"E greu să fii ce eşti şi totuşi Să nu poţi precum eşti trăi, Să ai palate multe-n visuri Şi să n-ai unde odihni."

Virgil Carianopol - Contraste


Sunt bucurii care-ntristeaza,
Sunt întristari ce fericesc,
Sunt zile fara de lumina
Si nopti adânci ce stralucesc.

Sunt adevaruri ce doboara
Si sunt minciuni care ridica,
Sunt împarati, atotputernici
Ce însa tremura de frica.

Sunt vieti ce-au stralucit în viata,
Dar când s-au stins parca n-au fost,
Palate care nu pot tine
Cât o cocioaba adapost.

Sunt oameni albi pe dinafara,
Dar negri în adâncul lor
Si negri în afara, negri,
Da-n ei de-un alb stralucitor.

Sunt dulciuri ce-amarasc ca fierea,
Dar si amaruri ce-ndulcesc
Sunt nedreptati care îndreapta,
Dreptati care nedreptatesc.

Sunt multe contradictii, multe:
Sunt uri adânci ce nasc iubiri,
Sunt suferinti ce-aduc lumina
Si fericiri nefericiri!...



Virgil Carianopol - Din Viata


Mi-a batut în poarta Fericirea
Si intrând în curte m-a strigat.
Eram dus alaturi cu iubirea.
A-nchis poarta iute si-a plecat.

Mi-a batut de-asemeni Bucuria.
A intrat, a stat sub pomii goi.
N-a vazut pe nimeni sa-i vorbeasca
Si-a plecat grabita înapoi.

Într-o seara, luminând pe strada,
Mi-a batut si Steaua mea — de sus
Tot asa, eram plecat aproape,
Si-a strâns fusta-n mâna si s-a dus.

Mi-a batut în poarta si Necazul.
Eram dus departe. Linistit,
S-a întins pe tolul de la usa
Si m-a asteptat pâna-am venit.


Despre mine - fragment

Am trecut prin toate ca oricare,
Am iertat pe cei ce m-au lovit,
Am cântat, că fără cântul-soare
Până azi de mult aş fi murit.

Ciudat - fragment

Ciudat. Eu sunt un om sărac,
Dar la o umbră dacă stau,
De unde am, de unde nu am,
Ceva tot trebuie să dau.

avem prea putin timp prietene, asa ca :

urca pe bloc c-o sticla gaurita, uita-te in jos, fa poze, ramai incuiat acolo
mergi la statuie pe plafonu' masinii, tipa, bucura-te profita de singuratate, fara limite. reguli dispar, e libertate. tipa din nou, asculta-ti ecou'
seara da o fuga, fa o baie in pula goala, sari de la pietre,
ia-ti cortu-n spate fugi in vama, fara acte iti redefinesti identitatea
uita unde-ai parcat, urca-te in alta masina
intra cu masina pe plaja, ramai acolo, chinuie-te s-o scoti
urca 200 de scari cu spatele hahahaaa...
fa abstractie de tigani si da-te in ciocan, centrifuga sau top gun
mergi in parc, cazi in lac, inchiriaza o barca, da-te-n leagan, fugi de caini
du-te-ntr'un bar, ia o narghilea si tuneaz-o cum stii mai bine
ia boabe, opreste pe dreapta..."auzi, da' n-ai crema d-aia la tine?"
fa karaoke, fii TU insuti, invata "tu"
intra-n silenzio stampa, urmareste, vezi din afara
mergi pe jos pana-n centru, cumpara tigari cu doar 2 lei
du-te la concert, canta cu ei, raguseste cu ei
vino praf dimineata acasa, adormi imbracat.iar maine, ia-o de la cap

!!! CTC - NOROC !!!

CTC - Noroc
Asculta mai multe audio Muzica

"eu sunt DOC, ala care bea apa, scuipa foc

eu sunt VD, am mai mereu ceva nou pe stoc

eu sunt DEL, ti-am zis, cad bine pe beat ca boc

noi suntem CTC, asa ca faceti loc"

sursa: http://facemrecords.ro/blog/2009/07/ctc-noroc-exclusive-new-shit/
da mai departe, tata !!!

Deliric freestyle

cu acordul artistului, o bucata tare draga mie:


deliric freestyle
Asculta mai multe audio Muzica

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

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

"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."