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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;CkUERn48eyp7ImA9WhRaFk0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305830540931724126</id><updated>2012-02-18T19:23:27.073-02:00</updated><title>Vida em Punho</title><subtitle type="html">São palavras que vou tecendo, alinhavando, tentando dar sentido e as vezes tendo a pretensão de chamar de poesia. Não sei se é poesia, só sei do que sinto, e as vezes é sempre confuso até para que eu mesmo dê nomes. Então, melhor deixar sem rótulos e chamar de palavras que me fogem em rabiscos e rascunhos.</subtitle><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>Thiago Mussel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11815160900654189118</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="25" height="32" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_MO_SQnmbRPg/SGw_GDV5IvI/AAAAAAAAAH0/npu9tl4A448/S220/1976-Pierrot-88D95.jpg" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>91</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/blogspot/JNRVZ" /><feedburner:info uri="blogspot/jnrvz" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkUERn48fyp7ImA9WhRaFk0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305830540931724126.post-2733967750242804060</id><published>2012-02-18T19:22:00.001-02:00</published><updated>2012-02-18T19:23:27.077-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-02-18T19:23:27.077-02:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/feeds/2733967750242804060/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6305830540931724126&amp;postID=2733967750242804060&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/2733967750242804060?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/2733967750242804060?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~3/GLhpBclDZyU/o-querer-de-cada-dia.html" title="" /><author><name>Thiago Mussel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11815160900654189118</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="25" height="32" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_MO_SQnmbRPg/SGw_GDV5IvI/AAAAAAAAAH0/npu9tl4A448/S220/1976-Pierrot-88D95.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-68nAOVSwKwA/T0AWgYPMdMI/AAAAAAAAASE/NpZQH9LJst0/s72-c/querer.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">O querer de cada dia.

Queria ter vivido melhor, porém a mediocridade sempre me foi farta e generosa nos caminhos que escolhi para viver. Queria ter sido mais alegre, porém a tristeza sempre foi companheira fiel nos dias intermináveis de abandono. Queria ter amado mais as pessoas que conheci, ou que fingi conhecer, porém na maioria das vezes, eu também não me conhecia. Queria ter andado mais 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/pzuSxzIXxo7Ol7fjt4xFkq7F0_0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/pzuSxzIXxo7Ol7fjt4xFkq7F0_0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~4/GLhpBclDZyU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/2012/02/o-querer-de-cada-dia.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEcFSHczeip7ImA9WhRbGE8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305830540931724126.post-3284312681227142881</id><published>2012-02-09T20:20:00.001-02:00</published><updated>2012-02-09T20:20:19.982-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-02-09T20:20:19.982-02:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/feeds/3284312681227142881/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6305830540931724126&amp;postID=3284312681227142881&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/3284312681227142881?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/3284312681227142881?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~3/n6rE9KJuaQo/os-poetas-sofrem-por-gostar-de-sofrer.html" title="" /><author><name>Thiago Mussel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11815160900654189118</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="25" height="32" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_MO_SQnmbRPg/SGw_GDV5IvI/AAAAAAAAAH0/npu9tl4A448/S220/1976-Pierrot-88D95.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Os poetas sofremPor gostar de sofrerPois a dor, a dor é belaE é da dor que nascem os mais lindos versos.A dor do poeta é como o riso do palhaço [ou pierrot]Ele sente mesmo sem sentir,Ele gosta mesmo sem gostar,Pois é dela que vem o encanto de sua arteE por mais que um palhaço [ou pierrot] não queira sorrir,Ou um poeta não queira chorar,O riso e a lágrima afloram de suas almasE brotam em suas 
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Doce delírio que de tanto acreditar, tornou-se real, por instantes, semanas, dias, tão translúcida, tão serena que por 
vezes eu tocava, sentia, cheirava.Como um sonâmbulo em delírio corri o mundo, Refis meu caminho, saltando de sonho em sonho, tentando trançar 
os fios do destino, tentando tornar o sonho mais longo.

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Imagine que, por um momento, você consiga desprender-se do mundo e esteja em cima de uma imensa nuvem, um caminho interminável onde você pode caminhar a vontade e refletir sobre suas opiniões, sentimentos e sentidos sobre sua própria vida...Sonho?Filosofia?Não.Isto é poesia...Negar um sentimento é negar a vidaE negar a vida é negar um sentimentoUm sentidoUm caminhoUm outro sentidoSentimentoUm 
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Como um velho cata-vento em acrobaciaMeus ledos pensamentos agora já lassosTomados de memória volvem em calmariaNa paisagem, transpassam os meus passosSob o céu toldado de amarelo queimadoDeleito desse esteio, a cantarolar entregueNesse prado iluminado, de vento adocicadoFloreço bordado de luz, na alma alegre.São nesses momentos que semeio as minhas paixõesFaço da vida a melhor tradução do meu 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/r-aiF2iIC14jzIG4n5P4hngpkzU/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/r-aiF2iIC14jzIG4n5P4hngpkzU/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~4/dHVIhbWSAqk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/2012/02/flores-pra-voce.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ak4CR3s_eyp7ImA9WhRbFE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305830540931724126.post-7049842475476874322</id><published>2012-02-05T00:29:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2012-02-05T00:29:26.543-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-02-05T00:29:26.543-02:00</app:edited><title>Saudade ²</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/feeds/7049842475476874322/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6305830540931724126&amp;postID=7049842475476874322&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/7049842475476874322?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/7049842475476874322?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~3/k-Z-aV9xTcs/saudade.html" title="Saudade ²" /><author><name>Thiago Mussel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11815160900654189118</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="25" height="32" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_MO_SQnmbRPg/SGw_GDV5IvI/AAAAAAAAAH0/npu9tl4A448/S220/1976-Pierrot-88D95.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Tenho saudades.
Saudade daquilo que foi um dia, saudade daquilo que era pra ser um dia.
Saudade do eu, saudade do você conjugado em nós.
Saudade dos sorrisos, das alegrias, da paz, saudade da certeza e da beleza do incerto.
Do azul do céu (como era lindo), do vento, das árvores, do canto...
Saudade da beleza das madrugadas, longas que só elas, das descobertas, confidências, afagos.
Saudade das 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ElRD9MpDroi-ChCiNes8hL6iF6I/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ElRD9MpDroi-ChCiNes8hL6iF6I/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~4/k-Z-aV9xTcs" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/2012/02/saudade.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEYHR3Y_eSp7ImA9WhRbEk0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305830540931724126.post-717248945770814112</id><published>2012-02-02T15:02:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2012-02-02T15:02:16.841-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-02-02T15:02:16.841-02:00</app:edited><title>A arte do desapego...</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/feeds/717248945770814112/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6305830540931724126&amp;postID=717248945770814112&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/717248945770814112?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/717248945770814112?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~3/tD-uJAgMwRc/arte-do-desapego.html" title="A arte do desapego..." /><author><name>Thiago Mussel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11815160900654189118</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="25" height="32" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_MO_SQnmbRPg/SGw_GDV5IvI/AAAAAAAAAH0/npu9tl4A448/S220/1976-Pierrot-88D95.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">O desapego deixa tudo mais solto, o corpo, o riso, a alegria, a vida. É uma questão de predisposição, de treino, de persistência. Nos meus raros momentos de total desapego (material, emcional, mental), tudo flui, tudo é compartilhado, tudo é mais rítmico, mais melódico, mais harmônico. Mais bonito. Temos o livre arbítrio, sou convicto disso. Mas há também o fluxo do Universo. E contra esse não se
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/YXOx4RFJWvrc5-_-UQ_heM3gvIo/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/YXOx4RFJWvrc5-_-UQ_heM3gvIo/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~4/tD-uJAgMwRc" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/2012/02/arte-do-desapego.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUYAQHk8cCp7ImA9WhRXF0U.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305830540931724126.post-3822597150716539435</id><published>2011-12-25T01:16:00.001-02:00</published><updated>2011-12-25T01:19:01.778-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-25T01:19:01.778-02:00</app:edited><title>Decifra-me...</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/feeds/3822597150716539435/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6305830540931724126&amp;postID=3822597150716539435&amp;isPopup=true" title="1 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/3822597150716539435?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/3822597150716539435?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~3/Ryx63CWz6ZE/decifra-me.html" title="Decifra-me..." /><author><name>Thiago Mussel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11815160900654189118</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="25" height="32" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_MO_SQnmbRPg/SGw_GDV5IvI/AAAAAAAAAH0/npu9tl4A448/S220/1976-Pierrot-88D95.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">
Mas sim! Olhe pra mim!Cada vez mais eu acredito em nós.E eu acreditarei pra sempre...É pra isso que serve o amor!Mas você, você é a última!Mas você, você é a primeira!Antes de você não havia nadaCom você eu estou bemEra você quem eu queriaEra de você que eu precisavaVocê que eu amarei pra semprePra isso que serve o amor!...
Ah....o amor!
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/uv8odt5448iQX7uUAYvCg-IDtGE/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/uv8odt5448iQX7uUAYvCg-IDtGE/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/uv8odt5448iQX7uUAYvCg-IDtGE/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/uv8odt5448iQX7uUAYvCg-IDtGE/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~4/Ryx63CWz6ZE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/2011/12/decifra-me.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkcFRnc4fCp7ImA9WhRXFUo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305830540931724126.post-4078615038661526782</id><published>2011-12-22T14:06:00.002-02:00</published><updated>2011-12-22T14:06:57.934-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-22T14:06:57.934-02:00</app:edited><title>Confesso</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/feeds/4078615038661526782/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6305830540931724126&amp;postID=4078615038661526782&amp;isPopup=true" title="1 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/4078615038661526782?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/4078615038661526782?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~3/9dI7eoAUuKc/confesso.html" title="Confesso" /><author><name>Thiago Mussel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11815160900654189118</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="25" height="32" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_MO_SQnmbRPg/SGw_GDV5IvI/AAAAAAAAAH0/npu9tl4A448/S220/1976-Pierrot-88D95.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">Confesso que ando muito cansado, sabe? Mas um cansaço diferente… um cansaço de não querer mais reclamar, de não querer pedir, de não fazer nada, de deixar as coisas acontecerem. Confesso que às vezes me dão umas crises de choro que parecem não parar, um medo e ao mesmo tempo uma certeza de tudo que quero ser, que quero fazer. Confesso que você estava em todos esses meus planos, mas eu sinto que 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ZNH85EA53HoC-yw3ElIZIcDovX4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ZNH85EA53HoC-yw3ElIZIcDovX4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~4/9dI7eoAUuKc" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/2011/12/confesso.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEMCRHo_eCp7ImA9WhRQF04.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305830540931724126.post-8732694319289773378</id><published>2011-12-12T21:27:00.002-02:00</published><updated>2011-12-12T21:27:45.440-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-12T21:27:45.440-02:00</app:edited><title>...</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/feeds/8732694319289773378/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6305830540931724126&amp;postID=8732694319289773378&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/8732694319289773378?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/8732694319289773378?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~3/Oqy-1gdHBU0/blog-post.html" title="..." /><author><name>Thiago Mussel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11815160900654189118</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="25" height="32" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_MO_SQnmbRPg/SGw_GDV5IvI/AAAAAAAAAH0/npu9tl4A448/S220/1976-Pierrot-88D95.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">E é nessa horas que o Pierrot chora pelo amor da Colombina que ele vê a bailar cada vez mais distante no salão...


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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/XUwWCAZ8f75j0EH4K3onoAhtL_w/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/XUwWCAZ8f75j0EH4K3onoAhtL_w/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~4/Oqy-1gdHBU0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/2011/12/blog-post.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkQFQ3Y7eCp7ImA9WhRRF00.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305830540931724126.post-6246430398254723782</id><published>2011-11-30T22:45:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2011-11-30T22:45:12.800-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-30T22:45:12.800-02:00</app:edited><title>Teu jeito de ser</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/feeds/6246430398254723782/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6305830540931724126&amp;postID=6246430398254723782&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/6246430398254723782?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/6246430398254723782?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~3/beLEFlhIjxA/teu-jeito-de-ser.html" title="Teu jeito de ser" /><author><name>Thiago Mussel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11815160900654189118</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="25" height="32" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_MO_SQnmbRPg/SGw_GDV5IvI/AAAAAAAAAH0/npu9tl4A448/S220/1976-Pierrot-88D95.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Único é esse teu jeito de acarinhar,
Teu beijo doce, teu olhar sincero,
Única é tua forma de me conquistar,
De ler nos meus olhos o que mais quero.

Ímpar é esse teu modo de ser,
De ver o mundo, as pessoas, a vida.
Sem par é tua maneira de me querer,
De se entregar, sem qualquer medida.

Excepcional é tua forma de agir,
Externando a paz, repleto de calma.
Extraordinário é o teu sorrir,
Tocando 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/BcDpHD4ZSRFsPovTUnZQoMdsZe4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/BcDpHD4ZSRFsPovTUnZQoMdsZe4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~4/beLEFlhIjxA" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/2011/11/teu-jeito-de-ser.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEQFQnk_fyp7ImA9WhRRFkw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305830540931724126.post-6514564321487895509</id><published>2011-11-29T22:04:00.003-02:00</published><updated>2011-11-29T22:18:33.747-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-29T22:18:33.747-02:00</app:edited><title>Espelho</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/feeds/6514564321487895509/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6305830540931724126&amp;postID=6514564321487895509&amp;isPopup=true" title="1 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/6514564321487895509?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/6514564321487895509?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~3/NZX2OWu74Zs/espelho.html" title="Espelho" /><author><name>Thiago Mussel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11815160900654189118</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="25" height="32" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_MO_SQnmbRPg/SGw_GDV5IvI/AAAAAAAAAH0/npu9tl4A448/S220/1976-Pierrot-88D95.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">Minha alma,
vejam,
em côncavo
e convexo.

P´ra ela
o mundo
é míope.
Pede que leiam
bem de perto.

Flanela suja
não limpa vidro,
só embaça.

é que as vezes,
só as vezes,
me vejo no espelho.
Me acho
sem graça.

É essa luz
que ultrapassa a janela
e me arranca a máscara.

É sim...
ela é a culpada!
Não a luz, Ela.

Pois quando tudo está claro
ela ilumina
eu sinto meu gosto amargo
quando Ela me fala
de
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/y004Y8TUIX1gPQxAY9HLzdLRkq4/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/y004Y8TUIX1gPQxAY9HLzdLRkq4/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/y004Y8TUIX1gPQxAY9HLzdLRkq4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/y004Y8TUIX1gPQxAY9HLzdLRkq4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~4/NZX2OWu74Zs" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/2011/11/espelho.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkMBRXw7eip7ImA9WhRRFU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305830540931724126.post-2947671323014524051</id><published>2011-11-28T23:00:00.003-02:00</published><updated>2011-11-28T23:00:54.202-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-28T23:00:54.202-02:00</app:edited><title>Distância</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/feeds/2947671323014524051/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6305830540931724126&amp;postID=2947671323014524051&amp;isPopup=true" title="1 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/2947671323014524051?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/2947671323014524051?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~3/v3WW1YPkm-8/distancia.html" title="Distância" /><author><name>Thiago Mussel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11815160900654189118</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="25" height="32" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_MO_SQnmbRPg/SGw_GDV5IvI/AAAAAAAAAH0/npu9tl4A448/S220/1976-Pierrot-88D95.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">Se eu fosse essa terra, nada que valesse a pena seria tão longe. Por que as distâncias não seriam problemas matemáticos resolvidos por espaço, dinheiro e velocidade.Mediríamos as distâncias simplesmente pela vontade de estar. Isso traria um grande problema aos cartógrafos, mas acho que até eles seriam mais felizes e não se importariam. se eu fosse essa terra. te cativaria ao meu lado! Mas como 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/F_UIw67r0_qjr2RAj-jFl_n1lto/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/F_UIw67r0_qjr2RAj-jFl_n1lto/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~4/v3WW1YPkm-8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/2011/11/distancia.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEUGQH4zfCp7ImA9WhRRFEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305830540931724126.post-4647386614686956833</id><published>2011-11-27T23:03:00.001-02:00</published><updated>2011-11-27T23:03:41.084-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-27T23:03:41.084-02:00</app:edited><title>Vida</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/feeds/4647386614686956833/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6305830540931724126&amp;postID=4647386614686956833&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/4647386614686956833?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/4647386614686956833?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~3/DYbfRdZxfjU/vida.html" title="Vida" /><author><name>Thiago Mussel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11815160900654189118</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="25" height="32" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_MO_SQnmbRPg/SGw_GDV5IvI/AAAAAAAAAH0/npu9tl4A448/S220/1976-Pierrot-88D95.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Olho no espelho
Vejo você
Vir me beijando
E me enlouquecer.
Teus lábios dizem
"Quero você"
Tuas mãos me mostram
Todo prazer.

Você me tem assim
Quando bem quer
Ri do menino
E ama o homem.
Você me tem assim
E eu digo sim
Você me toca
E eu perco a razão.
Você me tem assim
E tem noção
Que eu fecho os olhos
E abro o coração.

Tatuado em meu peito
Ficou seu olhar
Amor, me queima
Até machucar.
Sinto 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/n-GC90fcGbhJ6hkg54T9FdyAwW8/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/n-GC90fcGbhJ6hkg54T9FdyAwW8/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/n-GC90fcGbhJ6hkg54T9FdyAwW8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/n-GC90fcGbhJ6hkg54T9FdyAwW8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~4/DYbfRdZxfjU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/2011/11/vida.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DE4CQHg8eyp7ImA9WhRREEU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305830540931724126.post-5366197194443844357</id><published>2011-11-23T20:22:00.001-02:00</published><updated>2011-11-23T20:22:41.673-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-23T20:22:41.673-02:00</app:edited><title>Toujour avec vous!</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/feeds/5366197194443844357/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6305830540931724126&amp;postID=5366197194443844357&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/5366197194443844357?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/5366197194443844357?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~3/ObTaEBiNBMY/toujour-avec-vous.html" title="Toujour avec vous!" /><author><name>Thiago Mussel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11815160900654189118</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="25" height="32" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_MO_SQnmbRPg/SGw_GDV5IvI/AAAAAAAAAH0/npu9tl4A448/S220/1976-Pierrot-88D95.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Se no princípio era o verbo, e o verbo se fez carne... então o corpo começou pela boca. No princípio era a voz, e a voz se fez língua, dentes e lábios.

A boca fala do que o coração está cheio, logo falo para tomar conhecimento de meu próprio peito.

Eu, bicho urbano, não tenho à mão essas coisas do sertão. Minha criação é só palavra: verbo feito em carne fraca. Dou do que sou porque não pude dar
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Zcm_6eBSTLvIzQjhgSozvN11UyQ/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Zcm_6eBSTLvIzQjhgSozvN11UyQ/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/Zcm_6eBSTLvIzQjhgSozvN11UyQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Zcm_6eBSTLvIzQjhgSozvN11UyQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~4/ObTaEBiNBMY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/2011/11/toujour-avec-vous.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0AAQX8zeip7ImA9WhRTGUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305830540931724126.post-4750583648013949172</id><published>2011-11-10T22:01:00.003-02:00</published><updated>2011-11-10T22:02:20.182-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-10T22:02:20.182-02:00</app:edited><title>Pierrot!</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/feeds/4750583648013949172/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6305830540931724126&amp;postID=4750583648013949172&amp;isPopup=true" title="1 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/4750583648013949172?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/4750583648013949172?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~3/PDdoIzqI1hQ/pierrot.html" title="Pierrot!" /><author><name>Thiago Mussel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11815160900654189118</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="25" height="32" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_MO_SQnmbRPg/SGw_GDV5IvI/AAAAAAAAAH0/npu9tl4A448/S220/1976-Pierrot-88D95.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">Fiquei imaginando quantas vezes você já chorou sozinha, com o rosto escondido pelo travesseiro. Desejei estar ao seu lado em todas elas, passar um pouco da minha segurança, envolvê-la em meus braços da forma mais confortante possível. Busquei sem que você notasse seu olhar inocente e só o que encontrei foi um semblante agoniado.

Como quem nada espera em troca, enviei as melhores energias que 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/227sOxFhlDROlcSMXetBX37FKcc/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/227sOxFhlDROlcSMXetBX37FKcc/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~4/PDdoIzqI1hQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/2011/11/pierrot.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A04ERnczeCp7ImA9WhRTEUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305830540931724126.post-7056839974411195642</id><published>2011-11-01T21:24:00.001-02:00</published><updated>2011-11-01T21:25:07.980-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-01T21:25:07.980-02:00</app:edited><title>Decifra-me...</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/feeds/7056839974411195642/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6305830540931724126&amp;postID=7056839974411195642&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/7056839974411195642?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/7056839974411195642?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~3/whNvGyVdIIU/decifra-me.html" title="Decifra-me..." /><author><name>Thiago Mussel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11815160900654189118</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="25" height="32" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_MO_SQnmbRPg/SGw_GDV5IvI/AAAAAAAAAH0/npu9tl4A448/S220/1976-Pierrot-88D95.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Oj5K3rUqrQw/TrB_i3j06cI/AAAAAAAAARk/rNKH9hvslBU/s72-c/DSC05144.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">



Doce ilusão que aflora minha alma, que corta meu coração e sangra minha mente.
Doce delírio que de tanto acreditar, tornou-se real, por instantes, semanas, dias, tão translúcida, tão serena que por vezes eu tocava, sentia, cheirava.

Com um sonâmbulo em delírio corri o mundo, refis meu caminho, saltando de sonho em sonho, tentando tranças os fios do destino, tentando tornar o sonho mais longo
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/C_dj5SOkHpU5ya63CoGPAgvguzk/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/C_dj5SOkHpU5ya63CoGPAgvguzk/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/C_dj5SOkHpU5ya63CoGPAgvguzk/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/C_dj5SOkHpU5ya63CoGPAgvguzk/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~4/whNvGyVdIIU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/2011/11/decifra-me.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0cBRXs-eSp7ImA9WhdSEk8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305830540931724126.post-7814064901740857157</id><published>2011-07-21T01:02:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2011-07-21T01:04:14.551-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-21T01:04:14.551-03:00</app:edited><title>Saudade</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/feeds/7814064901740857157/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6305830540931724126&amp;postID=7814064901740857157&amp;isPopup=true" title="2 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/7814064901740857157?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/7814064901740857157?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~3/awiwdVZaFJc/saudade.html" title="Saudade" /><author><name>Thiago Mussel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11815160900654189118</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="25" height="32" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_MO_SQnmbRPg/SGw_GDV5IvI/AAAAAAAAAH0/npu9tl4A448/S220/1976-Pierrot-88D95.jpg" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><content type="html">Saudade não tem a ver com o tempo que não nos vemos.
Sentir saudades tem a ver com os momentos que estou fazendo algo, desejando você aqui.
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/26aGAY6foROkixn-B0SmubJ2b6M/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/26aGAY6foROkixn-B0SmubJ2b6M/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/26aGAY6foROkixn-B0SmubJ2b6M/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/26aGAY6foROkixn-B0SmubJ2b6M/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~4/awiwdVZaFJc" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/2011/07/saudade.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEIMRX46fCp7ImA9WhdTFks.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305830540931724126.post-3109004853143362297</id><published>2011-07-14T15:01:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2011-07-14T15:03:04.014-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-14T15:03:04.014-03:00</app:edited><title>Oração</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/feeds/3109004853143362297/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6305830540931724126&amp;postID=3109004853143362297&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/3109004853143362297?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/3109004853143362297?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~3/UWk5xhAmiAE/oracao.html" title="Oração" /><author><name>Thiago Mussel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11815160900654189118</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="25" height="32" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_MO_SQnmbRPg/SGw_GDV5IvI/AAAAAAAAAH0/npu9tl4A448/S220/1976-Pierrot-88D95.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">


Meu amor essa é a última oraçãoPra salvar seu coraçãoCoração não é tão simples quanto pensaNele cabe o que não cabe na despensaCabe o meu amor!
Cabem três vidas inteiras
Cabe uma penteadeira
Cabe nós doisCabe até o meu amor, essa é a última oração
Pra salvar seu coração
Coração não é tão simples quanto pensa
Nele cabe o que não cabe na despensaCabe o meu amor!
Cabem três vidas inteiras
Cabe 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/A4-I9qiQJDwg8B3gRYsorOqY9Y4/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/A4-I9qiQJDwg8B3gRYsorOqY9Y4/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/A4-I9qiQJDwg8B3gRYsorOqY9Y4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/A4-I9qiQJDwg8B3gRYsorOqY9Y4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~4/UWk5xhAmiAE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/2011/07/oracao.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEcDR3o_eyp7ImA9WhdTFEw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305830540931724126.post-3965119410672360632</id><published>2011-07-11T16:19:00.004-03:00</published><updated>2011-07-11T16:21:16.443-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-11T16:21:16.443-03:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/feeds/3965119410672360632/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6305830540931724126&amp;postID=3965119410672360632&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/3965119410672360632?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/3965119410672360632?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~3/_-tdbDdr4q4/faria-tudo-exatamente-igual-seria-um.html" title="" /><author><name>Thiago Mussel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11815160900654189118</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="25" height="32" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_MO_SQnmbRPg/SGw_GDV5IvI/AAAAAAAAAH0/npu9tl4A448/S220/1976-Pierrot-88D95.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MDz8dJt731c/ThtM1tyGtuI/AAAAAAAAARg/iLX_4AMl8zQ/s72-c/folhas+de+relva.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">

Faria tudo exatamente igual
Seria um tolo deliberadamente seu
Sem questionar a sua ausência
Nem lamentar o seu silêncioNão sei se faz
Diferença dizer
Mas eu não vou
Desistir de você

Fazer sorrir diariamente é o meu ideal
Pensar um modo fantasticamente normal
De manter seu interesse
Sem mudar minha aparênciaNunca mais seremos os mesmo
Por mais que a gente tente
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Yl0Dp_lYSoDtxg0q2b3r_twqT0k/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Yl0Dp_lYSoDtxg0q2b3r_twqT0k/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~4/_-tdbDdr4q4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/2011/07/faria-tudo-exatamente-igual-seria-um.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C08NQ3g7fSp7ImA9WhdTFEw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305830540931724126.post-2774320450671188702</id><published>2011-07-11T16:18:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2011-07-11T16:18:12.605-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-11T16:18:12.605-03:00</app:edited><title>Exatamente Igual</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/feeds/2774320450671188702/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6305830540931724126&amp;postID=2774320450671188702&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/2774320450671188702?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/2774320450671188702?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~3/ZXEEaL6xKPQ/exatamente-igual.html" title="Exatamente Igual" /><author><name>Thiago Mussel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11815160900654189118</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="25" height="32" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_MO_SQnmbRPg/SGw_GDV5IvI/AAAAAAAAAH0/npu9tl4A448/S220/1976-Pierrot-88D95.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-igZvt6RHbiY/ThtMcb8QAiI/AAAAAAAAARc/PUTFhqpDEhc/s72-c/folhas+de+relva.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">

Faria tudo exatamente igual
Seria um tolo deliberadamente seu
Sem questionar a sua ausência
Nem lamentar o seu silêncioNão sei se faz
Diferença dizer
Mas eu não vou
Desistir de você
DesistirFazer sorrir diariamente é o meu ideal
Pensar um modo fantasticamente normal
De manter seu interesse
Sem mudar minha aparênciaNunca mais seremos os mesmo
Por mais que a gente tente
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/GLJfTTQR2xUbI1zOdp28ZkSomGE/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/GLJfTTQR2xUbI1zOdp28ZkSomGE/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/GLJfTTQR2xUbI1zOdp28ZkSomGE/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/GLJfTTQR2xUbI1zOdp28ZkSomGE/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~4/ZXEEaL6xKPQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/2011/07/exatamente-igual.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEAERng6fip7ImA9WhZaGEU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305830540931724126.post-1116794171242650935</id><published>2011-07-05T13:18:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2011-07-05T13:18:27.616-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-05T13:18:27.616-03:00</app:edited><title>...em delírio corri o mundo, refis meu caminho...</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/feeds/1116794171242650935/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6305830540931724126&amp;postID=1116794171242650935&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/1116794171242650935?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/1116794171242650935?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~3/539bYEInG0o/em-delirio-corri-o-mundo-refis-meu.html" title="...em delírio corri o mundo, refis meu caminho..." /><author><name>Thiago Mussel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11815160900654189118</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="25" height="32" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_MO_SQnmbRPg/SGw_GDV5IvI/AAAAAAAAAH0/npu9tl4A448/S220/1976-Pierrot-88D95.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vXW7NOh3dPU/ThM5S1jichI/AAAAAAAAARQ/guYDxfAKa-k/s72-c/1229898323563_f.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">



no começo da escrita não havia ponto ou vírgula o texto era um rio que corria sem que se pudesse perceber as correntes o sentido do texto era revelado por um leitor verdadeiro sacerdote que fazia a ligação entre o verbo da palavra e a carne do mundo lia quem sabia reconhecer as pausas a mensagem estava entre as palavras com o tempo criaram-se os sinais de pontuação .:?,!; para uniformizar o 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Bx6xO00fKrwek4lT48IJM29NGVs/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Bx6xO00fKrwek4lT48IJM29NGVs/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~4/539bYEInG0o" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/2011/07/em-delirio-corri-o-mundo-refis-meu.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0QEQ3oyeCp7ImA9WhZaE0g.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305830540931724126.post-7889865218551750195</id><published>2011-06-29T10:48:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2011-06-29T10:48:22.490-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-06-29T10:48:22.490-03:00</app:edited><title>Madrugada</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/feeds/7889865218551750195/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6305830540931724126&amp;postID=7889865218551750195&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/7889865218551750195?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/7889865218551750195?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~3/JXpIN7KcOLk/madrugada.html" title="Madrugada" /><author><name>Thiago Mussel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11815160900654189118</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="25" height="32" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_MO_SQnmbRPg/SGw_GDV5IvI/AAAAAAAAAH0/npu9tl4A448/S220/1976-Pierrot-88D95.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-A6tR59hZUYo/TgstGR-7b0I/AAAAAAAAARM/-ArgBJuw9gc/s72-c/madrugada%255B1%255D.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">



Ela: Preciso dizer que aqui tem alguém pensando em você!
Ele: Aqui também tem alguém que pensa em você! Você poderia estar aqui.
Ela: Meu coração quase parou...meditando quase no fim. Também gostaria de me refletir em seus olhos, seria tudo hoje.
Ele: Acordar as 4h...sentindo o seu cheiro, bom demais.
Ela: Essa história que não tem fim. Porque fazemos isso?
Ele: Porque não escolhemos quem 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/aKc6eFMAd_PHwe52MhoH5g1T5z8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/aKc6eFMAd_PHwe52MhoH5g1T5z8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~4/JXpIN7KcOLk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/2011/06/madrugada.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0YBRH46eSp7ImA9WhZbGUk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305830540931724126.post-7512006646431077132</id><published>2011-06-24T16:52:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2011-06-24T16:52:35.011-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-06-24T16:52:35.011-03:00</app:edited><title>Talking to the moon</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/feeds/7512006646431077132/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6305830540931724126&amp;postID=7512006646431077132&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/7512006646431077132?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/7512006646431077132?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~3/satPwQIkT9E/talking-to-moon.html" title="Talking to the moon" /><author><name>Thiago Mussel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11815160900654189118</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="25" height="32" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_MO_SQnmbRPg/SGw_GDV5IvI/AAAAAAAAAH0/npu9tl4A448/S220/1976-Pierrot-88D95.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4PS4Ke0VFgQ/TgTq5TbjPYI/AAAAAAAAARI/EOEMixxhn7g/s72-c/CAVALO+-+LUA%255B3%255D.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html"> "Eu sei que você está em algum lugar lá foraEm algum lugar longeEu quero você de voltaEu quero você de voltaMeus vizinhos pensam queEu sou loucoMas eles não entendemVocê é tudo que eu tenhoVocê é tudo que eu tenho
À noite, quando as estrelasIluminam o meu quartoMe sinto sozinhoFalando com a luaTento chegar até vocêNa esperança de que você estejaNo outro ladoFalando comigo tambémOu eu sou um 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/itl-tzfKoqhaJCM4cJWVqivVTxQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/itl-tzfKoqhaJCM4cJWVqivVTxQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~4/satPwQIkT9E" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/2011/06/talking-to-moon.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0cEQng_fip7ImA9WhZbGU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305830540931724126.post-6271924128358197520</id><published>2011-06-24T12:19:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2011-06-24T12:23:23.646-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-06-24T12:23:23.646-03:00</app:edited><title>Escrever é um encontro marcado com a própria alma.</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://vidaempunho.blogspot.com/feeds/6271924128358197520/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6305830540931724126&amp;postID=6271924128358197520&amp;isPopup=true" title="1 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/6271924128358197520?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6305830540931724126/posts/default/6271924128358197520?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/JNRVZ/~3/SEbSA-B924w/escrever-e-um-encontro-marcado-com.html" title="Escrever é um encontro marcado com a própria alma." /><author><name>Thiago Mussel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11815160900654189118</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="25" height="32" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_MO_SQnmbRPg/SGw_GDV5IvI/AAAAAAAAAH0/npu9tl4A448/S220/1976-Pierrot-88D95.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">Hoje não quero poesias, quero escrever.Preciso desabafar para você.Hoje eu preciso de um monólogo.
Onde ficou a ausência? Ela ainda faz sentido? Ela ainda existe? Ao mesmo tempo que a vida me mostra a cada segundo que passa que nada mais existe além das lembranças doloridas e das risadas sinceras, uma mensagem é capaz de fazer o pensamento girar, as coisas mudarem e um turbilhão de emoções surgir
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