<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2265902311269475694</id><updated>2011-11-19T23:44:24.513-08:00</updated><category term='Anita'/><category term='Marcel Marlier'/><category term='Irmaos Almeida'/><category term='Poesia Angolana'/><category term='Eclesiastes'/><category term='Flirck'/><category term='Remembrances'/><category term='Martine'/><category term='Arte'/><category term='Minhas Palavras'/><category term='[Gabriel Pensador]'/><category term='3'/><category term='Made Angola'/><category term='O tempo'/><category term='Livros'/><category term='Recordacoes'/><category term='Frases Soltas'/><category term='Dia 8 de Marco'/><category term='Books'/><title type='text'>NOTAS DO (IN)CONSCIENTE</title><subtitle type='html'>Tudo comecou como um ensaio para outro projecto ja realizado.O que era ensaio ficou de facto o blog das notas soltas do meu inconsciente.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Rosa Azul</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04820878303687041338</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/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMIGc9TrxXI/AAAAAAAABpA/696hJag_GHM/S220/Blue-Roses.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>28</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2265902311269475694.post-841633472403851411</id><published>2011-09-07T09:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-07T09:15:37.735-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Quem Amei Um Dia.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Xz64INcHwqk/TmeYYTyxsPI/AAAAAAAABrc/leBDBFW--L0/s1600/Beautiful+Sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Xz64INcHwqk/TmeYYTyxsPI/AAAAAAAABrc/leBDBFW--L0/s320/Beautiful+Sunset.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: black; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;A quem eu amei um dia, hoje esta' com o coracao partido.Nao porque um outro amor, quis magoar mas porque a vida pregou a rasteira do qual ninguem pode fugir.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: black; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;E eu estou aqui longe, sem poder dar um carinho sem estar presente, sem poder olhar nos olhos daquele a quem amei um dia e dizer " essa dor vai acalmar, vai virar saudade".&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: black; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Nao tenho este poder.E se" poder 'e querer "entao este ditado esta mais que ultrapassado para mim.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2265902311269475694-841633472403851411?l=notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/feeds/841633472403851411/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2265902311269475694&amp;postID=841633472403851411' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/841633472403851411'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/841633472403851411'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/2011/09/quem-amei-um-dia.html' title='A Quem Amei Um Dia.'/><author><name>Rosa Azul</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04820878303687041338</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/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMIGc9TrxXI/AAAAAAAABpA/696hJag_GHM/S220/Blue-Roses.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Xz64INcHwqk/TmeYYTyxsPI/AAAAAAAABrc/leBDBFW--L0/s72-c/Beautiful+Sunset.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2265902311269475694.post-7420958636299124466</id><published>2011-02-16T18:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-16T18:36:14.213-08:00</updated><title type='text'>O  Tempo Poe Tudo No Seu Devido Lugar.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gr00xVfExUs/TVyIuPWQazI/AAAAAAAABrA/5DGEvpETN6s/s1600/Fantasy-fantasy-16031946-1440-900.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="179" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gr00xVfExUs/TVyIuPWQazI/AAAAAAAABrA/5DGEvpETN6s/s320/Fantasy-fantasy-16031946-1440-900.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Realmente, o coracao prega partidas.Como se ja nao bastasse a vida pregar as partidas mais incompreensiveis e quase que incontrolaveis ainda temos o factor coracao.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Ontem foi so deitar e dar um pouco de atencao, que voce coracao ja vinha com mensagens fora de ordem. "&lt;/b&gt;Telefona", "Procura", "Pode nao ser bem aquilo que voce entendeu", "Afinal voces davam-se tao bem", "Vai....amanha mesmo mandas uma mensagem, telefone,email o que quiseres mas nao ficas sozinha"&lt;b&gt;.E o meu "&lt;/b&gt;Eu"&lt;b&gt; dizia "&lt;/b&gt; mas eu nao tenho medo de ficar sozinha" &lt;b&gt;e voce maldito coracao &lt;/b&gt;" Ta bom nao tens medo de ficar sozinha mas possa ser que estejas a ser dura demais"&lt;b&gt;.Hummmmm! Dormi.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Hoje acordei, e sem telefonar a vida pregou uma partida,conversei com quem eu pensava que fosse um amor.O tempo em que eu dormi, deu-me razao e mais uma vez vi, que nao estou tao errada assim.Que nao sou dura, mas que sei bem&amp;nbsp; o que quero.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Como sempre o tempo 'e o dono da razao, e sabe por o coracao no seu devido lugar.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;Ai de mim se eu te ouvisse sempre.Andava em delirios.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2265902311269475694-7420958636299124466?l=notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/feeds/7420958636299124466/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2265902311269475694&amp;postID=7420958636299124466' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/7420958636299124466'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/7420958636299124466'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/2011/02/o-tempo-poe-tudo-no-seu-devido-lugar.html' title='O  Tempo Poe Tudo No Seu Devido Lugar.'/><author><name>Rosa Azul</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04820878303687041338</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/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMIGc9TrxXI/AAAAAAAABpA/696hJag_GHM/S220/Blue-Roses.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gr00xVfExUs/TVyIuPWQazI/AAAAAAAABrA/5DGEvpETN6s/s72-c/Fantasy-fantasy-16031946-1440-900.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2265902311269475694.post-8674540453818837539</id><published>2010-11-17T15:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-17T15:33:12.978-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Doi...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/TORmFpB8ObI/AAAAAAAABqQ/vQPE18lGF74/s1600/blue-rose-flower-pictures-242.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="199" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/TORmFpB8ObI/AAAAAAAABqQ/vQPE18lGF74/s320/blue-rose-flower-pictures-242.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Pode-se enganar a todos por algum tempo; pode-se enganar&lt;br /&gt;alguns por todo o tempo; mas não se pode enganar a&lt;br /&gt;todos por todo tempo.&lt;br /&gt;(Abraham Lincoln)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2265902311269475694-8674540453818837539?l=notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/feeds/8674540453818837539/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2265902311269475694&amp;postID=8674540453818837539' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/8674540453818837539'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/8674540453818837539'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/2010/11/doi.html' title='Doi...'/><author><name>Rosa Azul</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04820878303687041338</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/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMIGc9TrxXI/AAAAAAAABpA/696hJag_GHM/S220/Blue-Roses.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/TORmFpB8ObI/AAAAAAAABqQ/vQPE18lGF74/s72-c/blue-rose-flower-pictures-242.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2265902311269475694.post-3876276716724087216</id><published>2010-11-16T10:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-16T10:59:43.163-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Minhas Palavras'/><title type='text'>O Engano de um amor.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Ontem tinha a certeza de que tinha um amor,&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Ontem tinha a certeza de que alguem me queria de verdade,&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Ontem tinha esperanca&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Ontem tinha ilusoes para acreditar&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Ontem ao deitar sabia que alguem pensava em mim&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; com paixao &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Mas tudo isso foi ontem,&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Hoje a verdade 'e crua e dura,&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Hoje estou confusa,&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Hoje nao comi,&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Hoje penso que fui tola,&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Hoje existe distancia,&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Hoje existe silencio&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Hoje existe o engano.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt; &lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2265902311269475694-3876276716724087216?l=notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/feeds/3876276716724087216/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2265902311269475694&amp;postID=3876276716724087216' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/3876276716724087216'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/3876276716724087216'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/2010/11/o-engano-de-um-amor.html' title='O Engano de um amor.'/><author><name>Rosa Azul</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04820878303687041338</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/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMIGc9TrxXI/AAAAAAAABpA/696hJag_GHM/S220/Blue-Roses.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2265902311269475694.post-7887458010439518521</id><published>2010-11-14T16:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-14T16:35:54.368-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;object height="317" width="520"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/F4cLKHPMII8?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_GB&amp;amp;rel=0&amp;amp;color1=0x5d1719&amp;amp;color2=0xcd311b"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/F4cLKHPMII8?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_GB&amp;amp;rel=0&amp;amp;color1=0x5d1719&amp;amp;color2=0xcd311b" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="520" height="317"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2265902311269475694-7887458010439518521?l=notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/feeds/7887458010439518521/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2265902311269475694&amp;postID=7887458010439518521' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/7887458010439518521'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/7887458010439518521'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/2010/11/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>Rosa Azul</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04820878303687041338</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/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMIGc9TrxXI/AAAAAAAABpA/696hJag_GHM/S220/Blue-Roses.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2265902311269475694.post-7034556681765276284</id><published>2010-11-14T16:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-14T16:26:58.501-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Fashion  Cores I</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/TOB-HjL0xUI/AAAAAAAABqE/atfWEPta96c/s1600/african_american_makeup_looks_1980s_makeup_looks_1980s_makeup_trends_1980_trends_style_trends_retro_makeup_bright_makeup_colors.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/TOB-HjL0xUI/AAAAAAAABqE/atfWEPta96c/s320/african_american_makeup_looks_1980s_makeup_looks_1980s_makeup_trends_1980_trends_style_trends_retro_makeup_bright_makeup_colors.jpg" width="240" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2265902311269475694-7034556681765276284?l=notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/feeds/7034556681765276284/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2265902311269475694&amp;postID=7034556681765276284' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/7034556681765276284'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/7034556681765276284'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/2010/11/fashion-cores-i.html' title='Fashion  Cores I'/><author><name>Rosa Azul</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04820878303687041338</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/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMIGc9TrxXI/AAAAAAAABpA/696hJag_GHM/S220/Blue-Roses.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/TOB-HjL0xUI/AAAAAAAABqE/atfWEPta96c/s72-c/african_american_makeup_looks_1980s_makeup_looks_1980s_makeup_trends_1980_trends_style_trends_retro_makeup_bright_makeup_colors.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2265902311269475694.post-8503945375059373034</id><published>2010-10-23T06:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-23T06:28:53.342-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Made Angola'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Irmaos Almeida'/><title type='text'>Minha Viola</title><content type='html'>&lt;object height="385" width="480"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/_EkpKkTKvUo?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_GB&amp;amp;rel=0&amp;amp;color1=0xe1600f&amp;amp;color2=0xfebd01"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/_EkpKkTKvUo?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_GB&amp;amp;rel=0&amp;amp;color1=0xe1600f&amp;amp;color2=0xfebd01" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif; font-size: large;"&gt;Esta musica reflecte aos tempos de guerra em Angola, em que muitos amores ficaram separados para sempre, porque os jovens iam para frente do combate para nunca mais voltarem.E os que voltavam, vinham com grandes cicatrizes no corpo e na alma. Nao esquecendo que no lado das mulheres, muitas viam-se obrigadas a fugirem das suas cidades e aldeias de origem com as suas familias e perdendo o rasto de quem um dia muito amaram.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2265902311269475694-8503945375059373034?l=notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/feeds/8503945375059373034/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2265902311269475694&amp;postID=8503945375059373034' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/8503945375059373034'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/8503945375059373034'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/2010/10/minha-viola.html' title='Minha Viola'/><author><name>Rosa Azul</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04820878303687041338</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/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMIGc9TrxXI/AAAAAAAABpA/696hJag_GHM/S220/Blue-Roses.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2265902311269475694.post-5135587949172270779</id><published>2010-10-22T14:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-22T14:31:16.475-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Frases Soltas'/><title type='text'>Amor adormecido</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMICHwgAt1I/AAAAAAAABo8/TYAp4prIrak/s1600/Blue-Roses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMICHwgAt1I/AAAAAAAABo8/TYAp4prIrak/s320/Blue-Roses.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana,Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"&gt;"Nunca digas                                   que teve um grande amor e o esqueceu,  só                                  porque conseguiu falar dele sem que  seus olhos                                  enchessem de lágrimas. Um  amor não                                  morre, somente dorme nos  braços da esperança."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2265902311269475694-5135587949172270779?l=notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/feeds/5135587949172270779/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2265902311269475694&amp;postID=5135587949172270779' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/5135587949172270779'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/5135587949172270779'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/2010/10/amor-adormecido.html' title='Amor adormecido'/><author><name>Rosa Azul</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04820878303687041338</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/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMIGc9TrxXI/AAAAAAAABpA/696hJag_GHM/S220/Blue-Roses.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMICHwgAt1I/AAAAAAAABo8/TYAp4prIrak/s72-c/Blue-Roses.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2265902311269475694.post-4007851291826397775</id><published>2010-10-22T13:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-22T13:45:31.185-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Minhas Palavras'/><title type='text'>Seguindo o caminho.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMH2sVkowBI/AAAAAAAABo0/IstUowATIhk/s1600/sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMH2sVkowBI/AAAAAAAABo0/IstUowATIhk/s320/sunset.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;b style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;Amor eu ja sabia. Podes acreditar&amp;nbsp; que foram anos a preparar-me para um dia ouvir aquela frase.E quando &amp;nbsp;ouvi e ouvi porque perguntei fiquei muda.Como se as horas tivessem parado, como se uma faca tivesse cortado o ar.E disse para mim mesma “ tu ja sabias que isso vinha” mas o coracao maldito coracao negou tudo, ficou mudo, ficou quieto de pavor, ficou assustado .Tu nao me magoaste, tu nao me trocaste por outro alguem, simplesmente seguiste o caminho da vida.Essa mesma vida que nos separou.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2265902311269475694-4007851291826397775?l=notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/feeds/4007851291826397775/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2265902311269475694&amp;postID=4007851291826397775' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/4007851291826397775'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/4007851291826397775'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/2010/10/seguindo-o-caminho.html' title='Seguindo o caminho.'/><author><name>Rosa Azul</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04820878303687041338</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/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMIGc9TrxXI/AAAAAAAABpA/696hJag_GHM/S220/Blue-Roses.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMH2sVkowBI/AAAAAAAABo0/IstUowATIhk/s72-c/sunset.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2265902311269475694.post-5519502563285660151</id><published>2010-04-01T16:39:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-22T13:49:47.740-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Paixao de Cristo</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMH42605UrI/AAAAAAAABo4/8sDCCxeX_54/s1600/JesusCristo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="285" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMH42605UrI/AAAAAAAABo4/8sDCCxeX_54/s400/JesusCristo.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2265902311269475694-5519502563285660151?l=notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/feeds/5519502563285660151/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2265902311269475694&amp;postID=5519502563285660151' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/5519502563285660151'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/5519502563285660151'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/2010/04/paixao-de-cristo.html' title='Paixao de Cristo'/><author><name>Rosa Azul</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04820878303687041338</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/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMIGc9TrxXI/AAAAAAAABpA/696hJag_GHM/S220/Blue-Roses.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMH42605UrI/AAAAAAAABo4/8sDCCxeX_54/s72-c/JesusCristo.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2265902311269475694.post-3174040011878824269</id><published>2010-03-15T13:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-15T13:36:55.980-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Minhas Palavras'/><title type='text'>Ate um dia!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/S56Z7PMadRI/AAAAAAAABgY/n2FLP08XtNw/s1600-h/fairy+%2815%29.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/S56Z7PMadRI/AAAAAAAABgY/n2FLP08XtNw/s320/fairy+%2815%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448961842134807826" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;"  &gt;E assim vieste tu, sem avisar novamente.De terras longinquas aonde uma grande estoria nasceu e morreu.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;"  &gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;"  &gt;E assim vieste tu, com toda a forca revirar os pensamentos e a rotina que ha muito imperam sem necessidade de nova ordem.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;"  &gt;Certamente nao sabes e certamente nao imaginas o poder que tu tens, talvez se soubesses seria o caos total e 'e nesse "nao saber"  que eu  me seguro.'E ai aonde eu venco.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;"  &gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;"  &gt;Chegaste sim, o coracao foi calmo dessa vez, foi meu amigo mas tenta alertar que contigo nunca nada tem fim. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2265902311269475694-3174040011878824269?l=notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/feeds/3174040011878824269/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2265902311269475694&amp;postID=3174040011878824269' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/3174040011878824269'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/3174040011878824269'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/2010/03/ate-um-dia.html' title='Ate um dia!'/><author><name>Rosa Azul</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04820878303687041338</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/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMIGc9TrxXI/AAAAAAAABpA/696hJag_GHM/S220/Blue-Roses.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/S56Z7PMadRI/AAAAAAAABgY/n2FLP08XtNw/s72-c/fairy+%2815%29.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2265902311269475694.post-2808881760509776916</id><published>2010-01-15T18:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-10-22T12:12:12.209-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Minhas Palavras'/><title type='text'>Eixo Perdido.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/S1ExHoGy3ZI/AAAAAAAABdE/sENuvYwO_mE/s1600-h/Universe.jpg"&gt;&lt;img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427173033052921234" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/S1ExHoGy3ZI/AAAAAAAABdE/sENuvYwO_mE/s320/Universe.jpg" style="float: left; height: 320px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 229px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="color: black; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Hoje Deus meu Pai Eterno vou me desabafar, eu sei que ensinaste a fazer isso sem mostrarmos ao mundo, sem nos evidenciarmos mas 'e assim...&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: black; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: black; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify" style="color: black; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Ja passaram 15 dias do Janeiro de 2010. E o que eu reparo 'e que nao esta' dar para controlar o tempo. O tempo voa do relogio como se uma mao invisivel la estivesse. Fico a imaginar que deve haver essa mao invisivel no nosso universo que mexe com todos os relogios existentes no mundo.E o mais agravante meu Deus 'e que tempo vem e tempo vai e fizemos sempre as mesmas coisas.Eu sei Senhor, O Senhor 'e o Dono do Tempo mas se ele corre assim tao rapido algum significado ha ou nao?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: black; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: black; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify" style="color: black; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;'E verdade! Ouvimos sempre as mesmas noticias, fizemos sempre as mesmas compras, falamos sempre as mesmas palavras como se robos^ fossemos.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: black; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify" style="color: black; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Esta' dificil!A vida 'e bela, 'e desafiante e e' dolorida. Observo os outros e vejo que estamos todos iguais ate os lindos, ricos e famosos parecem uns palhacos.Se existe um canto na terra aonde algum povo encontrou a paz entao mostra o caminho, nao que va me mudar para la mas pelo menos saber o que de errado eu faco e tentar ao menos ser feliz.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: black; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: black; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: black; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify" style="color: black; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Nao vou me queixar muito, porque afinal ainda tenho um tecto, a cama com lencois limpos e comida, familia e amigos. Agradeco sempre e sempre.Acontece que quando olho ao redor so vejo repeticoes e tristezas, da' para ser feliz quando um mundo perdeu o seu eixo?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2265902311269475694-2808881760509776916?l=notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/feeds/2808881760509776916/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2265902311269475694&amp;postID=2808881760509776916' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/2808881760509776916'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/2808881760509776916'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/2010/01/eixo-perdido.html' title='Eixo Perdido.'/><author><name>Rosa Azul</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04820878303687041338</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/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMIGc9TrxXI/AAAAAAAABpA/696hJag_GHM/S220/Blue-Roses.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/S1ExHoGy3ZI/AAAAAAAABdE/sENuvYwO_mE/s72-c/Universe.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2265902311269475694.post-3085705273324763061</id><published>2009-11-27T17:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-10-22T12:13:10.604-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Minhas Palavras'/><title type='text'>Sem convite.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/SxCGBAOmKxI/AAAAAAAABa0/JtmMcnw-IDQ/s1600/Dreams_for_tears_by_Zindy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408970504271178514" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/SxCGBAOmKxI/AAAAAAAABa0/JtmMcnw-IDQ/s320/Dreams_for_tears_by_Zindy.jpg" style="float: right; height: 320px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 226px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Nao esperava ver-te no meu sonho ontem.Nao foste convidado e muito menos relembrado para que tenhas aparecido sem permissao no meu subconsciente.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: black; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Que querias tu dizer com o teu olhar? Nossos caminhos ja nao se cruzam a anos-luzes e mesmo assim tu apareces sem convite para dizer-me algo que nao sei nem quero saber.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: black; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Estou xateada porque vejo que ainda falta algo mais, para te apagar completamente. &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2265902311269475694-3085705273324763061?l=notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/feeds/3085705273324763061/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2265902311269475694&amp;postID=3085705273324763061' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/3085705273324763061'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/3085705273324763061'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/2009/11/sem-convite.html' title='Sem convite.'/><author><name>Rosa Azul</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04820878303687041338</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/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMIGc9TrxXI/AAAAAAAABpA/696hJag_GHM/S220/Blue-Roses.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/SxCGBAOmKxI/AAAAAAAABa0/JtmMcnw-IDQ/s72-c/Dreams_for_tears_by_Zindy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2265902311269475694.post-5999726280379376609</id><published>2009-10-03T10:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-05T17:57:12.905-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Escrituras.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/SsqVatHy9CI/AAAAAAAABaU/p1vGO0eg3Ug/s1600-h/earthlights.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389284190123652130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 160px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/SsqVatHy9CI/AAAAAAAABaU/p1vGO0eg3Ug/s320/earthlights.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/SsqVG8QLk5I/AAAAAAAABaM/a7U95IwzkdU/s1600-h/Mapamundinoiite.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Nao vos pertence saber os tempos ou as &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;estacoes que o Pai estabeleceu pelo seu proprio poder.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;color:#000000;"&gt;Mas receberreis a virtude do Espirito Santo, que ha de &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;vir sobre vos' e, ser-me-eis testemunhas tanto em Jerusalem , como em toda &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Judeia e&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;ate' aos confins da terra.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Atos 1:7&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2265902311269475694-5999726280379376609?l=notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/feeds/5999726280379376609/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2265902311269475694&amp;postID=5999726280379376609' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/5999726280379376609'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/5999726280379376609'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/2009/10/escrituras.html' title='Escrituras.'/><author><name>Rosa Azul</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04820878303687041338</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/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMIGc9TrxXI/AAAAAAAABpA/696hJag_GHM/S220/Blue-Roses.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/SsqVatHy9CI/AAAAAAAABaU/p1vGO0eg3Ug/s72-c/earthlights.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2265902311269475694.post-5932059420776311526</id><published>2009-09-28T12:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-05T17:34:41.502-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Minhas Palavras'/><title type='text'>A Sombra da Verdade.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a title="Mensagens Positivas e Alegres" href="http://www.scrapglitter.com/"&gt;&lt;img alt="geradores de animações" src="http://i266.photobucket.com/albums/ii270/profileglitter/flores/flores103.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.scrapglitter.com/flores.html"&gt;RecadosOnline - As mais lindas imagens de Flores; clique aqui!&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#000000;"&gt;Ate que ponto o ser humano 'e capaz de perdoar uma mentira?E sera' que existe de facto pessoas que nunca mentem?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#000000;"&gt;Diz-se que o amor tudo perdoa, isso quando amamos alguem de verdade.As vezes achamos que estamos a amar e quando o outro lado da laranja mostra o seu lado fraco e mentiroso, de repente vemos que nao temos toda aquela forca do amor para perdoar uma mentira.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#000000;"&gt;Conversando com outras pessoas sobre verdades e mentiras, o que sobressai 'e que as pessoas mentem por diversos motivos.Ha quem mente ate por uma questao de sobrevivencia. O medo de encarar uma realidade, a vinganca, a malvadez, o nao querer magoar o proximo, a frustracao e a vaidade .Sem darmos por conta, estas sao as armadilhas de uma mentira, nao esquecendo que ha aqueeles que mentem patologicamente.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#000000;"&gt;O amor tudo perdoa mas pessoalmente nao sei se, seria capaz de perdoar uma mentira oriunda de pura malvadez.Na balanca dos sentimentos, o amor 'e o fiel dos dois pratos aonde a mentira e a verdade, uma 'e a sombra ou o contrapeso de outra .&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;O bom do fim de uma mentira 'e que no final a verdade revela-se, dura , implacavel e vingativa.Como se dissesse:&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;"sempre estive aqui e voce nao quis ver"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;strong&gt; e na maior parte das vezes machuca tanto ou mais que uma mentira, contudo tambem liberta.'E uma liberdade que abre novos caminhos e novas escolhas.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2265902311269475694-5932059420776311526?l=notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/feeds/5932059420776311526/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2265902311269475694&amp;postID=5932059420776311526' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/5932059420776311526'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/5932059420776311526'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/2009/09/sombra-da-verdade.html' title='A Sombra da Verdade.'/><author><name>Rosa Azul</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04820878303687041338</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/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMIGc9TrxXI/AAAAAAAABpA/696hJag_GHM/S220/Blue-Roses.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://i266.photobucket.com/albums/ii270/profileglitter/flores/th_flores103.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2265902311269475694.post-8866705449470759419</id><published>2009-06-25T15:45:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-25T15:47:19.853-07:00</updated><title type='text'>NO NEEDED WORDS</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/SkP-M0PULwI/AAAAAAAABXs/ramKLQJOH_o/s1600-h/michael-jackson.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 277px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/SkP-M0PULwI/AAAAAAAABXs/ramKLQJOH_o/s400/michael-jackson.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351400278381047554" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Tu nao morreste, simplesmente viajaste.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2265902311269475694-8866705449470759419?l=notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/feeds/8866705449470759419/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2265902311269475694&amp;postID=8866705449470759419' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/8866705449470759419'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/8866705449470759419'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/2009/06/no-needed-words.html' title='NO NEEDED WORDS'/><author><name>Rosa Azul</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04820878303687041338</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/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMIGc9TrxXI/AAAAAAAABpA/696hJag_GHM/S220/Blue-Roses.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/SkP-M0PULwI/AAAAAAAABXs/ramKLQJOH_o/s72-c/michael-jackson.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2265902311269475694.post-9217508127090366834</id><published>2009-06-23T15:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-23T15:20:23.248-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Simplesmente Eu.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/SkFVCWtjfeI/AAAAAAAABXk/WzbnNma8z0o/s1600-h/Watermelon+Head.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/SkFVCWtjfeI/AAAAAAAABXk/WzbnNma8z0o/s400/Watermelon+Head.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350651331237608930" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2265902311269475694-9217508127090366834?l=notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/feeds/9217508127090366834/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2265902311269475694&amp;postID=9217508127090366834' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/9217508127090366834'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/9217508127090366834'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/2009/06/simplesmente-eu.html' title='Simplesmente Eu.'/><author><name>Rosa Azul</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04820878303687041338</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/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMIGc9TrxXI/AAAAAAAABpA/696hJag_GHM/S220/Blue-Roses.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/SkFVCWtjfeI/AAAAAAAABXk/WzbnNma8z0o/s72-c/Watermelon+Head.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2265902311269475694.post-1078241035371008951</id><published>2009-03-16T19:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-16T19:54:05.136-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Marcel Marlier'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Arte'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Flirck'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Martine'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Anita'/><title type='text'>A Magia das Cores.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;embed src="http://widget-69.slide.com/widgets/slideticker.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" quality="high" scale="noscale" salign="l" wmode="transparent" flashvars="cy=bb&amp;amp;il=1&amp;amp;channel=648518346385418857&amp;amp;site=widget-69.slide.com" style="width:400px;height:375px" name="flashticker" align="middle"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;div style="width:400px;text-align:left;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.slide.com/pivot?cy=bb&amp;amp;at=un&amp;amp;id=648518346385418857&amp;amp;map=1" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://widget-69.slide.com/p1/648518346385418857/bb_t028_v000_s0un_f00/images/xslide1.gif" border="0" ismap="ismap" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.slide.com/pivot?cy=bb&amp;amp;at=un&amp;amp;id=648518346385418857&amp;amp;map=2" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://widget-69.slide.com/p2/648518346385418857/bb_t028_v000_s0un_f00/images/xslide2.gif" border="0" ismap="ismap" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.slide.com/pivot?cy=bb&amp;at=un&amp;id=648518346385418857&amp;map=F" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://widget-69.slide.com/p4/648518346385418857/bb_t028_v000_s0un_f00/images/xslide42.gif" border="0" ismap="ismap" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-weight: bold; font-family: lucida grande;"&gt;Nao tem como nao ficar encantada toda vez que me deparo com arte.Sim, porque ilustrar dessa forma 'e preciso ter arte.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2265902311269475694-1078241035371008951?l=notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/feeds/1078241035371008951/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2265902311269475694&amp;postID=1078241035371008951' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/1078241035371008951'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/1078241035371008951'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/2009/03/magia-das-cores.html' title='A Magia das Cores.'/><author><name>Rosa Azul</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04820878303687041338</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/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMIGc9TrxXI/AAAAAAAABpA/696hJag_GHM/S220/Blue-Roses.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2265902311269475694.post-7840312632780072993</id><published>2009-03-16T13:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-16T13:14:11.077-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Books'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Remembrances'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Recordacoes'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Livros'/><title type='text'>Anita</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="400" height="300"&gt; &lt;param name="flashvars" value="&amp;offsite=true&amp;amp;lang=en-us&amp;page_show_url=%2Fgroups%2F347645%40N25%2Fpool%2Fshow%2F&amp;page_show_back_url=%2Fgroups%2F347645%40N25%2Fpool%2F&amp;group_id=347645@N25&amp;jump_to=&amp;start_index="&gt;&lt;/param&gt; &lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=67348"&gt;&lt;/param&gt; &lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=67348" allowFullScreen="true" flashvars="&amp;offsite=true&amp;amp;lang=en-us&amp;page_show_url=%2Fgroups%2F347645%40N25%2Fpool%2Fshow%2F&amp;page_show_back_url=%2Fgroups%2F347645%40N25%2Fpool%2F&amp;group_id=347645@N25&amp;jump_to=&amp;start_index=" width="400" height="300"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;A coleccao dos livros da Anita fizeram parte da minha infancia. Gostava da linguagem simples e principalmente as ilustracoes. Acontece que nunca tive um livro da Anita, os que eu lia na altura eram sempre emprestados. E eu "devorava" as lindas imagens e lia os textos num abrir e fechar de olhos.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;A bem dizer a coleccao da Anita para mim era muito melhor que o livro da Bela Adormecida e a Branca de Neve.Sera porque era mais realista?Isso eu nao sei. Sei que sao livros que transportam magia pelas imagens e sao didaticos pelos textos.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Gostaria muito de ter a coleccao, pesa embora ja nao seja nenhuma crianca. Hoje estao cada vez mais raros a venda dos livros porque ja existem a mais de 30 anos, apesar de ser um sucesso sem duvida alguma.Quem sabe um dia conseguirei comprar os livros para a minha futura crianca, gostaria muito de dar a conhecer esse mundo magico e belo.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2265902311269475694-7840312632780072993?l=notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/feeds/7840312632780072993/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2265902311269475694&amp;postID=7840312632780072993' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/7840312632780072993'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/7840312632780072993'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/2009/03/anita.html' title='Anita'/><author><name>Rosa Azul</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04820878303687041338</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/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMIGc9TrxXI/AAAAAAAABpA/696hJag_GHM/S220/Blue-Roses.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2265902311269475694.post-370199199338557701</id><published>2009-03-07T14:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-09T08:50:01.612-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Minhas Palavras'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Dia 8 de Marco'/><title type='text'>Em Tempo Integral (Mulher)</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/SbU6mroh5FI/AAAAAAAABRo/bAUGakT4o_E/s1600-h/flor9.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 314px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311215771775525970" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/SbU6mroh5FI/AAAAAAAABRo/bAUGakT4o_E/s320/flor9.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/SbMAIB_CKGI/AAAAAAAABRg/E2FbI3oVbWo/s1600-h/Butterfly+Collection.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; COLOR: rgb(0,0,0); FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Eu sou aquela mulher que nao nega os erros do passado, tirando dele as grandes licoes da vida, para defender-me no presente e alcancar um futuro quica inexistente.&lt;br /&gt;Nao vou escrever va~s filosofias do que 'e ser mulher.Porque ser mulher 'e preciso nascer-se mulher e 'e necessario viver.&lt;br /&gt;Ainda sou aquela mulher que mesmo depois de muitas desilusoes ainda acredita no amor, sem perder a nocao da realidade. Aquela mulher contraditoria, que consegue ser menina e ao mesmo tempo mulher.&lt;br /&gt;Sou aquela mulher contemporanea que sabe que o lugar de uma mulher 'e ao lado de um homem e jamais atras e mesmo indo a luta pela vida na sua independencia total, sonha com a proteccao e o amor do homem da sua vida, aquele que esta' nesse mundo para cuida-la.Sou aquela mulher que se aborrece com a violencia, com os chavoes machistas, com as pressoes desnecessarias, e com os tradicionalismo.&lt;br /&gt;Sou uma mulher cheia de saudades da infancia, que anda num mundo cosmopolita ligada a ciencia, a technologia as artes e ao mesmo tempo vaidosa.Aquela mulher que nasceu para dar amor, para gerar a vida. Sou aquela que chora por estar alegre e por estar triste.Esta sou eu, mulher em tempo integral.E como eu somos milhares por este planeta. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2265902311269475694-370199199338557701?l=notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/feeds/370199199338557701/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2265902311269475694&amp;postID=370199199338557701' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/370199199338557701'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/370199199338557701'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/2009/03/em-tempo-integral-mulher.html' title='Em Tempo Integral (Mulher)'/><author><name>Rosa Azul</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04820878303687041338</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/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMIGc9TrxXI/AAAAAAAABpA/696hJag_GHM/S220/Blue-Roses.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/SbU6mroh5FI/AAAAAAAABRo/bAUGakT4o_E/s72-c/flor9.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2265902311269475694.post-7945315124823376724</id><published>2009-02-25T18:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-25T18:27:45.792-08:00</updated><title type='text'>O Amor.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.glimboo.com/" title="Recados para Orkut"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i219.photobucket.com/albums/cc166/recado/glimboo/amor/0256.gif" alt="Recados e Imagens - Amor - Orkut" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Tahoma;"&gt;Os anjos o chamam de alegria celeste, os demônios o chamam de sofrimento     infernal, os homens o chamam de amor.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2265902311269475694-7945315124823376724?l=notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/feeds/7945315124823376724/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2265902311269475694&amp;postID=7945315124823376724' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/7945315124823376724'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/7945315124823376724'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/2009/02/o-amor.html' title='O Amor.'/><author><name>Rosa Azul</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04820878303687041338</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/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMIGc9TrxXI/AAAAAAAABpA/696hJag_GHM/S220/Blue-Roses.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2265902311269475694.post-8802414394228769932</id><published>2009-02-22T18:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-22T19:11:43.887-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Poesia Angolana'/><title type='text'>Carta dum Contratado</title><content type='html'>&lt;table&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Lucida Calligraphy;font-size:180%;"  &gt;António Jacinto&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;b&gt;Carta dum contratado&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Eu queria escrever-te uma carta&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Amor,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Uma carta que dissesse&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Deste anseio&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;De te ver&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Deste receio&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;De te perder&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Deste mais que bem querer que sinto&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Deste mal indefinido que me persegue&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Desta saudade a que vivo todo entregue...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Eu queria escrever-te uma carta&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Amor,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Uma carta de confidências íntimas,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Uma carta de lembranças de ti,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;De ti&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dos teus lábios vermelhos como tacula&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dos teus cabelos negros como diloa&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dos teus olhos doces como macongue&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dos teus seios duros como maboque&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Do teu andar de onça&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;E dos teus carinhos&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Que maiores não encontrei por ai...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Eu queria escrever-te uma carta&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Amor,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Que recordasse nossos dias na capopa&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Nossas noites perdidas no capim&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Que recordasse a sombra que nos caia dos jambos&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;O luar que se coava das palmeiras sem fim&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Que recordasse a loucura&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Da nossa paixão&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;E a amargura da nossa separação...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Eu queria escrever-te uma carta&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Amor,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Que a não lesses sem suspirar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Que a escondesses de papai Bombo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Que a sonegasses a mamãe Kiesa&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Que a relesses sem a frieza&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Do esquecimento&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Uma carta que em todo o Kilombo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Outra a ela não tivesse merecimento...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Eu queria escrever-te uma carta&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Amor,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Uma carta que ta levasse o vento que passa&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Uma carta que os cajus e cafeeiros&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Que as hienas e palancas que os jacarés e bagres&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Pudessem entender&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Para que se o vento a perdesse no caminho&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Os bichos e plantas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Compadecidos de nosso pungente sofrer&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;De canto em canto&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;De lamento em lamento&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;De farfalhar em farfalhar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Te levassem puras e quentes&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;As palavras ardentes&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;As palavras magoadas da minha carta&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Que eu queria escrever-te amor&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Eu queria escrever-te uma carta...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Mas, ah, meu amor, eu não sei compreender&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Por que é, por que é, por que é, meu bem&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Que tu não sabes ler&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;E eu - Oh! Desespero! - não sei escrever também! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:Lucida Calligraphy;font-size:180%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2265902311269475694-8802414394228769932?l=notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/feeds/8802414394228769932/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2265902311269475694&amp;postID=8802414394228769932' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/8802414394228769932'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/8802414394228769932'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/2009/02/carta-dum-contratado.html' title='Carta dum Contratado'/><author><name>Rosa Azul</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04820878303687041338</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/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMIGc9TrxXI/AAAAAAAABpA/696hJag_GHM/S220/Blue-Roses.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2265902311269475694.post-4432365504490258827</id><published>2009-02-21T17:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-22T19:38:16.474-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='[Gabriel Pensador]'/><title type='text'>O Poder do Pensamento.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.recadosonline.com" title="Recado para orkut"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i121.photobucket.com/albums/o207/bicfomh/rec/fadas/fada003.gif" border="0" alt="Recados Para Orkut"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"  &gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;"Pensa! O pensamento tem poder. Mas não adianta só         pensar. Você também tem que dizer! Diz! Porque as         palavras têm poder. Mas não adianta só dizer. Você         também tem que fazer! Faz! Porque você só vai saber         se o final vai ser feliz depois que tudo acontecer." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2265902311269475694-4432365504490258827?l=notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/feeds/4432365504490258827/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2265902311269475694&amp;postID=4432365504490258827' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/4432365504490258827'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/4432365504490258827'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/2009/02/o-poder-do-pensamento.html' title='O Poder do Pensamento.'/><author><name>Rosa Azul</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04820878303687041338</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/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMIGc9TrxXI/AAAAAAAABpA/696hJag_GHM/S220/Blue-Roses.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2265902311269475694.post-2205891146139390420</id><published>2009-02-21T17:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-21T17:18:07.330-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Produtividade do Relaxe.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/SaCngDe1J2I/AAAAAAAABP4/bkwFvjzBs-g/s1600-h/image001.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/SaCngDe1J2I/AAAAAAAABP4/bkwFvjzBs-g/s320/image001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305424530174715746" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Nao adianta, eu gosto de escrever.Se escrevo  de uma maneira cativante, interessante e com todos os diamantes, isso eu nao sei.Sei que cometo gaffes na gramatica portuguesa mas isso nao vai inibir-me de escrever.&lt;br /&gt;Hoje o meu dia foi de arrumacoes.Daquelas arrumacoes pega aqui, deixa ali e revira do outro lado.Bem, o que sei 'e que da arrumacao virou uma desarrumacao para no fundo ficar tudo no seu lugar.Estou cansada ate aos ossos que nao consigo mais mover-me do sofa, mas 'e um bom cansaco.&lt;br /&gt;Ao arrumar os grandes dos pequenos e o util do inutil, dei-me conta que arrumar tambem pode funcionar como uma terapia.Moe a carne mas acalma o pensamento.E com uma vantagem de deixar-te o cerebro mais veloz e cheio de logica.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'E engracado que quando eu cuido da minha roupa, plantas e outras partes chatas da casa consigo pensar com mais clareza em assuntos que em nada tem^ haver com aquilo que faco do momento.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hoje quase tudo ficou nos eixos, nao ficou "tudo" porque nao sou uma fanatica em limpezas mas estou satisfeita com o meu relaxe e a minha produtividade.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2265902311269475694-2205891146139390420?l=notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/feeds/2205891146139390420/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2265902311269475694&amp;postID=2205891146139390420' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/2205891146139390420'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/2205891146139390420'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/2009/02/produtividade-do-relaxe.html' title='A Produtividade do Relaxe.'/><author><name>Rosa Azul</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04820878303687041338</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/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMIGc9TrxXI/AAAAAAAABpA/696hJag_GHM/S220/Blue-Roses.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/SaCngDe1J2I/AAAAAAAABP4/bkwFvjzBs-g/s72-c/image001.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2265902311269475694.post-5488796829779144237</id><published>2008-10-16T11:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-16T11:21:22.677-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Rosa!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.recadosonline.com" title="Recados para Orkut"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i121.photobucket.com/albums/o207/bicfomh/rec/rosas/rosa003.gif" border="0" alt="recados do orkut" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h2&gt;Confira mais figuras para Rosas:&lt;br /&gt;http://www.RecadosOnline.com/rosas.html&lt;/h2&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2265902311269475694-5488796829779144237?l=notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/feeds/5488796829779144237/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2265902311269475694&amp;postID=5488796829779144237' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/5488796829779144237'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/5488796829779144237'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/2008/10/rosa.html' title='A Rosa!'/><author><name>Rosa Azul</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04820878303687041338</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/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMIGc9TrxXI/AAAAAAAABpA/696hJag_GHM/S220/Blue-Roses.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2265902311269475694.post-9111833517512942811</id><published>2008-10-07T17:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-07T18:01:59.685-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Minhas Palavras'/><title type='text'>O aroma da vida.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/SOwGLj0gTnI/AAAAAAAAAzg/hbUVLnyxBy4/s1600-h/5.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; FLOAT: left; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254581660898315890" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/SOwGLj0gTnI/AAAAAAAAAzg/hbUVLnyxBy4/s320/5.gif" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#000000;"&gt;Como existem factos que nos acompanham pelo resto da vida assim tambem sao os aromas que sentimos nessa nossa trajectoria pela terra e que ficam bem marcados na memoria.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#000000;"&gt;Fico aqui a pensar entre tantos aromas quais sao os que mais me marcaram ou quais sao os que mais gosto.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#000000;"&gt;E dei conta que posso muito bem dividir os aromas da minha vida e eleger somente um que quando eu sinto 'e o favorito dos favoritos assim dizendo o numero UM.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#000000;"&gt;Gosto do aroma do banho tomado, do bolo caseiro no forno, do cafe pela manha, do meu perfume Opium, da mistura do cachimbo com whiskie apesar de nao fumar e so beber wiskie com coca-cola.Tambem aprecio o aroma do jasmim e camomila talves por isso os dois fazem parte dos meus chas preferidos, o aroma do pao quente e saido do forno, do chao da casa quando 'e limpo com bom detergente nao importa qual desde que seja um bom aroma, da-me sempre disposicao de ficar mais tempo em casa, e sem esquecer o aroma de um bebe quando ele esta' limpinho.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#000000;"&gt;Mas, o aroma que me preenche a alma 'e o da terra molhada depois de uma chuva tropical.Nao tem igual.Sempre respiro fundo e deixo entrar para os meus pulmoes.Para mim 'e o melhor aroma da vida.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2265902311269475694-9111833517512942811?l=notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/feeds/9111833517512942811/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2265902311269475694&amp;postID=9111833517512942811' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/9111833517512942811'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/9111833517512942811'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/2008/10/o-aroma-da-vida.html' title='O aroma da vida.'/><author><name>Rosa Azul</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04820878303687041338</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/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMIGc9TrxXI/AAAAAAAABpA/696hJag_GHM/S220/Blue-Roses.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/SOwGLj0gTnI/AAAAAAAAAzg/hbUVLnyxBy4/s72-c/5.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2265902311269475694.post-8709388107099068937</id><published>2008-10-05T15:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-05T16:20:24.100-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='O tempo'/><title type='text'>O tempo na minha relatividade.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/SOlLZK0aqeI/AAAAAAAAAzA/uJBqZs_ghB8/s1600-h/fairy251.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; FLOAT: right; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253813336077412834" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/SOlLZK0aqeI/AAAAAAAAAzA/uJBqZs_ghB8/s320/fairy251.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Ontem enquanto almocava com a minha irma no Nando's entre tantas conversas surgiu o tema sobre o fim do ano, que ja esta' na porta quase e assim do nada comecei por dizer os meus medos sobre a epoca do ano em que fizemos a transicao de um para o outro.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Esses medos surgem porque durante os 365 dias acontecem factos bons e ruins.Mas isso 'e a vida, eu sei so' que para quem viveu em Luanda desde sempre sabe que em um ano acontecem mais factos ruins.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Preferia nao pensar por exemplo no que pode suceder no ano 2009 ou 2010, preferia que nao se marcassem os anos pelos numeros.Mas sim como nos tempos ancestrais em que o tempo era comemorado pelo tempo da semeia,colheita, verao,primavera,outono e inverno, calendario lunar.Gostaria que nao houvesse essa pressao de que em um ou dois anos tem que se atingir uma certa meta.Ate preferia que nao se comemorassem aniversarios.Porque ai sim 'e bem pior que a passagem de anos.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Imagina voce o exame de consciencia em cada aniversario que voce festeja.Se a tua vida estiver boa entao optimo mas se assim nao for 'e caso de psicologia.E se voce ainda nao for casado(a) e nem constitui familia?Quem nao for seguro de si mesmo perde-se.'E por ai mesmo que gostaria de tirar a pressao do tempo.Mesmo porque o tempo 'e relativo.Relativo a tua mente.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2265902311269475694-8709388107099068937?l=notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/feeds/8709388107099068937/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2265902311269475694&amp;postID=8709388107099068937' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/8709388107099068937'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/8709388107099068937'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/2008/10/o-tempo-na-minha-relatividade.html' title='O tempo na minha relatividade.'/><author><name>Rosa Azul</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04820878303687041338</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/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMIGc9TrxXI/AAAAAAAABpA/696hJag_GHM/S220/Blue-Roses.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/SOlLZK0aqeI/AAAAAAAAAzA/uJBqZs_ghB8/s72-c/fairy251.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2265902311269475694.post-3402718106940599817</id><published>2008-10-05T14:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-05T15:02:41.776-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Eclesiastes'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='3'/><title type='text'>Tempo</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/SOk5TpFV5TI/AAAAAAAAAy4/MUuXTNSNHck/s1600-h/fa344.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; FLOAT: left; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253793449912952114" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/SOk5TpFV5TI/AAAAAAAAAy4/MUuXTNSNHck/s320/fa344.gif" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#000000;"&gt;Tudo tem o seu tempo determinado, e há tempo para todo propósito debaixo do céu: há tempo de nascer e tempo de morrer; tempo de chorar e tempo de rir; tempo de abraçar e tempo de afastar-se; tempo de amar e tempo de aborrecer; tempo de guerra e tempo de paz. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2265902311269475694-3402718106940599817?l=notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/feeds/3402718106940599817/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2265902311269475694&amp;postID=3402718106940599817' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/3402718106940599817'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2265902311269475694/posts/default/3402718106940599817'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notasdoinconsciente.blogspot.com/2008/10/tempo.html' title='Tempo'/><author><name>Rosa Azul</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04820878303687041338</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/_zO2R7fSKAao/TMIGc9TrxXI/AAAAAAAABpA/696hJag_GHM/S220/Blue-Roses.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zO2R7fSKAao/SOk5TpFV5TI/AAAAAAAAAy4/MUuXTNSNHck/s72-c/fa344.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
