Thursday, April 16, 2009

Fire And Ice Grill For Sale

Psimpson ee Cummings and C. Bukowski hand

XVII
ee Cummings

Lord buried, Satan dead,
are adored by many and Presto;
thinks evil is evil, is good only
what fancy;
says humble yourself tic, tac, obeys ;
Eternal is only Five-Year Plan: if Joy and Grief
march
arm is there who can be called human?

shadows no dreams crooks cook,
his Henry is Tom, your Tom is Dick;
if caw Tackle kill and grow,
the Cult of Self is the most chic;
new-style instruments, is well worth
Denuevocuño :
if a micro becomes the Jew Coptic
is there who can be called human?

false claim for Truth, Freedom
demand their slaves;
the Rough is holy, the poet is slow, painful tunos
illustrious Progress;
poscritas Soul, Courage sick, what will
Mind if ill the Mood : Koito
if love and hate is a game
is there who can be called human?

Cristo Rey, the world is finished, and we have no
a lifeline:
if only the way waves
Some people can be called human.







Bukowski Ch Dinosaurs


born and in the midst of this
while chalk faces smile as Mrs. Death laughs

as the elevators break as political landscapes

disintegrate while university graduates are working as clerks
spit fish oil wrapped prey is wrapped

oil while the sun is masked we are born and


in the middle of this war
amid mad
prudently amid visions of empty factories with broken windows amid
bars where people no longer speak amid
fights that go from fists to guns and
[knives.
born in this
between hospitals so expensive that it is cheaper to die
between lawyers who charge so much it's cheaper
plead [guilty
in a country where the jails are full and asylums
[
closed in a place where the masses become in affluent
heroes [the inept

born that walking and living through this dying
why mutating

castrated so debased


disinherited so deceived

used so why so screwed

so mad and sick

converted into violent beings turned into inhuman beings so



hearts are blackened fingers seek the throats

gun knife

pump fingers are directed to a god looking fingers numb

pill bottle


parakeet have been born in the midst of this deplorable devastation
were born in the midst of a government 60 years ago
debt that soon there may not return the interest and burn

banks money for nothing
will not be free and unpunished murderers on the streets will
guns and groups of people wandering
land it will be useless food will decrease

nuclear power is in the hands of the majority Incessant explosions
attend
land affected by radiated robot men lurk other
[men
the rich and the chosen observed from space platforms that will
Dante's Inferno look like child's play

not see the sun and always will
night trees will die all vegetation will die

men affected by radiation
eat the flesh of other men affected by radiation
the sea will disappear
polluted lakes and rivers
rain will the gold of the future.

A dark wind brings the stench of rotting bodies
[of men and animals

The few survivors will be shot down by new and hideous
[
diseases and space platforms will be destroyed by wear
supply depletion
the simple effect of general decay

and then emerge that the

most beautiful silence never heard

and the sun still hidden

be waiting for the next chapter.


Monday, April 13, 2009

Killing Me Softly Free Movie

Little pigs, little pigs, let me come in.



Little pigs, little pigs, let me come in.

Not by the hair on your chinny-chin-chin? Then I'll huff

...

And I'll puff ... And I'll blow your house in!

(...)

Here's Johnny!

Templates For Community Service Letter

Euripides - The nineteen tragedies



Medea.

Medea was present at the gate of the palace. With it comes the nurse.

Medea.-Women of Corinth, Vedmar here. I go to the palace not reproach me. Many mortals knew very haughty-view each other in strange land, full of pride that conform to anything. There are others, however, that docile and gentle, they can live a quiet life. Not justice in the eyes of men! Which of times without getting to the bottom of souls, are averse to any harm in them nothing! And that only see the outside. Accurate
is that the stranger meddle in the affairs of the city where he lives. No prudent work which, being a resident of a community, proud offends those who live in it, because I do not know.
But to me ... what has happened in my life is leaving me shattered soul ... I am ... nothing is the life for me ... my only wish is to die, friends of mine!
it was all for me, how well I've known, and is the most abominable of men is my husband!
Of all beings have a soul and mind women are the most unhappy. First you have to spend large volumes to achieve a husband. Got it. Be it a despot of our body. Maybe the evil ills harder. And the most difficult: Is it good or bad? Not granted to women divorce their husbands, or untie the nuptial bond. And we come to the innovations of today. You must be a fortune teller to know, no one has taught us, how he dealt with at that shares our bed. You can adjust to our way of life: the joy of joys. Bear the yoke of marriage willingly. But if not ... better life! When a male
boredom of home life, it leaves would dissipate their anger. Going with a friend, going to his comrades. And what about us? A single being is in whom we must turn our eyes!
Yes, I know. They say that we spend our lives safe at home, without pain, without danger ... and they are going to war, fight to death in sight. Mal think! Three times in the battlefield, and not give birth to a son!
A woman fears is always prone. He does not want fighting, steel is horrified ... but that does not touch the marriage bed, there is then a most bloodthirsty soul!

(...)

Ah, if it were born to women unable, for all the ills are the most skilled architects!

Forge Community Service Hours

Fedor Sologub

our days, our lives fugitive
As a brief illusion, like a fleeting dream
chain
will stay, just some wise words
And just for them our life will be justified.
The cup filled with the poisons of the earth
Somehow
overflow into radiant pieces.
They burn our days, our lives fugitive
like incense, like smoke from fugitive
dreams.


the drunken poet

I live well with madness and excess, spend the day writing
and
nights in the canteen. Find
dawn quiet, melancholic and impetuously

and write poems about death and sadness.

I live well. I myself have chosen to burn the boat
sorrowful destiny
While I scream at the helm. Di will

death and drowned in despair all the delights,
all.