"A Day in the Life of a Musician"

olá e bom domingo!

ontem fui a uma sessão de leituras (poesia/prosa) do Isaque Ferreira (sempre recomendável). no meio da selecção que ele fez, espreitou esta pérola escrita pelo compositor Erik Satie (mesmo muito recomendável!, e sim, um "pouco" louco). só encontrei o texto traduzido integralmente em inglês, mas vale a pena ler tudo.

"A Day in the Life of a Musician"

An artist must organize his life. Here is the exact timetable of my daily activities:

I rise at 7.18; am inspired from 10.23 to 11.47. I lunch at 12.11 and leave the table at 12.14. A healthy ride on horse-back round my domain follows from 1.19 pm to 2.53 pm. Another bout of inspiration from 3.12 to 4.07 pm. From 4.27 to 6.47 pm various occupations (fencing, reflection, immobility, visits, contemplation, dexterity, natation, etc.)

Dinner is served at 7.16 and finished at 7.20 pm. From 8.09 to 9.59 pm symphonic readings (out loud). I go to bed regularly at 10.37 pm. Once a week, I wake up with a start at 3.19 (Tuesdays).

My only nourishment consists of food that is white: eggs, sugar, grated bones, the fat of dead animals, veal, salt, coco-nuts, chicken cooked in white water, fruit-mould, rice, turnips, camphorised sausages, pastry, cheese (white varieties), cotton salad, and certain kinds of fish (without their skin). I boil my wine and drink it cold mixed with the juice of the Fuschia. I am a hearty eater, but never speak while eating, for fear of strangling.

I breathe with care (a little at a time). I very rarely dance. When walking, I clasp my sides, and look steadily behind me.

My expression is very serious; when I laugh it is unintentional, and I always apologize most affably.

I sleep with only one eye closed, very profoundly. My bed is round, with a hole to put my head through. Once every hour a servant takes my temperature and gives me another.

I have subscribed for some time to a fashion magazine. I wear a white cap, white stockings, and a white waistcoat.

My doctor has always told me to smoke. Part of his advice runs: 'Smoke away, dear chap; if you don't someone else will.'

Erik Satie, 1913