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

"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."

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

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...