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LesMasques

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ΧΘΕΣ

Ξανάρθε.
Τυλιγμενος μιαν απόχρωση ακαθόριστου.
Τα μάτια του βυθός χωρίς επιφάνεια,
τα χείλη του τομή μυστηρίου,
ψιλόβροχο η φωνή του.
Τα λόγια του τράπουλα
που πέφτει 'ετσι, πέφτει αλλιώς.
Θαμπός
Το σώμα του θυμαμαι,
και τα μαλλιά του λουσμένα με νιότη.
Το γέλιο του χάλασμα ψυχής.
Μέσα του έκρυβε έναν άνεμο
πού 'σκιζε τα χάρτινα όνειρά μου.
Μέσα μου έκλαιγε ένα αύριο.

Πάει καιρός
που είχα καταλάβει το χαμό του
σε ποτήρι επιχρυσωμένο με φθινόπωρο,
που σκέπασα την φωτογραφία του μ ένα σούρουπο,
κι έβαλα σύρτη στα τραγούδια μου.
Τόσος καιρός που ξεχαστήκαμε.

Ξανάρθε.
Μια μέρα θα ταν
που ξεχώσαμε τις περγαμηνές της μνήμης μας
και υπογράψαμε μια θεία συνέχεια,
που αγαπηθήκαμε

Χθες χωριστηκαμε

Κικη Δημουλά

 

LesMasques

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Σκονη

........
....
...
την αφήνω να κάθεται
την αφήνω να έρχεται
με το τσουβάλι να έρχεται
την αφήνω να χύνεται επάνω μου
σαν αλεσμένη διήγηση μεγάλης ιστορίας,
την αφήνω να έρχεται γρήγορα γρήγορη
σαν χρόνος που γυμνάστηκε
πιο γρήγορα να τρέχει απ' όσο τρέχει
και κάθεται βαριά μπατάλα σκόνη,
την αφήνω να κάθεται, χρονίζει,
μπατάλα με σκεπάζει, την αφήνω
να με σκεπάζει την αφήνω
  με σκεπάζει
να με ξεχνάς την αφήνω
να με ξεχνάς αφήνω
  με ξεχνάς
  να με ξεχνάς
  σε αφήνω
γιατί δεν τα αντέχω τα τινάγματα
του μέσα βιου έξω..

(ετσι θα μπορουσε να ειχε πει)

Κική...

 

kronos

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Ξημερωνοντας 21 Απριλιου, με μερικους στιχους του Μανωλη Αναγνωστακη.......

"Φ ο β ά μ α ι τους ανθρώπους που εφτά χρόνια έκαναν πως δεν είχαν πάρει χαμπάρι και μια ωραία πρωία μεσούντος κάποιου Ιουλίου βγήκαν στις πλατείες με σημαιάκια κραυγάζοντας "δώστε τη χούντα στο λαό".
Φ ο β ά μ α ι τους ανθρώπους που με καταλερωμένη τη φωλιά πασχίζουν τώρα να βρούν λεκέδες στη δική σου.
Φ ο β ά μ α ι τους ανθρώπους που σου κλείναν την πόρτα μην τυχόν και τους δώσεις κουπόνια και τώρα τους βλέπεις στο Πολύτεχνείο να καταθέτουν γαρίφαλα και να δακρύζουν.
Φ ο β ά μ α ι τους ανθρώπους που γέμιζαν τις ταβέρνες και τα σπάζαν στα μπουζούκια κάθε βράδυ και τώρα τα ξανασπάζουν όταν τους πιάνει το μεράκι της Φαραντουρη και εχουν και "άπόψεις".
Φ ο β ά μ α ι τους ανθρώπους που άλλαζαν πεζοδρόμιο όταν σε συναντούσαν και τώρα σε λοιδορούν γιατί, λέει, δεν βαδιζεις ίσιο δόμο.
Φ ο β ά μ α ι , φοβάμαι πολλούς ανθρώπους.
Φέτος φοβήθηκα ακομη περισσότερο.
Μανολης Αναγνωστάκης
Νοέμβρης 1983"

 
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Bluevertigo

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Κυριοι συναδελφοι,
Μην δημοσιευετε παρακαλω τοσο μεγαλα ποστ. Μου παιρνει ωρα να τα διαβασω (και οχι μεχρι το τελος) -ασε που δεν καταλαβαινω κιολας- και δεν μπορω να συγκεντρωσω την προσοχη μου για περισσοτερο απο 4 λεπτα.
Ζητειστε απο τους moderators  να σας φτιαξουν περιοχη (οπως πχ. οπαδικα, υπολογιστες, στριπτιζαδικα κλπ)
ακαδημαικοι η (το η ειναι διαζευκτικο με ψιλη-οξεια) κουλτουριαρηδες η λογοτεχνες η φιλολογοι η εγγραματοι
και στειλτε τα εκει.
Κι οι ποιητές τι χρειάζουνται σ' ένα μικρόψυχο καιρό; Hölderlin
 

LesMasques

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ΕΡΗΜΗΝ

σημειωθηκε χθες
διογκωση της ματαιοτητας
Αυτό, φυσικά,
κανεις δεν το αντελήφθη.
Κανείς απο τους ελάχιστους "πλησίον μου".
Μονάχα εγω
που όρθια μπρος στο μεσίστιο μελλον μου,
σε σταση ανημπορη άλλα κόσμια
άφησα να διαφύγει απο το χωρο μου
ενα ολοκληρο απογευμα
σε μια αθεραπευτη ρευστοτητα
γνωστη,
αλλα επιδεινωμενη..

και παλι Κικη..
 

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Bluevertigo

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William Turner 1775 - 1851. Fighting Temeraire, tugged to her Last Berth to be broken up, 1838.
 

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Bluevertigo

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Αφορμή η υπογραφή του peloponisiou "We will always have Paris..." Δυστυχώε έχω γίνει μαλθακός και φυγόπονος, κατά συνέπεια παραθέτω μόνο ένα κομμάτι του, τουλάχιστον το μεγαλύτερο.

? I?m sure the French
have done many things of import
but
it smells of the past.

To go to Paris to create art
Now
Would be much like sitting around
Waiting for a butterfly to fart.

I like the waiters and the dogs
And the whores
And the way the people stay up
Most of the night
Any night
But there is a chill upon
The soul of Paris.

Cities die
Like people die
Only more slowly
And people
Who live in dying cities
Become stuffed with indifference and
Fear
And when their deaths
Become actual
Funerals seem superfluous.

Paris
You expected nothing of me
But I expected more
Of you.

Now that we know all this
Let us quietly
Say goodbye.                                       

(Charles Bukowski, Just another bad affair)



 

Επισκέπτης
Χαρταετός

Στίχοι: Βασίλης Μπουσιώτης
Μουσική: Απόστολος Καλδάρας
Πρώτη εκτέλεση: Δημήτρης Μητροπάνος


Τώρα μην ψάχνεις για εξηγήσεις,όλα τα βλέπω ανθρώπινα
ακόμα πιο πικρό το δάκρυ αν μού΄δινες θα τό΄πινα
τώρα μην ψάχνεις για εξηγήσεις, όλα τα βλέπω ανθρώπινα
και άλλο σφάλμα πιο μεγάλο αν έκανες θα τό΄σβηνα

Εγώ είμ΄ένας χαρτετός κι όσο ψηλά ανεβαίνω
τόσο καταλαβαίνω και τόσο συγχωρώ
εγώ είμ΄ένας χαρταετός και απ΄τ΄ουρανού τα βάθη
τ΄ανθρώπινα τα λάθη τα βλέπω και γελώ


Στης Κυριακής μου το σακάκι σε είχα το γαρύφαλλο
όμως παράπονο κανένα που μ΄έριξες σε ύφαλο
στης Κυριακής μου το σακάκι σε είχα το γαρύφαλλο
τώρα μην ψάχνεις για εξηγήσεις,μην ψάχνεις σε παρακαλώ

Εγώ είμ΄ένας χαρτετός κι όσο ψηλά ανεβαίνω
τόσο καταλαβαίνω και τόσο συγχωρώ
εγώ είμ΄ένας χαρταετός και απ΄τ΄ουρανού τα βάθη
τ΄ανθρώπινα τα λάθη τα βλέπω και γελώ



Καλη συνεχεια...σε οσους θελουν ν'ασχολουνται...γενικοτερα...
 

LesMasques

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On est bien peu de choses. Et mon amie la rose me l'a dit ce matin.
A l'aurore je suis née, baptisée de rosée. Je me suis épanouie.
Heureuse et amoureuse. Au rayon du soleil.

Je me suis fermée la nuit. Me suis reveillée vieillie.
Pourtant j'etais trés belle. Oui j'etais la plus belle.
Des fleurs de ton jardin.

Ou est bien peu de choses. Et mon amie la rose me l'a dit ce matin.
Vois le dieu qui m'a faite. M'a fait courber la tête.

Et je sens que je tombe.
Et je sens que je tombe mon coeur est presque nu j'ai le pied dans la tombe.
Déjà je ne suis plus. Tu m'admirais que hier et je serais poussière.
Pour toujours demain.

On est bien peu de choses. Et mon amie la rose morte ce matin.
La lune cette nuit, a veillé mon amie. Moi en rêve j'ai vu.
Eblouissant les nuits.

Son âme qui dansait. Bien-au déjà du vu. Et qui me sourait.
Croit celui qui peut croire. Moi j'ai besoin d'espoir.
Sinon je ne suis rien.

On est bien peu de choses et mon amie la rose me l'a dit ce matin.
Vois de dieu qui m'a faite. M'a fait courber la tête.
Et je sens que je tombe.

Et je sens que je tombe mon coeur est presque nu.
J'ai le pied dans la tombe. Déjà je ne suis plus.
Tu m'admirais que hier. Et je serais poussière.
Pour toujours demain


Natacha Atlas

μια μικρη γευση απο Γαλλια
αφιερωμενο στον φιλο και συναγωνιστη
 

peloponisios

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Θέλω να καταθέσω και εγώ σε αυτό το thread αλλά η μόνη τέχνη στην οποία έχω κάποιες γνώσεις είναι ο κινηματογράφος. Παραθέτω αποσπάσματα(ελάχιστα είναι η αλήθεια) από το Equus('77) του Sidney Lumet με τον Richard Burton.
Κείμενο για το θέατρο/σενάριο: Peter Schaffer.

Παρότι δεν είμαι οπαδός του θεάτρου, όταν μεταφέρεται στον κινηματογράφο, μερικές φορές είναι καθαρτική εμπειρία.

-And he? What does he say?
 
?Mine. You?re mine.?
 
?I am yours, and you are mine.?
 
?I see you. I see you always.?
 
?Everywhere. Forever.?
 
?Kiss anyone, and I will see.?
 
?Lie with anyone, and I will see.?
 
?And you will fail, Alan.
Forever and ever you will fail.?
 
?You will see me, and you will fail.
The Lord thy God is a jealous God.?
 
?He sees you, Alan.
He sees you, forever and ever.?
 
...He sees you. He sees you...
 
Eyes, white eyes all round.
Eyes, like flames coming. God sees.
 
God sees. My God hast seen!
 
No.
 
No more, Equus.
 
Thou, God...seest...nothing.
 
Here I am. Find me. Find me.
Kill me. Kill me.
 
Find me, and kill me.
 
-Breathe. Breathe in. Calm, Alan. Calm. Now breathe in, deep.
Breathe in. Out.In. Come on, that?s a good boy. Keep it going. In. Out.
Keep it going. Easy, now. There. It?s all over now, Alan. All over now.
He?ll go away now. You?ll never see him again.
You?ll never see him again, I promise you.

There?ll be no more bad dreams.
No more awful nights.
 
Think of that.
 
You?re going to be well.
I?m going to make you well.
I promise you. You just trust me.
Trust me. Just trust me.
Now trust me, Alan.
You lie back.
Sleep.
Just sleep.
You?ve earned it.
Sleep, Alan.
Remember, he?ll go away now.
I?m going to make you well.
Sleep.
 
I?m lying to you, Alan.
 
He won?t really go that easily...just clop away, like some nice old carthorse.
 
When Equus leaves, if he leaves at all,
it?ll be with your...intestines in his teeth.
 
And I don?t...stock replacements.
 
                 
-The boy?s in pain, Martin.
-Yes.
-But you can take it away.
-Yes.
-Then that has to be enough for you.
-All right.
 
I?ll take it away. What then?
He?ll feel himself acceptable. What then?
 
You think feelings like his
can be simply reattached...like plasters stuck on other objects we select?
 
I mean, look at him.
 
My desire might be to make of this boy
an ardent husband, a caring citizen...
a worshipper of abstract and unifying God.
 
My achievement, however,
is more likely to make a ghost.
 
I?ll heal the rash on his body.
I?ll erase the welts cut into his mind by flying manes.

And when that?s done,
I?ll put him on a metal scooter...
and send him puttering off
into the concrete world...
and he?ll never touch hide again.
 
Hopefully, he?ll feel nothing at his fork
but approved flesh...
 
I doubt, however, with much passion.
 
Passion, you see,
can be destroyed by a doctor.
It cannot be created.
 
You won?t gallop anymore, Alan.
Horses will be quite safe.
   
You?ll save your money every week...
and change that scooter for a car...
and spend glorious weekends...
grooming that.
   
You?ll pop round to the betting shop
and put the odd pence on the nags...
quite forgetting they ever meant
anything more to you than...
bearers of little profits and little losses.
   
You will, however, be without pain...
almost completely without...
pain.
 
And now...
for me...
it never stops...
the voice of Equus...
out of the cave.
   
Why me?
   
?First...account for me.?
   
How can I?
   
In an ultimate sense...
I cannot know what I do in this place.
   
Yet I do ultimate things...
irreversible things.
   
                 
And I...

I stand in the dark with a blade in my hand...
striking at heads.
   
I need...
more desperately
than my children need me...
a way of seeing in the dark.
   
What way is this? What dark is this?
I cannot call it ordained of God!
   
I cannot go so far!
   
I will, however...
pay it so much homage.
   
There is now, in my mouth...
this sharp chain.
   
And it never comes out.
 

leonoro

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Μεγάλε είναι από τις καλύτερες ταινίες μου. Καταπληκτική ψυχογραφία τη συνιστώ ανεπιφύλακτα. Αν και το κάνανε πολύ illustration προτιμώ το Amadeus
 

peloponisios

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Μεγάλε είναι από τις καλύτερες ταινίες μου. Καταπληκτική ψυχογραφία τη συνιστώ ανεπιφύλακτα. Αν και το κάνανε πολύ illustration προτιμώ το Amadeus

Το πιστεύεις? Την Τρίτη ήμουν να με κλαίν' οι ρέγγες. Τι να κάνω μες στο σπίτι, βάζω το πρώτο Gin tonic, βάζω ΜGM στο συνδρομητικό, πετυχαίνω το Equus. Σώπααα... Κατεβάζω άλλα δύο, τελειώνει και καπάκι πετάει και το 12 Angry Men και αυτό θεατρικό σε μεταφορά ξανά(το έχει ξαναγυρίσει πρώτα ο Lumet) του William Friedkin, με Jack Lemmon. Πάρτον κάτω τον πέλοπα. Αριστούργημα και αυτό! Με αυτά και μ'αυτά, πήγα 2.30 και ταβλιάστηκα νανουριζόμενος από το Μad Max 2 που είχε το Star, δίχως να έχω κάποιον να πρήξω με τις θεωρίές μου(όταν με συνεπαίρνει μία ταινία, φλυαρώ ακατάσχετα), oπότε είπα να πρήξω εσάς.
Είναι ανατριχιαστική η τελευταία σεκάνς με τον μονόλογο του Burton. Ηθοποιάρα-κειμενάρα. Τέλος.
 

leonoro

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Είναι ανατριχιαστική η τελευταία σεκάνς με τον μονόλογο του Burton. Ηθοποιάρα-κειμενάρα. Τέλος.

Ακριβώς, ο Schafer είναι διάνοια. Για τον Burton τι να πούμε; Πάντως από ότι μπορώ να θυμηθώ νομίζω ότι αυτή είναι η καλύτερη στιγμή του
 
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Bluevertigo

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Η συζήτηση για τον εραστή της καυτής γκόμενας καλά κρατεί. Επειδή κάποιοι έχουν διαφορετική άποψη για το πως είναι η καυτή γκόμενα, ένα κείμενο για μια από τις πιο καυτές γκόμενες που "συνάντησε" ποτέ ο Τσάρλς...

Charles Bukowski - The Most Beautiful Woman In Town
Cass was the youngest and most beautiful of 5 sisters. Cass was the most beautiful girl
in town. 1/2 Indian with a supple and strange body, a snake-like and fiery body with eyes
to go with it. Cass was fluid moving fire. She was like a spirit stuck into a form that
would not hold her. Her hair was black and long and silken and whirled about as did her
body. Her spirit was either very high or very low. There was no in between for Cass. Some
said she was crazy. The dull ones said that. The dull ones would never understand Cass. To
the men she was simply a sex machine and they didn't care whether she was crazy or not.
And Cass danced and flirted, kissed the men, but except for an instance or two, when it
came time to make it with Cass, Cass had somehow slipped away, eluded the men.
Her sisters accused her of misusing her beauty, of not using her mind enough, but Cass
had mind and spirit; she painted, she danced, she sang, she made things of clay, and when
people were hurt either in the spirit or the flesh, Cass felt a deep grieving for them.
Her mind was simply different; her mind was simply not practical. Her sisters were jealous
of her because she attracted their men, and they were angry because they felt she didn't
make the best use of them. She had a habit of being kind to the uglier ones; the so-called
handsome men revolted her- "No guts," she said, "no zap. They are riding on
their perfect little earlobes and well- shaped nostrils...all surface and no
insides..." She had a temper that came close to insanity, she had a temper that some
call insanity. Her father had died of alcohol and her mother had run off leaving the
girls alone. The girls went to a relative who placed them in a convent. The convent had
been an unhappy place, more for Cass than the sisters. The girls were jealous of Cass and
Cass fought most of them. She had razor marks all along her left arm from defending
herself in two fights. There was also a permanent scar along the left cheek but the scar
rather than lessening her beauty only seemed to highlight it. I met her at the West End
Bar several nights after her release from the convent. Being youngest, she was the last of
the sisters to be released. She simply came in and sat next to me. I was probably the
ugliest man in town and this might have had something to do with it.
"Drink?" I asked.
"Sure, why not?"
I don't suppose there was anything unusual in our conversation that night, it was
simply in the feeling Cass gave. She had chosen me and it was as simple as that. No
pressure. She liked her drinks and had a great number of them. She didn't seem quite of
age but they served he anyhow. Perhaps she had forged i.d., I don't know. Anyhow, each
time she came back from the restroom and sat down next to me, I did feel some pride. She
was not only the most beautiful woman in town but also one of the most beautiful I had
ever seen. I placed my arm about her waist and kissed her once.
"Do you think I'm pretty?" she asked.
"Yes, of course, but there's something else... there's more than your
looks..."
"People are always accusing me of being pretty. Do you really think I'm
pretty?"
"Pretty isn't the word, it hardly does you fair."
Cass reached into her handbag. I thought she was reaching for her handkerchief. She
came out with a long hatpin. Before I could stop her she had run this long hatpin through
her nose, sideways, just above the nostrils. I felt disgust and horror. She looked at me
and laughed, "Now do you think me pretty? What do you think now, man?" I pulled
the hatpin out and held my handkerchief over the bleeding. Several people, including the
bartender, had seen the act. The bartender came down:
"Look," he said to Cass, "you act up again and you're out. We don't need
your dramatics here."
"Oh, fuck you, man!" she said.
"Better keep her straight," the bartender said to me.
"She'll be all right," I said.
"It's my nose, I can do what I want with my nose."
"No," I said, "it hurts me."
"You mean it hurts you when I stick a pin in my nose?"
"Yes, it does, I mean it."
"All right, I won't do it again. Cheer up."
She kissed me, rather grinning through the kiss and holding the handkerchief to her
nose. We left for my place at closing time. I had some beer and we sat there talking. It
was then that I got the perception of her as a person full of kindness and caring. She
gave herself away without knowing it. At the same time she would leap back into areas of
wildness and incoherence. Schitzi. A beautiful and spiritual schitzi. Perhaps some man,
something, would ruin her forever. I hoped that it wouldn't be me. We went to bed and
after I turned out the lights Cass asked me,
"When do you want it? Now or in the morning?"
"In the morning," I said and turned my back.
In the morning I got up and made a couple of coffees, brought her one in bed. She
laughed.
"You're the first man who has turned it down at night."
"It's o.k.," I said, "we needn't do it at all."
"No, wait, I want to now. Let me freshen up a bit."
Cass went into the bathroom. She came out shortly, looking quite wonderful, her long
black hair glistening, her eyes and lips glistening, her glistening... She displayed her
body calmly, as a good thing. She got under the sheet.
"Come on, lover man."
I got in. She kissed with abandon but without haste. I let my hands run over her body,
through her hair. I mounted. It was hot, and tight. I began to stroke slowly, wanting to
make it last. Her eyes looked directly into mine.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"What the hell difference does it make?" she asked.
I laughed and went on ahead. Afterwards she dressed and I drove her back to the bar but
she was difficult to forget. I wasn't working and I slept until 2 p.m. then got up and
read the paper. I was in the bathtub when she came in with a large leaf- an elephant ear.
"I knew you'd be in the bathtub," she said, "so I brought you something
to cover that thing with, nature boy."
She threw the elephant leaf down on me in the bathtub.
"How did you know I'd be in the tub?"
"I knew."
Almost every day Cass arrived when I was in the tub. The times were different but she
seldom missed, and there was the elephant leaf. And then we'd make love. One or two nights
she phoned and I had to bail her out of jail for drunkenness and fighting.
"These sons of bitches," she said, "just because they buy you a few
drinks they think they can get into your pants."
"Once you accept a drink you create your own trouble."
"I thought they were interested in me, not just my body."
"I'm interested in you and your body. I doubt, though, that most men can see
beyond your body."
I left town for 6 months, bummed around, came back. I had never forgotten Cass, but
we'd had some type of argument and I felt like moving anyhow, and when I got back i
figured she'd be gone, but I had been sitting in the West End Bar about 30 minutes when
she walked in and sat down next to me.
"Well, bastard, I see you've come back."
I ordered her a drink. Then I looked at her. She had on a high- necked dress. I had
never seen her in one of those. And under each eye, driven in, were 2 pins with glass
heads. All you could see were the heads of the pins, but the pins were driven down into
her face.
"God damn you, still trying to destroy your beauty, eh?"
"No, it's the fad, you fool."
"You're crazy."
"I've missed you," she said.
"Is there anybody else?"
"No there isn't anybody else. Just you. But I'm hustling. It costs ten bucks. But
you get it free."
"Pull those pins out."
"No, it's the fad."
"It's making me very unhappy."
"Are you sure?"
"Hell yes, I'm sure."
Cass slowly pulled the pins out and put them back in her purse.
"Why do you haggle your beauty?" I asked. "Why don't you just live with
it?"
"Because people think it's all I have. Beauty is nothing, beauty won't stay. You
don't know how lucky you are to be ugly, because if people like you you know it's for
something else."
"O.k.," I said, "I'm lucky."
"I don't mean you're ugly. People just think you're ugly. You have a fascinating
face."
"Thanks."
We had another drink.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Nothing. I can't get on to anything. No interest."
"Me neither. If you were a woman you could hustle."
"I don't think I could ever make contact with that many strangers, it's
wearing."
"You're right, it's wearing, everything is wearing."
We left together. People still stared at Cass on the streets. She was a beautiful
woman, perhaps more beautiful than ever. We made it to my place and I opened a bottle of
wine and we talked. With Cass and I, it always came easy. She talked a while and I would
listen and then i would talk. Our conversation simply went along without strain. We seemed
to discover secrets together. When we discovered a good one Cass would laugh that laugh-
only the way she could. It was like joy out of fire. Through the talking we kissed and
moved closer together. We became quite heated and decided to go to bed. It was then that
Cass took off her high -necked dress and I saw it- the ugly jagged scar across her throat.
It was large and thick.
"God damn you, woman," I said from the bed, "god damn you, what have you
done?
"I tried it with a broken bottle one night. Don't you like me any more? Am I still
beautiful?"
I pulled her down on the bed and kissed her. She pushed away and laughed, "Some
men pay me ten and I undress and they don't want to do it. I keep the ten. It's very
funny."
"Yes," I said, "I can't stop laughing... Cass, bitch, I love you...stop
destroying yourself; you're the most alive woman I've ever met."
We kissed again. Cass was crying without sound. I could feel the tears. The long black
hair lay beside me like a flag of death. We enjoined and made slow and somber and
wonderful love. In the morning Cass was up making breakfast. She seemed quite calm and
happy. She was singing. I stayed in bed and enjoyed her happiness. Finally she came over
and shook me,
"Up, bastard! Throw some cold water on your face and pecker and come enjoy the
feast!"
I drove her to the beach that day. It was a weekday and not yet summer so things were
splendidly deserted. Beach bums in rags slept on the lawns above the sand. Others sat on
stone benches sharing a lone bottle. The gulls whirled about, mindless yet distracted. Old
ladies in their 70's and 80's sat on the benches and discussed selling real estate left
behind by husbands long ago killed by the pace and stupidity of survival. For it all,
there was peace in the air and we walked about and stretched on the lawns and didn't say
much. It simply felt good being together. I bought a couple of sandwiches, some chips and
drinks and we sat on the sand eating. Then I held Cass and we slept together about an
hour. It was somehow better than lovemaking. There was flowing together without tension.
When we awakened we drove back to my place and I cooked a dinner. After dinner I suggested
to Cass that we shack together. She waited a long time, looking at me, then she slowly
said, "No." I drove her back to the bar, bought her a drink and walked out. I
found a job as a parker in a factory the next day and the rest of the week went to
working. I was too tired to get about much but that Friday night I did get to the West End
Bar. I sat and waited for Cass. Hours went by . After I was fairly drunk the bartender
said to me, "I'm sorry about your girlfriend."
"What is it?" I asked.
"I'm sorry, didn't you know?"
"No."
"Suicide. She was buried yesterday."
"Buried?" I asked. It seemed as though she would walk through the doorway at
any moment. How could she be gone?
"Her sisters buried her."
"A suicide? Mind telling me how?"
"She cut her throat."
"I see. Give me another drink."
I drank until closing time. Cass was the most beautiful of 5 sisters, the most
beautiful in town. I managed to drive to my place and I kept thinking, I should have
insisted she stay with me instead of accepting that "no." Everything about her
had indicated that she had cared. I simply had been too offhand about it, lazy, too
unconcerned. I deserved my death and hers. I was a dog. No, why blame the dogs? I got up
and found a bottle of wine and drank from it heavily. Cass the most beautiful girl in town
was dead at 20. Outside somebody honked their automobile horn. They were very loud and
persistent. I sat the bottle down and screamed out: "GOD DAMN YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH
,SHUT UP!" The night kept coming and there was nothing I could do.

 

Max Cady

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Αφορμή η υπογραφή του peloponisiou "We will always have Paris..." Δυστυχώε έχω γίνει μαλθακός και φυγόπονος, κατά συνέπεια παραθέτω μόνο ένα κομμάτι του, τουλάχιστον το μεγαλύτερο.

Waiting for a butterfly to fart.

(Charles Bukowski, Just another bad affair)

:rockon:
 
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Bluevertigo

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Η συνήθης, εκτός τόπου και χρόνου -με λογοτεχνικό στρίφωμα- παρεμβολή/συνεισφορά μου

“One drink, two drinks, three drinks. What’s that you’re drinking, Jean? I tasted it, that brownish stuff, looked like whiskey, must have been whiskey, such a face she made, her sweet face so contorted. But it wasn’t whiskey, it was tea, plain tea, forty cents a slug. Jean, a little liar, trying to fool a great author. Don’t fool me Jean. Not Bandini, lover of man and beast alike. So take this, five dollars put it away, don’t drink, Jean just sit here, only sit and let my eyes search your face because your hair is blonde and not dark, you are not like her, you are sick and you are from down there in Texas and you have a crippled mother to support, and you don’t make very much money, only twenty cents a drink, you have only made ten dollars from Arturo Bandini tonight, you poor little girl, poor little starving girl with the sweet eyes of a baby and the soul of a thief. Go to your sailor boys, honey. They don’t have the ten dollars but they’ve got what I haven’t got, me, Bandini, neither fish, fowl nor good red herring, goodnight, Jean, goodnight.
And here was another place and another girl. Oh, how lonely she was, from away back in Minnesota. A good family too. Sure, honey. Tell my tired ears about your good family. They owned a lot of property, and then the depression came. Well, how sad, how tragic. And now you work down here in a Fifth Street dive, and your name is Evelyn, poor Evelyn, and the folks are out here too, and you have the cutest sister, not like the tramps you meet down here, a swell girl, and you ask me if I want to meet your sister. Why not? She got her sister. Innocent little Evelyn went across the room and dragged poor little sister Vivian away from those lousy sailors and brought her to our table. Hello Vivian, this is Arturo. Hello Arturo, this is Vivian. But what happened to your mouth, Vivian, who dug it out with a knife? And what happened to your bloodshot eyes, and your sweet breath smelling like a sewer, poor kids, all the way from glorious Minnesota. Oh no, they’re not Swedish, where did I get that idea? Their last name was Mortensen, but it wasn’t Swedish, why their family had been Americans for generations. To be sure. Just a couple of home girls.
Do you know something?- Evelyn talking- Poor little Vivian had worked down here for almost six months and not once had any of these bastards ever ordered her a bottle of champagne, and I there, Bandini, I looked like such a swell guy, and wasn’t Vivian cute, and wasn’t it a shame, she so innocent, and would I buy her a bottle of champagne? Dear little Vivian, all the way from the clean fields of Minnesota, and not a Swede either, and almost a virgin too, just a few men short of being a virgin. Who could resist this tribute? So bring out the champagne, cheap champagne, just a pint size, we can all drink it, only eight dollars a bottle, and gee wasn’t wine cheap here? Why back in Duluth the champagne was twelve bucks a bottle.
Ah, Evelyn and Vivian, I love you both, I love you for your sad lives, the empty misery of your coming home at dawn. You too are alone, but you are not like Arturo Bandini, who is neither fish, fowl nor good red herring. So have your champagne, because I love you both, and you too, Vivian, even if your mouth looks like it had been dug out with raw fingernails and your old child’ s eyes swim in blood written like mad sonnets”


 
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Bluevertigo

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Και μερικές απορίες με αφορμή το άνωθεν
1. Συνέβαιναν τέτοια πράγματα στην Αμερική του ’40; Δεν είναι φαινόμενα του 21ου αιώνα επί της Ρωσσοκρατούμενης (κυρίως) Συγγρού;
2. Οι άντρες είναι περισσότερο γουρούνια ή οι γυναίκες περισσότερο πουτάνες; ( Το αν το κρασί είναι ευεργετικότερο της Θείας Κοινωνίας έχει ήδη ξεκαθαρισθεί)
3. Το να γαμάς με λόγια μια γυναίκα που κάποτε γαμούσες κανονικά με την περίσσεια του αντρισμού σου μετράει ή είναι ποστ για τα ρεζίλια που χαλάνε την πιάτσα αυτό;

Αφιερωμένο, έτσι για να αφιερωθεί σώνει και καλά κάπου, σε 3 αδελφές στρίπερς που μου είχε γνωρίσει μια συναδελφός τους στο Ανατολή ( ή μήπως ήταν στο Lido :think:)

Για όσους ενδιαφέρονται Ask the Dust, John Fante
 

peloponisios

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Αφήνω μία παρακαταθήκη για το φίλό μου που μου ζήτησε να γράψω κάτι σε αυτό το λησμονημένο αλλά και γεμάτο μελαγχολία νήμα με τις κρυμμένες λύπες και απογοητεύσεις. Δεν είναι κάτι λογοτεχνικό, μία θεωρία είναι, ένα όραμα ελπίδας και αισιοδοξίας που θέλω να προσφέρω στους απανταχού μελαγχολικούς φίλους με τα υγρά και μαυρισμένα μάτια και τον σπινθήρα να τρεμοπαίζει. Διαβάσε το, διάβασε και το υπόλοιπο που υπάρχει στο λινκ που ελπίζω να μου επιτρέπει να μεταφέρω εδώ ο άγγελος που μου το παρουσίασε(φορέας ειδήσεων, μη μπερδέψετε πάλι τα ταλιμπανιστικά σας με το νόημα των λέξεων) και φαντάσου, φαντάσου τα πάντα και το τίποτα και το ολογραφικό σύμπαν. Όλα είναι πιθανά! Μην απελπίζεσαι φίλε και φίλοι, το στόρυ ούτως ή αλλιώς, έτσι ή γιουβέτσι, ζήσουμε πεθάνουμε μάταια, με τύψεις ή χωρίς, με πληγές ή με χοντρό πετσί, με αναμνήσεις ή με λήθη, θα έχει χάπι έντ. Όλα τα παραμύθια έχουν χάπι έντ. Σε αφήνω λόγω ανειλημένων υποχρεώσεων, εις το επανειδήν,
κρατάτε δυνατά γιατί μας ζώσανε. Ανάψε τον σπινθήρα, να καεί η σκουριά και να λάμψουμε.

Chapter Four: Once Connected, Always Connected: Living in A Holographic Universe

To see a world in a grain of sand,

and Heaven in a wild flower,

Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,

And eternity in an hour.


- William Blake (1757-1827),  poet and visionary mystic.

Figure 9. When something is holographic, it exists wholly within every fragment of itself, no matter how many pieces it is divided into. This illustration helps convey the idea that no matter how finely we divide the universe - from the four parts shown above to a galaxy, a human, or an atom - each segment mirrors the whole universe, only on a smaller scale.

Key 13: In a holographic “something”, every piece of the something mirrors the whole something.

Is it possible that we live in a universe where the information between photons, the prayer for our loved ones, or the desire for peace in a place halfway around the world never needs to be transported anywhere to be received?

In some sense there is no separation between my consciousness and his consciousness. The reason why the signals didnt have to travel between photons is because they were already there - they never left from anywhere and were never carried to another location in the conventional sense.

Every place in hologram is a reflection of every other. And a property that exist anywhere within it also exist everywhere else.

In a holographic universe, where each piece already has the whole world mirrored on a smaller scale, all things are already everywhere.

Any change that we wish to see in our world - from healing and safety for our loved ones to peace in the Middle East or any of the 60-plus nations now engaged in armed conflict - doesnt have to be sent from our hearts and minds to the places where it is needed. It is not necessary to “send” anything anywhere. Once our prayers are inside of us, they are already everywhere.

Key 14: The universally connected hologram of consciousness promises that the instant we create our good wishes and prayers, they are already received at their destination.

If everything is really connected and already everywhere all the time, then what happens when we change something in one part of the hologram?

A Change Anywhere Means A Change Everywhere

A small alteration in one place can permanently shift an entire paradigm.

Ervin Laszlo, visionary and philosopher: “All that happens in one place happens also in other places; all that happened at one time happens also at times after that. Nothing is ‘local’, limited to where and when it is happening.”

Key 15: Through the hologram of consciousness, a little change in our lives is mirrored everywhere in our world.

Our world could be considered a shadow or a projection of events that are happening in a deeper, underlying reality.

The Power of a Mustard Seed

Within the container of the Divine Matrix, each individual’s mind is part of a larger single awareness.

Every mind contains the pattern of the whole consciousness. And through that link, we each have direct access to the entire pattern. In other words, we all have the power to change the hologram of our world.

”Maharishi Effect”: One percent of a population practiced the methods of meditation that he offered, there would be a reduction in violence and crime for that population.

When a small percentage of the population achieved peace within themselves, that peace was reflected in the world around them.

Key 16: The minimum number of people required to “jump start” a change in consciousness is the square root of one percent of a population.

Perhaps this is the reason why so many wisdom traditions emphasize the importance of each individual to the whole.


και για ένα μελό φινάλε, ένα τραγουδάκι που περικλείει την αγάπη του υιού του ανθρώπου για τον άνθρωπο, από μία ταινία πολύ αγαπημένη...


Una palabra no dice nada
y al mismo tiempo lo esconde todo
igual que el viento que esconde el agua
como las flores que esconde el lodo.

Una mirada no dice nada
y al mismo tiempo lo dice todo
como la lluvia sobre tu cara
o el viejo mapa de algun tesoro.

Una verdad no dice nada
y al mismo tiempo lo esconde todo
como una hoguera que no se apaga
como una piedra que nace polvo.

Si un dia me faltas no sere nada
y al mismo tiempo lo sere todo
porque en tus ojos estan mis alas
y esta la orilla donde me ahogo,
porque en tus ojos estan mis alas
y esta la orilla donde me ahogo.

________________________________
Mετάφραση:

A word does not say anything
And at the same time it hides everything
Just as the wind that hides the water
Like the flowers that mud hides.

A glance does not say anything
And at the same time it says everything
Like rain on your face
Or an old treasure map

A truth does not say anything
And at the same time it hides everything
Like a bonfire that does not go out
Like a stone that is born dust.

If one day you need me, I will be nothing
And at the same time I will be everything
Because in your eyes are my wings
And the shore where I drown,
Because in your eyes are my wings
And the shore where I drown


Η τελευταία παράγραφος αφιερώνεται στα γνωστά πρόσωπα που τόσο μας πληγώνουν, δεν πειράζει, δεν είναι ούτε λάθος ούτε σωστό, είναι απλά ζωή.

Και ως άλλος Δίδυμος ας καώ ατενίζοντας τον ήλιο, το τελικό σύνορο, την πηγή του σπινθήρα, με ένα χαμόγελο, με ένα λυγμό.... Τα λέμε. Να σαι πάντα καλά και δεν χανόμαστε.

 

nokia

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Ενταξει εκλεκτα μου μελη blue και pelopa..

Εγω το πηρα το πονσταν για να μου φυγει ο πονοκεφαλος απο την χθεσινη κρεπαλη, αλλα παλι δεν σας καταλαβαινω ..Κριμα διοτι παντα χαιρομαι να
διαβαζω τα ποσταρισματα ορισμενων..

Με δυο λογια που παει το ολο θεμα ? Αδυνατω να σας παρακολουθησω.



 

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