[11:36:30] Dranikkk: блеа, как бы описать ощущения…это навроде того, что ты знаешь, есть классическая музыка, офигенная музыка, которая тебе предлагает духовное развитие и все такое, но ты, ссука, просто вот не можешь, не можешь и все тут оторваться от эйсидиси :D
R.E.M.
”Blue”
Yellow circus left the stakes a broken ropes world’s useless mug
The ties that bind, ha ha
I can be bad poet
Street poet
Shit poet
Kind poet too
Subway
Almost 4AM
Halloween night
Had enough to drink to make my own party
All my fellow writers in half costume, half asleep
Half silly, gone to seed
I don’t mark my time with dates, holidays, faded wisdom, locked karma holders
Convenient
I am made by my times
I am a creation of now
Shaken with the cracks and crevices
I’m not giving up easy
I will not fold
I don’t have much
But what I have is gold
I saw your face…
I sing in platinum
I dress in brass
I eat in zinc
Let it pass
Compare a toast
I like that
I understand courage
I still roll with the shout of a character I was married to today
I try to see outside myself
I understand the eyes
Excuse all the highs
Sorry
I am sorry
Ha ha
I like you, love you, every coast of you.
I’ve seen your eddies and tides and hurricanes and cyclones.
Low ebb tide and high, full moon.
Up close and distant.
I read you.
Look, the sky, the sea, the ocean, the sun, the moon.
Blue, blue, blue, blue, blue, blue, blue blue, blue, blue, blue, blue.
Naked and blue.
Breathing with you. Touch. Change. Shift. Allow air. Window open. Drift. Drift away. Into now.
I want Whitman proud. Patti Lee proud. My brothers proud. My sisters proud. I want me. I want it all. I want sensational. Irresistible.
This is my time and I am thrilled to be alive.
Living. Blessed. I understand.
Twentieth century:
Collapse Into Now
Cinderella boy
You’ve lost your shoe
Cinderella boy
Your coach awaits
A sun makes shadows
All over your face
As you sit
Naked and blue
Into me
The ties that bind, ha ha
I can be bad poet
Street poet
Shit poet
Kind poet too
Subway
Almost 4AM
Halloween night
Had enough to drink to make my own party
All my fellow writers in half costume, half asleep
Half silly, gone to seed
I don’t mark my time with dates, holidays, faded wisdom, locked karma holders
Convenient
I am made by my times
I am a creation of now
Shaken with the cracks and crevices
I’m not giving up easy
I will not fold
I don’t have much
But what I have is gold
I saw your face…
I sing in platinum
I dress in brass
I eat in zinc
Let it pass
Compare a toast
I like that
I understand courage
I still roll with the shout of a character I was married to today
I try to see outside myself
I understand the eyes
Excuse all the highs
Sorry
I am sorry
Ha ha
I like you, love you, every coast of you.
I’ve seen your eddies and tides and hurricanes and cyclones.
Low ebb tide and high, full moon.
Up close and distant.
I read you.
Look, the sky, the sea, the ocean, the sun, the moon.
Blue, blue, blue, blue, blue, blue, blue blue, blue, blue, blue, blue.
Naked and blue.
Breathing with you. Touch. Change. Shift. Allow air. Window open. Drift. Drift away. Into now.
I want Whitman proud. Patti Lee proud. My brothers proud. My sisters proud. I want me. I want it all. I want sensational. Irresistible.
This is my time and I am thrilled to be alive.
Living. Blessed. I understand.
Twentieth century:
Collapse Into Now
Cinderella boy
You’ve lost your shoe
Cinderella boy
Your coach awaits
A sun makes shadows
All over your face
As you sit
Naked and blue
Into me
Photo by Akami
http://akami777.deviantart.com/
Gacela of the Dark Death
I want to sleep the dream of the apples,
to withdraw from the tumult of cemetries.
I want to sleep the dream of that child
who wanted to cut his heart on the high seas.
I don’t want to hear again that the dead do not lose their blood,
that the putrid mouth goes on asking for water.
I don’t want to learn of the tortures of the grass,
nor of the moon with a serpent’s mouth
that labors before dawn.
I want to sleep awhile,
awhile, a minute, a century;
but all must know that I have not died;
that there is a stable of gold in my lips;
that I am the small friend of the West wing;
that I am the intense shadows of my tears.
Cover me at dawn with a veil,
because dawn will throw fistfuls of ants at me,
and wet with hard water my shoes
so that the pincers of the scorpion slide.
For I want to sleep the dream of the apples,
to learn a lament that will cleanse me to earth;
for I want to live with that dark child
who wanted to cut his heart on the high seas.
Federico García Lorca
