..and stayreal

here

Tightenup

Great band. Great video.

dead man

painting by Winston Chmielinski

Its exhausting.
To live on a fraud for too long
But if you start admitting it?
No, I mean..
what's the use
to put a band-aid on
a clean dry cut
Anyway?
just this,
what's the use if
You can die


running with scissors.

Stone cold

Yes, a sip I took made me want -want, not get- more. There was drinking, but sir, why do you fancy me as drunk? Things got just a little bit hazy. Now that's the point. I'm stone cold sober. Let me tell you something, there's nothing cheap as words. You must forget, too, what I said tonight. The mad sickness had left me now. My blood went cold. And sir, a few days will remove all that I said. And that last hour- it passed right there. Once conceived, I can't undo it. I can assure you, it will haunt me forever, with all the extraordinary details. But I'm stone cold..sober, sir. Please excuse my frequent pauses, I'm just wondering how did I enter the room in the first place. It was that horrible drink, sir. It was that horrible, horrible drink.

modays is for drinking to the seldom seen kid.

easy like a sunday

I'm still having a lazy Sunday (extended over Monday) here in my bed, and I am proud to say that I haven't really left it the entire day. I'm plotting my "London-adventure" with Miro, and I think it's about time I started packing. Maybe later. I'm craving rainy chilly foggy London days. I'm so sick of this exhausting, suffocating midsummer weather, there is literally no air! it's obstructed by all those buildings or whatever. The old 'toxic clouds' shit.





[flower-patterned boots are my new (reloaded) obsession. I'm having a rough time trying to find a pair, same old 2 issues: shoes and hats. Of course I don't really need them, I just bought a new pair of boots, and I still have the old ones, and there will always be all those pairs of snickers that not even my mother saw because I never really wear them.]
But how COOL are they?

*late edit: why are there SO MANY people in London wearing Dr. Martens, when you can't find Dr.Martens in any shop ? i can't believe them!*

good eeevening! good, good evening..
god, i love british people.

"I dress to kill, but tastefully"

a few inspirational photos (stolen from old fashion magazine editorials that i can't really remember), i guess i needed them here

genius

i don't really use this word, "genius", but this man, he's..oh my goodness.



Born like this
Into this
As the chalk faces smile
As Mrs. Death laughs
As the elevators break
As political landscapes dissolve
As the supermarket bag boy holds a college degree
As the oily fish spit out their oily prey
As the sun is masked
We are
Born like this
Into this
Into these carefully mad wars
Into the sight of broken factory windows of emptiness
Into bars where people no longer speak to each other
Into fist fights that end as shootings and knifings
Born into this
Into hospitals which are so expensive that it's cheaper to die
Into lawyers who charge so much it's cheaper to plead guilty
Into a country where the jails are full and the madhouses closed
Into a place where the masses elevate fools into rich heroes
Born into this
Walking and living through this
Dying because of this
Muted because of this
Castrated
Debauched
Disinherited
Because of this
Fooled by this
Used by this
Pissed on by this
Made crazy and sick by this
Made violent
Made inhuman
By this
The heart is blackened
The fingers reach for the throat
The gun
The knife
The bomb
The fingers reach toward an unresponsive god
The fingers reach for the bottle
The pill
The powder
We are born into this sorrowful deadliness
We are born into a government 60 years in debt
That soon will be unable to even pay the interest on that debt
And the banks will burn
Money will be useless
There will be open and unpunished murder in the streets
It will be guns and roving mobs
Land will be useless
Food will become a diminishing return
Nuclear power will be taken over by the many
Explosions will continually shake the earth
Radiated robot men will stalk each other
The rich and the chosen will watch from space platforms
Dante's Inferno will be made to look like a children's playground
The sun will not be seen and it will always be night
Trees will die
All vegetation will die
Radiated men will eat the flesh of radiated men
The sea will be poisoned
The lakes and rivers will vanish
Rain will be the new gold
The rotting bodies of men and animals will stink in the dark wind
The last few survivors will be overtaken by new and hideous diseases
And the space platforms will be destroyed by attrition
The petering out of supplies
The natural effect of general decay
And there will be the most beautiful silence never heard
Born out of that.
The sun still hidden there
Awaiting the next chapter.

-bukowski, monumental asshole, and a fucking genius

URL: http://able2know.org/topic/91839-1

He came from New York city, man,

but he couldn't take the pace.

(clik for a better look)

i just returned home, and even though it probably seems it isn't so worth it to be mentioned, i saw an incredibly well dressed male on the street. it sounds very childish and unimportant, but i think it isn't, really. i find romanians very ugly, not physically speaking, not necessarily. but because of their way to be. the way they dress, talk, act. the way they move their hands, their attitude while walking down the street, with an impassible expression, looking down. so yes, it is a big deal.
i hate it that 99% of all the guys my age are under the impression that dressing well is synonymous with "BRO I'M NOT A GAY LORD", "Nah man I can't wear those pants IT RESTRICTS MY TESTICLE FREEDOM!!"
just saying.

and the Ass saw the Angel

"And in this lavender hell ah lay, upon a bed of tangled vine, and all the spinning webs did leave a sticky grey veil about mah face. And when she did appear, floating above all the desecration, her pinions fanned the scattered offerings up into a pile of hair and skin and bone, of paper and ash, of feather, tooth and nail, of blood and rags, and fractured glass and consumed them all in sudden fire that leaped and licked the tips of her wings and crackled unnerfoot. And though the hood of web masked mah eyes, ah could see the sad and sultry aspect of her face, and her hair worn loose, and her damp, swelling breasts, her painted lips and nails and her heavy-lidded eyes - and though mah ears were wraped in web, ah could hear her slow breathing and the lazy turn of her words as she told me that ah must know mah enemy. "

contemplate
the sky,
the stars from the bed
'here i am
again'
nevermore
than when you realize
that the infinite you
billions you
are broken shattered pieces
of very few

'let me buy you a drink'

another drink? i lost track already. at least he's paying for this one. i can't remember the last time i've been bought a drink. with every dress i took off, with every night i wasted, i watched my youth and beauty linger. pretty much the typical scenario. but who can complain when covered in gold and surrounded by luxury?

i swore i'll shoot his head off if i'll see him again. they will hunt me down and kill me one morning on my way to the post office, i won't even get to enjoy a bitter touch of satisfaction. it scares the living shit out of me that they will burry me alive. all i can do is hope they will shoot me in the head too, they can't miss it that way.

i'm in New York state of mind

i recovered some pieces
of my old blog
because i'm not over
just yet
and i will start all over.

Prelude

it was on that one night when he saw her getting out of the bathroom, wearing only a diaphanous nightrobe. svelte and graceful. he thought that she probably forgot about the male guests, but he had always been a bit too naive. he never noticed her before, in their early childhood. they had separate governesses. he could only hear her voice wading slowly through the rooms.

next morning, they accidentaly bumped into each other. at least that's what he thought. yet right there he could only think about ripping her hat off and taking a hand full of her long blonde hair, crashing her rose, almost surreal lips into a brutal kiss. he flinged away the horrible thought.

'you've grown into a fine woman, sis'

she blushed terribly, and rushed down the stairs, because not even in their later relationship she could admit her feelings for him.

apart

His silent words linger into evanescence like the thin trail of smoke from my cigarette. And I have absolutely no idea what to say to that. Never expected to hear such things from him. Never improvises, never surprises. Looks me in the eye. His enigmatic smile. His affirmation makes my mind tossing about, I weight and confront every word, words in an endless echo.

I take one more drag from my smoke, I feel the last sip of whiskey down my throat. He is nervous, he's got that look in his eyes. The light flickers all around his pupils. Low lip is shaking. Doesn't look me in the eye anymore.

'Got nothing to say to me now?'

He's peering into the extensive darkness down the empty street.

'We should get those curtains replaced, every one can see us from the other side.'

A car passed fast, the flashing lights illuminated his face in a different shade. He seemed sad, hopeless. I saw him for a second, like a chimera. Everything went back to darkness again. I try taking another sip, but the bottle's empty.

'So that's it?'

I flick another cigarette. Boy, he's mad.

I let my head fall to his shoulder. We watch the distant city lights through the window. Everything else seems so far away, no, it's just us, unreachable, in infinite darkness. It almost feels lonely. I try to escape from his embrace. I feel his look on me. He is burning. The empty bottle smashes on our kitchen floor. The door slams. I watch his shadow skip across the asphalt. I watch him struggle with rage. I watch him disappear towards the city. I don't know why, but I feel relieved, like it does make sense for the first time. I feel it's the right thing to do. So does he. I take one last drag from my smoke. Darkness fades, it's breaking dawn.

Lost

I rest the glass against the curb, tuck my hands under my legs, I feel a so familiar warm sensation coasting the walls of my empty stomach. I hate waiting. Makes me nervous. Makes me want to jump off a bridge. Unbearable pressure. She negated the words with a shrug of shoulders. But I could still see a thought in her eyes. She gave herself to me on the back of a limo and never returned. I took off to another city. Subtly glances, rustling skirts, gentle curves, cheap perfume. I'm tired of chasing something so..languorous. Women make me loose myself. All I can feel is that bothersome irritating sensation on the back of my neck. I feel that I'm wrong, yet I was never right . I feel homesick, yet I don't have a home. I feel empty, yet I never felt complete. I'm turning into pieces. Intriguing fact, I still remember how she tasted like. Delightful torture the perfume she printed to my mind. The acme of the universe culminated in a single unadorned, gracious gesture of her's. Lost, excruciating pain.

Dream

You walk barefoot on pieces of broken glass shattered at your feet. Never go out with strangers that can drop you without shoes in such a place. Hear infants crying, burned in fires they can't understand. A woman, crouched in pain, bruised, in a battered wrap, crushing your feet, begging and crawling. Fall. Feel the sharp glass cutting into your skin. Get up and run. Away, as far as possible. You sink deep in darkness, crawl in pain and suffering. Streams of red torrent out of an eventful stream, and still there you swim, bathed in the darkness you decay. Then nothing. Suffocating nothing, eating and scratching. Death. Taking no prisoners while it follows the Path, saying words that twist their minds. Its scythe cutting into soft flesh. Broken winged butterflies, blood drops. Glass remains waiting for your toes to cut the mist and land where they deem forbidden.
Wake up, nothing to be afraid of.

J.Green

"What is an ‘instant death’ anyway? How long is an instant? Is it one second? Ten? The pain of those seconds must have been awful as her heart burst and her lungs collapsed and there was no air and no blood to her brain and only raw panic. What the hell is an instant? Nothing is instant. Instant rice takes 5 minutes, instant pudding an hour. I doubt that an instant of blinding pain feels particularly instantaneous."

(The Tumor)