| (no subject) |
[Nov. 8th, 2007|10:54 pm] |
|
i wrote this when i was 18, i think. it shows.
зима, ночь полнолунья, кончен бал погасли свечи в лампе геморройной луна взобралась на бесхозный пьедестал и мягко в стену лбом стучит конвойный и память из последних сил сжимает меч борясь с беспамятством, тогда как я, устало, снимаю плащ с покатых узких плеч и ме-едленно ползу под одеяло я брежу. мне мерещится: мой мозг подобен раскаленному горнилу в котором черти в преисподней плавят воск чтобы залить им скорбную долину где следовало б сделать эшафот но плотники алтарь возвигли праздный мелькает в тучах звездый кашалот с разинутую пастью безобразной я свет включаю (ибо не до сна) по тумбочке рукою тонкой шаря и вижу в зеркале: во лбу горит звезда и освещает оба полушарья |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Nov. 4th, 2007|11:27 am] |
as i drink my morning coffee reading the news with the sun rising behind my back and the shadow of the venetian blind creeping across my desk like the ladder that jacob saw in his dream and joseph in the pit dreamed about i suddenly realise that in africa it is already afternoon and you've already read your news and drank your coffee |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Jan. 26th, 2007|01:45 am] |
|
хорошему предела нет о чем мечтал ты сколько лет осуществить совсем несложно когда терпеть уж невозможно возьми у друга пистолет |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Jul. 23rd, 2006|09:56 pm] |
there's a door in this wall but you lost the key. you've walked a thousand miles to be here. it's amusing how now and then to be is to loiter aimlessly between far and near. turn the page, burn the book, meaning: build an altar. things that weep, things that slam, figures and equations for the casual photographer with his old minolta just a scene, just a frame, a sort of abbreviation of life. time with motion detracted. pointless. fleeting like the ghost of your dead older brother. having said that, do you think he's just out of focus? not that you could change that one way or another... all the points considered, you may run or crawl depending on the disposition of the guard in china but given enough time, even the largest wall will crumble. and it will be caught on camera. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[May. 14th, 2006|09:57 pm] |
ah, what the hell, for lack of anything else... i posted it on my myspace profile:
i'd rather be a follower than a leader gay people would call me a breeder i'm a drinker, but not a smoker and i'm a better listenner than a stalker talker |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[May. 3rd, 2006|05:22 pm] |
i saw freedom in a dream it had many wheels and a steam- powered engine it was a train in the direction of future, in which i hop another train, that looks like a brother to the one i'm on and that one, in turn carries me so far away that i can't tell where we are, but a cry of another train changes the landscape, makes it familiar. i transfer yet again. amid motion i am motionless. in a sea of sounds i am silent. it was all predicted by nostradamus who said "rock on, baby!" and pulled the lever and so i know not when, if ever time will come to turn back head home and make it in time for dinner. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[May. 1st, 2006|11:20 am] |
perhaps only jakeology and namastaei know the reason why night always follows the day unlike giants who stand on ice and spit lava i'm but a pink war elephant that cried mama all the things you loved rode away on a train what is love but a comical chemical imbalance in the brain i could do with more whisky and less drama i'm a pink war elephant that cried mama mental harpies smile at you, don't be alarmed from this fire we shall emerge unharmed some will call you hitler, some - dalai lama some will call you a pink-war-elephant-that-cried-mama |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Apr. 24th, 2006|08:11 pm] |
it is six a.m. and i can't sleep not because i don't want to, not at all reading poets who've never lived parts of nothing that make up a whole trying new ways to look for new ways i may run, i may hide, i may die i can probably master the bass i can even move to bed-stuy but there's something i shan't forget: that some people who never lived sometimes do deserve more respect than some others who actually did |
|
|
| navigation |
| [ |
viewing |
| |
most recent entries |
] |
| |
|
|