viernes, agosto 12, 2011
face of a political candidate on a street billboard
there he is:
not too many hangovers
not too many fights with women
not too many flat tires
never a thought of suicide
not more than three toothaches
never missed a meal
never in jail
never in love
(Charles Bukowski, Play the piano, drunk, as a percussion instrument until the fingers begin to bleed a bit)
not too many hangovers
not too many fights with women
not too many flat tires
never a thought of suicide
not more than three toothaches
never missed a meal
never in jail
never in love
(Charles Bukowski, Play the piano, drunk, as a percussion instrument until the fingers begin to bleed a bit)
// posted by Raul @ 15:57 
Comments:
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Colgadísimo, pero...
Por la composición me recordó a un tema de Radiohead...
more productive
comfortable
not drinking too much
regular exercise at the gym (3 days a week)
getting on better with your associate employee contemporaries
at ease
eating well (no more microwave dinners and saturated fats)
a patient better driver
a safer car (baby smiling in back seat)
sleeping well (no bad dreams)
no paranoia
careful to all animals (never washing spiders down the plughole)
keep in contact with old friends (enjoy a drink now and then)
will frequently check credit at (moral) bank (hole in wall)
favours for favours
fond but not in love
charity standing orders
on sundays ring road supermarket
(no killing moths or putting boiling water on the ants)
car wash (also on sundays)
no longer afraid of the dark
or midday shadows
nothing so ridiculously teenage and desperate
nothing so childish
at a better pace
slower and more calculated
no chance of escape
now self-employed
concerned (but powerless)
an empowered and informed member of society (pragmatism not idealism)
will not cry in public
less chance of illness
tires that grip in the wet (shot of baby strapped in back seat)
a good memory
still cries at a good film
still kisses with saliva
no longer empty and frantic
like a cat
tied to a stick
that's driven into
frozen winter shit (the ability to laugh at weakness)
calm
fitter, healthier and more productive
a pig
in a cage
on antibiotics
Por la composición me recordó a un tema de Radiohead...
more productive
comfortable
not drinking too much
regular exercise at the gym (3 days a week)
getting on better with your associate employee contemporaries
at ease
eating well (no more microwave dinners and saturated fats)
a patient better driver
a safer car (baby smiling in back seat)
sleeping well (no bad dreams)
no paranoia
careful to all animals (never washing spiders down the plughole)
keep in contact with old friends (enjoy a drink now and then)
will frequently check credit at (moral) bank (hole in wall)
favours for favours
fond but not in love
charity standing orders
on sundays ring road supermarket
(no killing moths or putting boiling water on the ants)
car wash (also on sundays)
no longer afraid of the dark
or midday shadows
nothing so ridiculously teenage and desperate
nothing so childish
at a better pace
slower and more calculated
no chance of escape
now self-employed
concerned (but powerless)
an empowered and informed member of society (pragmatism not idealism)
will not cry in public
less chance of illness
tires that grip in the wet (shot of baby strapped in back seat)
a good memory
still cries at a good film
still kisses with saliva
no longer empty and frantic
like a cat
tied to a stick
that's driven into
frozen winter shit (the ability to laugh at weakness)
calm
fitter, healthier and more productive
a pig
in a cage
on antibiotics
# posted by 
: 2:15 p.m.
: 2:15 p.m.
Buenisimo, Guada!
Para contestarte con altura te dejo otro poema, creo que de Mauro Fernández, que acabo de encontrar boludeando en Internet (pero no le digas a nadie que estoy boludeando):
A los dieciséis janis joplin sin sostén
es elegida el chico más feo del colegio
A los quince se acuesta con una amiga
A los diecisiete se va de austin texas
A los dieciocho toma vodka
A los diecinueve se quiere casar y cose un acolchado
A los veinte tiene cicatrices en los brazos.
A los veintiuno pesa treinta y nueve,
se junta con negros,
canta rythm & blues,
y todavía no grita
A los veintisiete se muere
A los veintidós ya grita
a los veintitrés se enamora
A los veinticuatro es famosa
A los veintiséis llora por otro hombre
y se le corre mucho la sombra de los párpados
Publicar un comentario
Para contestarte con altura te dejo otro poema, creo que de Mauro Fernández, que acabo de encontrar boludeando en Internet (pero no le digas a nadie que estoy boludeando):
A los dieciséis janis joplin sin sostén
es elegida el chico más feo del colegio
A los quince se acuesta con una amiga
A los diecisiete se va de austin texas
A los dieciocho toma vodka
A los diecinueve se quiere casar y cose un acolchado
A los veinte tiene cicatrices en los brazos.
A los veintiuno pesa treinta y nueve,
se junta con negros,
canta rythm & blues,
y todavía no grita
A los veintisiete se muere
A los veintidós ya grita
a los veintitrés se enamora
A los veinticuatro es famosa
A los veintiséis llora por otro hombre
y se le corre mucho la sombra de los párpados
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