05:10.851-01:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-28T06:05:10.851-01:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/3431108387234262584?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/3431108387234262584?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~3/DKbtqQOIMXY/blog-post.html" title="" /><author><name>João Bueno / João das Letras</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04024374586851373438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fKChLwNTzuI/Thocsek4WeI/AAAAAAAAAgo/bRAxx7ULCXs/s220/Jdas%2Bletras%2B4.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://img.youtube.com/vi/PI3bD56GnB0/default.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3JGD2mOS3g_psfMvZENvsMuou4A/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3JGD2mOS3g_psfMvZENvsMuou4A/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3JGD2mOS3g_psfMvZENvsMuou4A/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3JGD2mOS3g_psfMvZENvsMuou4A/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~4/DKbtqQOIMXY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://joaodasletras.blogspot.com/2012/01/blog-post.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEYDSHoyeyp7ImA9WhRUE0s.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7727195265507410283.post-8083053999742099815</id><published>2012-01-23T23:49:00.000-01:00</published><updated>2012-01-23T23:49:39.493-01:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-23T23:49:39.493-01:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/8083053999742099815?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/8083053999742099815?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~3/nkOEu7CByuY/as-vezes-me-sinto-desprovido-de.html" title="" /><author><name>João Bueno / João das Letras</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04024374586851373438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fKChLwNTzuI/Thocsek4WeI/AAAAAAAAAgo/bRAxx7ULCXs/s220/Jdas%2Bletras%2B4.jpg" /></author><content type="html">Às vezes me sinto desprovido de proteção senhor! Acredito, agora, nos meus! PQ meus filhos retornaram e um silêncio de ar-condicionado, como mencionei há pouco num desses sites de relacionamento; “urge”. Aquela falta de ventania e grito sabe. Tudo; absolutamente tudo o q fora reclamado e discutido durante todo janeiro de férias, cai na mais profunda falta de sentido se o assunto contorna as 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rkbdg-JnNVc4yMApWALL37V8M_Y/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rkbdg-JnNVc4yMApWALL37V8M_Y/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rkbdg-JnNVc4yMApWALL37V8M_Y/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rkbdg-JnNVc4yMApWALL37V8M_Y/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~4/nkOEu7CByuY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://joaodasletras.blogspot.com/2012/01/as-vezes-me-sinto-desprovido-de.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEcEQ3Yyfyp7ImA9WhRUE0s.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7727195265507410283.post-4169536993383894880</id><published>2012-01-23T23:46:00.000-01:00</published><updated>2012-01-23T23:46:42.897-01:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-23T23:46:42.897-01:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/4169536993383894880?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/4169536993383894880?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~3/lwHwNeJpIOo/o-escritor-e-teatrologo-russo-anton.html" title="" /><author><name>João Bueno / João das Letras</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04024374586851373438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fKChLwNTzuI/Thocsek4WeI/AAAAAAAAAgo/bRAxx7ULCXs/s220/Jdas%2Bletras%2B4.jpg" /></author><content type="html">O escritor e teatrólogo russo Anton Tchekov tem um determinado conto intitulado "O Monge Negro" q fala num sujeito q se relaciona c uma entidade q por sua vez pede segredo. Quando o dito resolve contar o fato, acaba num sanatório e ainda ouve um sonoro eu te disse. E se pensar bem, todos temos nossas conversas silenciosas; e deuses de todos os lugares; e fé de tantas "grifes". Mas ainda teimo q 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/WUWlBFbEt77IrLm0wiCffvpDhCY/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/WUWlBFbEt77IrLm0wiCffvpDhCY/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/WUWlBFbEt77IrLm0wiCffvpDhCY/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/WUWlBFbEt77IrLm0wiCffvpDhCY/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~4/lwHwNeJpIOo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://joaodasletras.blogspot.com/2012/01/o-escritor-e-teatrologo-russo-anton.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ck8DQ3c4cCp7ImA9WhRWFUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7727195265507410283.post-7359279459077508603</id><published>2012-01-03T02:21:00.000-01:00</published><updated>2012-01-03T02:21:12.938-01:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-03T02:21:12.938-01:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/7359279459077508603?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/7359279459077508603?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~3/2SytaqLh9mA/1-genio-homenageia-outro.html" title="" /><author><name>João Bueno / João das Letras</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04024374586851373438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fKChLwNTzuI/Thocsek4WeI/AAAAAAAAAgo/bRAxx7ULCXs/s220/Jdas%2Bletras%2B4.jpg" /></author><content type="html">1 gênio homenageia outro... Como estações; tempo... Atemporal qdo o assunto é MÚSICA!
O  tempo cortou minhas franjas; depois aumentou os meus graus... Por fim:  fará dos óculos prova contundente; d tudo q pouco vi! ... 
Frases impactantes geram movimentos por aqui; 1 dicionário de citações e dia desses vc vira guru... (sobre FB)
Tem  gente q se acha. Brinca c o mundo COMO SE NÃO RODASSE. A lei do
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/F0rTZ3il4yIxuLLKx51uTQpiY10/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/F0rTZ3il4yIxuLLKx51uTQpiY10/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/F0rTZ3il4yIxuLLKx51uTQpiY10/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/F0rTZ3il4yIxuLLKx51uTQpiY10/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~4/2SytaqLh9mA" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://joaodasletras.blogspot.com/2012/01/1-genio-homenageia-outro.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ck8CR3s5eCp7ImA9WhRaEUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7727195265507410283.post-2992146731742521717</id><published>2012-01-03T02:08:00.002-01:00</published><updated>2012-02-14T02:41:06.520-01:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-02-14T02:41:06.520-01:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/2992146731742521717?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/2992146731742521717?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~3/epe1YFofl5g/normal-0-21-false-false-false-pt-br-x_9623.html" title="" /><author><name>João Bueno / João das Letras</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04024374586851373438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fKChLwNTzuI/Thocsek4WeI/AAAAAAAAAgo/bRAxx7ULCXs/s220/Jdas%2Bletras%2B4.jpg" /></author><content type="html">
Uma Clarineta, um Trompete e uma Ninfeta P. Menor de Idade //

O  trompetista era estudante dedicado. Tinha méritos o rapaz sim. Fora  sozinho para o exterior, estudava muitas horas por dia. Aprendeu a ler  partituras como se livros fossem; e outras línguas também. Méritos...!  Mas o ego; ah! Inimigo mordaz. SE “encarregara” de criar um sujeito com  vícios diferenciados da erudição. Garotas 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hUUwbIOvp1GOLdgiuMjCd_170a4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hUUwbIOvp1GOLdgiuMjCd_170a4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~4/epe1YFofl5g" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://joaodasletras.blogspot.com/2012/01/normal-0-21-false-false-false-pt-br-x_9623.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0MHR3g_fip7ImA9WhRWFUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7727195265507410283.post-8138165503534592129</id><published>2012-01-03T01:57:00.002-01:00</published><updated>2012-01-03T01:57:16.646-01:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-03T01:57:16.646-01:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/8138165503534592129?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/8138165503534592129?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~3/gkfpjUsf_wM/normal-0-21-false-false-false-pt-br-x_03.html" title="" /><author><name>João Bueno / João das Letras</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04024374586851373438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fKChLwNTzuI/Thocsek4WeI/AAAAAAAAAgo/bRAxx7ULCXs/s220/Jdas%2Bletras%2B4.jpg" /></author><content type="html">&amp;lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&amp;gt;     Normal   0         21         false   false   false      PT-BR   X-NONE   X-NONE                                                     MicrosoftInternetExplorer4                                                   &amp;lt;![endif]--&amp;gt;&amp;lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&amp;gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/huh85oo4DCSxjKYzLhlP9xKy3Vc/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/huh85oo4DCSxjKYzLhlP9xKy3Vc/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~4/gkfpjUsf_wM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://joaodasletras.blogspot.com/2012/01/normal-0-21-false-false-false-pt-br-x_03.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0QFSXk_fCp7ImA9WhRWFUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7727195265507410283.post-1483248653083459723</id><published>2012-01-03T01:55:00.002-01:00</published><updated>2012-01-03T01:55:18.744-01:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-03T01:55:18.744-01:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/1483248653083459723?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/1483248653083459723?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~3/X7NsLeuuiHw/normal-0-21-false-false-false-pt-br-x.html" title="" /><author><name>João Bueno / João das Letras</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04024374586851373438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fKChLwNTzuI/Thocsek4WeI/AAAAAAAAAgo/bRAxx7ULCXs/s220/Jdas%2Bletras%2B4.jpg" /></author><content type="html">&amp;lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&amp;gt;     Normal   0         21         false   false   false      PT-BR   X-NONE   X-NONE                                                     MicrosoftInternetExplorer4                                                   &amp;lt;![endif]--&amp;gt;&amp;lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&amp;gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/xle3IWX_txl0rGbQob0UieqL0QM/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/xle3IWX_txl0rGbQob0UieqL0QM/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~4/FEsXpbf2f-0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://joaodasletras.blogspot.com/2011/12/normal-0-21-false-false-false-pt-br-x_8999.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkcBRHk6cSp7ImA9WhRXFkw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7727195265507410283.post-6497343400831166185</id><published>2011-12-23T04:17:00.002-01:00</published><updated>2011-12-23T04:27:35.719-01:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-23T04:27:35.719-01:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/6497343400831166185?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7727195265507410283/posts/default/6497343400831166185?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/JooDasLetras/~3/xuQcpMkwzYo/normal-0-21-false-false-false-pt-br-x_23.html" title="" /><author><name>João Bueno / João das Letras</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04024374586851373438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fKChLwNTzuI/Thocsek4WeI/AAAAAAAAAgo/bRAxx7ULCXs/s220/Jdas%2Bletras%2B4.jpg" /></author><content type="html">
1 / 1 sujeito de cócoras apoiando um prato na mão esquerda servia sua refeição do lixo. A mão direita sustentava um garfo velho manipulado por dedos q seguravam c mãos de educação, e retalhos do q fora 1a bermuda q tapava as partes íntimas. Pensava o q seriam partes íntimas quando na profundidade da tradução da língua escrita, aquela alma transparente apenas sobrevivia... Adornar o caminho c 
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