Gaslight - "Don't fret, precious, I'm here..."

Pra não dizer que nunca falei de Gaslighting. 
Mas curioso que a representação do parceiro abusivo sempre se dá em termos do sexo masculino. 
Concordo, somos mais grotescos e safados.
Entretanto, tanto em casa como no trabalho, 
penso - aqui com os meus botões - que o abuso maior é feito pelo sexo feminino. De mulher a mulher. É entre as próprias mulheres que se dão as piores situações, visto a competição e inveja entre as mesmas.

Segue um texto em inglês que fala sobre Gaslighting no trabalho:
https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/power-in-relationships/200905/are-you-being-gaslighted
The next stage is defense: where you are defending yourself against the gaslighter's manipulation. Think about it—you tell your boss, for example, you are unhappy with the assignments you have been getting; you feel you are being wrongly passed over for the best assignments. You ask him why this is happening. Instead of addressing the issue, he tells you that you are way too sensitive and way too stressed..... well, maybe you are sensitive and stressed, but, that doesn't answer the question of why you are being passed over for these better assignments. But, rather than leave it at that, or redirect the conversation, you start defending yourself, telling your boss you are not that sensitive or stressed, or, that the stress doesn't interfere with your ability to work. But, during this stage, you are driven crazy by the conversation.... going over and over, like an endless tape, in your mind.

E link para entendermos melhor o Gaslight:
http://www.livredeabuso.com.br/#!O-que-%C3%A9-gaslighting/cy34/555ea4ab0cf298b2d3d687fe

MAUD MULLER by John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892)

AUD MULLER, on a summer's day,

Raked the meadows sweet with hay.

 

Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth

Of simple beauty and rustic health.

 

Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee

The mock-bird echoed from his tree.

 

But, when she glanced to the far-off town,

White from its hill-slope looking down,

 

The sweet song died, and a vague unrest

And a nameless longing filled her breast--

 

A wish, that she hardly dared to own,

For something better than she had known.

 

The Judge rode slowly down the lane,

Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane.

 

He drew his bridle in the shade

Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid,

 

And ask a draught from the spring that flowed

Through the meadow across the road.

 

She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up,

And filled for him her small tin cup,

 

And blushed as she gave it, looking down

On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown.

 

"Thanks!" said the Judge, "a sweeter draught

From a fairer hand was never quaffed."

 

He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees,

Of the singing birds and the humming bees;

 

Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether

The cloud in the west would bring foul weather.

 

And Maud forgot her briar-torn gown,

And her graceful ankles bare and brown;

 

And listened, while a pleasant surprise

Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes.

 

At last, like one who for delay

Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away,

 

Maud Muller looked and sighed: "Ah, me!

That I the Judge's bride might be!

 

"He would dress me up in silks so fine,

And praise and toast me at his wine.

 

"My father should wear a broadcloth coat;

My brother should sail a painted boat.

 

"I'd dress my mother so grand and gay,

And the baby should have a new toy each day.

 

"And I'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor,

And all should bless me who left our door."

 

The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill,

And saw Maud Muller standing still.

 

"A form more fair, a face more sweet,

Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet.

 

"And her modest answer and graceful air

Show her wise and good as she is fair.

 

"Would she were mine, and I to-day,

Like her, a harvester of hay:

 

"No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs,

Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues,

 

"But low of cattle, and song of birds,

And health, and quiet, and loving words."

 

But he thought of his sisters, proud and cold,

And his mother, vain of her rank and gold.

 

So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on,

And Maud was left in the field alone.

 

But the lawyers smiled that afternoon,

When he hummed in court an old love-tune;

 

And the young girl mused beside the well,

Till the rain on the unraked clover fell.

 

He wedded a wife of richest dower,

Who lived for fashion, as he for power.

 

Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow,

He watched a picture come and go:

 

And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes

Looked out in their innocent surprise.

 

Oft when the wine in his glass was red,

He longed for the wayside well instead;

 

And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms,

To dream of meadows and clover-blooms.

 

And the proud man sighed, with a secret pain,

"Ah, that I were free again!

 

"Free as when I rode that day,

Where the barefoot maiden raked her hay."

 

She wedded a man unlearned and poor,

And many children played round her door.

 

But care and sorrow, and child-birth pain,

Left their traces on heart and brain.

 

And oft, when the summer sun shone hot

On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot,

 

And she heard the little spring brook fall

Over the roadside, through the wall,

 

In the shade of the apple-tree again

She saw a rider draw his rein,

 

And, gazing down with timid grace,

She felt his pleased eyes read her face.

 

Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls

Stretched away into stately halls;

 

The weary wheel to a spinnet turned,

The tallow candle an astral burned;

 

And for him who sat by the chimney lug,

Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug,

 

A manly form at her side she saw,

And joy was duty and love was law.

 

Then she took up her burden of life again,

Saying only, "It might have been."

 

Alas for maiden, alas for Judge,

For rich repiner and household drudge!

 

God pity them both! and pity us all,

Who vainly the dreams of youth recall;

 

For of all sad words of tongue or pen,

The saddest are these: "It might have been!"

 

Ah, well! for us all some sweet hope lies

Deeply buried from human eyes;

 

And, in the hereafter, angels may

Roll the stone from its grave away!

http://www.poetry-archive.com/w/maud_muller.html

Our World War X Corações de Ferro (Fury)

https://youtu.be/dSnTeakGC6g

Em apenas 60 minutos, o capítulo War Machine dá de dez a zero no filme de Brad Pitt.
O talento inglês em fazer um bom relato de guerra se sobrepõe em toda aquela parafernália e arrogância hollywoodiana.
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt3419604/episodes?ref_=tt_ep_epl

LA LEYENDA DE UN VALIENTE - Os Turbantes Vermelhos

Nem todo policial é um troglodita...ou como ter uma visão diferente e mais aberta à situação de um povo que não reza pelas nossas crenças.
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0061916/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1

Miguel Bosé & Leonor Watling  - Este Mundo Va

Batman vs Superman: Gal Gadot!

Superman morre no fim. #ProntoFalei
Clima sombrio, soturno até.
Trilha sonora acima da média.
Diálogos ininteligíveis.
A Gal Gadot (Wonder Woman) merece um filme só de ela (em 2017!!)
O Henry Cavill e o Ben Affleck são péssimos.
E o Lex Luthor merecia um ator à altura (em todos os sentidos).

Malú ft. Alejandro Sanz - Corazón partío

Fury (1936) - Spencer Tracy Crime Movie HD

Em dias de intolerância e de gente babando ódio nas ruas - nada como assistir um clássico que fala da loucura do ser humano.

O Filho de Saul ou a sobrevivência hoje é manter o emprego

Se em Auschwitz, o desafio diário era conseguir mais um dia de vida custe o que custar (e para tanto servia ser ajudante dos Nazistas, agir de forma submissa, ser servil, violento e insensível, enganando os outros prisioneiros e colegas às portas das câmeras de gás, etc.), hoje trocamos esse dia de vida, de sobrevivência pela garantia de um emprego formal e conseguir pagar as contas no fim de mês.

Vale tudo. Da mais pura safadeza às mentiras deslavadas. Da covardia em usar os métodos de opressão das classes dominantes mesmo sendo parte da maioria oprimida. Do puxa-saquismo à puxação de tapete. Da fofoca à trapaça.

Guardada as devidas proporções, o trabalho, a empresa virou um campo de concentração. Somos compelidos a entregar o resultado, atingir as metas. Somos punidos e tratados como números. E a vida continua e tanto faz se não temos como enterrar os corpos (ou seriam pedaços de carne?) que deixamos para trás. Outros virão e tudo virará cinza.

The Lunchbox | Official Trailer | Irrfan Khan | Nimrat Kaur

Somewhere I read that the wrong train can lead you 

to the right station...