Eдна седмица в музика :)

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Sunday

Кажи ми за какво си тук, аз дойдох за да изчезна

Чудесно живо изпълнение на REM



I dragged my feet across a seat
Jumped out the passenger side
The only thing worth looking for
Is what you find inside

But that had not yet appeared
Lost invisible here.
Tel Aviv and Agadir
Tone deaf for almost
Before I learned to see
The vanishing point appeared.

I looked for you everywhere
I looked for you everywhere.

There is a calm I haven't come to yet
I spent half my life figuring what comes next
I telescoped in I finally win
I finally win the prize

That now my eyes see comets perfect timing squeeze
Head first fighting everything
The crushing force of memory
Erasing all I've been
The vanishing point appeared.

I looked for you everywhere.
I looked for you everywhere.
Tell me why you're here.
I came to disappear.

Look at this face
Can you believe it?
Am I living in the beautiful vacuum?
Because I can't see it
The vanishing point appears.

I looked for you everywhere.
I looked for you everywhere.
Tell me why you're here.
I came to disappear.
Tell me why you're here.
I came to disappear.
I came to disappear.

На изток от рая

И любимите ми цитати от тази велика книга на Стайнбек:

Just as there are physical monsters, can there not be mental or psychic monsters born? The face and body may be perfect, but if a twisted gene or malformed egg can produce physical monsters, may not the same process produce a malformed soul?

Monsters are variations from the accepted normal to a greater or a less degree. As a child may be born without an arm, so one may be born without kindness or the potential of conscience. A man who loses his arms in an accident has a great struggle to adjust himself to the lack, but one born without arms suffers only from people who find him strange. Having never had arms, he cannot miss them. To a monster the norm must seem monstrous, since everyone is normal to himself. To the inner monster it must be even more obscure, since he has no visible thing to compare with others. To a criminal, honesty is foolish. You must not forget that a monster is only a variation, and that to a monster the norm is monstrous.

Щом има такива физически уроди, не може ли да се допусне, че ще се раждат и умствени, психически страшилища? В лице и тяло може да са съвършени, но ако един ненормален ген или деформирана яйцеклетка могат да произведат физически изрод, не е ли възможно същият процес да доведе и до една деформирана душа?

В по-голяма или по-малка степен чудовищата са отклонения от общоприетата норма. Както едно дете може да се роди без ръка, така може да се роди и без човещина или без никакви наченки на съвест. […] Не, за урода уродливото е нормалното, понеже всеки е нормален за себе си. Сигурно още по-объркано е това за духовните чудовища- видимо те с нищо не се отличават от останалите. За човек, роден без съвест, душевната болка навярно изгежда смешна. За престъпника честността е глупост. Не бива да забравяме, че чудовището е само едно отклонение и че за чудовището нормалното е чудовищно.

In uncertainty I am certain that underneath their topmost layers of frailty men want to be good and want to be loved. Indeed, most of their vices are attempted shortcuts to love. When a man comes to die, no matter what his talents and influence and genius, if he dies unloved his life must be a failure to him and his dying a cold horror. It seems to me that if you or I must choose between two courses of thought or action, we should remember our dying and try to live that our death brings no pleasure to the world.

We have only one story. All novels, all poetry, are built on the never-ending contest in ourselves of good and evil. And it occurs to me that evil must constantly respawn, while good, while virtue, is immortal. Vice has always a new fresh young face, while virtue is venerable as nothing else in the world is.

С цялата си несигурност, в едно съм сигурен: под горния пласт на своята слабохарактерност хората искат да бъдат добри и да ги обичат. Повечето пороци практически са опит да стигнат по най-късия път до обичта. Стигне ли човек до смъртта, нищо, че е бил може би способен, с влияние, гениален, умира ли необичан, животът му положително изглежда провал, а самата смърт - смразяващ ужас. И ми се струва, че ако вие или аз трябва да избираме между два пътя на мисълта и действието, длъжни сме да помним, че ще умрем, следователно нека се опитаме да живеем така, че нашата смърт да не носи облекчение на света.

Една единствена приказка. Всички романи и стихове са изградени на неспирния конфликт между доброто и злото у нас. И ми хрумва, че докато злото трябва постоянно да се оплодява, доброто, добродетелите са безсмъртни. Порокът вечно се прикрива с нов, привлекателен и жизнен лик, докато добродетелите, за разлика от всичко друго на света, са вековни.

Of silence

За тишината - дали наистина е геният на глупците и достойнство за мъдрите? Няколко любими цитата и прекрасен стих на О. Уайлд:

It is better wither to be silent, or to say things of more value than silence. Sooner throw a pearl at hazard than an idle or useless word; and do not say a little in many words, but a great deal in a few.
Pythagoras

Silence is the genius of fools and one of the virtues of the wise.
Pope Boniface VIII

It is better to be silent and be thought a fool, than to speak and remove all doubt.
Abraham Lincoln

I have often regretted my speech, never my silence.
Publilius Syrus

Silence is golden when you can't think of a good answer.
Muhammad Ali

Three things are ever silent--Thought, Destiny, and the Grave.
Edward George Earle Lytton Bulwer

All Heaven and Earth are still, though not in sleep, But breathless, as we grow when feeling most.
Lord Byron

Silence is the most perfect expression of scorn.
George Bernard Shaw

With silence favor me.
Horace

He that would live in peace and at ease, must not speak all he knows, nor judge all he sees.
Benjamin Franklin

Silence is more musical than any song.
Christina Rossetti

In the attitude of silence the soul finds the path in a clearer light, and what is elusive and deceptive resolves itself into crystal clearness. Our life is a long and arduous quest after Truth.
Mahatma Gandhi

The rest is silence.
William Shakespeare

In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.
Martin Luther King Jr.

Silentium Amoris (The Silence of Love)

As often-times the too resplendent sun
Hurries the pallid and reluctant moon
Back to her sombre cave, ere she hath won
A single ballad from the nightingale,
So doth thy Beauty make my lips to fail,
And all my sweetest singing out of tune.

And as at dawn across the level mead
On wings impetuous some wind will come,
And with its too harsh kisses break the reed
Which was its only instrument of song,
So my too stormy passions work me wrong,
And for excess of Love my Love is dumb.

But surely unto Thee mine eyes did show
Why I am silent, and my lute unstrung;
Else it were better we should part, and go,
Thou to some lips of sweeter melody,
And I to nurse the barren memory
Of unkissed kisses, and songs never sung.
Oscar Wilde

Nobody Home

Велик!




I've got a little black book with my poems in.
Got a bag with a toothbrush and a comb in.
When I'm a good dog, they sometimes throw me a bone in.

I got elastic bands keepin my shoes on.
Got those swollen hand blues.
Got thirteen channels of shit on the T.V. to choose from.
I've got electric light.
And I've got second sight.
And amazing powers of observation.
And that is how I know
When I try to get through
On the telephone to you
There'll be nobody home.

I've got the obligatory Hendrix perm.
And the inevitable pinhole burns
All down the front of my favorite satin shirt.
I've got nicotine stains on my fingers.
I've got a silver spoon on a chain.
I've got a grand piano to prop up my mortal remains.

I've got wild staring eyes.
And I've got a strong urge to fly.
But I got nowhere to fly to.
Ooooh, Babe when I pick up the phone

"Surprise, surprise, surprise..." (from Gomer Pyle show)

There's still nobody home.

I've got a pair of Gohills boots
and I got fading roots.

"Where the hell are you?"
"Over 47 german planes were destroyed with the loss of only 15 of our own aircraft"
"Where the hell are you Simon?"
[Machine gun sound, followed by plane crashing]

Много, много любимо!

Забързана,
задъхана,
с разрошени коси.
Със сетен дъх на зима
и с очи уморени
от взиране.
Аз чакам я,
лелея –
онази пролет,
която душата ми ще стопли.


Ще грейне слънцето,
ще стопли земята,
в душата ми
слънчев лъч ще се прокрадне.
Ще се роди пламъче малко.
Косите ще среша
Ще избърша сълзите
И с дяволитa усмивка
Ще тръгна да я търся
отново...

Цветница/ Palm Sunday

И нека е цветно не само навън, но и в дома и в душата :).

Наскоро си говорих с приятел за това, че понякога изпитвам затруднения да описвам какво изпитвам и да обрисувам чувствата си с думи и се сетих за този велик цитат на Ст. Кинг от "Особени сезони":

The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them - words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. But it's more than that, isn't it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That's the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller but for want of an understanding ear.


в превод:

Най-важните неща се определят най-трудно. Това са неща, от които се срамуваш, защото думите ги принизяват; думите смаляват онова, което в главата ти е безгранично, и когато ги произнесеш, те представят нещата с обикновени житейски размери… Най-важните неща се крият близо до сърцето ти… Можеш да направиш открития, които карат хората да те гледат странно, без да разбират какво точно си казал или пък си казват толкова ли е важно това, което мислиш, че ти иде да плачеш, когато говориш за него. Това е най-лошото… когато тайната остава заключена не по желание на разказвача, а по желание на човека, който би трябвало да те разбере…

теменужки

Moby - Dream about me

Мечтай за мен,
По телефона ме лъжи.
Не ми казвай истини,
Ако от тях ще боли
Има достатъчно неща в живота ми
От които съм тъжна...

Нека просто помечтаем
За цвят изпълващ живота ни
Нека просто помечтаем
За някой друг тази вечер.

Мечтай за мен
По телефона докато говорим тихо.
Искам да съм твоя,
Искам да си мой.
На фона на червени небеса
за дълги времена.

Нека помечтаем за нас
когато сме стари
Нека помечтаем
Как на чувствата ще се отдам.

и...
и...

Мечтай за мен,
По телефона ме лъжи.
Не ми казвай истини,
Ако от тях ще боли
Има достатъчно неща в живота ми
От които съм тъжна...

...

Big Night On The Town

drunk on the dark streets of some city,
it's night, you're lost, where's your
room?
you enter a bar to find yourself,
order scotch and water.
damned bar's sloppy wet, it soaks
part of one of your shirt
sleeves.
It's a clip joint-the scotch is weak.
you order a bottle of beer.
Madame Death walks up to you
wearing a dress.
she sits down, you buy her a
beer, she stinks of swamps, presses
a leg against you.
the bar tender sneers.
you've got him worried, he doesn't
know if you're a cop, a killer, a
madman or an
Idiot.
you ask for a vodka.
you pour the vodka into the top of
the beer bottle.
It's one a.m. In a dead cow world.
you ask her how much for head,
drink everything down, it tastes
like machine oil.

you leave Madame Death there,
you leave the sneering bartender
there.

you have remembered where
your room is.
the room with the full bottle of
wine on the dresser.
the room with the dance of the
roaches.
Perfection in the Star Turd
where love died
laughing.

Charles Bukowski (source http://www.poemhunter.com)

Коледна магия

Първо дойдоха Джуджетата с малък подарък и задача за всеки ден до Коледа. Задачите бяха трудни - имаше писане, смятане, разказване на приказки, подскачане, пеене и какви ли още не.

Добре се повеселихме в нощта срещу Коледа. Макар и болна, все пак се постарах да се усмихвам и да бъда весела.



След това дойдоха подаръците от близките и най-любимият Лемурчо:



Накрая мина Дядо Коледа, остави мечтания подарък и кратко писмо.



Не мислете, че нямаме доказателство за идването му! Изпил си е млякото и си е хапнал от меденките.


А най-хубавото беше, че два дни след Коледа падна чуден, пухкав и мекичък сняг. В парка нямаше никого освен нас. Е, видяхме една симпатична дама с малка немска овчарка. Беше меко и топло и снегът валеше ли валеше толкова красиво. Тихо и бяло и топло в сърцата.



Оставихме снежни ангели по земята.




И разбира се, стъпки - много стъпки.


А у дома ни чакаше запалена камина с чаша билков чай.

Gnarls Barkley - Who cares

It's deep how you can be so shallow
And I'm afraid cause I have no fear
And I didn't believe in magic
Until I watched you disappear


Gnarls Barkley - Who Cares
Uploaded by cesardubo. - See the latest featured music videos.

Gnarls Barkley - Going On

......

Anyone that needs what they want, and doesn’t want what they need
I want nothing to do with
And to do what I want
And to do what I please
Is first of my to-do list

.......

English is tough

Две смешни поеми. Първата е от неизвестен автор, а втората от Gerard Nolst Trenité (холандски писател и учител):

We’ll begin with a box, and the plural is boxes,
But the plural of ox should be oxen, not oxes.
Then one fowl is a goose, but two are called geese,
Yet the plural of moose should never be meese,
You may find a lone mouse or a whole nest of mice,
But the plural of house is houses, not hice.

If the plural of man is always called men,
Why shouldn’t the plural of pan be called pen?
The cow in the plural may be cows or kine,
But a bow if repeated is never called bine,
And the plural of vow is vows, never vine.

If I speak of a foot and you show me your feet,
And I give you a boot would a pair be called beet?
If one is a tooth, and a whole set are teeth,
Why shouldn’t the plural of booth be called beeth?

If the singular’s this and the plural is these,
Should the plural of kiss ever be nicknamed keese?
Then one may be that and three would be those,
Yet hat in the plural would never be hose,
And the plural of cat is cats, not cose.

We speak of a brother, and also of brethren,
But though we say mother, we never say methren,
Then the masculine pronouns are he, his and him,
But imagine the feminine she, shis and shim,

So English, I fancy you will all agree,
Is the funniest language you ever did seе

The Chaos
/Poem of English Pronunciation/
by Gerard Nolst Trenité


Dearest creature in creation,
Study English pronunciation.
I will teach you in my verse
Sounds like corpse, corps, horse, and worse.
I will keep you, Suzy, busy,
Make your head with heat grow dizzy.
Tear in eye, your dress will tear.
So shall I! Oh hear my prayer.

Just compare heart, beard, and heard,
Dies and diet, lord and word,
Sword and sward, retain and Britain.
(Mind the latter, how it's written.)
Now I surely will not plague you
With such words as plaque and ague.
But be careful how you speak:
Say break and steak, but bleak and streak;
Cloven, oven, how and low,
Script, receipt, show, poem, and toe.

Hear me say, devoid of trickery,
Daughter, laughter, and Terpsichore,
Typhoid, measles, topsails, aisles,
Exiles, similes, and reviles;
Scholar, vicar, and cigar,
Solar, mica, war and far;
One, anemone, Balmoral,
Kitchen, lichen, laundry, laurel;
Gertrude, German, wind and mind,
Scene, Melpomene, mankind.

Billet does not rhyme with ballet,
Bouquet, wallet, mallet, chalet.
Blood and flood are not like food,
Nor is mould like should and would.
Viscous, viscount, load and broad,
Toward, to forward, to reward.
And your pronunciation's OK
When you correctly say croquet,
Rounded, wounded, grieve and sieve,
Friend and fiend, alive and live.

Ivy, privy, famous; clamour
And enamour rhymes with hammer.
River, rival, tomb, bomb, comb,
Doll and roll and some and home.
Stranger does not rhyme with anger,
Neither does devour with clangour.
Souls but foul, haunt but aunt,
Font, front, wont, want, grand, and grant,
Shoes, goes, does. Now first say finger,
And then singer, ginger, linger,
Real, zeal, mauve, gauze, gouge and gauge,
Marriage, foliage, mirage, and age.


Query does not rhyme with very,
Nor does fury sound like bury.
Dost, lost, post and doth, cloth, loth.
Job, nob, bosom, transom, oath.
Though the differences seem little,
We say actual but victual.
Refer does not rhyme with deafer.
Foeffer does, and zephyr, heifer.
Mint, pint, senate and sedate;
Dull, bull, and George ate late.
Scenic, Arabic, Pacific,
Science, conscience, scientific.

Liberty, library, heave and heaven,
Rachel, ache, moustache, eleven.
We say hallowed, but allowed,
People, leopard, towed, but vowed.
Mark the differences, moreover,
Between mover, cover, clover;
Leeches, breeches, wise, precise,
Chalice, but police and lice;
Camel, constable, unstable,
Principle, disciple, label.

Petal, panel, and canal,
Wait, surprise, plait, promise, pal.
Worm and storm, chaise, chaos, chair,
Senator, spectator, mayor.
Tour, but our and succour, four.
Gas, alas, and Arkansas.
Sea, idea, Korea, area,
Psalm, Maria, but malaria.
Youth, south, southern, cleanse and clean.
Doctrine, turpentine, marine.

Compare alien with Italian,
Dandelion and battalion.
Sally with ally, yea, ye,
Eye, I, ay, aye, whey, and key.
Say aver, but ever, fever,
Neither, leisure, skein, deceiver.
Heron, granary, canary.
Crevice and device and aerie.

Face, but preface, not efface.
Phlegm, phlegmatic, ass, glass, bass.
Large, but target, gin, give, verging,
Ought, out, joust and scour, scourging.
Ear, but earn and wear and tear
Do not rhyme with here but ere.
Seven is right, but so is even,
Hyphen, roughen, nephew Stephen,
Monkey, donkey, Turk and jerk,
Ask, grasp, wasp, and cork and work.

Pronunciation -- think of Psyche!
Is a paling stout and spikey?
Won't it make you lose your wits,
Writing groats and saying grits?
It's a dark abyss or tunnel:
Strewn with stones, stowed, solace, gunwale,
Islington and Isle of Wight,
Housewife, verdict and indict.

Finally, which rhymes with enough?
Though, through, plough, or dough, or cough?
Hiccough has the sound of cup.
My advice is give it up!

If love...

If love was a bird
You would break her wings.
(And put her in a cage)

If love was a fairy tale
You would make it sad.
(Unhappy-ending story)

If love was a painting
You'd splash it with water
(To make all colors fade away)

If love was a river
You'd drown me in it
(To keep my last breath for yourself)

Есенно

Есенният дъжд отмива
лятото, жегата, пясъка.
С удобни и топли обувки
бодро в локвите шляпаме.

Гумени ботушки за него
и нов дъждобран.
А за мен -
нова надежда.

Дано есента донесе
много театър и радости,
смях, нови книги
и приключения приказни.

И нека има... малко слънце
да ни подготви за зимата.
да се стоплим с него за последно
преди да запалим камината.

Strawberry fields

Джон Уинстън Оно Ленън (на английски: John Winston Ono Lennon) - английски рок музикант и автор на песни, общественик, художник, актьор и писател. По-скоро бих казала, че е легенда в рок музиката. За мен е така :).

Днес (да се чете 09.10.2010) щеше да навърши 70 години...

RIP

The Muppets

Още ги харесвам много!

Manamanah



Habanera


Bohemian Rhapsody