DramatisPersonae

Skru ju, eshol!

makes you wonder...

pesma od Lovecrafta... The Conscript I am a peaceful working man, I am not wise or strong, But I can follow Nature's plan, In labour, rest, and song. One day the men that rule us all Decided we must die, Else pride and freedom surely fall In the dim bye and bye! They told me I must write my name Upon a scroll of death; That some day I should rise to fame By giving up my breath. I do not know what I have done That I should thus be bound To wait for tortures one by one And then an unmark'd mound. I hate no man, and yet they say That I must fight and kill; That I must suffer day by day To please a master's will. I used to have a conscience free, But now they bid it rest; They've made a number out of me, And I must ne'er protest. They tell of trenches, long and deep, Fill'd with the mangled slain. They talk till I can scarcely sleep, So reeling is my brain. They tell of filth, and blood, and woe; Of things beyond belief; Of things that make me tremble so With mingled fright and grief. I do not know what I shall do - Is not the law unjust? I can't do what they want me to, And yet they say I must! Each day my doom doth nearer bring; Each day the State prepares; Sometimes I feel a watching thing That stares, and stares, and stares. I never seem to sleep - my head Whirls in the queerest way. Why am I chosen to be dead Upon some fateful day? Yet hark - some fibre is o'erwrought A giddying wine I quaff - Things seem so odd, I can do naught But laugh, and laugh, and laugh!

ja ne zelim da budem pesnikiji od nekoga ko to zeli... ovo nije takmichenje... No, u svakom sluchaju, hvala ti... Opet.

Pa nisi ti... Ali tvoj drug?...???

Shta ti se svidja, pesma ili moje dojebavanje sa Azalom?

...Uvek!

erm... Hvala... Ne bih se bash nazvao "pesnikom" al' kad insistirash...

Meny meny...

To a more drearer Sir, ( ) Well, I bid you meny thanks for noticing my little problems in my "ode to bereavement", but, lest is sicker a view of a sick'nd? And woe betide him who in others see what the sightless eyes hath created. Oh, but no! Lest in this woe is me! But I keep you assured that no oedipal thought hath crossed my mind. And as thy mind confine within this world, as such hast this "weed" my vine. (bare not in mind that when I say a vine, I do mean vine...) And dare you I, to drink this cup that everyone has drank but none has inebriated gone... Thus here I do embrace this emptiness that everyone has bequeath'd me. And in it I find my red, and I do pledge it whole for this vainly bacchanalia and vainglore of petty-humans. jest with me, I approve, just pass on that brandy when thou art done... (but save some for me ) *As I breathe my last breathe of rain. second breathe is a spelling flaw, mind me not! For I shall berave it of it's e. E. Trust me, you whouldn't like my mother... But, still I can call you to set you up with a "poetry and metaphors in easy twenty-one steps" book. Better regards, Your modest pupil.

Pa poprilichno je jednostavno... Rain je zivot.

Uvek! Hell yeah!

Dok su ljudi ovde ochekivali da prochitaju kako je umro, ja sam nestrpljivo ochekivao kako cesh isprichati da je jebo ovcu, kozu, itd.

Ma jeli? Shto ne volish Thee?

e, da, bjuti in blek, dobar... avatar.

Could it be that it's the end of the world, all the things that we cherish and love..... neshto neshto pichke materine... 'cos I am the chosen one....

nisi se u opshte israla... Ha! Pa sad kad ja gledam ovo i ispada kao gomila nabacanih sranja... ali to je samo tako shto to nema svoju pravu svrhu, a pre svega ni rimu... a u sushtini je sranje ne vidjeno. Nem' pojma shto ga u opshte i postovah... To je neuspeli pokushaj... 'teo sam da sledeci pojam bude u kontrastu sa prvim... kao npr.: this weeps for thee, a onda oh the empty! sledi da oznachi trenutno osecanje... a kako mozesh plakati kad si prazan? A onda ide praznina, a plache mi se... pa da se meni plache, onda ne bih bio prazan... E, onda je ishla pauza, tj. mushterije su krenule da naviru, poshto sam ovo pisao na poslu... i onda sam dobio drugachiji tok misli... gledao sam pokislu ulicu, pa stoga poshto nije bilo kishe, a tmurni oblaci kao da ce da govna padaju: He watches... A osim toga, ovo He watches mozesh protumachiti i na drugachije nachine... I poshto sam se setio kontrrasta, a beshe tih otac kishe sledi: And rain falls upon empty street, ciljajuci na sliku praznine u meni. (dok pada kisha, a zapravo je sve suvo) No man at all, je tu zato shto ja radim sa ljudima... tj. njihovim povrshnim motivima, porivima, i izbezumljenostima... (radim u trafici... jednom je neki deda potego noz na mog brata zato shto mu ovaj nije hteo van radnog vremena dati cigare...) Ustajali miris mochvare (*mos - arhaichni izraz, germanski, stari engl. znachi mochvara) prezentuje neshto ubudjalo, istrunelo... a sledece: crusted soul, znachi da se oko nechega stvorila kora, a to neshto obichno nije ubudjalo... I teshka magla pada na noge,tj. spusta se... a sunce plache u svoj svojoj sreci tj. sija. Dok ja plachem za tobom, Empty. Ovo dok ja plachem za tobom i Empty necu komentarisati, tj. objashnjavati jer je lichne prirode. U stavri, ceo motiv je bio to kako ja treba da priznam nekome da sam ga lagao 2 i neshto godine, u vezi nechega... Ali, verujte mi, ja ovde nisam negativac.

This weeps for thee, oh the empty! This void hurts me, why can't I cry? Silent is the rain's father, He watches now. And rain falls upon empty street, no man at all! Fusty scent of moss, my crusted soul. And the heavy air falls at feet, the sun cries in bliss, As I weepeth for thee, oh, my, Empty. Diadem for fool's mask, Crown me, without guilt, King of meek.

I hear you and obey!

O.k, o.k. Izvinjavam se, mishljenje promenjeno. Super su pesme.

O.k. moram priznati da ja ne pohvaljujem chesto stvari iz srca, ali u ovom sluchaju moram napraviti izuzetak; jer kao shto su i drugi primetili i rekli, tvoji teshki opisi i dinamika pesme kao da ostavljaju miris smrti u vazduhu. I naravno taj osecaj tuge i nemocnosti.

ma bice meni 32. Decembar sa 300 kinti u dzepu pa sve do petog kad je plata... Pu jebem ti internet! A shto se pesmice tiche, ne ostavlja ona utisak neshto jachi nego druge, nego je samo kraca pa je vi mozete porobnije propratiti... tj. pokushavati je tumachiti. tj. naci vishe sebe nego u nechemu shto je vishe opisano. tj. zvuchnije vam ostavlja dojam jer je kratka. ma shta ja koji kurac gledam ovo kad ne znam ni da chitam!?? @blondie: smeo

I shall drink this dried-up cup of rain I shall pledge it with it’s red to your beverage, For worlds are shattered and meld anew For puny people in shade of your hue. Stay brave now, my mother of pain, As I breathe my last breathe of rain. If this life is but to suffer I return to thee, my pain-mother. And inside, I won’t become a part of you, Every destiny is one; I will become you. 04.07. 2005

Vidi gnjurca voda mu do... I shta bi sad bez rime? More ne bi imalo plime. A samim tim gnjurac gine... Osim ako se odelo ne skine. Ali onda nam ne trebaju rime, Jer gnjurac nema gde da zagine. njeee...