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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;A08ARHY4fCp7ImA9WhRWFk4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6345854</id><updated>2012-01-03T23:17:25.834-02:00</updated><category term="Nostalgia" /><category term="Homenagem especial" /><category term="Música" /><category term="Aniversário" /><category term="Contos" /><category term="poesia" /><category term="Reflexões" /><category term="Conselho" /><category term="Pensamentos Soltos" /><category term="Medo do futuro" /><category term="Coração em cacos" /><title>Pensamentos Inesperados, Úteis ou Descartáveis.</title><subtitle type="html">...Poesia, nostalgia aleatória...</subtitle><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>Théo, desarmado por um sorriso..</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09371127012865031704</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="24" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pCIod7Cb7NM/S84OJ_mx3mI/AAAAAAAAAM4/Hw72PyLBkS0/S220/Eu.jpg" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>196</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/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis" /><feedburner:info uri="pensamentosinesperadosteisoudescartveis" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEQBQH07fCp7ImA9WhdaFU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6345854.post-1410304187546883321</id><published>2011-10-25T03:57:00.001-02:00</published><updated>2011-10-25T03:59:11.304-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-10-25T03:59:11.304-02:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Reflexões" /><title>Sobre um Livro de Comentários Perdido</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/feeds/1410304187546883321/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2011/10/sobre-um-livro-de-comentarios-perdido.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/1410304187546883321?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/1410304187546883321?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~3/gHXAA3m2ltQ/sobre-um-livro-de-comentarios-perdido.html" title="Sobre um Livro de Comentários Perdido" /><author><name>Pedro, Foca de aquário</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08891793817027853284</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Gn54i8zPbro/S6hDQehHvWI/AAAAAAAAANI/caBwiawrkB4/S220/Imagem+cam+009.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6Ga4G9OzyG4/TqZPVfXe-FI/AAAAAAAAARk/rxnVjGvKROk/s72-c/42770735.fair16.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">
Hoje reli coisas antigas no tempo, reli e me impressionei comigo mesmo. Por vezes acho-me gasto como grafia de caneta borrada, por gostas de água de uma biqueira alta, com ares de carrasco. A impressão que tenho é a de que minha estrela não brilha mais tão intensamente como antes, como num lapso desesperançoso, em uma cadeira de rodas imaginária, usando um cachecol que não combina com nada mais 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/LFU8iN3Me-Xf9kS8WPI01_5TSG4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/LFU8iN3Me-Xf9kS8WPI01_5TSG4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~4/gHXAA3m2ltQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2011/10/sobre-um-livro-de-comentarios-perdido.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkANR3g_fyp7ImA9WhdbE0U.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6345854.post-6326513945065516267</id><published>2011-10-12T00:04:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2011-10-12T00:06:36.647-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-10-12T00:06:36.647-03:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Coração em cacos" /><title>A última de amor.</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/feeds/6326513945065516267/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2011/10/ultima-de-amor.html#comment-form" title="1 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/6326513945065516267?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/6326513945065516267?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~3/DuzJzDteoKs/ultima-de-amor.html" title="A última de amor." /><author><name>Pedro, Foca de aquário</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08891793817027853284</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Gn54i8zPbro/S6hDQehHvWI/AAAAAAAAANI/caBwiawrkB4/S220/Imagem+cam+009.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">
Sua luz me atrai como a uma mariposa fascinada, dando rasantes circenses em seu mundo perfeito. Atraí-me pra perto, envolve em milhões de teias de sorrisos imantados, em seus pares de coxas expostos, na sua boca nervosa, em teu semblante plácido. No subúrbio dos teus olhos libidinosos eu choro uma chuva de equívocos, no teu toque eu me arrepio e subo 2 graus centígrados. Uma mácula esbarra em 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/--ab6pG8bMLTvg7EDgONsBxyh8A/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/--ab6pG8bMLTvg7EDgONsBxyh8A/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~4/DuzJzDteoKs" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2011/10/ultima-de-amor.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ak4ESXk4cCp7ImA9WhZWFEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6345854.post-3815235671756261659</id><published>2011-05-15T19:35:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2011-05-15T19:35:08.738-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-05-15T19:35:08.738-03:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Reflexões" /><title>Dualidade</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/feeds/3815235671756261659/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2011/05/dualidade.html#comment-form" title="1 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/3815235671756261659?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/3815235671756261659?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~3/D6uMx3X2Xw4/dualidade.html" title="Dualidade" /><author><name>Pedro, Foca de aquário</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08891793817027853284</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Gn54i8zPbro/S6hDQehHvWI/AAAAAAAAANI/caBwiawrkB4/S220/Imagem+cam+009.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TaTh2NUJ2Kg/TdBTUs_CCEI/AAAAAAAAAPU/RBqCwtl9FBw/s72-c/duality.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">


Uma parte de mim acredita a outra faz “tis!”, uma parte de mim estremece a outra inabalável torce o nariz. Parte de mim abandona, a outra sonha ser aclamada, Parte de mim me engana e a outra anseia ser amada. Parte de mim me enrola, a outra me abomina, parte de mim se joga e a outra me ensina, partes de mim partindo para destinos tão distantes, num aceno de mãos sem fim, em ciclos eternos 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Awd_z0i1n2-QC5R6FkzpApsu1UQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Awd_z0i1n2-QC5R6FkzpApsu1UQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~4/D6uMx3X2Xw4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2011/05/dualidade.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0cBQHcyeSp7ImA9WhZRGEs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6345854.post-1700728794689163544</id><published>2011-04-14T08:03:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2011-04-15T07:57:31.991-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-04-15T07:57:31.991-03:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Aniversário" /><title>Trinta e cinco</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/feeds/1700728794689163544/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2011/04/trinta-e-cinco.html#comment-form" title="3 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/1700728794689163544?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/1700728794689163544?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~3/Z0wpsjNnBpQ/trinta-e-cinco.html" title="Trinta e cinco" /><author><name>Théo, desarmado por um sorriso..</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09371127012865031704</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="24" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pCIod7Cb7NM/S84OJ_mx3mI/AAAAAAAAAM4/Hw72PyLBkS0/S220/Eu.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_0nllsQc8Uw/TagkhxVvOYI/AAAAAAAAAOk/wbk_BE1PPGU/s72-c/kids9.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>3</thr:total><content type="html">Quer saber? Eu sinto saudade, e isso é tudo o que sinto. Saudade... assim, como quem já não vive, como quem foi esquecido, coisa semelhante ao que se apagou das lembranças de outrem. Um trem que parte levando metade da gente, um aceno de mão que nunca deveria ser dado, um pedaço de meias verdades ditas sorrindo, só para iluminar a foto. Mas era menos complicado saudadear na infância, afinal, isso
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/FBoq-IPb8leC0LhFUuuKL7285_Q/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/FBoq-IPb8leC0LhFUuuKL7285_Q/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~4/Z0wpsjNnBpQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2011/04/trinta-e-cinco.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ak4EQXwzfCp7ImA9WhZSGE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6345854.post-7928401312997655401</id><published>2011-04-03T02:34:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2011-04-03T02:35:00.284-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-04-03T02:35:00.284-03:00</app:edited><title>AABB</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/feeds/7928401312997655401/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2011/04/ainda-me-lembro-daquele-brinquedo-de.html#comment-form" title="2 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/7928401312997655401?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/7928401312997655401?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~3/ncL9tVtEfXM/ainda-me-lembro-daquele-brinquedo-de.html" title="AABB" /><author><name>Pedro, Foca de aquário</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08891793817027853284</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Gn54i8zPbro/S6hDQehHvWI/AAAAAAAAANI/caBwiawrkB4/S220/Imagem+cam+009.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GAjhx5N590k/TZgGp7YgEJI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/CEc-tQP-j74/s72-c/121454210_80PJOryf.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><content type="html">Ainda me lembro daquele brinquedo de girar, presa na minha cabeça aquela imagem gira e gira sem parar no tempo espaço, em algum lugar do passado de um clube que eu frequentava, brincando com amigos ouvindo uma música no rádio que saia de um alto-falante preso a um poste, numa caixa preta.  Um atalho pro passado, pra um local inacessível  aos outros , acessível a mim somente dentro de minha cabeça
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Eu namoro as letras, já não há mais moças direitas a namorar, a minha grama está seca sobre um solo despojado de encantos. Tudo que eu queria me falta, toda a sobra do que não quero vêm me abraçar, as esquinas se curvam às ruas hoje estranhas a mim, um carro vai veloz com um sorriso de alguém no interior dele que nunca mais passará por aqui. As velas só derramam sua parafina despendida pelo 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/wfGD_N1ZHrk9pZxPEE36yTvq1a4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/wfGD_N1ZHrk9pZxPEE36yTvq1a4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~4/XjNQjxtttL0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2011/03/resquicios-de-mim.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkEEQHw8eCp7ImA9WhZRGEw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6345854.post-1763868983426390415</id><published>2010-11-18T00:46:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2011-04-14T16:50:01.270-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-04-14T16:50:01.270-03:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Reflexões" /><title>Sentidos, Tempo e Espaço...</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/feeds/1763868983426390415/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2010/11/sentidos-tempo-e-espaco.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/1763868983426390415?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/1763868983426390415?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~3/IefIAy_0IKM/sentidos-tempo-e-espaco.html" title="Sentidos, Tempo e Espaço..." /><author><name>Pedro, Foca de aquário</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08891793817027853284</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Gn54i8zPbro/S6hDQehHvWI/AAAAAAAAANI/caBwiawrkB4/S220/Imagem+cam+009.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Gn54i8zPbro/TOSgWkRXhiI/AAAAAAAAAOk/V7L0BrvVkTw/s72-c/teleoperadoras.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">

Todo mundo muito ocupado
Por todo o mundo
Todo mundo seguindo em frente
Por todo lado
Em toda parte ou qualquer partida
Por todo espaço
Por toda vida

Todo mundo muito distante
Ali do lado
Todo mundo medindo atenção
Sem saber pra onde
Em todo canto
Em qualquer canção

A toda hora, a qualquer instante
Em qualquer andar
Em qualquer olhar
Em qualquer semblante

Em qualquer parada para abastecer
Em
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IPmrWQx1LnPHWn_UrO0_mEkgZZg/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IPmrWQx1LnPHWn_UrO0_mEkgZZg/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~4/IefIAy_0IKM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2010/11/sentidos-tempo-e-espaco.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEEBQX4zcCp7ImA9Wx5TEUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6345854.post-7545719367649116531</id><published>2010-07-26T12:04:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2010-07-26T12:04:10.088-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-07-26T12:04:10.088-03:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Reflexões" /><title>Eu Lírico</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/feeds/7545719367649116531/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2010/07/eu-lirico.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/7545719367649116531?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/7545719367649116531?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~3/0BHSBrXkpAk/eu-lirico.html" title="Eu Lírico" /><author><name>Pedro, Foca de aquário</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08891793817027853284</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Gn54i8zPbro/S6hDQehHvWI/AAAAAAAAANI/caBwiawrkB4/S220/Imagem+cam+009.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Gn54i8zPbro/TE2jjOd27BI/AAAAAAAAAN8/2GUduBq_CSs/s72-c/73517330_UUsDY55M.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">
Quem ampara o poeta? Quando na face falta-lhe o riso, quando no coração falta-lhe a alegria risonha ou quando no olhar falta-lhe o brilho?


Quem dá de comer ao poeta? Será dele gerar suas próprias frases de efeito um ofício? suas citações próprias, se auto-projetar em sua própria sombra seria seu vício? 

O poeta já não dorme... ferida de guerra que não sara, ferradura pesada aos pés de difícil
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/MSSbi0F_khj_2xItX5pHdf2j_co/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/MSSbi0F_khj_2xItX5pHdf2j_co/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~4/0BHSBrXkpAk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2010/07/eu-lirico.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0QHRHg4cCp7ImA9WxFaGEg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6345854.post-6772508003668806450</id><published>2010-07-23T00:22:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2010-07-23T00:22:15.638-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-07-23T00:22:15.638-03:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Conselho" /><title>Assim espero</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/feeds/6772508003668806450/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2010/07/assim-espero.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/6772508003668806450?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/6772508003668806450?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~3/yFtooxz86UE/assim-espero.html" title="Assim espero" /><author><name>Pedro, Foca de aquário</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08891793817027853284</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Gn54i8zPbro/S6hDQehHvWI/AAAAAAAAANI/caBwiawrkB4/S220/Imagem+cam+009.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Gn54i8zPbro/TEkKS29T1LI/AAAAAAAAAN0/AQdT8xz8d34/s72-c/The+smiths+3.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">
Eu espero que você desde muito cedo saiba o que quer de sua vida, mesmo que talvez por um desconhecido azar, espero que exista alguém que te aconselhe numa direção do que fazer dela, e se mesmo assim você der muito azar, descubra que profissão seguir antes dos 25 anos. 
Espero que nunca se apaixone por alguém que desconheça esse amor ou que o desmereça, agindo contigo de forma a te causar dor. 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/nHV2v6rChRd5g2EQHxe_fZDUdis/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/nHV2v6rChRd5g2EQHxe_fZDUdis/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~4/yFtooxz86UE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2010/07/assim-espero.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkEFSXg4fCp7ImA9WhZRGEw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6345854.post-4666316562246873594</id><published>2010-04-03T10:03:00.006-03:00</published><updated>2011-04-14T16:50:18.634-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-04-14T16:50:18.634-03:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="poesia" /><title>Resumo</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/feeds/4666316562246873594/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2010/04/resumo.html#comment-form" title="3 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/4666316562246873594?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/4666316562246873594?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~3/tb-V7VVTRLo/resumo.html" title="Resumo" /><author><name>Théo, desarmado por um sorriso..</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09371127012865031704</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="24" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pCIod7Cb7NM/S84OJ_mx3mI/AAAAAAAAAM4/Hw72PyLBkS0/S220/Eu.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pCIod7Cb7NM/S7c_7DbisOI/AAAAAAAAAKc/uK-bW9719T4/s72-c/2784.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>3</thr:total><content type="html">Apresentação de trabalho proposto como requisito para avaliação parcial da unidade I.Link:  http://www.easy-share.com/1909774142/BLogspot - Resumo.doc
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Todas as desculpas são desnecessárias, sem remorsos, hoje dor amanhã um espetáculo de placidez, ela me faz bem, ela me faz bem... Ela e às vezes a vida.
Minhas veias são amestradas, minhas pupilas dilatadas, sabor, furor, olhares trocados na escada rolante do shopping, vendedores de lojas de sapato, tênis mais que sapatos, mais que meias nos pés dos jovens ansiosos.
Família, futuro, parentes, 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3EBlRzkwkZDMF0pZDNXPJHHzSdE/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3EBlRzkwkZDMF0pZDNXPJHHzSdE/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~4/xuTp3eL88R4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2010/01/todas-as-desculpas.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0QBRnY4eip7ImA9WxBRGUo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6345854.post-1676526259998810739</id><published>2010-01-08T09:33:00.005-03:00</published><updated>2010-01-08T16:35:57.832-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-01-08T16:35:57.832-03:00</app:edited><title>De tudo que muda</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/feeds/1676526259998810739/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2010/01/de-tudo-que-muda.html#comment-form" title="3 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/1676526259998810739?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/1676526259998810739?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~3/EjRf_4Stci8/de-tudo-que-muda.html" title="De tudo que muda" /><author><name>Théo, desarmado por um sorriso..</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09371127012865031704</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="24" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pCIod7Cb7NM/S84OJ_mx3mI/AAAAAAAAAM4/Hw72PyLBkS0/S220/Eu.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pCIod7Cb7NM/S0cm4ipy__I/AAAAAAAAAKU/rp04IxWtlfY/s72-c/Lua.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>3</thr:total><content type="html">Eu sei, todos no fundo sabem, somos tão inconstantes que nos tornamos acostumados a esquecer. Um não de quem esperávamos talvez sins sonoricamente regozijantes, uma mesa nua e vazia onde antes duas xícaras brincavam de quem esfriava primeiro o chá, um vaso azul aprisionava flores monocromaticamente indecisas onde agora só existe um chão vestido de piso quase novo. Num dia acordamos capitães de 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8ISpLqfSB7A-rehi4bH05KIAEcI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8ISpLqfSB7A-rehi4bH05KIAEcI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~4/EjRf_4Stci8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2010/01/de-tudo-que-muda.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEQFQ34-fCp7ImA9WxBUGUk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6345854.post-1924134736098283488</id><published>2009-12-14T21:53:00.008-03:00</published><updated>2010-03-07T03:11:52.054-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-03-07T03:11:52.054-03:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Coração em cacos" /><title>Dia de Cão</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/feeds/1924134736098283488/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2009/12/dia-de-cao.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/1924134736098283488?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/1924134736098283488?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~3/mSY2P7yATS8/dia-de-cao.html" title="Dia de Cão" /><author><name>Pedro, Foca de aquário</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08891793817027853284</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Gn54i8zPbro/S6hDQehHvWI/AAAAAAAAANI/caBwiawrkB4/S220/Imagem+cam+009.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Gn54i8zPbro/Sybe5v6FkBI/AAAAAAAAAJM/3tFb0_laty8/s72-c/dog+watching+Marine+in+fox+hole+ca+1944.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">

Nunca mais eu havia suspirado assim, nunca mais havia sequer suspirado, não sonhava e nos meus sonhos não beijava ninguém. Meu cachorro suspira, Deus sabe o quanto eu queria ouvi-lo falar de suas sentimentalidades, entendê-lo, gostaria de sentir o que um cachorro sente ao suspirar tão humanamente quanto eu num dia de cão, talvez eu sinta... eu molho biscoito no café e dou a ele esperando que 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/DuO--UIb2W7DxElkrjd-eEB_qQs/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/DuO--UIb2W7DxElkrjd-eEB_qQs/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~4/mSY2P7yATS8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2009/12/dia-de-cao.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkQGRX8zcSp7ImA9WxNQFUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6345854.post-8149935306866213719</id><published>2009-09-21T14:21:00.005-03:00</published><updated>2009-09-21T15:38:44.189-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-21T15:38:44.189-03:00</app:edited><title>Não se sabe</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/feeds/8149935306866213719/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2009/09/nao-se-sabe.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/8149935306866213719?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/8149935306866213719?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~3/kWNWz6xGvdU/nao-se-sabe.html" title="Não se sabe" /><author><name>Théo, desarmado por um sorriso..</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09371127012865031704</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="24" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pCIod7Cb7NM/S84OJ_mx3mI/AAAAAAAAAM4/Hw72PyLBkS0/S220/Eu.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pCIod7Cb7NM/Sre3AE65H5I/AAAAAAAAAKM/7DKcAOOO_1M/s72-c/La+Mouton+31.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Já pouco importa lembrar-se do que dizer na hora certa, pois esta parece que não chega, então para você eu pareço vencer pelo cansaço a felicidade que insiste em rodear meus olhos, enquanto para mim você parece não entender que percebe minha teimosia pelo que é triste. Nada disso também importa, pelo menos enquanto somos distantes. Não nos sabemos, não houve toque, contato algum, e segue-se a 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3iOzIWG4x2REuvTG53yabQPFM_c/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3iOzIWG4x2REuvTG53yabQPFM_c/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~4/kWNWz6xGvdU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2009/09/nao-se-sabe.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ck8ERn4-eCp7ImA9WxBUGUw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6345854.post-8046762877104918952</id><published>2009-09-14T00:37:00.009-03:00</published><updated>2010-03-06T18:26:47.050-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-03-06T18:26:47.050-03:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Coração em cacos" /><title>Tuchê!</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/feeds/8046762877104918952/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2009/09/tuche-sinto-do-lado-esquerdo-do-peito.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/8046762877104918952?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/8046762877104918952?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~3/A76LBgfXxpg/tuche-sinto-do-lado-esquerdo-do-peito.html" title="Tuchê!" /><author><name>Pedro, Foca de aquário</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08891793817027853284</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Gn54i8zPbro/S6hDQehHvWI/AAAAAAAAANI/caBwiawrkB4/S220/Imagem+cam+009.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Gn54i8zPbro/Sq3M6R2LUEI/AAAAAAAAAIU/8M82ndD6fb8/s72-c/legal%2520(19).jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Sinto do lado esquerdo do peito uma ferida aberta, é o velho amor na certa, viver é amar, função de viver: Amar de portas abertas. Alguns fingem bem, se escondem entre facetas, esquiva de sentimentos, encenação, fingimento. É meu caro, parece que o amor te pego de repente, dessa vez mais forte, mais rápido, mais certeiro que a serpente. É meu caro, parece que o amor te pegou de veneta, na baixa 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Ysvo36ygIcqXwJzYGrItAFENwBw/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Ysvo36ygIcqXwJzYGrItAFENwBw/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~4/A76LBgfXxpg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2009/09/tuche-sinto-do-lado-esquerdo-do-peito.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkcERXg4fCp7ImA9WxFSEU0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6345854.post-4807149811736207248</id><published>2009-08-28T11:09:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2010-04-12T17:26:44.634-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-04-12T17:26:44.634-03:00</app:edited><title>Pra sempre</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/feeds/4807149811736207248/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2009/08/pra-sempre.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/4807149811736207248?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/4807149811736207248?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~3/E60AAGp-NYc/pra-sempre.html" title="Pra sempre" /><author><name>Théo, desarmado por um sorriso..</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09371127012865031704</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="24" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pCIod7Cb7NM/S84OJ_mx3mI/AAAAAAAAAM4/Hw72PyLBkS0/S220/Eu.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pCIod7Cb7NM/S8OB67B2jwI/AAAAAAAAAKk/kv95MejOGcE/s72-c/31.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">É um tempo de cheiro de chuva esse de agora, é um gosto de tristeza na boca, e o coração pedindo um pouco mais de ontem, de muitos ontens atrás, e o relógio mentindo a mim as horas, fingindo ser pouco o tempo que se desperdiça com o que não vai ficar pra sempre, porque o pra sempre, é só uma questão de boa memória.
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PxjjpbDFiYyNWFjp0oagT5AMa2M/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PxjjpbDFiYyNWFjp0oagT5AMa2M/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~4/E60AAGp-NYc" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2009/08/pra-sempre.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUcER3Y5eCp7ImA9WxJVEE4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6345854.post-6047510568793117772</id><published>2009-06-25T11:52:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2009-06-26T14:23:26.820-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-06-26T14:23:26.820-03:00</app:edited><title>Hope...</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/feeds/6047510568793117772/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2009/06/hope.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/6047510568793117772?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/6047510568793117772?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~3/l8vocgbCgGY/hope.html" title="Hope..." /><author><name>Théo, desarmado por um sorriso..</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09371127012865031704</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="24" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pCIod7Cb7NM/S84OJ_mx3mI/AAAAAAAAAM4/Hw72PyLBkS0/S220/Eu.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pCIod7Cb7NM/SkOPWM3tmSI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8sL-Kb2MpAM/s72-c/Hope.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">...sempre?
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/nli8jyK2HiY_VXL6kXkX5J7U0rk/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/nli8jyK2HiY_VXL6kXkX5J7U0rk/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~4/l8vocgbCgGY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2009/06/hope.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEMHQ388eyp7ImA9WxBUGUw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6345854.post-4823515884108109032</id><published>2009-05-18T17:19:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2010-03-06T18:53:52.173-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-03-06T18:53:52.173-03:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Aniversário" /><title>Aniversáiros contra o tempo II</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/feeds/4823515884108109032/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2009/05/aniversairos-contra-o-tempo-ii.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/4823515884108109032?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/4823515884108109032?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~3/iI_Ew_Q1Id8/aniversairos-contra-o-tempo-ii.html" title="Aniversáiros contra o tempo II" /><author><name>Théo, desarmado por um sorriso..</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09371127012865031704</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="24" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pCIod7Cb7NM/S84OJ_mx3mI/AAAAAAAAAM4/Hw72PyLBkS0/S220/Eu.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pCIod7Cb7NM/ShHDVKTppFI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/0U1RzDL_8DI/s72-c/Longa+vida.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">
Os gigantes adormeceram outra vez em meus olhos, não por merecimento, mas por mera piedade, um tanto trégua, um pouco abrigo, e eis que quando percebi, já se assemelhavam às coisas inertes, desfalecidas, era um sono pesado, sereno, ademais, tranqüilo, e as coisas que antes pareciam grandiosas demais ao meu cético entendimento, agora eram tão lógicas e intensas quanto perceber o escuro ao apagar 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/pGxN4Roj1j3OgB6oc15Jr4YHVYU/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/pGxN4Roj1j3OgB6oc15Jr4YHVYU/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~4/iI_Ew_Q1Id8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2009/05/aniversairos-contra-o-tempo-ii.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0cEQHo9fCp7ImA9WxBUGUw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6345854.post-5582987242745185233</id><published>2009-04-15T02:59:00.015-03:00</published><updated>2010-03-06T18:30:01.464-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-03-06T18:30:01.464-03:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Coração em cacos" /><title>Rimas de Um Coração Fungado em Tristeza</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/feeds/5582987242745185233/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2009/04/rimas-de-um-coracao-fungado-em-tristeza.html#comment-form" title="1 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/5582987242745185233?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/5582987242745185233?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~3/0DfflVg2lis/rimas-de-um-coracao-fungado-em-tristeza.html" title="Rimas de Um Coração Fungado em Tristeza" /><author><name>Pedro, Foca de aquário</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08891793817027853284</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Gn54i8zPbro/S6hDQehHvWI/AAAAAAAAANI/caBwiawrkB4/S220/Imagem+cam+009.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Gn54i8zPbro/SeV8gx6HGMI/AAAAAAAAAIE/dKZTF_2lfbg/s72-c/Coracao.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">

A tristeza funga em meu cangote
Com um hálito doce porém frio e forte
Um Zeppelin cheio de suspiros incabíveis em mim
Faz flutuar meu amor em alturas terríveis
E depois o deixa cair ao chão em dores horríveis

Coração mais que cadente
Mais que pedante, mais que pedinte
Pândego coração pandeiro
Ébrio coração falante
Sóbrio coração ouvinte

Máquina manca e empenada
Encostada na quarta-feira de 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rnf313MScM1QOC7xvhFcoTCUO4E/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rnf313MScM1QOC7xvhFcoTCUO4E/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/rnf313MScM1QOC7xvhFcoTCUO4E/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rnf313MScM1QOC7xvhFcoTCUO4E/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~4/0DfflVg2lis" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2009/04/rimas-de-um-coracao-fungado-em-tristeza.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkYCRnY9eyp7ImA9WxFSEU0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6345854.post-5920273638712900640</id><published>2009-04-14T09:37:00.004-03:00</published><updated>2010-04-12T17:29:27.863-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-04-12T17:29:27.863-03:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Aniversário" /><title>Aos trinta e três</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/feeds/5920273638712900640/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2009/04/aos-trinta-e-tres.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/5920273638712900640?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/5920273638712900640?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~3/MdFI7XXDWV8/aos-trinta-e-tres.html" title="Aos trinta e três" /><author><name>Théo, desarmado por um sorriso..</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09371127012865031704</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="24" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pCIod7Cb7NM/S84OJ_mx3mI/AAAAAAAAAM4/Hw72PyLBkS0/S220/Eu.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pCIod7Cb7NM/S8OClffbhUI/AAAAAAAAAKs/KjDizfIg_Uo/s72-c/Life+on+Draw+(12)+2.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Conte-me mais sobre o motivo pelo qual te alegra tocar minhas mãos ao deitarmos, dê-me mais, pois sempre é bom ter calma para viver os dias, eu sei que à noite nós iremos conversar outra vez e concordaremos num mesmo ponto, você não mais me vê como seu, eu não mais vejo o que existia de ontem em você. Apaixonante, era apaixonante nos ver, agora eu vejo você se afastando, porque sou eu quem está 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Dzb_EabH7QR8Yn-GJi_TXkI7Yh8/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Dzb_EabH7QR8Yn-GJi_TXkI7Yh8/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Dzb_EabH7QR8Yn-GJi_TXkI7Yh8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Dzb_EabH7QR8Yn-GJi_TXkI7Yh8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~4/MdFI7XXDWV8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2009/04/aos-trinta-e-tres.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEUDQXY7eCp7ImA9WxVaEk0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6345854.post-3501373135302713634</id><published>2009-04-08T11:45:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2009-04-08T11:51:10.800-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-04-08T11:51:10.800-03:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/feeds/3501373135302713634/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2009/04/musica-e-somente-vibracao-de-ar.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/3501373135302713634?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/3501373135302713634?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~3/kKYdAXDtN8Q/musica-e-somente-vibracao-de-ar.html" title="" /><author><name>Théo, desarmado por um sorriso..</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09371127012865031704</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="24" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pCIod7Cb7NM/S84OJ_mx3mI/AAAAAAAAAM4/Hw72PyLBkS0/S220/Eu.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pCIod7Cb7NM/Sdy51UnEH_I/AAAAAAAAAJk/rqcj9guyYuU/s72-c/vento.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">"Música é somente vibração de ar.Livros são apenas emaranhados de letras.Pintura é a mistura de cores sobre uma tela.Uma fotografia é apenas a luz sobre um papel sensível.E mesmo assim essas coisas conseguem tocar a alma.E tem gente que não acredita em magia".
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/GqkOgnt4bRr5BsiYC7xlARTM7x0/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/GqkOgnt4bRr5BsiYC7xlARTM7x0/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/GqkOgnt4bRr5BsiYC7xlARTM7x0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/GqkOgnt4bRr5BsiYC7xlARTM7x0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~4/kKYdAXDtN8Q" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2009/04/musica-e-somente-vibracao-de-ar.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkAESXg_fip7ImA9WxVaEUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6345854.post-2273798321868091633</id><published>2009-04-08T10:48:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2009-04-08T10:51:48.646-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-04-08T10:51:48.646-03:00</app:edited><title>O desterro e os óculos</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/feeds/2273798321868091633/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2009/04/o-desterro-e-os-oculos.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/2273798321868091633?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/2273798321868091633?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~3/PgdQ3Kpg_88/o-desterro-e-os-oculos.html" title="O desterro e os óculos" /><author><name>Théo, desarmado por um sorriso..</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09371127012865031704</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="24" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pCIod7Cb7NM/S84OJ_mx3mI/AAAAAAAAAM4/Hw72PyLBkS0/S220/Eu.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pCIod7Cb7NM/Sdyr1DFClFI/AAAAAAAAAJc/ZBpgWEOsdOk/s72-c/%C3%93culos3.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Pressão alta é morrer sem ter vontade, pressão baixa é querer dormir sem nem ao menos ter sono. Eu, experimentador que sempre fui, enjoei de tanta dor para experimentar e tentei o gosto do leite com sal, tentei o que nunca soube, mas esse sabor não me pareceu bom, então eu, experimentador que sou, quis entender o mundo dos que se escondem atrás de lentes, e experimentam enxergar como poucos 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Pd7ws-j_NjN_tS21EleBM3bopo4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Pd7ws-j_NjN_tS21EleBM3bopo4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~4/PgdQ3Kpg_88" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2009/04/o-desterro-e-os-oculos.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DU8FRn88fyp7ImA9WxVaEUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6345854.post-148276087431164172</id><published>2009-04-08T10:33:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2009-04-08T10:36:57.177-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-04-08T10:36:57.177-03:00</app:edited><title>Crise</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/feeds/148276087431164172/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2009/04/nunca-gostei-dessa-coisa-de-nao-haver.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/148276087431164172?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/148276087431164172?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~3/1u80FVS66Wo/nunca-gostei-dessa-coisa-de-nao-haver.html" title="Crise" /><author><name>Théo, desarmado por um sorriso..</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09371127012865031704</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="24" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pCIod7Cb7NM/S84OJ_mx3mI/AAAAAAAAAM4/Hw72PyLBkS0/S220/Eu.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pCIod7Cb7NM/SdyoTGYsKTI/AAAAAAAAAJU/qxMvYpWYL9M/s72-c/Lino.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Nunca gostei dessa coisa de não haver um único eu. Todos nós somos muitos, coração, alma, corpo, espírito, razão. Não me agrada a idéia de obedecer ao coração, dar satisfação à voz da razão, ceder ao que pede o corpo, não saber entender o espírito, ou agir só com a alma, simplesmente queria eu ser um só. Somos várias partes que no fim formam um todo. Se você me perguntar do que gosto ou o que 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Dev0hVLTusIpo319GddbzNsBWvA/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Dev0hVLTusIpo319GddbzNsBWvA/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~4/1u80FVS66Wo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2009/04/nunca-gostei-dessa-coisa-de-nao-haver.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUYCRHczeSp7ImA9WxVaEUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6345854.post-1758541845261643542</id><published>2009-04-08T10:20:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2009-04-08T10:26:05.981-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-04-08T10:26:05.981-03:00</app:edited><title>Lugar comum (Para aquela que me chamou de clichê)</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/feeds/1758541845261643542/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2009/04/lugar-comum-para-aquela-que-me-chamou.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/1758541845261643542?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/1758541845261643542?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~3/X_aVTG0K2ag/lugar-comum-para-aquela-que-me-chamou.html" title="Lugar comum (Para aquela que me chamou de clichê)" /><author><name>Théo, desarmado por um sorriso..</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09371127012865031704</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="24" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pCIod7Cb7NM/S84OJ_mx3mI/AAAAAAAAAM4/Hw72PyLBkS0/S220/Eu.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pCIod7Cb7NM/SdylWus_DtI/AAAAAAAAAJM/XV5fJG3_R-c/s72-c/a+022.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Desperte e me veja com a perna por cima de sua cintura, viva comigo, ande ao meu lado pelo caminho de volta pra casa, me ouça falar desinteresses à mesa de um bar, ouçamos música durante a espera pelo sono, nunca mais tinha feito isso, vamos juntos ao circo, te contaria sobre minha época de palhaço e você riria mais do que com os do show, compremos presentes de última hora para nossos pequenos, 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/-wpVKkMAWddU3G4Q_JiV_nmUyT8/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/-wpVKkMAWddU3G4Q_JiV_nmUyT8/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/-wpVKkMAWddU3G4Q_JiV_nmUyT8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/-wpVKkMAWddU3G4Q_JiV_nmUyT8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~4/X_aVTG0K2ag" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2009/04/lugar-comum-para-aquela-que-me-chamou.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkQASXg5eCp7ImA9WxFSEU0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6345854.post-6218185554610595559</id><published>2009-04-08T10:09:00.004-03:00</published><updated>2010-04-12T17:32:28.620-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-04-12T17:32:28.620-03:00</app:edited><title>O amigo, o amor e a dor</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/feeds/6218185554610595559/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://raciocinais.blogspot.com/2009/04/o-amigo-o-amor-e-dor.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/6218185554610595559?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6345854/posts/default/6218185554610595559?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PensamentosInesperadosteisOuDescartveis/~3/uCZ_LqQ_AYc/o-amigo-o-amor-e-dor.html" title="O amigo, o amor e a dor" /><author><name>Théo, desarmado por um sorriso..</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09371127012865031704</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="24" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pCIod7Cb7NM/S84OJ_mx3mI/AAAAAAAAAM4/Hw72PyLBkS0/S220/Eu.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pCIod7Cb7NM/S8ODUqWB63I/AAAAAAAAAK0/mpTsNH4pYxc/s72-c/Life+on+Draw+(53)+3.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Sei que ninguém é feliz sozinho, mas basta termos amado uma única vez para que sejamos para sempre arranhados pela tristeza.
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