oxford genie

Страданијата на шугавче

2011-04-02T00:30:00.002+02:00

Се тешки. Тешки како одвојување грејпфрут од таа шугава несоџваклива мембрана. Може и природата има лоши денови. На некој таков ја создала дебелата мембрана на грејпфрутот. Друго објаснување нема.

Creator by Naoto Hattori

Исак Њутон, или нему сличен несоџваклив, се соблекувал гол, наредувал да му го тргнат целиот мебел од собата освен една маса и стол, забранувал слугите да влегуваат и да примаат гости и седнувал со хартија и молив да го напише тоа што морало да се напише иако никој во моментот не го сфаќал, студентите го сметале за старо досадно дртало кое изгледа необично младо за годините и дури ни мајка му не го сакала дома. Од друга страна, Исак станал најдобар ученик само затоа што сакал да го понижи уште повеќе детето кое го зафркавало на школо, а кое и онака веќе си добило здрав ќотек од инаку мирниот и повлечен Њутон.

Their Feelings series by Ryohei Hase

Ова инаку требаше да помогне. Во споредба страданија на шугавче требаше да се смалат до висината на страданијата на младиот Вертер - првиот литературен емо.

План Б беше повторно читање на Adam's Curse од Yeats каде убаво и поетски си кука за тоа колку е тешко да се биде поет, женската до него кука колку е тешко да си убава, после Yeats (пардон, лирскиот шугав субјект) кука за тоа како на времето љубовниците граделе мостови од прочитани страници за упатените воздишки да не им паднат во вода. И на крај и двајцата се чувствуваат испразнето. Шугаво шупливо како школка. Направиле муабет. Завршиле со работа за тој ден.

Lost In Thought by Naoto Hattori

Еми, арно, а шугавче? Шугавче, како некогаш бездомна, повторно пишува за себе во трето лице оти не може да се излаже дека не е лирски субјект. Некој го создал шугавче од хартија. Шугавче може лесно да се стутка и фрли во корпа, да се избрише со гума или коректор, да согори, да се скине на малечки парченценциња кои бидуваат проголтани од некој облак налик на диносаурус. Шугавче може да се рециклира. Да биде еколошко, благопријатно за околината. Може да се обои со мрсни боички. Може да се разбуди еден ден и наместо голем инсект, да биде оригами.

А шугавче може и да заврши тука оти некој почна да кива на него и штотуку го потури со чај.

Boredom by Naoto Hattori

Hyperoxia

2010-11-20T23:15:00.003+01:00

Quiet Houses by ~ElifKarakoc

They told her she needs to inhale more often. They said her body would hide in on itself like a refugee. Her cells will coil like little carbon knots. Her eyes will be like looking for cloud shapes in pale skies.

So she wrote 'breathe' on the sides of her shoes. And on the mirrors in the bathroom and hall. Stiched it on the back and front of her gloves. The black fillings in her teeth spelled 'breathe' and the white t-shirts hanging on the wire were 'breathe' against the darkness.

After the world peeled of her eyes and was rolled by the white rabbit jumping down the hole, they found her hanging from the asfalt, gripping the sidewalk as if falling in a dream. But never woke up. For death is when the soul starts breathing without lungs.

Breaking News by ~ElifKarakoc

And Then the Prince Knelt Down and Tried to Put the Glass Slipper on Cinderella's Foot by Judith Viorst

2010-11-20T21:15:00.007+01:00

I really didn't notice that he had a funny nose.

And he certainly looked better all dressed up in fancy clothes.

He's not nearly as attractive as he seemed the other night.

So I think I'll just pretend that this glass slipper feels too tight.

(from Don't Bet on the Prince)

Obsession

2010-08-22T19:03:00.009+02:00

You lived with it a long time. Like a disease-spreading pet that you can't kick out. The air becomes infected with it. Until it's the only thing you breathe. Until it's the only thing you eat. Then it starts sticking to your clothes. It glues itself till your voice smells like Obsession's own. Till your bones rattle with Obsession's thoughts. Till Obsession you sign as your unwanted host. Your first and last name begin with O and end with N. You get up in the morning to wash Obsession's face, scrub Obsession's teeth, comb Obsession's hair. You look in the mirror, and see Obsession there.

Now, there will come the day when somebody says: "You know, it's not healthy obsessing so much." And you'll make an effort to claim yourself again, as you feel the trigger at your touch.

Moving target by meluseena

dream gypsies/childhood warriors

2010-06-05T22:05:00.004+02:00

in the morning she would wash

her face in lemon juice

at night she'd put

apple peels

on her eyelids

children, we

would sacrifice

our hands to an applause

at her simple gesticulating

of making the flies buzzing

slide skittishly away

she was our goddess

slapped plaster on our limbs

painted our bodies purple

and a red night would come over us

that made us hear our insides chirple

like a stream

we, a forest

rootless and ever branching

we, travellers

escaping places war is

flew on a single hair of hers

we, under-umbrella runners

with the rain, our shepherd

in between the left and right leg

of human transient infinity

down the path of the rabbit, chased

we, marble pickers

we, sliders in soaked holes made of papers

we, wearing off grottoes, huts and shelters

Your memories preserved by =PierreDevlin

a long many roads has passed since then

sometimes I hear my childhood

run after me and scream

I put it back in my scrap box

and lock it safely in

once I was a rough sleeper,

now nobody has to know my sin.

September Morn by Paul Émile Chabas

On the impossibility of photographing the girl I love

2010-05-24T01:03:00.003+02:00

I'd nail you in a picture frame if you would just let me

those delicate fingertips like butterflies when scarred

I'd choose a nice zoom and proper shading

your hair the colour of chestnuts and wooded spines

A firefly in winter is hardly as hard to catch

You turn, run away, photos of blur and bin-dispatch

Apples will rot, mouths whither, leaves shake

I will chase a nymph, a muse, a white widow

I will go below and away

A collector of shades, of white surface and some spots

You're not a deer, nor a dear, a penguin eating moths

You flutter, twist, wriggle, scratch

A wild animal, a squirrel, really really not all, not all that much

Just like Katya by ~olgasha

you don't have a body, you have a canvas, my dear

2010-02-15T04:19:00.001+01:00

and a god that is a jackson pollock wannabe

painting with elongated fingers

proping the Earth as a mantelpiece

swish-swashing our spines with the shower drops

doodling our hair across the horison's face,

its ragged tops, those velvet thighs

fogging up the windows of our eyes

drawing with skytips black and white speckflies

probing with linqiudoscopes our organs

it's all but a dream, we the stuff dreams are made on.

do not breathe by ~Pockypuu

whenever I put candy in my mouth... a memory

2009-05-17T23:52:00.003+02:00

I stick skin and breath on the window glass
it's the only cool thing in this room
I've been having hot flashes for bed turns now
on edge, on edge,
all I have
is a bedsheet
and a broom

my fears are boiling at 37 degrees Celsius
the air in this man-forsaken place
palpitates with the heart of an athlete
or a child's iris

it's head banging on the door
somebody's
a stranger's knock
don't let the midnight spiders hear you drop
a sigh, a lullaby, he lied, forgiveness's memory's missing a file

I sweat so much I thought my sweater for my skin
I peeled it off
put it on the night stand
beneath the night light
let the light night soak in

Сеќавања потамина

2009-04-05T22:17:00.002+02:00

Fly by meluseena

Наидуваат така деновите,
на април не му препознаваш бои.
Не ги препознаваш рацете свои.
Ти изгледаат како да се крила.

- Мирослав Антиќ

The Lotos-Eaters by Alfred Lord Tennyson

2009-03-10T23:27:00.002+01:00

"Courage!" he said, and pointed toward the land,
"This mounting wave will roll us shoreward soon."
In the afternoon they came unto a land
In which it seemed always afternoon.
All round the coast the languid air did swoon,
Breathing like one that hath a weary dream.
Full-faced above the valley stood the moon;
And like a downward smoke, the slender stream
Along the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem.

A land of streams! some, like a downward smoke,
Slow-dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go;
And some thro' wavering lights and shadows broke,
Rolling a slumbrous sheet of foam below.
They saw the gleaming river seaward flow
From the inner land: far off, three mountain-tops,
Three silent pinnacles of aged snow,
Stood sunset-flush'd: and, dew'd with showery drops,
Up-clomb the shadowy pine above the woven copse.

The charmed sunset linger'd low adown
In the red West: thro' mountain clefts the dale
Was seen far inland, and the yellow down
Border'd with palm, and many a winding vale
And meadow, set with slender galingale;
A land where all things always seem'd the same!
And round about the keel with faces pale,
Dark faces pale against that rosy flame,
The mild-eyed melancholy Lotos-eaters came.

Branches they bore of that enchanted stem,
Laden with flower and fruit, whereof they gave
To each, but whoso did receive of them,
And taste, to him the gushing of the wave
Far far away did seem to mourn and rave
On alien shores; and if his fellow spake,
His voice was thin, as voices from the grave;
And deep-asleep he seem'd, yet all awake,
And music in his ears his beating heart did make.

They sat them down upon the yellow sand,
Between the sun and moon upon the shore;
And sweet it was to dream of Fatherland,
Of child, and wife, and slave; but evermore
Most weary seem'd the sea, weary the oar,
Weary the wandering fields of barren foam.
Then some one said, "We will return no more";
And all at once they sang, "Our island home
Is far beyond the wave; we will no longer roam."

Choric Song

I

There is sweet music here that softer falls
Than petals from blown roses on the grass,
Or night-dews on still waters between walls
Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass;
Music that gentlier on the spirit lies,
Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes;
Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies.
Here are cool mosses deep,
And thro' the moss the ivies creep,
And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep,
And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep.

II

Why are we weigh'd upon with heaviness,
And utterly consumed with sharp distress,
While all things else have rest from weariness?
All things have rest: why should we toil alone,
We only toil, who are the first of things,
And make perpetual moan,
Still from one sorrow to another thrown:
Nor ever fold our wings,
And cease from wanderings,
Nor steep our brows in slumber's holy balm;
Nor harken what the inner spirit sings,
"There is no joy but calm!"
Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things?

III

Lo! in the middle of the wood,
The folded leaf is woo'd from out the bud
With winds upon the branch, and there
Grows green and broad, and takes no care,
Sun-steep'd at noon, and in the moon
Nightly dew-fed; and turning yellow
Falls, and floats adown the air.
Lo! sweeten'd with the summer light,
The full-juiced apple, waxing over-mellow,
Drops in a silent autumn night.
All its allotted length of days
The flower ripens in its place,
Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil,
Fast-rooted in the fruitful soil.

IV

Hateful is the dark-blue sky,
Vaulted o'er the dark-blue sea.
Death is the end of life; ah, why
Should life all labour be?
Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast,
And in a little while our lips are dumb.
Let us alone. What is it that will last?
All things are taken from us, and become
Portions and parcels of the dreadful past.
Let us alone. What pleasure can we have
To war with evil? Is there any peace
In ever climbing up the climbing wave?
All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave
In silence; ripen, fall and cease:
Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease.

V

How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream,
With half-shut eyes ever to seem
Falling asleep in a half-dream
To dream and dream, like yonder amber light,
Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height;
To hear each other's whisper'd speech;
Eating the Lotos day by day,
To watch the crisping ripples on the beach,
And tender curving lines of creamy spray;
To lend our hearts and spirits wholly
To the influence of mild-minded melancholy;
To muse and brood and live again in memory,
With those old faces of our infancy
Heap'd over with a mound of grass,
Two handfuls of white dust, shut in an urn of brass!

VI

Dear is the memory of our wedded lives,
And dear the last embraces of our wives
And their warm tears: but all hath suffer'd change:
For surely now our household hearths are cold,
Our sons inherit us: our looks are strange:
And we should come like ghosts to trouble joy.
Or else the island princes over-bold
Have eat our substance, and the minstrel sings
Before them of the ten years' war in Troy,
And our great deeds, as half-forgotten things.
Is there confusion in the little isle?
Let what is broken so remain.
The Gods are hard to reconcile:
'Tis hard to settle order once again.
There is confusion worse than death,
Trouble on trouble, pain on pain,
Long labour unto aged breath,
Sore task to hearts worn out by many wars
And eyes grown dim with gazing on the pilot-stars.

VII

But, propt on beds of amaranth and moly,
How sweet (while warm airs lull us, blowing lowly)
With half-dropt eyelid still,
Beneath a heaven dark and holy,
To watch the long bright river drawing slowly
His waters from the purple hill--
To hear the dewy echoes calling
From cave to cave thro' the thick-twined vine--
To watch the emerald-colour'd water falling
Thro' many a wov'n acanthus-wreath divine!
Only to hear and see the far-off sparkling brine,
Only to hear were sweet, stretch'd out beneath the pine.

VIII

The Lotos blooms below the barren peak:
The Lotos blows by every winding creek:
All day the wind breathes low with mellower tone:
Thro' every hollow cave and alley lone
Round and round the spicy downs the yellow Lotos-dust is blown.
We have had enough of action, and of motion we,
Roll'd to starboard, roll'd to larboard, when the surge was seething free,
Where the wallowing monster spouted his foam-fountains in the sea.
Let us swear an oath, and keep it with an equal mind,
In the hollow Lotos-land to live and lie reclined
On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind.
For they lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are hurl'd
Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly curl'd
Round their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming world:
Where they smile in secret, looking over wasted lands,
Blight and famine, plague and earthquake, roaring deeps and fiery sands,
Clanging fights, and flaming towns, and sinking ships, and praying hands.
But they smile, they find a music centred in a doleful song
Steaming up, a lamentation and an ancient tale of wrong,
Like a tale of little meaning tho' the words are strong;
Chanted from an ill-used race of men that cleave the soil,
Sow the seed, and reap the harvest with enduring toil,
Storing yearly little dues of wheat, and wine and oil;
Till they perish and they suffer--some, 'tis whisper'd--down in hell
Suffer endless anguish, others in Elysian valleys dwell,
Resting weary limbs at last on beds of asphodel.
Surely, surely, slumber is more sweet than toil, the shore
Than labour in the deep mid-ocean, wind and wave and oar;
O, rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander more.

Lotus by 10102668

Не би земала толку глупав маж кој би ме сакал мене за жена

2009-03-08T18:05:00.001+01:00

мхм.
и останати мудри нешта.

Little Issues by monislawa

2009-03-01T08:46:00.009+01:00

Death found us in the embraces of others
in the private spaces of people we never met
just shared warmth with
Death, uncle, closed the book
you never read the fairytales the world invented after that last page
of lost and confused family emotions and the missings of essential information of
"where you hurt? and do your days smell the same as they felt at the touch
that late summer in May?"

by Ana Jakimska

2009-03-01T01:42:00.001+01:00

When the taste of sweet was forbidden people started looking for it
in unthought of places.
They hugged each other for days on end.
They tried to catch accidental facial expressions: smile, surprise,
delight, hope...

I opened your palm and placed my cheek in it
tryed to absorbe through my skin
I'm turning brownish-yellow now
just as that type of chocolate you always prefered

Стравови на детството

2009-02-24T22:38:00.009+01:00

Се плашам да заспијам
кога се будам, некој нов си заминува...

Hanging the Moon and Stars by Arthur Rackham

2009-02-23T22:25:00.003+01:00

сме решиле ќе ги заборавиме заборавањата
ќе се сеќаваме на секое затреперување на ножните нервни завршетоци
и секое сечење на малите крицкалки во мозокот
ќе ги затвориме во длабоки кутии
со дна доволни топли за ’ртење
безбедно од острите рабови на времето
и нашето минато ќе биде денес
и нашата иднина ќе беше вчера
нашата сегашност ќе ја минеме под грмушките
од црешовата градина на баба

За Р.

2009-02-23T01:23:00.003+01:00

Соновите се преценети, рече ти
Чекањата се одамна заминати, знаев јас
Ѕвездите се веќе дамно-свежо набрани, ме уверуваше
Чекаат во новоотворените ѕвездарници за продавање.
Светулките се собрани под грмушките на спиење, те сонував
Кога гледаш како корењата во шумата грмнуваат светлина,
тоа некоја светулка сонува кошмар во која ѕвезда ја изгаснува.

Lost by Irk-it

Hitchhiker II by Eredel

2009-02-22T19:34:00.013+01:00

on a train with a coyote ghost by Basia-AlmostTheBrave

Ги лепам твоите разгледници по ѕидовите на собата
Сегде сум
Сегде ме има
Во Париз
Во Ница
Виена
Бон
Њу Делхи
Њујорк
под мостот
на врвот
во дното
А јас останувам упорно една точка во твојот универзум
A ти си оска на вртење
А јас останувам упорно една молекула од твојот кислород
А ти си ноќно цвеќе
А јас останувам упорно една идеја на твојата сенилност
А ти си план за иднина
А јас останувам упорно една отстапка на твојата револуција
А ти си мојата Крушевска Република

The Tinder Box by Kay Nilsen

The day the sky set down

2009-02-21T21:58:00.004+01:00

Today we are celebrating the 10th annual accidental blotting of the Sun...

For easy access and avoiding bone-breaking accidents in the attempt of reaching the stars and touching the clouds the sky has been set down to the ground. The ground, in turn has been promoted to the place formally allotted to the heavenly firmament.

Certain inconveniences and a general confusion are to be expected at first. However, we are confident that in due time the people of the Earth will start taking full advantage of this most recent novelty.

All this is done as part of the campaign for the saving up of energy, for as we are well informed by the MTV pop artists of the day, the planet has been planning on pulling the plug on us for quite some time.

The citizens of the world will be provided with buckets and bags where they can easily and with no harm afflicted upon their person and pride, store their weekly supply of sunrays and stars.

The Elephants by Salvador Dali

"I always warned against this kind of position shift. The feminists, of course, were the first ones to object at the time. How would you feel, they said, having the galaxy shine up your skirt? But this was not my main point. I knew, I all too well knew that the Sun, Moon and all the heavenly bodies were at the mercy of our irresponsible feet. All it took were a couple of football matches mistaking the Sun for the ball, a dog doing its thing on a star... and there you go. You know how expensive planetary satellites are these days? ........ Now I'm forced to play the romantic Romanticist," says George von Byron as he lights his cigarette with a firefly from his firefly case.

2009-02-16T03:28:00.002+01:00

choosing paintings you'd like
scrapbooking passages to meet your eyes

навистина јас вистински не те познавам

I hear somebody singing "treat her right"
I want to be a tree like this
waiting to grow branches
out of the wooden frame

just growing unfamiliar words
about art-life and Japan
just simple tree trunk me
blabbering about foreign cinematography

The Tree (1888)

This canvas is unusual for having been painted during a period of relative happiness and optimism in Van Gogh's life. Earlier his uncle had died and bequeathed a large amount of money to Theo, who in turn shared it with his brother. The unexpected new funds meant that Van Gogh was now able to refurbish the Yellow House and finally invite Gauguin to stay with him there. He was determined that his dream to create a community of artists in Arles could now finally be realised.
Van Gogh admired Japan because he felt its people had reached a perfect unity of art and life; art and beauty were integral to their lives. This somewhat romantic viewof the Japanese perhaps spoke more about his own artistic goals than actuality. As he said to Theo: ‘I envy the Japanese the extreme clearness which everything has in their work. It is never wearisome, and it never seems to be done too hurriedly.’ This picture is a perfect example of the simple, unhurried style that Van Gogh aimed to achieve. By placing the tree in the middle of the composition and using a restricted palette, he evokes Japanese art, as well as the fast developing phenomenon of photography , in which cut off images were a wonderful novelty.

2009-02-13T03:30:00.002+01:00

I was a happy bubble before you

,

came with the needle.

the sound of wings & leaves by k.lolley

Се чувствувам старо

2009-02-12T14:43:00.002+01:00

Што да прави човек или едно шугавче кога ќе почне да ја чувствува збрчканоста на виугите на својот стар мозок?

Внимателно го расчистува мебелот од средината на собата и скока обидувајќи се да растресе неколку преживеани клетки?

Бидува човечка свеќа на неколку минути со стапалата кон таванот аll the while со газот инаетливо залепен за кревет?

Прави револуционерни планови, се одлучува на невидени ризици, мобилизира енергични демонстратори за добри и оправдани каузи и се‘ тоа во удобноста на својот дом кој знае дека нема да го напушти се‘ додека испитните обврски не го примораат на тоа? Макар било 14-ти февруари...

Се чувствувам старо, that's all. И не можам да му погледнам в очи без мислата дека сум тетка во средовечна криза која почнала да се однесува безобразно педофилски кон овој младич на исти години ко неа, разлика само 2-3 месеци.

Clear by irisz

Сакам да сакам како...

2009-02-11T20:54:00.003+01:00

што на небото му недостигаат птиците и детските очи упатени нагоре
тревата ги исчекува своите бубачки,
а земјата се радува на мртвите тела во распаѓање и нејзините неуморни црви.

photo by Rayani Melo

Revenge is such sweet sorrow

2009-02-11T12:40:00.004+01:00

Јас само сакам да се гушкам.

۞۞۞۞۞۞۞۞

Doll Face

2009-02-10T19:31:00.002+01:00

How does it feel? ............. to be a Jackson Pollock ............

2009-02-09T20:19:00.002+01:00

Jackson Pollock by Miltos Manetasgreat free widgetsWidgetbox

Дојди, да ти шепнам бакнеж :)

2009-02-09T14:09:00.004+01:00

алпинирам по степениците*

*смешен збор*

последниот пат кога те гризнав за увото
набрав црешов цвет

одoблетувам по 5 скали at a flight

само кога одам скала по скала
кршам колена

Дојди,
ќе патуваме измеѓу

photo by otisagabey

2009-02-08T05:45:00.004+01:00

мажите пишуваат за да се омрсат
жените пишуваат за да почнат со постот

:)))))))

којќегознае,
можеби е во право
?

photo by complejo

jej! се вратив :)

2009-02-07T16:56:00.004+01:00

денешниот наслов: хмхм... мхм

Многу артикулирано, I know. :)

шта речи... шта речи... ми недостигаше блогов... се осеќам ко пак да сум се вратила во мојата летна куќичка... негде на море, а во планина... мирноќа.......... мераци........ :)

Btw, вчера никако не ми текнуваше како се пишува decision. Ете и сеа не ми текна. Морав да проверувам спелинг.Насетувам покана да легнам на кауч и да се исповедам за моите детски трауми. Но, мене детството се’ уште ми трае... :)

Вчера во сонот кој се пикна некако во мојата спијачка кома од 3 саата 13 минути и 55 секунди, бркав стихови во облик жолти автобуси со редни броеви. Се сеќавам само на автобусот со реден број 2.

и повторно
хм...
не знам кој е
каков е
или каде ќе ме однесе
ама
хм...
ќе го сочекам
и ќе му се качам. :)

Чувствувам некоја среќна меланхолија
како знаење за некоја радост во иднина.

хм... и хехехе, меѓудругото... :)

photo by complejo

2008-12-10T18:27:00.003+01:00

Time melts away like the randomisations on my Windows Media Player

...while listening to incomprehensible Edit Piaf

What's in a week?

Yesterday was yesterday, yesterday is yesterday

...today would smell as sweet

The Without-End Poem

2008-10-26T02:25:00.006+02:00

He touched me with his little finger
and my body fell off the ground.
His left lip-end quevered
and I couldn't hold the angel choir singing Halelujah down.
He whispered a letter
and my tongue tasteth the bliss.
His eye twitched in a peculiar way
and I shivered through my spine and with my knees.

I went to the shop
and he was every kind of chocolate.
My thoughts started rolling
and his were the words they could locate.
I took the carpet to dry cleaning
and his fingerprints were a master painter's masterpiece.
My school uniform gave up its buttons
and he had the cools that bought him the lease.

I woke up with a blurry feel
and he said: "Good night, my dear."
My clothes got the flu
and his movements tought me how to look cool.

I tried on the mirror...
He stood by the sill...

He closed the door with the politest sound
and my ears heard the music only in Mocart's dreams found.
His curles shined with a heavenly glow
and I sipped the light that my throat had to burn: "Wow, wow, wow!"

He gave me his passing by the doorway...
My roof subdued to the gravity's will... wait a minute, hey... that wasn't the drill

The Conundrum of the Workshops

2008-09-30T18:28:00.005+02:00

When the flush of a new-born sun fell first on Eden's green and gold,
Our father Adam sat under the Tree and scratched with a stick in the mould;
And the first rude sketch that the world had seen was joy to his mighty heart,
Till the Devil whispered behind the leaves, "It's pretty, but is it Art?"

Wherefore he called to his wife, and fled to fashion his work anew --
The first of his race who cared a fig for the first, most dread review;
And he left his lore to the use of his sons -- and that was a glorious gain
When the Devil chuckled "Is it Art?" in the ear of the branded Cain.

They fought and they talked in the North and the South,
they talked and they fought in the West,
Till the waters rose on the pitiful land, and the poor Red Clay had rest --
Had rest till that dank blank-canvas dawn when the dove was preened to start,
And the Devil bubbled below the keel: "It's human, but is it Art?"

They builded a tower to shiver the sky and wrench the stars apart,
Till the Devil grunted behind the bricks: "It's striking, but is it Art?"
The stone was dropped at the quarry-side and the idle derrick swung,
While each man talked of the aims of Art, and each in an alien tongue.

The tale is as old as the Eden Tree -- and new as the new-cut tooth --
For each man knows ere his lip-thatch grows he is master of Art and Truth;
And each man hears as the twilight nears, to the beat of his dying heart,
The Devil drum on the darkened pane: "You did it, but was it Art?"

We have learned to whittle the Eden Tree to the shape of a surplice-peg,
We have learned to bottle our parents twain in the yelk of an addled egg,
We know that the tail must wag the dog, for the horse is drawn by the cart;
But the Devil whoops, as he whooped of old: "It's clever, but is it Art?"

When the flicker of London sun falls faint on the Club-room's green and gold,
The sons of Adam sit them down and scratch with their pens in the mould --
They scratch with their pens in the mould of their graves,
and the ink and the anguish start,
For the Devil mutters behind the leaves: "It's pretty, but is it Art?"

Now, if we could win to the Eden Tree where the Four Great Rivers flow,
And the Wreath of Eve is red on the turf as she left it long ago,
And if we could come when the sentry slept and softly scurry through,
By the favour of God we might know as much -- as our father Adam knew!

-- Rudyard Kipling

Just right. Yet not there yet.

2008-09-21T23:38:00.006+02:00

Her underage profession was looking in need and looking in piles of thrown-aways.. and looking straight for what you are..

- You'll give clothes, right?
- Yes, we will.
- The ones you, like, don't need?
- Yes, but I can't right now.
- Right, but you'll come tomorrow, right? You'll come back tomorrow and just give me the clothes you don't need?
- Right.
- Just that. Nothing else.
- Right.
- Promise.
- Sure we will!

She wasn't like the others. She had.. dignity.. She didn't beg. Sensible requests just poured out of her mouth. - I was scared. I was her age. I knew I'd never see her again. But she had the ground.. solid under her feet and a sky to carry she carried without bending down - I was scared. Didn't know what to say then.. don't really know how to write it now..

Were we really that different?

She had a white sweater on.
Imagine that.
Mine were always just rainbowish patchworks.

***

What can you say to your mom when she tells you she dreamt she was cutting your loong, loong hair and proceeded by cutting off your hands. Right of the shoulders.. All the while chanting: "They'll regenarate. They'll regenerate." Are you supposed to feel better then?!?!

And this is the day you declared Hugs Day. Managed to hug just three people out of the six you met, but.. still.. The day's Wednesday. The most hated one. Being so overly overtly correct, straight, clean. Neither here, nor there.

Like your mind's minds at times.

- And you just wanted to pick it all up in a hippie-buddhistical.. hug.. ? Ridiculous. You said: "Fuck, I shall act as hippie-buddhistically as I please." - And then your mom tells you she dreamt of cutting off your hands.

Well.. there's always the eyes..

Right?

Not there yet, though.

2008-09-12T09:03:00.003+02:00

I've been drinking A Little Bit Of Feel Good
I've been eating a buckle of vague

It's okay
It's okay

you'll come around
one of these days

2008-09-05T16:19:00.003+02:00

Imperfect

- the potential of becoming perfect.

by Rayani Melo

2008-08-14T18:11:00.004+02:00

Во душевниот живот, како и во физичкиот, има дишење и вдишување; душата има потреба да вдишува чувства од друга душа, да ги присвои за да ги врати побогати. Без оваа убава човечка појава срцето не може да живее; тоа нема доволно воздух, страда и овенува.

(Оноре де Балзак: „Евгенија Гранде“)

This blog hasn't been updated more regularly, 'cause...

2008-07-21T22:17:00.004+02:00

... and then I can't write. :)

Една роза за Вас, месје

2008-06-28T23:38:00.003+02:00

2008-06-14T12:33:00.006+02:00

Once upon a time there was silence
Thoughts traveled at an unthought mileage
Hacked trees into twos and threes
thoughts, they could catch Frisbees
Once upon a time there was silence

Silence was tough as nails
Nails through toughened breads staled
Silence was golden
Silence was blue
Silence was the space in between the me and you
Spread inside on a cabaret bed
Silence, silence, silence
That time of a day

to the leaden circles dissolved in the air

2008-06-08T00:59:00.003+02:00

Хомер на Хомера му е слепец.
А глеј пишал цела одисеја!

2008-06-02T23:42:00.006+02:00

Million voices in my head
and the mobile ringing out of its red
The video spinning round and round
on VH1
and an actor I knew when little
singing a yodel song

Everything's out of its senses,
shop assistants help shop attendants
I wanted a place of my own
for my own
where I could jump
on a huge violet bed
as if in a friend's dream all night long

I want my violet
I want my purple

I hate my pink

Come to think of it...,
I'd never want a pet turtle
I'd rather keep a clean sink

Year Weight

2008-05-21T00:51:00.002+02:00

From a life of 21 and a half years
only 5 sec. were spent in surgical self-honesty
What's the user's point in anything
if I need take out my stitches
only when I find out there's no way out,
since - the sky is limit?
Universe flying across universe
Travel lightly
The soul is, what, 21 grams?
and a half

Hissing Places

2008-05-04T16:30:00.003+02:00

I wish I could tell you
Our past will be what we catch today
Our present - the future to haunt still
And more hopes not yet hidden
You could crash me as easily as a leaf
- petals playing with your toes -
You could delude me in sky-shine or sunny shower
But I do want to venture helping you
Fish your pieces spread across the floor
Hanging to the ceiling
Waiting in the corners
Your clothes forget their habitat
Your bread crumbs inhabit an unfamiliar table space
Your remote is your criminal record
- all the paths you've traveled -
- and forgot to turn into bed-side manner bedtime stories -
I remember them all
With all the missing details
Little mini many miny twists and truths
You'd start
I'd finish
It's time for bed now
- hush -

Clean Love / The Write Reason

2008-04-26T17:15:00.006+02:00

Let's do all the cliches by the history books
- history repeats itself and crashes on its head -
You think of me every night
During the day I'll send you cheesy text messages
- body warming alert -
You put the situation under and only send me endangered polar-bears on Valentine's
I'll tell all my friends every single detail about you
- the bedhouse effect -
You tell your friends how we do what we never do
- recycling the "cause and if" texts -
I'll look at the full moon wondering if you're doing the same
- the ebbing away -
You do something I'll never find out, but make sure you got someone to blame
- the flowing stay -
We'll fight making it the BIG BANG every time
- theorists are running out of things to hypothesize -
In the meantime, we'll be a nuisance to our surroundings
- throw ecology in the basket -
- Earth does deserve a fun final ride after all that has been sad and never done -
Until we get back together and then fight once again, so that I have something to write about, please misbehave.

A WHILE AGO. 2007

I Lost Him Btw

2008-04-12T01:56:00.003+02:00

I locked him inside the hedge
threw him in the flowery bushes
forgot him in the earth-waste until a cactus sprouted flowers
took the C-stings tried to grow a plant
caught a cloud by its hind milked it as I never could
I left him by the road
they were hugging with the tree trunk
with the waste-cloud tangled by and by (among the branches)
I lost him btw
somewhere in the desert
stole his shade and his shadow
bought his spade and his saddle
naked and uncontrolled
there he is
up there
trying to mount the world

telly

2008-04-08T23:39:00.002+02:00

Television: an electric device which, when turned off stimulates conversation. - Anonymous

Life doesn't imitate art. It imitates bad television. - W. Allen

Television is more interesting than people. If it were not, we should have people standing in the corners of our rooms. - A. Coren

Television does not present, as an ideal to aspire to, the superman, but the everyman. Television puts forward, as an ideal, the absolutely average man. - U. Eco

Television has raised writing to a new low. - S. Goldwyn

Radio and television have lifted manufacture of banality out of the sphere of handicraft and placed it in that of major industry. - N. Sarraute

It takes a rather special person to follow soaps. You have to be highly intelligent (to understand them) and thick as a brick (to want to). - A. Coren

I hate television. I hate it as much as peanuts. I can't stop eating peanuts. - O. Wells

Television has made dictatorship impossible, but democracy unbearable. - S. Peres

I find television very educating. Every time somebody turns on the set, I go into the other room and read a book. - G. Marx

Television - a medium. So called because it's neither rare nor well-done. - E. Kovacs

Television? The word is half Latin, half Greek. No good can come of it. - C. P. Scott

"Wherefore questions?" - we question

2008-04-03T14:21:00.004+02:00

We are proud to announce we have discovered the meaning of life
All we need to do is procreate, at last our sperm will be free of strife

We've come to the wise conclusion,
we needn't bother with "we're here about something"-delusions

Look at the animals, all they do is graze
And we preoccupied over which god to praise

We've proved without any unnecessary argumentation
We are the smartest people in the history of creation

Since we've managed the cloning, discovered the secret of life and all that
God is now free to go on his divine way and never look back

But, don't think we're not grateful for all that he's done for us
We'll send him a fruit basket and thus make easy his fast

Now that we've got all this cleared up and our so perfect intelligence is beyond doubt
We've issued a warning commandment: All questioning must STOP!

Brain Braid

2008-03-22T01:44:00.000+01:00

I decided to braid myself a little all the while holding my brush between my teeth which always gives you an opposite stale feeling and the edginess of the mint flavoured tooth paste simply wears off.
It was an unsuccessful mission since my hair is as wild as my brain - no matter how much I try to pin it or lock it, hold it, perm it - it goes on a mind of its own.
I am now facing a hair-tangling question:

to cut or not to cut?
to cut things short:

life's Fridays

2008-03-10T00:55:00.006+01:00

the Friday of my life when you went to the seashores for cookies & milk
and I never asked: "Did you make your pay-back?"

the Friday of my life when I thought you took the displacements back

yes (!) back ...

and would never again allow them to sidetrack

the Friday of my life
that is now like the Monday of my

chores,
bores
& tasks

the Friday of my life I went to the place

as if

a routine
looking
for something out-dug

the Friday of my week
which comes every so weak
and now - every day

there are so many collected Fridays
that there is no more a weak-end word to say

mumb

2008-03-07T04:21:00.004+01:00

I don't feel good today
Something's going to happen
I won't like it

How are we today?

Better. One day.

5 min. between two full hours
a smile before and a smile after leaving

How are we today?

To-do lists to forget

What do we have for today?

the pleasure of worrying about trifles
and a little something_less

Today?

Let's jam ... milk too ...

Tea perhaps?

Tea biscuits ...

Why not bread? Ivan Ivanovich, how is he doing?

You know ...

?

Even the question ends with a full stop.

Wouldn't you like to be in his shoes... or in his hands... ?

2008-03-01T02:51:00.002+01:00

Glenn Barr

2008-02-27T01:09:00.002+01:00

And when I strip away all belongings When I walk on water naked When I show you my bare feet I taste the sun-baked burnt bread. I ought really to know you're with me I ought to find out forever I ought to go and moon-bathe in the day I ought to not care about the hurricane whether.

I ought and I should
yet I don't and
would I would?
After the stripwalk
And while I showtaste
I should be sure
I should know
if We are equalbake

'Men who come out here should have no entrails'

2008-02-21T20:33:00.006+01:00

He was a common trader, from his youth up employed in these parts - nothing more. He was obeyed, yet he inspired neither love nor fear, nor even respect. He inspired uneasiness. That was it! Uneasiness. Not a definite mistrust - just uneasiness - nothing more. You have no idea how effective such a . . . a . . . faculty can be. He had no genius for organising, for initiative, or for order even. That was evident in such things as the deplorable state of the station. He had no learning, and no intelligence. His position had come to him - why? Perhaps he was never ill. . . He has served three terms of three years out there . . . Because triumphant health in the general rout of constitutions is a kind of power in itself.

(...)

He originated nothing, he could keep the routine going - that's all. But he was great. He was great by this little thing that it was impossible to tell what could control such a man. He never gave that secret away. Perhaps there was nothing within him. Such a suspicion made one pause - for out there there were no external checks. Once when various tropical diseases had laid low almost every 'agent' in the station, he was heard to say, 'Men who come out here should have no entrails.' He sealed the utterance with that smile of his, as though it had been a door opening into a darkness he had in his keeping. You fancied you had seen things - but the seal was on.

Heart of Darkness, Joseph Conrad

2008-02-12T19:33:00.000+01:00

A lecture is a process by which the notes of the professor become the notes of the students without passing through the minds of either.

RK Rathbun

Bathing
Drinking
Fasting
Stinking
in my new trousers
Remistressing
Blessing
the loss of weight that comes
with the stress obsessing
Diabolisizing
Psychoanalyzing
My head is my newest hobby
Took it up a sec ago
It doesn't look as complicated as before
You'll always be my friend, won't you brain?
I'm so glad I have somebody to criticize
First, lets start with your function and size.

Our Beddom

2008-02-10T17:15:00.000+01:00

My hair playing with yours
Our feet grounding the linen sky
You say: "I can see the earth in your brown eyes."
I say: "I'm afraid of growing flowers. I don't know why."

From the pillow to the blanket
On the sheets and between the cracks of the carpet
Spreading to the east, shortening to the west
Rolling over to north, wriggling back to south

Sleep awaken by a patchwork of rays
Waking-up lulled by the moon's phase
The dream is loud, (using up our lungs)
from so much talk we bite our tongues.

НАШЕТО КРЕВЕТСТВО

Translator, traitor

2008-02-01T17:16:00.000+01:00

Езра би се гордеел со мене.

Сигурно сте слушнале за слободен превод, но никогаш не сте прочитале ваков слободен превoд.

I'm defining it as of now. :D

Народна

Џабе рингишпилот, џабе циганските кочии,
Се’ што ни треба е брза кола и одмор за очи.
Гаќичките им се направени од свила, чевлите од питон,
Собите им ги топлат крзна од тигар, а на ѕидовите глави од бизон.

Ѓорѓи Стојанов најде труп, го бутна под софата,
Дочека знаци на живот и го дотепа со кофата,
Ги продаде очите за сувенир, ја продаде крвта за чашка,
Ги зачува коските за ѕвончиња на 50-годишната шутова капа.

Џабе сликичката од Марсовецот, џабе Глорија,
Се’ што ни треба е салдо и минич со сигурна добивка.

Ана Николова отиде по млеко, се закачи во врес*,
Се разбуди со Виенскиот бал и оркестар плех.
Џабе ви невиноста, џабе ви културата,
Се’ што ни треба е добра вожња и гриз од марулата.

Газда Венцислав цела Нова година не’ убедуваше од пијанката не му е ништо,
Си ги преброја нозете за доказ и откри едно стапало вишок.
Г-ѓа Јанкова го роди петтото, го погледна производот незадоволно,
Му рече на лекарот: „Носи го. Од мас-продукција ми е доволно.“

Џабе трачевите, џабе матинето,
Се’ што ни треба е бебиситер и лижавче за бебето.

Васко Митрев си го пресече палецот, го фатија стравој,
Зема штавена кравја кожа и ја искористи за завој.
Брат му беше фармер, имаше род добар,
Го фрли во Вардар и се прогласи за социјален глодар.

Џабе комисии, џабе Светата Книга,
Се’ што ни треба е цигарче за деновите да си минат.

Џабе кино салата, џабе стадионот,
Џабе селото и викендичката за идилата сонот.
Џабе субвенциите, џабе изборите,
Седи на задник 50 години и чекај плата за синовите.

Џабе душо драга, џабе мило либе;
Работи од ден за ден, се’ по ветрот с’ибе.
Чашата паѓа од час за час, чашата вечно ќе паѓа
И скрши ја ако сакаш, не ќе ја прекршиш оваа лага.

Луис Мекнис

* вид џбун, грмушкa (Calluna vulgaris)

2008-01-30T03:14:00.000+01:00

Сум кажала дека го мразам градов?

Епа, ГО МРАЗАМ ГРАДОВ!

Се селам!

Собирам шатор од на сред плоштад и одам!

Негде!

Каде!

У Галичник! Е! Таму!

Ќе бидам еyе-deep in snow ко кутрите прелaжани војничиња во the trenches in WWI.

И ќе го читам Oвнот. Wilfred.

Ќе фаќам само МТВ 1 и МТВ 2 или 3. Шо и да е, мртво да е!

И А1 или Сител. Све исто!

У Галичник со таа 100 годишната самотна бабичка во единствената продавница у село!

Алал да ми е! Оти не ми текна порано.

И мењам темплејт!

Ваљда!

Денес!

Или утре!

Или сега!!

Секој доживува вакви freaking-out моменти ал не се така забележливи кога ги истураш на четирите ѕида во соба, а не на блог.

И никако да научам. Требаше да завршам со: Си одам! Ај чао!

Па да добијам пост со 100 спамерско-фамилијарни коментари кои ме молат да се вратам дома оти чајчето ми се изладило...

... али џабе...

...се открив...

Ќе ми настинат бубрези, ебате здравата...

Шо беше тоа шо падна?

2008-01-29T15:55:00.000+01:00

Сликицава што ја гледате е дело на едно фламанско типче named Pieter Brueghel (не се плаши- не се бој, се чита Питер Бројгел). Ко демек го насликал Икар (пошто сликава е крстена „Икар“, па ја ете си земав за слобода да претпоставам).

Е сега, Холанѓаниве у време ренесансно биле ептен фраери. Мислам, главни. Фраери. И единствено што памтам од часовите по ликовно е дека обрнувале многууу внимание на детали. Ова би било сосем безврска ако не е поврзано со наградното прашање: Where "on earth" is Icarus?

2008-01-29T05:07:00.000+01:00

Usually, simple is the best.

So consider this a test.

:)

2008-01-28T04:09:00.000+01:00

BEHOLD!

The Insides

2008-01-27T03:55:00.000+01:00

Those who object to the "artificiality" (...) sometimes tell us to "look into our hearts and write." But that is not looking deep enough (...) One must look into the cerebral cortex, the nervous system, and the digestive tracts.

T.S.Eliot, The Metaphysical Poets

2008-01-24T15:39:00.000+01:00

Crumbs
In
Bits
And
Pieces
Fall
On
The
Floor
It's
Not
That
I
Want
To
See
You
Hurt
But
No
One
Lives
Here
Any
More

I woke one late morning

Realized middlesome years have past

Thought

it was too much fun

to live old

die young

Not that I have a problem, but...

2008-01-14T20:48:00.000+01:00

Punctuation is a pain in the ass especially when you want to say something really (x2) long (take a breath) like (wait for it) I lived in a building that I don(fly higher)t quite remember in a time when I was too young to understand that maybe someday I(ahem...)ll start writing and won(shh...)t have anything smart (try another one) interesting or insightful to say (give yourself a break) For this I will be forced to write stupid things like (...this should be interesting)

__________________________________ _ _ _ _

(end of road)

(under construction)

Hey, You'll Never Again Make My Day

2008-01-09T22:00:00.000+01:00

You'll stop saying what you say
You'll stop walking this way
You'll never again make my day

You'll forget the things I asked you to buy
You'll forget the truth to back up your lie
You'll never again make my day, that's why

You'll mistake the hours in which I wake
You'll mistake the ingredients which I mix and bake
You'll never again make my day, I'll remember it's a fake

You'll close your eyes at the once-I-loved man
You'll close the sun and I won't get my tan
You'll never again make my day, the day will wan

You'll smile at the rhyme severed
You'll smile and doubtfully ask: "Will it ever?"
Yes, make my day again you will never.

Feeling happy?

2007-12-31T13:21:00.001+01:00

I WISH YOU ALL THE GAYNESS IN THE NEW YEAR.

WHAT YA LOOKIN' ET?

Grammar Is Banana

2007-12-22T21:28:00.001+01:00

A pair of scissors
A pair of glasses
Can't help the cutting
Nor do they see the masses
A pair of trousers
A pair of boots
Don't get the arousers
Going with the foots

A pair of me
with a pair of you
would easily start a fight
over which pair to sew

Во последно време

2007-12-20T12:17:00.001+01:00

... ова најдобро ме опишува...

Денес ја видов сликава закачена покрај ѕиден часовник. Ха, си помислив.

:-?

Запрепастинг индид :D

2007-12-11T01:04:00.000+01:00

But in a good way

Geoffrey Chaucer hath a blog

Geoffrey you rock. :P

A 3 Seconds Warning Poem

2007-12-08T02:50:00.000+01:00

When you think of him every 3 seconds

for a second

When you stop breathing while saying his name

every other second

When you feel falsely relieved that you don't think of him

every third second

When you realize you'll be obsessed

for the next 3 seconds

as the previous 3 seconds

when you acted the same way

as you do right now

knowing

3 seconds have passed

.

.

.

the One point where to stay .

2007-11-30T15:53:00.000+01:00

A wing with its feathers into the earth bound
A dog that has lost the bone it has found
A washing machine in the doorway forgotten
A root with entangled water in its roots rotten
A wind misplaced the leaves with which to play
A spokesperson without a believable lie to say
A fire without weary frozen feet to warm
A dry cloud wandering for a rainy sky to storm
A chair without legs to restingly sit
A flock of birds lost till the next south they meet

A boy without a girl to inspire
A mad girl without fierce words to fire

Love Songs Make Me Sad / A Grumpy Love Poem

2007-11-26T23:03:00.001+01:00

When I think of all the things people say to each other
And all the things I could say to you
They know they are meant for one another
But it's so boring when everybody uses the same method to woo
They rip out their hearts and hand them on a platter
I could do much more by just asking: "What's the matter?"
They are half-dying half the time
Lovesick for their only one that the brightest shines
I could make you your favourite dish
Remind you which bus to miss
They want to be together for ever and ever
They claim their fidelity no fling would sever
I do love you in my own way
I beg your pardon for hating flowers, pink hearts and teddy bears
I would spend an hour in the day
completely preoccupied with what a girl in love is supposed to wear
I want you to be you, the most boring snoring awful kind of truth
I'd tell you when you're being stupid
I'd kill you if you start playing Cupid
I would act as your mother, though you don't want to
But you're a little slimy crying baby, and there is patience there too
I'd shut up when you talk
I'd stand and watch the path you walk
I'd smile and see that the blue sky is red
I'd lie if you'd ask me and deny all I've said
I'd be a Star Trek fanatic, if it is really needed
I'd waste my time just on your simple request to be seated
I'd eat the peas that you put aside
I'd get over my fear and take you on a motor-ride
I'd sweeten your lemonade
all the while keeping an eye on your sugar intake
I'd do all the silly unnecessary things
I'd home a little piggy and teach it to grow wings
I'd show you the stuff you'd always wondered about
I'd make you try out habits you couldn't do without
Love is simple, you see
Love just is learning to be the grumpy old you in company

An Exclusive Interwombview

2007-11-20T22:25:00.000+01:00

Pro-life: Life?

black-haired fetus: No, thank you. I have a bigger high than that.

Pro-life: Why not?

black-haired fetus: Look at this ugly bitch. If she has me, I’ll look just like her. 69.99%, I certainly will. And look at me now. :D

Pro-life: I could put you on a poster.

black-haired baby: Exactly. Anyways, I’m sure to go to heaven. I have a one-way ticket, being totally innocent and all. ;;)

Pro-life: Straight to heaven?

black-haired fetus: Well, I was thinking, you know. Like, heaven has eternal day and all that, and the best parties happen at night. But, since it’s heaven, it’ll probably have champagne, and caviar, and hair dye.

Pro-life: Hair dye?

black-haired fetus: Yup, blonds are all about fun.

Pro-life: .... :o

ЕКСКУЛЗИВНО ИНТЕРВЈУ

http://tealemonandsugar.blogspot.com

Bye-bye, My Dearest Automobile

2007-11-20T21:29:00.001+01:00

Thou hast been plundered by savage hosts
Thou hast been wanted and ay, too soon lost
Thou hast reached the simmering spot and been to the gutter
Thou hast been murkily dull and wantonly scattered
Thou hast the fire in your mechanical loins and went on creaking
Thou hast everything you needed and yet, too soon began leaking
Oh, my dearest automobile
Thou wast nothing that produced me glee, but woe was me all this while
And now I shall utter the so longfully longed for final bye.

Инстант превод

2007-11-16T16:01:00.000+01:00

Готов за 15 минути, помалку-повеќе. (За малце ќе пишев динстан. :P)

Енивејз, она што сакав да ви кажам пиплз е drink up

Дојди, одмори се на моиве гради

Дојди, одмори се на моиве гради, мој елену во рани

Иако твоите те напуштија, домов сеуште те брани

Тука е насмевката, ниеден мрачен облак не ја бои,

И срце и рака, до крај само твои.

Што е љубовта, ако не постојан храм

Во радост и во мака, во слава и во срам?

Не знам, не прашувам, дали срцето вина го мачи?

Но, знам, те сакам, која и да си.

Ме нарече твој ангел во мигови на радост,

И твој Ангел ќе бидам, кога ќе нападне стравот,

По жарот ќе одам, бестрашен, по трагата твоја

Да те заштитам, спасам - или тоа да биде и судба моја!

Томас Ман

_____________________________________________________________

Фала и’ на Рокси за поемата (во оригинал на англиски)

и за песната

И бесплатната инспирација.

А сега чекам од негде Љубе да се јави. :)

When You Start

2007-11-10T19:05:00.000+01:00

The TV gives up its entertainment
The radio plays out its tunes
The marmalade retires to the basement
The night switches off its moons
The pen suddenly becomes thirsty
The bed gets a restlessness attack
The nightingale plays the tambourine firstly
and then gets out its sleeping sack
The grammar forgets to play by the rule
The teachers fall in love with useless time-consuming hobbies
The grass wet dries and then gets a moisty cool
The elves dance in pentagrams picking bobbies
I can't remember why I started this
The sun gets its rays out to dry
The wind feels kind of windy and sends a big hurricane kiss
I remembered I wrote you before, but I do wonder why

OverRain, Rain Over

2007-11-01T02:15:00.000+01:00

I like the feeling when the bus is overcrowded

The days with fallen leaves smarted

The streets are fluxed

Windows with cloud water overtaxed

Umbrellas’ skies crashing overhead

Cell phone ringing heavy like lead

In these rainy days you feel like rain

Like the effect of morphine when in pain

Like a cold coming on

Like a lighting summer shower storm

You’re overthought

Oversaid

Overwritten

Lying in sheets on my bed

An overload overloaded

Overdrive with a car crash foreboded

The honey suckle I suck half-asleep

The smirky sun by the shutters tricked

The misplaced non-replaceable file

The good-morning-welcomed lie

Come to me like rain in the sunrise morning

Wake me up, and see my face for sunset soaring

Home Umbrellas Under A Wet Sky

2007-10-28T16:06:00.000+01:00

He has the whole wide range of notes and symphonies, of drum and base and jazz on stage

He can write out the words in distilled marks, draws coordinates, spirals and sparks

He has the effect of surprise, defies every meteorological surmise, the archetype trickster that tells the truth when he lies

He’s the ultimate hairdresser, the creative team that dislikes your hair-presser

Has his own idea of dirty blue, your jeans are the newest fashion craze and so are you

He dislikes car wheels missing water filled mills, carefully collects the water and welcomes you with rain muddy thrills

He messes with your brain-storming, have to keep up with his lighting and norming

He’s the God of your schedule, never the Messiah when you’re feeling fragile

Has his code of conduct, to catch you with an under-dressed butt, to make your nose into a Paloma hanky slut

He messes with your decisions, side-tracks your precisions, blurs and deludes your visions

Today it’s not your parade, you just better sit home and wait for him to blunt out his blade, and tomorrow see all the mess he has made

ЧАДОРИТЕ СЕ ШЕТААТ ПО ДОМА

I Know

2007-10-25T17:40:00.000+02:00

The way you put aside the apples for him
The way you pick out the bread carefully
the one he can - from the one he cannot eat
The look of yours that doesn't know from where to begin
The smile of yours that wonders where it will end
I wish you told me the things you know
so we can both fear the unknown.

2007-10-16T23:40:00.000+02:00

If we fall, we fall together

If rise, we rise in bad weather

If we go, we go by different paths

If we leave, we leave always looking back

If we cry, we cry smiling

If we smile, we smile tears filing

If we lie, we lie believing

If we believe, the truth is kneeling

Lets fall under the weather

You and I - together

Lets take our path

I have your back, you have mine back

Lets cry smiling, a smile is a cry dying

Lets tell the truth and the lie

Believe in both and forget to say goodbye.

Jeff Buckley - Eternal Life

The You Taste

2007-10-13T15:25:00.001+02:00

Like the paprika sprinkled chips and the burning red salty mix

The taste of you in my mouth is something I can’t do without

Like the peppermint fresh tic-tacks and the morning breath that of them lacks

The taste of you in my mouth is something I can’t do without

Like the sugar health-hazard filled cup-cake and the just right sweetened coffee that I make

The taste of you in my mouth is something I can’t do without

Like the union of cream and crackers

Like the rum-filled candies and the blueberry stained knackers

Like the sweet and the sour

The craving raising hour by hour

When you taste the hot and the burning

When you try a combination of a cheese drooling dish and the complicated recipe of the one still learning

Like my curiosity and obsession

Over and over repeated never learnt lesson

To taste sugar straight up and right away a cocoa powder cup

The end is the bleaker for the lick that was to anything sweeter

The taste of you in my mouth is something I MUST do without

ИМАШ

2007-10-09T00:58:00.000+02:00

Плачеш за тројца

Се грижиш за двајца

Се плашиш за еден

А за нас не оставаш ништо

You have the strength of three people

The powerlessness of two

The unbearable burden of one

And we, what are we supposed to do?

Не можам да ти кажам со зборови

Дозволи воздухот да говори

Наелектизирани атоми

По мислите прати ми

Тоа што го издишуваш

Со мене заедно го вдишуваш

Да го закопаме во тишината

Нека раскажува прашината

The silence I cannot break

Let the air in for both our sakes

Atoms dance in electricity

You send them thought through me

You alone expire

And with me you inspire

What we must speak

Let the dust out-leak

I lack words

I lack gestures

I lack questions

I don’t want answered

I have something

I have a thing

I want to say

I cannot speak

Speak for me

Cry with me

Hope for us

Say what we must

НИШТО ОД НАСЛОВ, НИШТО ОД СÈ

2007-10-03T21:39:00.000+02:00

It’s your fault

That I don’t have the slightest idea what to do the whole day long

That everything I do do goes into its own dimension of wrong

It’s your fault

That I’m too lazy to get my long hair of indefinable hair-style short

That every and any meal that’s eaten with fingers or spoon I take it by the fork

It’s your fault

That I always miss the movies that I waited the whole night to see

That I never find time to get ahead with things I can’t deal with when free

It’s your fault

That I missed the bus today

That I never listen to what “the wise” say

That all my poems have a fetish about repetition

That half of the things I write are an incomplete mission

And just in any case

If I trip cause I forgot to tie up my lace

It’s your fault

And just not to forget

If in the next 5 minutes I remember something I regret

It’s your fault

And if you didn’t know

Every time we had a date and I didn’t show

It’s your fault

Cause you have the butterfly effect on my tsunamis, volcanic eruptions and earthquakes

You blink and the core of my planet turns upside down and shakes

You smile and I forget the answer to “why cry?”

You walk and I have an abyss in my throat

And especially when you walk away, there’s nothing left for me to say, except - it’s your fault, anyway.

_____________________________________________________________________

НИ ЛУК ЈАЛ, НИ ЛУК МИРИСАЛ

_____________________________________________________________________

My little toe hurts today

And it’s your fault

A hair is missing from my head

And it’s your fault

I sneezed and all night I turned in bed

And it’s your fault

You don’t have to be so likable when you’re just plain stupid

You don’t have to be so lovable when you’re the meanest thing sent by Cupid

Паштета штафета

2007-09-24T01:36:00.000+02:00

Ахам, убаво читате.

А сега читајте ова:

ДА СИ ЈА НАМАЧКАТЕ НА ГАЗ!

Мене ли бе вакви работи. Мене????!!!!

Не ви е жал?

Не ви е срам?

Срам и арам да ви е!

Не јадам паштета.

А штафетата ја испуштив негде по пат. Јебига, никогаш не сум сакала физичко.

:-)

2007-09-18T18:30:00.000+02:00

I hate people that cry in public. Thank God for the Internet and the impersonalization of it all. I can never be tempted to show my real face. :( Last time I cried in front of people, by accident of course (a small eruption, a minute natural disaster if you will, a little facial irrigation), they all thought I was having boy problems. I let them think that, ‘cause amazingly enough people feel good about themselves when they are trying to give how-to-live-down-a-breakup advice. Since then, love problems seem much simpler to me.

Today I’m gonna have myself a small nervous breakdown. I think I deserve it.

Bye-bye now.

The Way You Hurt

2007-09-17T22:32:00.000+02:00

Fuck all of them who say you can only write when you’re sad.

I’m not bored. I just feel the world has no right to gravitation today. It should stop spinning right this minute. I don’t want sunny days this week.

And I can’t write shit....

THE WAY YOU HURT

Vision of the Past

2007-09-17T14:40:00.000+02:00

I looked at him today and suddenly realized years have gone by. He looked like somebody's grandfather, instead of a father. And then I knew how I was going to look like after years have gone by. Old or helpless though? I don't know that yet.

GOD'S GONNA CUT YOU DOWN

2007-09-13T14:13:00.000+02:00

I feel like writing your name on the ceiling in HUGE RED LETTERS, so every afternoon I wake up I think of the fucking idiot you are.

If I were to spend my whole life not caring for anyone, I would be forever happy.

And ever after.

2007-09-12T23:17:00.000+02:00

БОЖЕМ МУДРА ТИШИНА

Во срце со марш во младешки тропот,
ме печеше љубов од старост откината!
Божем мудро, го послушав Ацо Шопот
и оставив за неа да ти каже тишината.

Зар може ништо да не ти кажала
та молкот твој стана смртна казна!
Или злобна, пакосно те излажала
дека ќе те чувам само за во вазна?

Е затоа сето што притиска и пече
веќе не го закопувам во тишината -
оти знам дека таа може ќе го рече
ама смислата ќе му биде шината :-)

Љубомир Бочваров

Where Did My Line Stop?

2007-09-11T23:56:00.000+02:00

Women do not marry till they are 18, nor men till they are 22. Clandestine premarital intercourse, if discovered and proved, brings severe punishment on both man and woman; and the guilty parties are forbidden to marry for their whole lives...

Utopia, Sir Thomas More

... And that faire flowre of beautie fades away,

As doth the lilly fresh before the sunny day.

The Faerie Queene, Edmund Spenser

Both beasts and plants, cursed in the curse of man.

So did the world from the first hour decay,

That evening was beginning of the day,

And now the springs and summers which we see

Like sons of women after fifty be.

An Anatomy of the World, John Donne

... the shooting stars attend thee... the sparks of fire befriend thee... What though the moon does slumber?... My soul I’ll pour into thee.

The Night-Piece, to Julia, Robert Herrick

Truth is compared to a streaming fountain; if her waters flow not in a perpetual progression, they sicken into a muddy pool of conformity and tradition. A man may be a heretic in the truth; and if he believe things only because his pastor says so without knowing other reason, though his belief be true, yet the very truth he holds becomes his heresy.

Areopagitica, John Milton

Aye, there’s my grief; that’s the sad change in life

To lose my title, and yet keep my wife.

The Way of the World, William Congreve

Wait the great teacher Death...

What future bliss, he gives not thee to know...

Destroy all creatures for thy sport or gust,

Yet cry, if man’s unhappy, God’s unjust...

An Essay on Man, Alexander Pope

“O mother, mother, make my bed,

O make it soft and narrow:

Since my love died for me today,

I’ll die for him tomorrow.”

Bonny Barbara Allan, Popular Ballads

There where three ravens sat on a tree,

DOWN A DOWN, HAY DOWN, HAY DOWN

There where three ravens sat on a tree,

WITH A DOWN

There where three ravens sat on a tree,

They were as black as they might be,

WITH A DOWN, DERRY, DERRY, DERRY, DOWN, DOWN.

The Three Ravens, Popular Ballads

КОЈ МИ ГО ПРЕКИНА ЧИТАЊЕТО?

2007-09-10T04:33:00.000+02:00

I’ll put you under the rug

There you’ll be save and warm

Come to no harm

I’ll put you in between the sheets of my bed

No more sleepless nights,

Not with the dream, but I’ll sleep with you instead

I’ll put you on my CD, in the CD cover

So every time I here a skip

I know I play you with every noisy bit

I’ll put you in the batteries of my remote

So every time I pick it up

I know I’m holding you

Every time I turn it on

I know I’m watching you through snow and storm

(never turn you off)

I’ll put you in the pages of my books

So I know every time I read

I read you through

I’ll put you in my lens container

So every time I see

I’ll know I’m seeing with you

in you

through you

I’m seeing the world - I’m seeing you

2007-09-07T21:03:00.000+02:00

I would get bored

You always snored

In the afternoons

I had nothing to do

I would play with my toys

Stick my tongue out to all the boys

I would get into a verbal fight

Making sure everyone knew I was right

I would get up upon the bed

I was small and always smiling, you said

I jumped until the strings gave way

Until I was old enough that my age they couldn’t bear.

2007-09-07T11:26:00.000+02:00

Mounting The World On A Bike

Remember when I was riding your bike

Mounted on the top of the world,

thinking I was always right

You looked at me smiling,

occasionally frowning

Worried you would say:

Hold on tight!

I always smiling

Occasionally worried

why you were frowning

would say:

I’ll be right back!

I needed to mount the top of the world

to see if I(t) would always be this right.

Во тишината

2007-09-04T22:31:00.000+02:00

ın ð∂ saıl∂ns

ıf ju kærı wıðın ju s۸mθıŋ ۸nsed

s۸mθıŋ wıt∫ peınz ænd bэ:nz

berı ıt wıðın ð∂ depθz ∂v saıl∂ns -

ð∂ saıl∂ns wıl seı ıt f∂ ju.

۸co ∫opov

Што сакав да кажам...

2007-08-29T20:08:00.000+02:00

They are silly and never willing to spend the extra time

They are funny and don’t have the money to buy us the things we like

They are strong and always wrong when they say they are right

They are opinionated and often affiliated with our conscience - the worst partner in crime

They are quick-tongued and easy-flowing, sharp-fingered and slow-going

They are the rising of the East when we can’t get out of bed

They are the setting of the West when our feet and head feel like lead

They are everything that we don’t need in the right time

They are crucial and decisive when we don’t need a piece of mind

Always and forever at the wrong place and out of line

Everything we hate to love

Everything we dislike to be keen to

Nothing we are interested in being with

Nothing we agree to own up to

The out-in-the-open things hidden in a basket

The smell of burnt toast with the sweetest marmalade

We adore to be out of place and out of time with them

We do anything to misplaced and late for them

They are the perfect excuse and the thing that gets us in trouble

The pin that makes a colourful explosion out of our happiness bubble

The people that we love are a pain in the ass

We can’t get them out of our heads and admit them as loggers at last.

2007-08-26T19:59:00.000+02:00

Lost in Translation

- A SELECTION OF BLOOPERS FROM THE WORLD OF TRANSLATION -

In a Tokyo hotel: Is forbitten to steal hotel towels please. If you are not person to do such thing is please not to read notis.
In a Bucharest hotel lobby: The lift is being fixed for the next day. During that time we regret that you will be unbearable.
In a hotel in Athens: Visitors are expected to complain at the office between the hours of 9 and 11 AM daily.
From the Soviet Weekly: There will be a Moscow Exhibition of Arts by 15,000 Soviet Republic painters and sculptors. These were executed over the past two years.
In a Japanese hotel: You are invited to take advantage of the chambermaid.
Outside a Hong Kong tailor shop: Ladies may have a fit upstairs.
In a Bangkok dry cleaner’s: Drop your trousers here for the best results.
In a Rhodes tailor shop: Order your summers suit. Because is big rush we will execute customers in strict rotation.
In a Zurich hotel: Because of the impropriety of entertaining guests of the opposite sex in the bedroom, it is suggested that the lobby be used for this purpose.
In a Tokyo bar: Special cocktails for ladies with nuts.
In a Copenhagen airline ticket office: We take your bags and send them in all directions.
At a Budapest zoo: Please do not feed the animals. If you have any suitable food, give it to the guard on duty.

From Richard Lederer’s Anguished English

2007-08-24T17:41:00.001+02:00

Next Time We Meet

This is how I imagine it. Or maybe I dreamed it a night before.

I standing at an abandoned railway station waiting for the train that is always railing away and never arriving to stay. :) Wearing a ridiculous puffed-up dress. Probably pink, ‘cause I hate pink. Feeling like the stupidest thing in the world. It’s sweltering, blistering , scorching hot. I don’t know, choose the adjective you want. You’re finally here. You bring me red roses. Because it’s such a cliché and because I hate flowers. I tell you that I FEEL that I LOOK like a clown and AS funny but NOT in a good way. You laugh (probably not understanding what I’ve just said) and give me the flowers. I ALREADY feel ridiculous enough, so I take them no smirks added.

Гад дем ит! I promised myself I’ll never again write such unbearably long sentences that nobody can follow or has the patience to read them through.

I’m finished. And I call this a short story.

БУЛКА КРАЈ ШИНИТЕ / POPPY BY THE RAILS

2007-08-22T20:37:00.001+02:00

Goodbye And Thank You For the Cookies And Milk

This home of dreams feared to be dreamed, of conversations silenced. Where hopes, lose hope to exist, where pride has its last stand. These walls are painted blindingly numbingly white, so they make everything seem clear and empty.

Little Red Riding Hood packed her bags. She was leaving. The granny with her cookies and milk. (They’ve already gone stale, anyway.) The woodman chasing butterflies and deer. (Will he ever get tired?) The wolf.... he was still fighting nightmares in the wood. (No worries, aspirin cures every headache.) By the time he wakes up, it will be too late. (Probably around lunch time.)

Perfect. This was the time. To leave. To make a decision and stand by it. (Like driving away in reverse and not looking back.) Even if your feet gave out. Look at fear in the eye. (He’s been blinded on the left, a soufflé gone wrong.) Even if you went blind. (Is blindness contagious?)

The price was just right. (Tomatoes have gone up. Bloody hell, what about the spaghetti sauce?!) And it was worth every sigh.

* We apologize for the editor’s comments in brackets. She’s just recently discovered the adventure called “Family Life - Living For Others.” She’s been preoccupied with cooking, everything wrong that can go wrong (any sharp objects, electric appliances?!!!!), meds (out of the reach of children), and the occasional rhetorical questions that help maintain her brain activities fastly dying away.

(Did I leave the stove on, the baby in the medicine cabinet, and bought tomatoes for 60 denars when I’ve just found out I could’ve got them for 55?!!!!)

** The author to the editor: How the hell do you get so grammatically correct and so insanely domesticated?

*** The editor to the author: What the fuck?!!!! GET A LIFE!!!!!

****The editor to the readers: GET A LIFE!!!!!! You’ll go blind from staring at the PC and believe me THIS IS NOT WORTH IT!

P.S. Is it blindingly or numbingly? Whichever it is, it sounds stupid.

****** The author: OK, THAT’S IT! FUCK OFF! ALL OF YOU!

I need some sleep...

****** The editor: You need a life.

*******(The author strangling the editor.)

******** (And going to bed with a smile on her face.)

P.P.S. The author: The author has gone crazy and in the process developed a multiple personality. And you are crazier if you’ve actually read this far and think this is even the slightest bit of funny. Poor you.

THE LESS SCHIZOPHRENIC VERSION

2007-08-20T18:12:00.000+02:00

Кога сум веќе во такво расположение, еве ви уште едно отпеано literature piece.

Father Death Blues

Hey Father Death, I’m flying home

Hey poor man, you’re all alone

Hey old daddy, I know where I’m going

Father Death, Don’t cry any more

Mama’s there, underneath the floor

Brother Death, please mind the store

Old Aunty Death Don’t hide your bones

Old Uncle Death I hear your groans

O Sister Death how sweet your moans

O Children Deaths go breathe your breaths

Sobbing breasts’ll ease your Deaths

Pain is gone, tears take the rest

Genius Death your art is done

Lover Death your body’s gone

Father Death I’m coming home

Guru Death your words are true

Teacher Death I do thank you

For inspiring me to sing this Blues

Buddha Death, I wake with you

Dharma Death, your mind is new

Sangha Death, we’ll work it through

Suffering is what was born

Ignorance made me forlorn

Tearful truths I cannot scorn

Father Breath once more farewell

Birth you gave was no thing ill

My heart is still, as time will tell.

Allen Ginsberg

2007-08-17T19:55:00.000+02:00

Кога ја слушнав I Fell In Love With A Dead Boy од Antony and the Johnsons се сетив на песнава. Silly me, не го запишав името на групата. Ако на некој му текне, од мене ќе добие „фала“ (и евентуално чаша вода:), а од Марија кафе. :)

My Sister

Do you remember my sister? How many mistakes did she make with those never blinking eyes? I couldn’t work it out. I swear she could read your mind, your life, the depths of your soul at one glance. Maybe she was stripping herself away, saying

Here I am, this is me

I am yours and everything about me, everything you see...

If only you look hard enough

I never could.

Our life was a pillow-fight. We’d stand there on the quilt, our hands clenched ready. Her with her milky teeth, so late for her age, and a Stanley knife in her hand. She sliced the tyres on my bike and I couldn’t forgive her.

She went blind at the age of five. We’d stand at the bedroom window and she’d get me to tell her what I saw. I’d describe the houses opposite, the little patch of grass next to the path, the gate with its rotten hinges forever wedged open that Dad was always going to fix. She’d stand there quiet for a moment. I thought she was trying to develop the images in her own head. Then she’d say:

I can see little twinkly stars,

like Christmas tree lights in faraway windows.

Rings of brightly coloured rocks

floating around orange and mustard planets.

I can see huge tiger striped fishes

chasing tiny blue and yellow dashes,

all tails and fins and bubbles.

I’d look at the grey house opposite, and close the curtains.

She burned down the house when she was ten. I was away camping with the scouts. The fireman said she’d been smoking in bed - the old story, I thought. The cat and our mum died in the flames, so Dad took us to stay with our Aunt in the country. He went back to London to find us a new house. We never saw him again.

On her thirteenth birthday she fell down the well in our Aunt’s garden and broke her head. She’d been drinking heavily. On her recovery her sight returned, a fluke of nature everyone said. That’s when she said she’d never blink again. I would tell her when she started at me, with her eyes wide and watery, that they reminded me of the well she fell into. She liked this, it made her laugh.

She moved in with a gym teacher when she was fifteen, all muscles he was. He lost his job when it all came out, and couldn’t get another one. Not in that kind of small town. Everybody knew everyone else’s business. My sister would hold her head high, though. She said she was in love. They were together for five years until one day he lost his temper. He hit her over the back of the neck with his bullworker. She lost the use of the right side of her body. He got three years and was out in fifteen months. We saw him a while later, he was coaching a non-league football team in a Cornwall seaside town. I don’t think he recognized her. My sister had put on a lot of weight from being in a chair all the time. She’d get me to stick pins and stub out cigarettes in her right hand. She’d laugh like mad because it didn’t hurt. Her left hand was pretty good though. We’d have arm wrestling matches, I’d have to use both arms and she’d still beat me.

We buried her when she was 32. Me and my aunt, the vicar, and the man who dug the hole. She said she didn’t want to be cremated and wanted a cheap coffin so the worms could get to her quickly. She said she liked the idea of it, though I thought it was because of what happened to the cat, and our mum.

lyrics by an unknown artist

2007-08-14T20:18:00.000+02:00

Thank you

For all the tears I cried

For all the poems I lied

For all the hours I skipped

For all the letters I licked

For all the paper I burned

For all the smirks I earned

For all the nights I overslept

For all the disappointments in the closet kept

For all the pens and pencils I made weep

For all the places I left to early to still sit

For all the thoughts that head-ached

For all the smiles and pleasures I faked

2007-08-12T16:28:00.000+02:00

Introduction

After moving into my new house, I couldn't help but notice a really cute apparition was trying to kill me.

I'm In Love With A Dead Bitch

Some say it's crazy, the tale I'm going to tell
Other's have said it's my ticket straight to hell
But either way I've decided to stop trying
To hide the truth, I'm just so tired of lying
So this is my story of how it could be
I fell in love with the ghost who's been haunting me

Moving into this house I didn't know I would find
Such a caring, violent spirit had been left behind
I'll be the first to admit that in the beginning
That when she'd show up, and her head would start spinning
I was a little uneasy, but soon I would start
To find it cute when she'd throw knives at my heart

And it wasn't soon after, I had a growing suspicion
That I was falling in love with a sexy apparition
So I had a seance, just me and a wax candle
My love showed up and beat me with an axe handle
But that's just her way of showing she cares
Like her loving game of pushing me down the stairs

I've tried to explain, but my family doesn't get it
I send pictures on holidays, but I'm the only one in it
But overall, the only thing I find frustrating
Is our sex life consists of me masterbating
Other than that you won't find true love truer
There's no issue of trust, hell I can see right through her

So what she's dead, and I seem to have life
Is that any reason she can't legally be my wife
Marriage is inevitable, the court's already showed us
That by declaring me insane they're starting to take notice
And when we exchange vows, I'll know it to be true
That I will honor and obey her, until death happens to me too

by Matt Haught

Вовед

По вселувањето во мојата нова куќа не можев, а да не го забележам слаткиот призрак кој се обидуваше да ме убие.

Заљубен во мртва кучка

Приказнава што ќе ја раскажам е луда, ми вели некој
За други ова е сигурен пат до судниот ми пекол
Како и да е, решив да престанам да се силам
Да ја скријам вистината, веќе не можам да кријам
Ова е мојата приказната што почна да ме опседнува
Се заљубив во духот што куќата ми ја запоседнува

Кога се вселував, не ни претпоставував дека во животов мој
Некогаш ќе сретнам дух од таков мил, насилен сој
Ќе признаам веднаш без многу трте-мрте
Дека кога ќе се појавеше и со главата ќе направеше вртеж
Ми беше непријатно, но со тек на време
Ми стана мило, кога со ножеви фрлаше кон мене

И многу брзо, сомнеж почна да ме копка
Дека од љубов кон секси духот срцево ми тропка
Направив сеанса, јас и восочната свеќа имавме судар
Љубената се појави и со дршка од секира ми зададе удар
Но таа само така ми покажува дека ме сака
Исто како кога со љубов по скалите удолу ме праќа

Се обидов да објаснам, но моите не сакаат да ме сфатат
На сликите од одмор само мене ме има кога им ги праќам
Сè на сè, единственото што ме мачи
Е што сеуште сум во друштвото на мастурбирачи
Освен ова, друг проблем нема, толку сме блиски
Таа е толку прозирна што & ги читам сите мисли

Па што ако јас сум уште жив, а таа е мрак
Зар тоа е причина да не бидеме во брак
Тоа ќе се случи, не поминува незабележано
штом судот ко луд веќе ме има обележано
И кога денот ќе дојде да стапнеме на лудиот камен
Ќе ја сакам и почитувам, дур во смртта не & станам рамен.

by oxford genie

Се извинувам што се уфрлам вака
но и мојот препев да се чита сакам.

В о в е д
01.
Во куќата нова кога се вселив
видов дух како во мене це`ли!
И помислив дека е неизбежно
со песнава да се убивам нежно.

ВЉУБЕН ВО МРТВА АЛАПАЧА
1.
Дека тоа е лудо некој би рекол,
тажна карта право за во пекол -
ама јас морам машки да кажам -
доста ми е да се кријам и лажам!
2.
За ова никогаш мисла си немав -
дека куќата романса ми спрема!
Е па еве ја мојта сторија кратка -
љубов со духовита жена слатка!
3.
Мир и милина нејзина се руба
ама напати има навика груба:
гордо си ја врти главата во круг -
оти тоа не го можел никој друг.
4.
И друга има амбиција ко краста -
се спрема за циркуски настап:
ножој кон мене фрла без замор
но јас ги сметам стрели на Амор.
5.
Еднаш стокмив рандеву на свеќа
и таа со секира блесна од среќа;
ама јас бев далековидно мудар
кога избегав пред нејниот удар.
6.
Услужна е - без око да и` трепне,
по скалите стално ќе ме спрепне!
А кога напати ќе си скршам рака
да видите колку среќна ме сака!
7.
На сликата кај ја гушкам на плажа,
ја нема, велат дека наивно лажам!
Кај мене нема никакво сомневање -
сето ова за брак ни е загревање!
8.
Се` на се`,работите одат кон врв -
таа ми рече дека сум и` бил прв
а едино што е мала компликација -
ме чека доживотна мастурбација!
9.
Кон неа мртва одам навидум жив,
и смело го чекам задгробниот здив.
А кога конечно кај неа ќе се качам -
скапо ќе ми плати љубената алапача!

by Љубомир Бочваров