vineri, iulie 31, 2009

Deliric freestyle

cu acordul artistului, o bucata tare draga mie:


deliric freestyle
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si n-am nevoie de fanii vostrii ii am pe-ai mei,
cheliosi,tatuati,punkisti si derbedei,
baieti destepti cu ochii pe femei,
femei in limba cu cercei, pusti cu ctc in mp3,
revolutionari cu pusti in maini si toti ca ei
ce vor justitie in gurvern ca macovei,
artisti vandali c-un tub de spray,
artisti mai chill trag fum din (hey),
afaceristi ce fac bani cu abecedaru, vand g de k, lsd, mdma,
dj'ei versati, vexxati ca andrei,
din cei ce dupa play fac beat joggling fara delay,
atei cu cruci in sange si piept de zmei,
copywriteri cu idei, copii, writeri si zei,
poeti pe ulei, suporteri fair play
ce-o dau cu gabori misei,
artisti extremisti la capatul nisei,
arestati, semneaza capatu fisei,
dar intorsi pe strada deghizati, sunt tot cap de afis ei
cu tablouri mobile la capatu' sinei,
pentru ei scriu pan la capatu' minei...la capatu' zilei

ca un sejur

azi, blegu' implineste subtila varsta de 2 saptamani. in 2 saptamani sandra bullock a reusit sa-l cucereasca pe hugh grant si tot in acelasi interval temporar michael jackson a vandut post mortem mai multe albume decat tot rapu romanesc all time.precum puii de matza, dupa 14 zile incepe si el sa faca ochisori. am descoperit ca am la fel de multi abonati ca si mel gibson (sper sa nu aiba aceeasi soarta), asa ca iti multumesc tie, curiosule, pentru ca nu te poti abtine sa dai click pe citatele mele ludice.

school of life

joi, iulie 30, 2009

"I no longer know who I am and I feel like the ghost of a total stranger"

video

"Took a charter flight on a DC-10 to London. Landed at Heathrow. Took a cab to the city center. Don't let people lie to you: hostels are for the ugly. I'm staying in Home House, the most beautiful hotel in the world. Called a friend from school who was selling hash, but she wasn't in. Met a couple of Brits who take me to, of all places, Camden Street. I flirt a bit at the Virgin Megastore, buy some CDs, then follow some girls with pink hair. I wandered around trying to get laid, until it started to rain, then went back to Home House. Ministry of Sound is dead, so I go to Remform - but it's Gay Night. I find the one hetero girl in the place and we dry hump on the dance floor. We cab it back to Home House. I strip her clothes off, suck her toes, and we fuck. I hung out for four or five days. Met the world's biggest DJ, Paul Oakenfold. Kept missing the Changing of the Guards. Wrote my mom a postcard I never sent. Bought some speed from an Italian junkie who was trying to sell me a stolen bike. Smoked a lot of hash that had too much tobacco in it. Saw the Tate. Saw Big Ben. Ate a lot of weird English food. It rained a lot, it was expensive, and I'm jonesing... So, I split for Amsterdam. The Dutch all know English, so I didn't have to speak any Dutch - which was a relief. I cruise the Red Light District. Visit a sex show. Visit a sex museum. Smoke a lot of hash. I meet a Dutch TV actress and we drink absinthe at a bar called Absinthe. The museums were cool, I guess. Lots of Van Goghs and the Vermeers were intense. Wandered around. Bought a lot of pastries. Ate some intense waffles. We bought some coke and I cruised the Red Light District, until I found some blonde with big tits that reminds me of Lara. I gave her a hundred guilders. In the end, she pulls me out, and I cum between her tits, even though I'm wearing a rubber. Afterward we made small-talk about AIDS, her Moroccan pimp, and herself. I wake to the sound of a wino singing. It's 8 AM and hot as blazes. I pretend to ice-skate around Central Station, while someone plays the sax. Trade songs with a Kiwi girl... Then split for Paris by train. Wander the Champs-Elysees. Climb the Eiffel Tower for only seven francs, because the ticket machine was broken. Got the hang of the Metro, took it everywhere. Went to a Ford model party and hooked up with a Romanian model named Karina. She chugs my cock at the Mariott Champs-Elysees, which is good. We played billiards, went shopping. I think she gave me mono. Drove a Ferrari that belonged to a member of the Saudi royal family. Made out with a Dutch model in front of the Louvre. Saw the Arc de Triomphe and almost became road-kill crossing the street... "Oakie" invites me to Dublin, so I catch an Aer Lingus flight and stay at the Morrison. Dublin rocks like you can't imagine. Oakenfold lets me spin some discs with him. Irish girls are as small as leprechauns. I swap hickeys with a drunk woman. After groping my abs and calling me "Mr. L.A.", she strips for me in the bath room of the club. Sneak into the Guinness factory and steal some stout so good my dick goes hard... I fly to Barcelona, which was a low-rent bust. Too many fat American students. Too many lame meat markets. I dropped acid at the Sagrada Familia, which was a trip to say the least. Cruise up the coast to the Museo Gala Dali, but had no more acid, which sucked. Some girl from Camden calls me on my cell, so I let her listen to the church bells in Cadaques. Canta Cruz is beautiful, but there are no girls here, just old hippies... So, I went to Switzerland where I, ironically, couldn't find anyone who had the time. Took the Glacier Express up the Schilthorn, which is beautiful in a way I can't describe... Euro Pass into Italy and ended up in Venice, where I met a hot girl who looks like Rachael Leigh Cook and speaks better English than I do. She's living for a year on only five dollars a day. We gondola around, buy some masks. She think's I'm a capitalist, because my hotel room costs more for one night than she's spending her entire trip. But she doesn't mind it so much when I pay the bills... I ditch her and hook up with a couple who obviously want a 3-some. Too much tension there, but the doofus offers to drive me to Rome, an offer I jump at. Traffic is bad and we're stopped for hours without moving. The wife turns out to be a freak. The guy starts to wig out on me. It's like a Polanski film... We stop for a while in Florence, where I see some big dome. A bomb goes off and I lose the weird couple, which is probably for the best... Ended up in Rome, which is big and hot and dirty. It was just like L.A., but with ruins. I went to the Vatican, which was ridiculously opulent. Stood for two hours to get into the Sistine Chapel, which - now that it's been cleaned - looks fake. I meet two under-age Italian girls who I try to talk into fucking each other while I jack off onto them. Bored, I buy them some ice cream instead. My hotel has a gym, so I work out. I bump into some guy from Camden who says he knows me, but I'm sure that he's a fag, so I lose him. I try to fart and instead shit my pants. Back in my hotel room, I masturbate and have a pain in my groin. That night, I dream about a beautiful girl, half in water, stretching her lean body. She asks me if I like it and I tell her she can clean fish with it. I don't know what it means, but I wake well-rested, masturbate in the shower, and check out... I make my way back to London and hang out in Piccadilly Circus. Hmm. Palakon. I swap shirts with some upper-crusty Cambridge chick. Hers was an Agnes B., mine a Costume Nationale. She acts stuffy and prudish, but is really wild underneath it all. She barely looks at my abs, though she wants to. The next day, I drop some acid and get lost in the subway for a full day and can't find my way out. I meet a cute girl who lets me jack off onto her as long as no cum gets onto her Paul Smith coat. We get stoned while listening to Michael Jackson records and the next morning I wake up talking to myself. I have a big bump on my head from flailing in my sleep. I get my stuff and barely make my plane back to the United States... I no longer know who I am and I feel like the ghost of a total stranger."

Butch - Pogany '31


Butch - Pogany '31
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Putine lucruri le rup tipare, culoare gasesc in cioburi...

Imi tot imaginez ca oamenii din lume-au disparut...

La fel cum eu o sa dispar in infinite incercari de a ma salva
La fel cum tu vei esua in infinite incercari de a scapa
Imagineaza-ti des ca suntem altceva..

Oglinzile dau sfaturi oarbe, d-aia n-arat ce vor sa vada
E ca si cum mi-as tine frica intr-o vaza.
Putine lucruri le rup tipare, culoare,
Gasesc in cioburi, le spal cand sunt murdare.
Vorbesc cu mine des despre distanta pana la fericita disperare
Si ma gasesc tragandu-ma de par, ca e exasperant de mare.
Imi tot imaginez ca oamenii din lume-au disparut
In infinite incercari de a ajunge toti pe soare,
La fel cum eu o sa dispar in infinite incercari de a ma salva,
La fel cum tu vei esua in infinite incercari de a scapa...
De-aia:
Imagineaza-ti des ca suntem altceva si nu doar vorbe.
Poate un timp am fi putut sa fim o cobza
Sa stam cuminti...sa stam cuminti...
In bratele lui Tudor Gheorghe, in bratele lui Tudor Gheorghe

Toate aveau un sens pe vremuri. au disparut si sensul si cuvintele acelui sens

In alta ai fi putut sa fi un nai in mana lui Zamfir
Un cersetor in ochii lui Nae Caramfil
Ai fi putut sa fi o piatra, si vezi in pielea ta
Brancusi sa isi infiga dalta, dar nu in asta, in altaa


In asta totul e drept si se loveste de pereti,
Ca sunetul inalt pe care nu-l percepi.
In alta am fi putut sa fim poeti,
In asta suntem doar beti, irelevanti, incoerenti.
Pricepi ceva din asta ?
In alta primesti povesti, flori de cires
Si stai la masa lui Caragiale
Si il privesti fara sa indraznesti sa ii vorbesti.
In asta te chinui noaptea sa atipesti,
In alta sunt zane bune si struguri mai copti
Bacovia e beat in alta.
In asta, e plin de politicieni si porci
Si nesimtiti si hoti
In asta devii satul de tine,
Cum eu devin satul de rime
Cand tot ce scriu nu intelege nimeni

miercuri, iulie 29, 2009

tu oare vezi asta de 6 ori pe saptamana ?





raku - mi-e de-ajuns
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Diminetele pe fete le vezi catusele
Ascultand "Atentie se inchid usile"
Cautandu-si fericirea aproape cu ochii inchisi
Cat de tare li se pare zdreanta de la pagina 5
O bucata de branza la pranz impartita in cinci insi
O vodca la un salariu si o pereche veche de jeansi
C-asa-i viata la oras, dai la faras sau perii
Dedicat la toti baietii de cartierul Primaverii.
Pune ca Toma Caragiu pe al tau schelet un nume
Vei simti o lume de pume stand la panda sa il darame
Atente la tzoalele tale si la stema de la masina
Iti arata respect,chipurile, ca damele de rutina
Pace celor care-s de vina ca inca primim lumina
Stima miscarii underground si muncitorilor din mina.
Fericire celui ce mereu la Dumnezeu sa inchina
Ca viata cate ii urca in carca niciodata nu il inclina.

nu-mi spune tu !

am nevoie de liniste, nu de linistea in care nu auzi musca, ci de linistea aia in care mustele nu-ti bat la usa la fiecare juma' de ora, linistea definita de telefonul meu in offline sau de portofelul meu fara bani.
saturat sa fiu pus in lumina ca o parcare goala, unde gloata priveste; si gloata judeca; judeca stramb, fin'ca luata ca o entitate, nicio multime nu depaste 70% din ce-ar putea fi fiecare individ luat in parte.
separat de factorii ce-mi disturba mediul, aici imi gasesc eu calmul, asta mi-e sediul. eu nu doar tai si spanzur, separ organe, fac ritualuri, totul in randuri, dezintegrez apoi le planuiesc, construiesc, finisez deci recreez. asa ma recreez.
vezi, ironic, nu platesc niciun pret, castig cand scriu, castig si cand citesc.nu fac uz de scuze si nu tai la cerberi frunze, dar uneori simti ca repeti pentru pereti si asta te face sa te lasi, dar astepti, apoi continui cu pasi drepti...

"This life was so close to never happening"



"We'll drive. Keep driving. Head out to the middle of nowhere, take that road as far as it takes us. You've never been west of Philly, have ya? This is a beautiful country Monty, it's beautiful out there, like a different world. Mountains, hills, cows, farms, and white churches. I drove out west with your mother one time, before you was born. Brooklyn to the Pacific in three days. Just enough money for gas, sandwiches, and coffee, but we made it. Every man, woman, and child alive should see the desert one time before they die. Nothin' at all for miles around. Nothin' but sand and rocks and cactus and blue sky. Not a soul in sight. No sirens. No car alarms. Nobody honkin' atcha. No madmen cursin' or pissin' in the streets. You find the silence out there, you find the peace. You can find God. So we drive west, keep driving till we find a nice little town. These towns out in the desert, you know why they got there? People wanted to get way from somewhere else. The desert's for startin' over. Find a bar and I'll buy us drinks. I haven't had a drink in two years, but I'll have one with you, one last whisky with my boy. Take our time with it, taste the barley, let it linger. And then I'll go. I'll tell you dont ever write me, dont ever visit, I'll tell you I believe in God's kingdom and I'll see you and your mother again, but not in this lifetime. You'll get a job somewhere, a job that pays cash, a boss who doesn't ask questions, and you make a new life and you never come back. Monty, people like you, it's a gift, you'll make friends wherever you go. You're going to work hard, you're going to keep your head down and your mouth shut. You're going to make yourself a new home out there. You're a New Yorker, that won't ever change. You got New York in your bones. Spend the rest of your life out west but you're still a New Yorker. You'll miss your friends, you'll miss your dog, but you're strong. You got your mother backbone in you, you're strong like she was. You find the right people, and you get yourself papers, a drivers license. You forget your old life, you can't come back, you can't call, you can't write. You never look back. You make a new life for yourself and you live it, you hear me? You live your live the way it should have been. But maybe, this is dangerous, but maybe after a few years you send word to Naturelle. You get yourself a new family and you raise them right, you hear me? Give them a good life Monty. Give them what they need. You have a son, maybe you name him James, it's a good strong name, and maybe one day years from now years after im dead and gone reunited with your dear ma, you gather your whole family around and tell them the truth, who you are, where you come from, you tell them the whole story. Then you ask them if they know how lucky there are to be there. It all came so close to never happening. This life came so close to never happening."

marți, iulie 28, 2009

"Champagne for my real friends, and real pain for my sham friends."



"Well, fuck you, too. Fuck me, fuck you, fuck this whole city and everyone in it. Fuck the panhandlers, grubbing for money, and smiling at me behind my back. Fuck the squeegee men dirtying up the clean windshield of my car. Get a fucking job! Fuck the Sikhs and the Pakistanis bombing down the avenues in decrepit cabs, curry steaming out their pores, stinking up my day. Terrorists in fucking training. SLOW THE FUCK DOWN! Fuck the Chelsea boys with their waxed chests and pumped up biceps. Going down on each other in my parks and on my piers, jingling their dicks on my Channel 35. Fuck the Korean grocers with their pyramids of overpriced fruit and their tulips and roses wrapped in plastic. Ten years in the country, still no speaky English? Fuck the Russians in Brighton Beach. Mobster thugs sitting in cafés, sipping tea in little glasses, sugar cubes between their teeth. Wheelin' and dealin' and schemin'. Go back where you fucking came from! Fuck the black-hatted Chassidim, strolling up and down 47th street in their dirty gabardine with their dandruff. Selling South African apartheid diamonds! Fuck the Wall Street brokers. Self-styled masters of the universe. Michael Douglas, Gordon Gekko wannabe mother fuckers, figuring out new ways to rob hard working people blind. Send those Enron assholes to jail for FUCKING LIFE! You think Bush and Cheney didn't know about that shit? Give me a fucking break! Tyco! Worldcom! Fuck the Puerto Ricans. 20 to a car, swelling up the welfare rolls, worst fuckin' parade in the city. And don't even get me started on the Dom-in-i-cans, 'cause they make the Puerto Ricans look good. Fuck the Bensonhurst Italians with their pomaded hair, their nylon warm-up suits, their St. Anthony medallions, swinging their, Jason Giambi, Louisville slugger, baseball bats, trying to audition for the Sopranos. Fuck the Upper East Side wives with their Hermes scarves and their fifty-dollar Balducci artichokes. Overfed faces getting pulled and lifted and stretched, all taut and shiny. You're not fooling anybody, sweetheart! Fuck the uptown brothers. They never pass the ball, they don't want to play defense, they take five steps on every lay-up to the hoop. And then they want to turn around and blame everything on the white man. Slavery ended one hundred and thirty seven years ago. Move the fuck on! Fuck the corrupt cops with their anus violating plungers and their 41 shots, standing behind a blue wall of silence. You betray our trust! Fuck the priests who put their hands down some innocent child's pants. Fuck the church that protects them, delivering us into evil. And while you're at it, fuck JC! He got off easy! A day on the cross, a weekend in hell, and all the hallelujahs of the legioned angels for eternity! Try seven years in fuckin' Otisville, J! Fuck Osama Bin Laden, Al Qaeda, and backward-ass, cave-dwelling, fundamentalist assholes everywhere. On the names of innocent thousands murdered, I pray you spend the rest of eternity with your seventy-two whores roasting in a jet-fuel fire in hell. You towel headed camel jockeys can kiss my royal Irish ass! Fuck Jacob Elinsky, whining malcontent. Fuck Francis Xavier Slaughtery my best friend, judging me while he stares at my girlfriend's ass. Fuck Naturelle Riviera, I gave her my trust and she stabbed me in the back, sold me up the river, fucking bitch. Fuck my father with his endless grief, standing behind that bar sipping on club sodas, selling whisky to firemen, cheering the Bronx bombers. Fuck this whole city and everyone in it. From the row-houses of Astoria to the penthouses on Park Avenue, from the projects in the Bronx to the lofts in Soho. From the tenements in Alphabet City to the brownstones in Park slope to the split-levels in Staten Island. Let an earthquake crumble it, let the fires rage, let it burn to fucking ash and then let the waters rise and submerge this whole rat-infested place.
No. No, fuck you, Montgomery Brogan. You had it all, and you threw it away, you dumb fuck!"

"mana intinsa care nu spune o poveste nu primeste pomana"


SDST - Skit
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"casca bine ochii ! asta-i orasu-n care traiesti. de-aici se vede perfect, mai bine decat de pe intern. vezi cati "nimeni" trec pe strada ? milioane de "nimeni"..cand ai venit la mine cu fata asta de nimeni in proza, ce mi-am zis eu...mi-am zis: baiatu' asta vrea sa fie cineva, baiatu' asta vrea sa invete meserie. exista 3 meserii de baza pe lumea asta: bogatia, saracia si sexu'. din oricare castigi o paine, dar din dragoste si din scris, mori de foame ma idiotule."

luni, iulie 27, 2009

"Football is like chess, only without the dice"

cica a dat o ploicica mica intr-o dimineata acu' vreo 2 zile si de-aia-i asa racoare. bine, nu e racoare, da' macar nu mai e ca'n Riddick, cand ti se vaporiza berea-n pahar. pe mine m-a mancat in siret sa ies la fotbal asa ca m-am echipat si am taiat-o spre multy facility sport base aka curtea scolii. dupa ce-am dat de 2 ori mingea-n boscheti si a trebuit sa alerg dupa ea sa n-o pape balauru' vecinului, am zis ca nu-mi mai trebuie.
obosit, spasit, sleit in drum spre casa, mi-am adus aminte de vremurile alea cand eram angajat full time in curtea scolii, iar seara pe tv, zbang meciuri-faze-goluri. asta era inainte de a fi cocalarizat fotbalul, inainte de era aluia cu miros de urda care ii pateaza fata ca cea mai ieftina pudra...

asta-i unu din golurile mele preferate all time:

iata de unde s-au inspirat producatorii reclamelor "Unirea"

duminică, iulie 26, 2009

Sisu - Nopti Albe (La Familia - Bine ai venit in paradis 1999)

albumul asta a fost primul pe care l-am cumparat pe cd. eram foarte mandru fin'ca-l primisem la pachet si pe cel din 98' astfel ca puteam sa le ascult la o calitate superioara. (pentru toti razgaiatii de 15 ani, noi n-aveam ipod, aveam un walkman la care tinea o ora bateria. trageam casetele pe la vecini, nu luam piesele de pe dc.)
"nopti albe" e atipica gangsta rap, e scrisa cu sufletul nu cu pistolu' si lantu' de la gat...



Nopti albe
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Am invatat un lucru stand aici zi de zi,
Cartieru' nu-i un loc bun pentru un pusti cu multe ambitii,
E plin de droguri si alcool;
La fiecare colt e cineva care iti pune viata in pericol.
Oricare dintre tovarasii mei ar fi vrut
Sa fie : bancheri sau avocati dar nu au putut,
S-au ratacit in valtoare
As vrea sa simti si tu cat de tare ma doare.
Fratioare cu seringa las-o mai moale,
Ia o tigare, nu vreau sa-mi vad prietenu cum moare.
Zorile ma prind treaz, gandindu-ma la viitor,
Poate folia asta cu heroina e de vina,
Ma fac sa ma gandesc la tot ce nu e bine.
La fratii mei care se lupta ca sa aiba un maine;
Nu s-au nascuti vinovati de nimic ( de nimic ),
Insa nu esti pregatit niciodata sa fi sarac de mic.
Tot cartieru-n care stai e la acelasi nivel,
Politicienii vad doar din 600 SEL,
Barosanii beau coniac, fumeaza havane,
Tu furi toata viata pentru cateva grame.
Ai fi vrut sa fi la soare cu fetite goale,
Banii sa curga non-stop in conturile tale,
Ai fi vrut sa devi cineva
Insa viata pana la urma te trimite inapoi la ea.

Refren (2X)

Pungasi, borfasi,bai frati din cartier nu vedeti ca e degeaba
Cat dracu mai vreti sa zbier ?
Furi, esti in afara legii un borfas
Dumnezeu stie daca poti sa te mai lasi

E vineri seara, nu ma simt bine,
Astept sa vina un tovaras cu ceva mai pe la mine;
A devenit ceva obisnuit, plictisitor,
Ma simt aiurea dimineata cand ma scol.
La prima intalnire cu tine, esti finuta,
Insa ajungi usor la un gram de la o biluta,
Incepe sa-ti placa sa fi toata ziua varza,
Vezi doar folia ta si stai inchis in casa.
Tovarasii care nu trag acum sunt departe,
In jur sunt numai stricaciuni care vor sa te sape,
Telefonu suna, marfa ta e cea mai buna,
Cat timp e pe banii tai, pe toti ii doare'n pula.
Auzi in fiecare zi aceasi vorba:
,,Daca se poate fratioare fa-mi si mie parte".
Nu vezi inchisoarea cat e de aproape,
Nu cred ca esti pregatit, las-o mai usor frate

sâmbătă, iulie 25, 2009

TDF 2009

practic azi s-a terminat turul, o data cu ultima etapa de munte unde favoritii au facut meci egal.
Contador, cu cativa ani lumina in fata celorlalti, castiga pentru a 2-a oara in cariera Marea Bucla si-i da o buca resurectatului Armstrong.
dopati-nedopati ciclistii au avut parte de o audienta record astazi pe Mont Ventoux, aproximativ 500.000 de oameni. (da,da, juma' de milion, ai citit bien)
maine, promenada spre Champs Elysees cu cookies si sampanie.

vineri, iulie 24, 2009

"dar are paine ?"





















locatie : parcare mall
directie : parc [cat a mai ramas din el, (vezi mallu')]
problema : lipsa tigari si bere...

...asa ca o iau cu un prieten, sa-i zicem S., spre un telegraf, ceva sa luam ce ne trebuie. la intoarcere ne-atrage atentia un boschetar care ne roaga, spre a noastra surprindere, foarte coerent, cu o voce calma, sa-i dam ceva bani pentru o paine. se scotoceste S. gaseste vreo 6 mii (nu stiu sa vorbesc in lei de plumb), ma caut si eu de marunt, tot cam atat. ii intind omului, la care acesta, "imi iei si mie o paine, nu pot sa merg" (avea piciorul bandajat. nu rupt, taiat, mutilat ban-da-jat). tot incercam sa-l conving ca i-am dat bani si sa faca ce vrea cu ei, dar el vroia paine. de unde luasem bere si tigari necartonate nu avea, asa ca S. se hotaraste sa se duca pana la primu' magazin pentru a-i cumpara o paine.
era ceva de mers de unde era el pana la magazin, dar daca tot am incercat sa fac un bine, hai sa-l fac pan' la cap. ajung in piata si in cele din urma, ii iau un kebab. i-l dau si-i zic: "uite mosule, un kebab sa bagi la ghiozdan",moment in care se uita ciudat la mine si-mi spune: "dar are paine?"

"The Earth Turned to Bring Us Closer"

asta-i momentu' in care eu devin feelingos si pun pe blog o poezie. de ce poezia asta ? fin'ca am intalnit-o intr-o pelicula exceptionala, care defineste perfect relatiile interumane si arata ca fiecare actiune indeplinita are o repercursiune mai devreme sau mai tarziu; fata de tine sau fata de altii.




The Earth Turned to Bring Us Closer

by Eugenio Montejo
translated by Peter Boyle

The earth turned to bring us closer,
it spun on itself and within us,
and finally joined us together in this dream
as written in the Symposium.
Nights passed by, snowfalls and solstices;
time passed in minutes and millennia.
An ox cart that was on its way to Nineveh
arrived in Nebraska.
A rooster was singing some distance from the world,
in one of the thousand pre-lives of our fathers.
The earth was spinning with its music
carrying us on board;
it didn't stop turning a single moment
as if so much love, so much that's miraculous
was only an adagio written long ago
in the Symposium's score.

joi, iulie 23, 2009

"mi'am pierdut ideea in timp ce ma gandeam la ea"

la dracu, nu-mi amintesc nicio idee geniala de-aseara. si-am tot zis ca-mi iau spy cam. maa si erau atateaaa !!
mi-am dat seama ca am niste prieteni foarte ciudati (sau macar cu parinti ciudati) cand m-am uitat in lista de messenger si am vazut pe multi ii cheama "dan dan, george george" sau "lori loredana ".
acum lasand pedanteria la o parte, vroiam sa zic ca e o raritate pentru un ciutan in ziua de azi sa aiba un nume romanesc. ei sunt marco, raul sau mai grotesc...rafaela. "ba parinti, voi chiar ca va doriti copii tampiti"
pai unde e ma alinuta (nu sari cu bancuri, e un nume normal) ? unde mortii mei e bogdanel ? azi dai peste micuta ines si peste fabrizio care are 4 ani si inca nu poate sa-si pornunte numele.
cine-i de vina ? pai daca tati-i cu fotbalu', e clar. daca nu, mami cea cu buze siliconate care citeste cosmonautii in voga sau alte adevarate biblii feminine poarta responsabilitatea numelui, la fel de bine cum poarta poseta full accesorizata tip bond...pitzi bond.
ma gandesc c-ar fi o conspiratie (eu cred ca e o conspiratie in orice.....si este va zic io) a..aa aaa cuiva. ca (k), peste 10 ani sa ne integram mai bine printre straini. n-o sa mai stea laura langa michelle la coada la gogosi spatiale, o sa fie larisa. sa vezi atunci ce i se-ntareste inelul francezului.
atat, n-am outro ca ma grabesc sa plec
si nici morala, poti sa-i zici banc sec

“If the devil does not exist, and man has therefore created him, he has created him in his own image and likeness”




miercuri, iulie 22, 2009

pitici pe creier


Alba ca zapada se pregateste sa faca baie.
Piticii, care nu mai vazusera pana atunci o femeie dezbracata, fac coada la usa de la baie, unul in carca celuilalt. Cel de jos il intreaba pe primul:
-Ce face?
-Se dezbraca...Din gura in gura piticii isi transmiteau: se dezbraca...se dezbraca...se dezbraca...
-Acum ce face?
-Se baga in cada...se baga in cada...se baga in cada...
-Dar acum ce face?
-Se sapuneste...se sapuneste...se sapuneste...
-Dar acum ce face?
-Se scoala...si mie...si mie...si mie...!

"cutremurat cu magnitudine record pe scara"































„Eram santinelă pe acoperişul unui important obiectiv militar; adică, deasupra etajului şapte. Noaptea era destul de luminoasă şi de văzut, puteam vedea până departe. Numai că odată parcă n-am mai simţit acoperişul sub picioare. M-am apucat însă bine de ceva şi cu ochii numai primprejur, să văd ce se întâmplă. Dar nu-mi puteam crede ochilor. Cât vedeam cu ochii, toate blocurile se clătinau. Şi toate clădirile se înclinau de-o parte şi de cealaltă ca şi copacii pe furtună. Prima undă a fost pe verticală. Câteva fracţiuni de secundă a părut să înceteze, dar apoi a reînceput pe orizontală. Cerul a crăpat brusc, de parcă stătea să se frângă în două. Am auzit detunături îndepărtate, apoi un zgomot înfundat, care parcă venea de peste tot; se auzea tot mai tare. Apoi a venit un vânt puternic, de era să mă azvârle jos. S-a dus, dar apoi s-a şi întors înapoi, de data asta cu miros greu de ars. Şi p-ormă s-au stins toate luminile... pe cer era un uriaş arc de foc, ca şi cum s-a produs un scurtcircuit în tot oraşul... Şi atunci am zis: «Gata, cred că-i gata oraşul!». (mărturia soldatului Mircea Nemigean din Bucureşti)

click pe una din poze pentru o surpriza.


baa, asta-mi papa cursoru'



marți, iulie 21, 2009

"A stumble may prevent a fall"

















si fin'ca nu era de ajuns ca mai toata lumea petrece prea mult timp in fata calculatorului, am gasit si remediul pentru acele seri lungi linistitoare cand iti ingropi tastatura-n scrum si bucatele mici de Schogetten (a se citi ungureste, c-asa vreau eu) si iti ciuruiesti stomacul cu smoala ursilor polari. se numeste StumbleUpon si este un toolbar. acu' nu te speria, nu e una din barele alea cu multe reclame pop up'uri pornakis si alte cacaturi. nu. asta nu te deranjeaza cu nimic, iti este doar alaturi atunci cand vrei s-o folosesti.
cum sta treaba ? pai foarte simplu, se intra pe site, se ia toolbaru', se lasa la download cateva secunde, apoi se instaleaza la foc mare. se adauga una bucata profil evident cu mail valabil, dupa care se aleg domeniile (dupa gust). se serveste intai cald, ca doar esti curios si apoi rece cand iti aduci aminte de el.
ok, si ce face ? deschizi browserul (asta fiind chestia aia cu care vezi iutub haifaiv si alte cacaturi) si apesi STUMBLE. o sa-ti deschida automat pagini din domeniile selectate anterior. tot felul de lucruri interesante in functie de ce ai bifat tu.
www.stumbleupon.com

duminică, iulie 19, 2009

Cedry2k - Reptilieni (live)


Cedry2k - Reptilieni (live)
Asculta mai multe audio Muzica

De MC e plina tara,
Dar pe mine ma vezi proaspat in atmosfera ca primavara.
Din senin tun si fulger, cine se face ca ploua cade victima,
Trasnit.Metafore cad grindina
Un pic tulburat si s't un pitbull turbat
Sfasiind primul stilul profan din filmul urban.
Le rup filmul brutal la brute ca Silviu Brucan,
Ii fac de ras public ca si Buzdugan
Ca’s redusi la vocabular ca niste perusi
Subestimand acest super MC cu fata de pusti.
Vrajeala papusi, toale de blugi, boala pe pusti,
Fac chei ca Lacatus la ce cu tarseala de dusi.
Vor sa ne rastoarne si au ambitie,
Dar n-au pic de farmec ca vrajitoarele arse de inchizitie.
Cedrea nu doarme decat cu o conditie,
Tre’ sa’i toarne pe cei gata sa toarne la politie
Si am un instinct distinct,
Cand am simtit ca situatia s-a imputit, sunt un animal asmutit,
Ma infig in tine cate putin ca un cutit ascutit
Maruntindu’ti maruntaiele amanuntit.
Stiu ca vrei sub pamant, frate ca minerii,
Da’ acum esti direct in infern ca Dante Alighieri,
Ca.n’am criterii de selectii a tintelor acestui atac isteric
Dupa care cad imperii.
Sunt la ultima etapa introspectiei
Si d'aia tot ce scot e de exceptie, de colectie
Indiferent ca e o lectie cu intentie de corectie
Sau un act barbar fata de care n-ai protectie,
Ca’s ca o bestie, o ard cu indieni
Maya o chestie, scuip beton cu ciment de fieni
Armada nu’s rapperi de fapt sunt reptilieni
Cu ritmu’ cardiac setat la 90 bpm,
Sau o adunatura de lupi maturi de tundra,
Starniti rapid de damfu’ de carne cruda
Si urla din umbra spre turma facand ciobanii sa fuga
Fara macar sa se mai uite’n urma,
Ingroziti ca vor fi incoltiti intr’un colt,
Maruntiti de multi colti ascutiti,sunt muti toti;
Multi morti,raniti atat de sleiti ca intra’n spital pe sub porti
Tu crezi ca suporti cand curat totu’ ? da' nu ca cel mai bun detergent
Curat tot ca bomba cu hidrogen.
Indecent de inteligent si pervers de perseverent cand persiflez impresari
In present o dau cu accent de Berceni ca sa ai un pretext decent
Ca nu pricepi textu’.
Reticent la tot ce percep din moment ce 99 de procente
Din orice concept sunt chiar dogme docente.
Nu’s falit desi ma agit desi’s falit,
Sunt avid sa scuip acid pana esti invalid,
Pana Terra e un inteminabil teren arid,
Ard cat palpit candind a sulf si carbid.

"Ai fata patata de 4 laturi care se-nvart ca Saturn"

a fost odata ca-ntotdeauna si ca oriunde, un grup de tineri care vroia la fel ca orice alt grup sa profite de o sambata seara de vara.
cu un buget redus ca si statul din care provine, grupul s-a hotarat (sau mai degraba, in grup s-a hotarat) sa se mearga la Defilarea Libera.
ce nu stiau ei, era ca aproape toate celelalte grupuri asemanatoare lor se hotarasera sa faca acelasi lucru; si evident la aceleasi ore.
"dotati cu de toate", avand un adevarat arsenal ca wenger, au pus pe drum. dupa 2 ore de futut ambreiaju' si de iesit pe geam sa vad unde-i coada mai mica, mai mai de-oi ajunge mai repede, am reusit sa intru in neptun. nici acuma n-am inteles cum se ajunge in olimp, saturn, venus sau jupiter. statiunile astea erau la fel de neexplorate de mine ca si planetele de nasa.
am gasit intr-un final statiunea venus, am parcat la vreo 2 km de locul cu pricina si ne-am indreptat ca niste zombie spre lasere. nu era damfu' iubirii in venus, cum nici in jupiter nu facea nimeni beaturi.
long story short, am intrat in (nu pot sa-i zic mare) oceanul de oameni, care oameni, erau de tot felu la fel ca meniul unui restaurant decent. despre muzica, nu stiu sa zic nimic, era unu' pe scena si dadea din mixer; dar din ce-am auzit de la "cunoscatorii" batzaielii haus, era naspa.
sufocat de pielea arsa a turistilor, de tigarile de care ma tot loveam si de berea care se varsa pe mine, mi-am facut loc catre iesire. am plecat spre casa dezamagit, nu de atmosfera ci de haosul inutil pe care l-am indurat pe drum.

sâmbătă, iulie 18, 2009

"The average person at a funeral would rather be in the casket than doing the eulogy."

avand in vedere ca-mi place sa vorbesc mai mult decat Cicero in fata snobilor din senat si ca as vrea sa-ti citesc necrologul cu un zambet a la Norman Bates pe fata, in timp ce tu putrezesti in cosciug iar ma-ta inunda sala cu lacrimi, m-am hotarat sa-mi fac blog.
ce-o sa scriu, cat o sa scriu si despre ce..nu stiu
deja-mi dau batai de cap toate setarile, culorile si ororile astea de pe site, dar le invat eu, nu-i problema.
asa...asta a fost primu' post, bun. ne-auzim la urmatoru', sau ma aud ca poate nu citeste nimeni.