Si-mi curge parul galben, rauri,
Doar sub ureche, pan’ la umeri,
Si ochii mei albastri sunt ca cerul,
Dar le lipseste sarea si piperul.
La mijloc as fi eu o trastioara,
De nu mananc, da’ burta-o sa doara,
Asa ca bag in mine, ca-nfruptata,
Aripile de pui, cartofii si-nghetata.
Si merg agale si domol pe strada,
Ca toata lumea sa apuce sa ma vada,
Cat de frumoasa mi-s si cat de tare,
Si ce putin imi pasa, cat ma doare.
E simplu rau sa faci matreata,
Doar stii si tu cum e:
Te speli de dimineata,
Si speri ca pana seara trece.
De burta, nici nu indraznesc sa zic,
E-asa usor, aproape natural:
Bagi tot in gura, de la sarma la mic,
Si speri ca nu ajungi de asta data la spital.
Dar stii ce-i tare greu, mai frate?
Sa-ti iei tu viata-n maini,
Sa faci de toate!
E mai usor sa faci nimic si sa amani,
Ca nu-i asa nevoie si de fapte…
Adanc si disperat,
Cuvantul mut
Cauta ce nu mi-a dat
Soarele care-a uitat
Sa mai apuna.
Ma-ntreb daca pacatele mi se aduna
Si stau la vorba,
Sub vreo stea aparte.
Off, doamne,
Cuvantul mi-e departe!
Si scormonit,
Si inlesnit,
Ingenuncheat pe sub carari ascunse,
Cuvantul asta mut si, poate,-un pic acrit
Sta la baza faradelegii nesupuse
Si racaie in mine
Ce nu a gasit in tine.
Iti spun eu – ce se-ntampla nu e bine!
Dar fara tinta, fara scop,
Si poate cu paharul gol, si fara dop,
Cuvantul meu se uita cum se scurge tot.
Eu n-am cu ce, dar vreau sa ma indop!
Si nu stiu, doamne, cum sa fac apoi,
Sa-ncapa-n mine amandoi:
Si bun, si rau,
Si liniste, si zarva.
Mai ca imi vine sa fumez o iarba.
Dar ce folos, ce mare nefolos:
Sufletul meu e tot pe dos,
Si doar cuvantul meu cel mut
Ramas-a arma singura,
Si il ascut…
Strange, sensuous noise comes from up above. Like clockwork, devious, yet kind, warm and fuzzy, the mystery of that feeling is tingling inside me, as soon as I close my eyes, as soon as I start whispering sweet nothings to myself.
From beneath me, dark matter once ridden with boots and heels and shoes that maybe won’t fit your feet properly is vehemently hellish, molding itself underneath my body. Everything sparks and aches at the same time, and I only wonder where you are.
I’m standing here, in between these worlds. Those plans that bear with me, so little, yet so important, so fearful, yet so loud – I love those plans. Mostly because they have sounds and colors, they have warmth and cold, they have terror and hope.
They also have you.
Pic.
dumnezeul meu m-a facut din bucati de satana,
mi-a dat si sange rau si rele – o gramada,
si fara bine, fara stele si fara lumina
el m-a lasat, acum cine-i de vina?
cand dumnezeul meu se joaca cu supusa,
mie imi sta pe limba si nespusa
injuratura de podoaba de sihastru
offf, doamne, cerul tau e prea albastru.
si mult prea gri de mult prea multa zare,
mai du-te dracu, tu cu-a ta carare!
tu, cu talentul tau de-a face bine,
in special atunci cand uiti de mine…
Oscar, who’s a good boy?
Who licks my face
and wins the race?
Who eats up all my chocolate
before having the latte,
and who the fuck barks for no reason,
other than it’s the fucking season?
Oh, Oscar, when will you be mine?
It seems like there’s so much time
that has to pass between now and then,
and time and time again
all I can think of is
hairy paws
and smiley jaws,
the crooked teeth of love and
oh, the smell of piss.
I wanna laugh and just be awesome, but when I forget how to do that, I just stare blankly at the reflection in the mirror and drool.
But why do I drool?
Know won noes, Carl. No one knows.
I wanna drive like a maniac, but I don’t wanna maniac like a drive. I just want to speed up, speed down, and wear the crown of a crazy person in dire need of a life.
Dammit, Carl. Why are you being such a prick?
I guess it’s because you have mommy issues, or maybe it’s because your mom has issues with you. You fucked up, Carl, and you are a fuck up. So who the fuck cares?!
OMG, Carl! Grow up already! And stop sucking your thumbs. And stop chewing your mom!