tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4100179498195981132012-02-13T13:20:44.982-08:00writings in shadeMr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.comBlogger661100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-13503330155556527862011-10-16T07:07:00.001-07:002012-02-11T12:02:20.886-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">E acordei sozinho, estendido no chão frio e imundo dos resquícios da festa, imerso em confetis, com a boca num cinzeiro, com o copo ainda cheio…<br />A janela estava aberta, os balões bailavam com a corrente, o dia já nem era dia, o frio rachava-me os ossos.<br />Encontrei uns cigarros restantes no maço e uma garrafa por acabar.<br />Fui abandonado, mas isso nunca para mim foi motivo de alarme, pelo contrário, comigo sei eu tratar. Acontece que não devo ser o melhor bebedor, não devo ser o mais afável ébrio, não sou por certo o melhor amigo. Quem me terá convidado?<br />Por certo alguém amável e de bom coração, misericordioso, piedoso, que decidiu dar uma chance a este pobre vadio… Alguma puta fina.<br /><div>Não me lembro de ponta de corno.<br />A festa só começou agora… E que bem que estou a fumar e a beber sozinho num apartamento desconhecido, de corneta na boca e chapelinho na cabeça. Confetis!<br />Sempre me senti um bom abutre, sempre gostei de restos humanos em decomposição, sempre me alimentei do podre das pessoas, sempre remontei no meu próprio corpo os restos mortais dos espíritos dos outros, sempre me embalsamei com álcool, sempre menti e estripei com unhas e dentes e sempre congelei corações quentes.</div><div><br /></div><div>Lidar com humanos nunca foi o meu forte, sempre cavalguei o absurdo da existência sozinho e descalço. Sempre fui um bom Sísifo, nunca bom Orfeu. Mau Ícaro, bom Teseu.</div><div>Vomito sempre no vestido da noiva. Confetis!</div><div>Arco-íris, visto penas monocromáticas, as minhas asas são feitas de cinza, só me tingem as nódoas de vinho, que me definem a forte personalidade nauseabunda.</div><div>Sou Quasimodo sem escrúpulos num fato de gala. Mal educado, obsceno, bêbado e insuportável.</div><div>Sou bom mentiroso, charme boémio, bizarro e sujo. Foi a minha fada quem me enfadou. O meu feitiço termina à meia noite, a hora em que me apago e caio redondo no chão e sufoco no meu próprio vomito, e ela corre ofendida e repugnada fora do edifício esperando nunca mais me ver.</div><div>Sapatinho de cristal quando estou com falta de copos... Confetis!</div><div><br /></div><div>Terá sido mais uma noite daquelas... E é agora uma daquelas outras noites.</div><div>Sinto um conforto gelado aqui sentado envolto deste lixo festivo, no escuro da luz do candeeiro de rua que projecta um plano laranja na sala e faz brilhar garrafas vazias e copos de plástico.</div><div>Sinto que não deva esperar pelo dono ou pela dona, não estou muito apresentável, mas não tenho vontade de ir tão cedo, arrisco. Vou acabar os restos de bebida, vou fumar as pontas dos cigarros, vou encher-me de confetis!</div><div>Não me parece que alguém vá chegar tão cedo... por alguma razão...</div><div><br /></div><div>E acordei sozinho, estendido no chão frio e imundo dos resquícios da festa, imerso em confetis, com a boca num cinzeiro, com o copo ainda cheio…</div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-1350333015555652786?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-69635566372056450462011-03-25T18:13:00.001-07:002011-03-25T18:41:13.918-07:00<span class="Apple-style-span" >A ti (com um copo de plástico de champanhe rasca).</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; " >Abocanhar-te a cara e partir.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; " >Estilhaçar-te o crânio.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; " >Não quero que seja compreendido aqui, celebrado…</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; " >O meu mau hálito.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; " >Sentir-lhe-ás acidez.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; " >É certo.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; " >É champanhe.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; " >E Rasca.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; " >E.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; " >Fora</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; " >E sem ele sou insípido e inodoro.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; " >Que o meu perfume não é esse, que o meu sabor é corrosão.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; " ><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; " >E.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; " >Estilhaço o copo. (Também)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; " >Sem dentes.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; " >E.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; " >O plástico partido corta-me as mãos.</span></p> <!--EndFragment--><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-6963556637205645046?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-70857101057406830362011-03-25T16:46:00.000-07:002011-03-25T17:16:58.439-07:00The drums in the deep<br />Distant<br />Desperation doesn't fit in this hole<br />Expectation may have been lost<br />Deep<br />In the deep<br />Darkness fills these galleries in must<br />Darkness<br />Calls the demons of sharp teeth<br />Small teeth<br />Sensation is disturbance<br />No gods, No medals<br />No senses, No olfactory nerves<br />Nerves<br />Poetic as they get tense<br />Anesthetic as it gets dense<br />The air<br />Hard to breathe<br />The vision<br />Blurred<br />The thoughts<br />Distorted<br /><br />Death<br />Comes in the deep<br />From the profoundness of a monster<br />From the filthiness of a dumpster<br />From the worms of a rotting corpse<br /><div><div><br />Drums<br />Keep the march<br />Dull the match<div>Kill the lungs</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>It's clear</div><div>Violence approaches</div><div>Blood is boiling</div><div>Guts swell</div><div>Throat clamps</div><div>Eyes revolve</div><div>Lies evolve</div><div>Die unsolve</div><div>the Cry of revolver</div><div><br /></div><div>At last</div><div>Feelings</div><div>Drums in the deep</div><div>Keep our distance</div><div>Crumps in the deep</div><div>Grit the instance</div><div><br /></div><div>Give me no chance, You</div><div>gave me no chance</div><div>For one last single glance</div><div><br /></div><div>For my last lonesome dance</div><div>Shall be (to the)</div><div><br /></div><div>Bam</div><div>Bam</div><div>Bam</div><div>Drums in the deep...</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-7085710105740683036?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-12569815330641797372011-03-23T15:41:00.001-07:002011-03-23T15:59:28.763-07:00<div>Molock Molock Molock!</div><div>Come and suck my cock!</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-1256981533064179737?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-88729617865438474652011-03-19T11:37:00.000-07:002011-03-19T12:31:12.678-07:00Que esperas tu?<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Apedrejamento público?<div>Acabar com a tua poesia e</div><div>Passar à pratica?</div><div>Queres matar-me?<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Queimar-me vivo?</div><div>Terei prazer em</div><div>Fazer parte do ritual,<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>A minha carne é tua!</div><div>Eu já sou livre<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Dessa poesia.</div><div>E tu</div><div>És covarde.</div><div>Sim a vida é uma merda</div><div>Mais do que pensas <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Eu sei porque vivo!</div><div>Que se fodam <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Os teus contos de fadas,</div><div>Eu conto as fadas que realmente existem e</div><div>Incendeio-lhes as asas</div><div>De borboleta.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Como fiz às tuas.</div><div>Sou um monstro da crosta</div><div>Do manto inferior,<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Do mundo,</div><div>Da podridão,<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Da imundice.</div><div>Sou um simples<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Mortal</div><div>Com vida própria,</div><div>Com alma de <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Metano,</div><div>Sem encanto,<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span> Sem histórias de encantar.</div><div><br /></div><div>Este é então o meu repto:</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Desce ao meu mundo e observa o quão macabra é a tua poesia após me talhares as entranhas me queimares a pele sobre brasas me arrancares o escroto dos colhões e me pelares o caralho.</div><div><br /></div><div>Aqui</div><div>És beleza taxidermista.</div><div><br /></div><div>Asquerosa.</div><div><br /></div><div>Aqui</div><div>Poesia é o olho do cú e a merda e o vómito.</div><div>Tu sai da tua merda do olho do cú e engole o teu vomito ou verás poesia resolvida à força de duas norças.</div><div><br /></div><div>Humanos de merda, reles seres de cordéis presos aos membros.</div><div>Tu és um!</div><div><br /></div><div>Repugnante.</div><div><br /></div><div>E quando vires uma borboleta toma consciência</div><div>Que é poesia como a tua<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Que lhe vai queimar as asas.</div><div>És porém<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Menos inútil</div><div>Que o teu mundo de fantasia de merda.</div><div><br /></div><div>O Mundo Real Cheira Mal.</div><div><br /></div><div>Histórias de encantar no cú da querida.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-8872961786543847465?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-42436136363147636032011-03-11T08:35:00.000-08:002011-03-11T08:39:36.769-08:00don't stick to me<div>for i will</div><div>not</div><div>ever</div><div>take you</div><div>or</div><div>show you</div><div>the way</div><div>back</div><div><br /></div><div>home.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-4243613636314763603?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-1094375081181719192011-03-10T21:30:00.000-08:002011-03-25T18:08:12.936-07:00moodswinger. shapeshifter. unintender.<div>walls blocking the sight, that might contain a tight window behind.</div><div>distorted vision, i see what i fight for,</div><div>for i fight for seeing right.</div><div>but eyes get affected, swallow another painkiller, drown in drugs.</div><div><br /></div><div>no ties, no controversy. blame myself with no mercy.</div><div>nail myself to the forfeit. gore fate. no fate, nor faith.</div><div>no religion, no ability to walk straight.</div><div>intellect that doesn't heal my mistakes.</div><div>mind that doesn't draw my traits.</div><div><br /></div><div>no feelings, only senses, mostly pain.</div><div>no perspectives other than through lenses of stains.</div><div><br /></div><div>they call it heart, i call it brain.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-109437508118171919?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-44704327539419367422011-03-10T20:50:00.000-08:002011-03-11T06:53:45.373-08:00weakness. for a change. for a continuity.<div><br /></div><div>dead horse alive with flies. dead flies along with horse.</div><div>dead mind allured by force. death force alive dies.</div><div><br /></div><div>let me serve you with the crown.</div><div>vexed servant for freedom lost. for lost ideals.</div><div>can't go back to certainty. can't get lost in bohemia.</div><div>can't get life in this place. can't get love in alchemy.</div><div><br /></div><div>feel free to break the spheres, for they resonate no more.</div><div>break free to feel the spheres, but they resonate no more.</div><div><br /></div><div>i dream of taking you under my broken wings, but i can't fly for so long.</div><div>i dreamt of flying with my broken wings, but i had to take you home.</div><div><br /></div><div>i can't fly for so long, and you expect me to have beautiful light wings.</div><div>i can never take you home, and my wings are made of mossy stone.</div><div><br /></div><div>rusty metal of a dusty mettle man.</div><div>my dreadnaught is made of juggernauts — grains of sand.</div><div><br /></div><div>no man's land.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-4470432753941936742?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-74075685753269502652011-03-10T20:34:00.000-08:002011-03-10T20:46:24.835-08:00life is passing me by. memories keep me back, present is sorrow, now is yesterday.<div>a man is an island. just no desert, but a secret oasis.</div><div>hidden behind cigarettes. tears fall underneath my skin. eyes salt crystals.</div><div>junky of grief. memory drifter. my doom leeway.</div><div>no way of being.</div><div>no human to be.</div><div>which freedom to fight for. which fight to be free of.</div><div>which crowd to run away from. which path to shortcut.</div><div>grit teeth. warhead. face of war. face the war. in self.</div><div>my self.</div><div>none shall pass.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-7407568575326950265?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-46352688350800364172011-03-10T19:13:00.001-08:002011-03-12T09:27:12.380-08:00Bring me the tools, go away, slam the door...<br />I'll perform my own surgery, I'll make my own autopsy.<br />Athena's gone, Apollo's gone, Aphrodite's gone, Minerva's gone... I was left with Medusa in a moist dark small room. There is no Olympus left for us. Only underworlds. Underground. For we swear profanity. We vomit blasphemy. Small metal gods, cheap souvenirs. I've abandoned you. I now lie with mortals, sleep with undead.<br />There shall be no love for us to share, there shall be no love in us to bear. Only disparity.<br />Now I've ripped my ears out not to listen to her screams, now I've plucked my eyes off not to look at her face, now i've craved my nails in my face not to feel her breath. Senseless, motionless. My autopsy was delayed. I'm terrified of a delicate monster. Scared to death for my autopsy was delayed... My heart's still inside me although my chest wide open, venomous black entrails.<br />I've seen it all, more than tongue can tell. I've seen it all and never anything like this.<br />No ballast in words, no clappers for beggars, no route. Chaos reigns for you've defined no territory! I've made chaos my territory!<br />No windows, no doors, no walls, no furniture. The vagabond is me. The beggar. The free. Stuck in space. But free. Chest open. Begging for autopsy.<br />Bring the doors back. Medusa! Kiss me, come, come for me. Take my heart out, the black sponge you've made stone. Bang it against my jaws, crack my mouth, break my teeth, let me bleed, cut my tongue, I still feel it! I've swallowed my teeth, push my heart in, pull my heart out! I still feel it! I still feel pain! Peel my skin, rip my nerves! I did it all with my rusty nails. I've seen it all, nothing changed...<br />My orbits are now flooding tears, and it still burns! Is my heart already out? What's the diagnosis?<div>No more painkillers, system is fraught.<div><br /></div><div>To be honest, I can't really feel a thing.</div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-4635268835080036417?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-54979718747954988652011-02-24T12:22:00.000-08:002011-02-24T12:29:37.289-08:00listen to my written words<br />you junkies of a life past<br />you junkies of a life lost<br />we're junkies of a life left<br />of the right moment<br />we behave like dead horses<br />slaves of red roses<br />we're clay dolls with carrot noses<br />stray dogs in faggot poses<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-5497971874795498865?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-75305687100609215452010-02-28T16:30:00.000-08:002010-02-28T16:33:17.914-08:00O verdadeiro milagre de Cristo foi perecer às suas chagas.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-7530568710060921545?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-50338815071844644062010-01-24T10:20:00.000-08:002010-01-24T10:23:58.779-08:00<div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">THOUGHTS ARE THROWN AS BOWLDERS TO THE SHOULDERS OF THE ONE WHO OWNS THE THRONE. EMPEROR OF ROME.</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">(2008)</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-5033881507184464406?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-22175658390394398442010-01-07T04:49:00.000-08:002010-01-07T11:08:11.675-08:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">Merry-Go-Round is broken down!</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">Merry-Go-Round is broken down!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">Merry-Go-Round is broken down!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">Merry-Go-Round is broken down!</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-2217565839039439844?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-85226516054123219952010-01-06T07:15:00.000-08:002010-01-07T05:30:46.873-08:00All life <b>merrily fun fed, Mary Lee was merely found dead</b><b>,<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"> barely dressed,</span></b> today morning, near a gutter, victim of murder.<div>No one seems to be sad.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-8522651605412321995?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-39575851309597138622010-01-05T18:43:00.000-08:002010-01-05T19:49:38.922-08:00go. meet faces. meat faces.<div>let just. first.</div><div>destroy close environment.</div><div>don't need this. think. at least.<div>no more mere than this bare. barely got bare hands to bear this bear staring. me. heavy handed. heavy fender. has he bended. have me tender. have it ended. barely landed. dad defended!</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">fairly earned her. barely bared her.</div><div style="text-align: center;">fairly buried her.</div><div style="text-align: center;">carefully hid fur.</div><div style="text-align: center;">sadly weep occur.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">merrily fun fed. merely found dead.</div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">so sad! sadcastic.</div><div style="text-align: right;">change world. be self. other. again. one day.</div><div style="text-align: right;">again.</div><div style="text-align: right;">change face. same face.</div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">mary maid made murder</div><div style="text-align: center;">they say</div><div style="text-align: center;">mary maid glazed - rummer</div><div style="text-align: center;">they see</div><div style="text-align: center;">mary maid suffered murder</div><div style="text-align: center;">they miss</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">mary maid is mary miss</div><div style="text-align: center;">and mary miss made the rumor</div><div style="text-align: center;">mary maid's mad murderer</div><div style="text-align: center;">but mary miss is the guiltier</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">marry me mad miss marry murderer</div><div style="text-align: center;">murder mary maid</div><div style="text-align: center;">murder me</div><div style="text-align: center;">mary miss burry this</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">merry merry mary be</div><div style="text-align: center;">with me. buried.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">red rum. spare life.</div><div style="text-align: left;">lohoc la. wols.</div><div style="text-align: left;">fuck fine. fine me!</div><div style="text-align: left;">don't mind. find haven.</div><div style="text-align: left;">die. drink. sink. lavatory.</div><div style="text-align: left;">consummated. worms.</div><div style="text-align: left;">sick.</div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-3957585130959713862?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-19542361671379383702009-12-25T21:36:00.000-08:002010-01-05T19:57:14.985-08:00De manhã levantava-me, vomitava, dirigia-me para a sala da frente e olhava para o sofá para ver quantas lá estavam.<div><br /><div>Vesti uma camisa e umas calças antes de abrir a porta. Depois corri para a casa-de-banho e vomitei. Tentei lavar os dentes mas não consegui senão vomitar mais. ...continuei a beber cerveja e vinho. Quando chegámos cá fora comecei a vomitar, saiu toda a cerveja e todo o vinho. Saíam jorros e espalhava-se pelo silvado ao longo do passeio - uma golfada ao luar. «OK, OK», disse. «Espera um pouco». Vomitei outra golfada sobre outro silvado, que estava a morrer.</div><div><br /></div><div>«Eh, miúdas! Aqui está o maior poeta dos últimos dezoito séculos! Abram a porta! Vou mostrar-vos uma coisa! Um doce alimento para os lábios das vossas vaginas!</div><div>Abram! Tenho uma enorme coisa vermelha! Oiçam, vou bater à porta com ela!»</div><div>Sem sorte. «Os maiores homens são os mais solitários.» Fechei a porta, sentei-me na cama e acabei com a garrafa de whisky que trazia comigo.</div><div>«Eu quero foder contigo», disse.</div><div>«É por causa da tua cara.»</div><div>«O que tem a minha cara?»</div><div>«É magnífica. Quero destruí-la com a minha cona.»</div><div><br /></div><div>«Ele saiu para vomitar e enquanto vomitava, Tammie agarrou-lhe no caralho e disse: 'Vamos lá para cima e eu faço-te um broche. Depois pomos o teu caralho num ovo da Páscoa.' Ele disse que não e ela disse: 'Qual é o problema? Não és homem? Não consegues conter o teu leite? Vamos lá acima que eu te chupo tudo!'» Nessa noite levei Tammie às corridas de cavalos.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mais cerveja.</div><div><br /></div><div>«Hank?»</div><div>«Sim?»</div><div>«Foi por causa de uma mulher que cá vieste?»</div><div>«Sim.»</div><div>«Vamos foder.»</div><div>«Bebi demasiado.»</div><div>«Vamos para a cama.»</div><div>«Quero beber mais.»</div><div>«Assim não serás capaz...»</div><div>«Eu sei. Espero que me deixes ficar mais quatro ou cinco dias...»</div><div>«Isso dependerá das tuas actuações.»</div><div>«Parece-me bastante justo.»</div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-1954236167137938370?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-75694594200408819922009-12-21T16:23:00.000-08:002009-12-21T16:24:56.445-08:00<span style="font-style:italic;">Sinopse (III PARTE) – Alfredo Andróide (André Pinto)<br />“Crab Men! Tape Worms! Intestinal Parasites!” (...) “I have not come to explain or tidy up...”<br />Vim sim para destruir as palavras em fonemas! Fonogramas em ruído, ruído em massa densa!<br />Aqui acaba a comunicação! Não pretendo nada! Não pretendo NADA! Tudo o que aparente pretensão é absolutamente falso! Tudo o que aparente linguagem ou comunicação é absolutamente falso! Não haja dúvidas! Se daqui se retiram emoções, se aparento transmitir algo menos que o insuportável... é uma ilusão! Está errado! Estão errados!<br />O que daqui for retirado... é... ABSOLUTAMENTE FALSO!<br />Não haverá mais que amorfismo...</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-7569459420040881992?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-56731453410643262752009-12-21T14:54:00.000-08:002009-12-21T15:03:21.429-08:00Chinaski, Chinaski, Chinaski!<br /><br />Sou a única pessoa de quem não me consigo libertar, sou a única pessoa que vai sempre fazer parte da minha vida, com ou sem, muitos ou poucos, estes ou aqueles amigos. Este filho da puta é sempre o mesmo, e não me engana!<br /><br />Sabe sempre melhor deixar páginas em branco, e eu faço isso, deixo páginas em branco e não as rasgo, ficam em branco, até que necessito de preencher nada com algo. Mas algo sobre nada é tão nada quanto nada de nada.<br />Nada de nada! Mas num egocentrismo nojento!<br /><br />Paixão é avareza! Sentimentos são facas de manteiga!<br />Abortar! Sem pára-quedas!<br />Que se ponha de pé o rei do bungee jump! Que eleve a sua coroa! Que a vire para baixo! Que a apanhe em plena queda! Seja louvado e respeitado!<br /><br />e não falaremos neste instante de feminismo!<br /><br /><br />Vivamos a metros de distância e alimentemo-nos mutuamente como é inevitável, asquerosamente! Suguêmo-nos mutuamente e ao nosso protoplasma!<br />A alma e espírito passaram à história! Minimalizemo-nos à amiba!<br /><br />Saboreai o meu esperma!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-5673145341064326275?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-91732886077253727642009-12-20T19:42:00.000-08:002009-12-21T08:38:55.209-08:00"Dava-lhe dezassete centímetros de palpitações violáceas!<br />Cruzou as pernas e a saia subiu um pouco mais. Levantou os olhos do livro. O seu olhar encontrou o meu, por cima do jornal. O seu rosto era inexpressivo."<br />Foi já depois de ter despido o sutien que lhe arranquei alguma verdade... Pela estranheza do que se estava a passar ali, naquela madrugada, no escuro.<br />Uma história um tanto familiar. Um protótipo do meu passado.<br />Só o alcool nos faria isto, tendo em conta cada um de nós, tendo em conta o que se havia passado.<br />Os cigarros já não faziam a ponta de um corno e mais um trago de whisky atirar-me-ia directamente para a sargeta. Preferi manter-me naquele limbo. Até porque mais alguma gota houvesse, tê-la-ia sorvido sem hesitação.<br />Já não tinha personalidade nem força nos membros, limitava-me a receber caricias e a retribuí-las assim que me sentia capaz.<br />Passaram-se horas. Ganhava consciência mas sentia-me mais doente ainda. Mantinha-se um equilíbrio entre os dois males.<br />Cada vez mais a minha cabeça se enchia de pedras aguçadas. Só o escuro não era nocivo.<br />Um som de campainha fez com que me apercebesse da minha dor física...<br />«Vou-me embora!»<br />«Não...»<br />«Tem que ser.»<br />Levantei-me daquele pequeno ninho imaculado. Estava com uma terrível vontade de mijar. Voltei a beijá-la na escuridão e diriji-me à porta.<br />A luz irradiante do sol da uma retorceu-me as vísceras. Nos primeiros vinte passos julguei que não sobrevivia. A minha cabeça parecia carregada de dinamite em explosão câmara-lenta, mal conseguia abrir os olhos inchados e doía-me o corpo todo.<br />Felizmente estava frio e não fui capaz de vestir o casaco, apetecia-me tirar a roupa.<br />Fui capaz de me conservar até ao carro enquanto me cruzava com estranhos e conhecidos que ignorei de igual forma.<br />Cheguei a casa e fui finalmente mijar.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-9173288607725372764?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-1019085942059034602009-11-23T12:42:00.000-08:002009-11-23T12:47:38.979-08:00parasite to parasite<br />who's eating me is eating<br /><br />you<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-101908594205903460?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-6892828407327480752009-10-27T12:58:00.000-07:002009-10-27T13:10:33.181-07:00in <a href="http://vaiumagasosa.com/">http://vaiumagasosa.com</a> // <a href="http://vaiumagasosa.blogspot.com/2009/10/gasosa-convida-25.html">http://vaiumagasosa.blogspot.com/2009/10/gasosa-convida-25.html</a><br /><iframe src="http://vaiumagasosa.blogspot.com/2009/10/gasosa-convida-25.html" border="0" frameborder="0" height="850" width="410"></iframe><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-689282840732748075?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-34296699182925907292009-09-08T17:36:00.001-07:002009-09-08T17:36:59.223-07:00mesmo calejado. de norças a aço, de corpo a couraça.<br />a dor mantém-se molesta enquanto amparada.<br /><br />espartana carne análgica.<br />humana carne autófaga.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-3429669918292590729?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-41434373316429912842009-09-08T04:52:00.001-07:002009-09-08T04:54:09.371-07:00<span helvetica="" font="" style=""><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">"Desperation is the raw material of drastic change. Only those who can leave</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape."</span></span><br /></span><div style="text-align: right;"><span helvetica="" font="" style=""> <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" ><br />William S. Burroughs, 1914-1997 </span></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-4143437331642991284?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-9768625822641431562009-09-06T17:31:00.000-07:002009-09-06T17:36:18.941-07:00<span><span class="txt_1"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">In this life all I have, a falling sky in my arms</span></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" > it's not that heavy, make pretend</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" > it's someone else's party, what a gas</span><a id="KonaLink3" target="undefined" class="kLink" style="text-decoration: underline ! important; position: static; font-style: italic;" href="http://www.lyricsdownload.com/sole-the-priziest-horse-lyrics.html#"><span style="font-weight: 400; position: static; color: rgb(0, 14, 0);font-family:Arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;" ><span class="kLink" style="font-weight: 400; position: static; color: rgb(0, 14, 0);font-family:Arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;" ></span></span></a><br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:78%;">sole.</span><br /></div><span><span class="txt_1"> </span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-976862582264143156?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-33079961363372025902009-08-18T13:35:00.000-07:002009-08-18T13:38:55.063-07:00<span class="status"> <span id="hsmStatus" class="hsmStatus">music/art shouldn't be a transposition of emotions to sound/other media as a translation of life, but part of life itself as a natural exaltation of self!<br /></span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-3307996136337202590?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-76298158473726107202009-07-28T16:33:00.001-07:002010-01-16T07:32:26.154-08:00o espaço entre Arte-Vida / Homem-Natureza com uma pitada de o absurdo da existência.<br />texto em pdf no "link"...<br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><a href="http://redsky1.webs.com/distancia%20com%20o%20titulo%20sem%20titulo.pdf">LINK!</a></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-7629815847372610720?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-49532695761086067532009-07-08T22:30:00.000-07:002009-07-08T22:31:20.712-07:00please dance your beautiful dance for me again. please.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-4953269576108606753?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-90946984852402648692009-07-05T07:52:00.000-07:002009-07-08T23:18:36.995-07:00Leiloa-se quinta abandonada com uma excelente localização.<br />Casa com cinco divisões e duas casas de banho. Uma grande sala de estar com grande lareira, cozinha, quartos e estúdio, mas grande parte da excelente mobília foi totalmente queimada após o incêndio e as paredes ainda se encontram cheias de foligem. No entanto paredes e tecto continuam bem firmes.<br />O terreno perfaz 200 ares e é incrivelmente fértil, tendo um grande jardim, horta e curral, que estão neste momento destruídos (excepto o curral) pelo incêndio e os animais foram mortos de fome.<br />Existe corrente eléctrica e água e gás canalizados.<br />Será apenas necessária uma limpeza e remodelação do interior e um trabalho de jardinagem e cultivo, a que o dono se propõe a ajudar.<br /><br />A casa tem uma história trágica que convém saber antes da compra. Encontra-se neste estado pois o antigo inquilino em rasgos de loucura incêndiou toda a casa, horta e jardim, morrendo ele próprio no fogo. Há quem discuta o suicídio ou acidente. Não se sabe ao certo.<br />Existem também boatos pouco credíveis de a casa estar agora assombrada pelo antigo inquilino, e relatos de que por vezes o seu espectro foi avistado a vaguear pelo jardim.<br />Não subscrevemos nem valorizamos estas confissões de gente da pequena aldeia próxima, mas achamos nosso dever informar o cliente.<br /><br />Esta é sim um quinta de sonho como não são muitas outras e com certeza tornar-se-á para si um lugar muito especial e terá aqui uma vida descontraída como sempre sonhou.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-9094698485240264869?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-75041905671122043862009-07-01T22:18:00.000-07:002009-07-05T12:26:00.282-07:00Conhecimento, humilhação e frustração são o que é necessário para a consciência do mundo real.<br />A existência é absurda, mas um fardo que estamos condenados a carregar.<br />É na realidade Sísifo o sémen da Humanidade.<br />Somos Sísifo à exaustão da exaustão.<br />Abençoados ignorantes, abençoados desumanos.<br />Amaldiçoados humanos traidores e miseráveis, e assim vivemos no absurdo, sendo absurdo prosseguir com o trabalho de Sísifo.<br />Desumanos humanizam-se por contacto directo com humanos, e o absurdo inferno da maldição humana é propagada como uma peste. Contágio!<br />Assim, o ciclo é vicioso e não haverá fim mesmo depois de devorarmos as nossas cabeças a sangue frio e arrancarmos as nossas vísceras a unhas farpadas.<br />A consciência do mundo real é a natureza da nossa natureza, o fado carniceiro do nosso fado.<br />O rochedo rolará sempre até mais abaixo, ultrapassaremos Hades, e depois disso, vezes sem conta.<br />Abençoados aqueles que conseguirão fazer-se esmagar. Não os haverá. A humanização é uma condenação ao fracasso eterno à vista de um horizonte garrido de verde!<br />Uma visão flamejante.<br />Matamos para deixar de ser humanos, mas sabemos a trágica verdade. Então matemos para ser desumanos, mesmo sabendo a trágica verdade.<br />Sodoma e Gomorra não são mito, são tabu!<br />Que jorre sangue e miolos, que escorram pelo chão, que alimentem os animais sedentos deles. Alimentemo-nos deles sem alternativa. Os que regorjitam negam a sua natureza! Que sejam então esventrados!<br />Pára.<br />Primeiro passo:<br />Sejamos humanos (como somos, como tal, os que são):<br /><br />- Começarei então, por, timidamente, cuspir na tua cara!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-7504190567112204386?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-68257856550105431582009-07-01T22:04:00.001-07:002009-07-02T07:30:30.441-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_u8S5AoHw7Bs/SkzEdpq80fI/AAAAAAAAAK4/WbMLfgUxjus/s1600-h/4+auto-retrato+com+cara+de+picha.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 262px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_u8S5AoHw7Bs/SkzEdpq80fI/AAAAAAAAAK4/WbMLfgUxjus/s400/4+auto-retrato+com+cara+de+picha.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353870070717927922" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />série de "pinturas poéticas"<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-6825785655010543158?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-29932077068953792662009-07-01T22:01:00.001-07:002009-07-01T22:02:57.215-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_u8S5AoHw7Bs/Skw_eToIPlI/AAAAAAAAAKg/ZhB5jT4w5pg/s1600-h/3+more+than+tongue+can+tell.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 261px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_u8S5AoHw7Bs/Skw_eToIPlI/AAAAAAAAAKg/ZhB5jT4w5pg/s400/3+more+than+tongue+can+tell.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353723846933888594" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-2993207706895379266?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-89839184788331707252009-07-01T21:59:00.000-07:002009-07-01T22:01:19.828-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_u8S5AoHw7Bs/Skw_ADeJrVI/AAAAAAAAAKY/YZc6KzuBDAs/s1600-h/2+conven%C3%A7%C3%A3o+%C3%B3bvia+da+decomposi%C3%A7%C3%A3o.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 412px; height: 273px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_u8S5AoHw7Bs/Skw_ADeJrVI/AAAAAAAAAKY/YZc6KzuBDAs/s400/2+conven%C3%A7%C3%A3o+%C3%B3bvia+da+decomposi%C3%A7%C3%A3o.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353723327200996690" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-8983918478833170725?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-39244741705751955092009-07-01T21:58:00.001-07:002009-07-01T22:04:05.799-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_u8S5AoHw7Bs/Skw_whz3pHI/AAAAAAAAAKo/AvaU-X7-D_E/s1600-h/1+a+cabe%C3%A7a+d%C3%B3i-me+amor.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 246px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_u8S5AoHw7Bs/Skw_whz3pHI/AAAAAAAAAKo/AvaU-X7-D_E/s400/1+a+cabe%C3%A7a+d%C3%B3i-me+amor.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353724159978873970" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_u8S5AoHw7Bs/Skw-qimWxzI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/SAoJ5-nAnng/s1600-h/1+a+cabe%C3%A7a+d%C3%B3i-me+amor.jpg"><br /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-3924474170575195509?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-15144073414985361442009-07-01T21:10:00.000-07:002009-07-01T21:10:03.738-07:00Each something<span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">...........</span>is a celebration<span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">.............</span>of the<br />nothing<span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">......................</span>that supports it.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:78%;">j.cage (lecture on something)</span><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-1514407341498536144?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-80605098400417403972009-06-29T19:55:00.000-07:002009-06-29T19:59:26.611-07:00he's got his soul in the stomach<br />and throws up remains of caviar<br />he's too fine to roadside diners<br />but this time bourbon's gone too far<br /><br />everywhere he carries his sloppy guitar<br />like it was attached to his vomit soul<br />he ain't no scum-bag rockstar<br />he's just the king of rock'n'roll<br /><br /><br />his spirit smells like gasoline<br />and he drives a brand new cadillac<br />he's too weak he's too thin<br />too bent up on prozac<br /><br />lost his money, lost his friends<br />all under drugs and alcohol<br />he doesn't care, for he's got the meds<br />and he's the king of rock'n'roll<br /><br /><br />the whole world loves to watch his bungle bones<br />snapping along his melody<br />he loves to be loved, and loved alone<br />but he's still in a lone lone melancholy<br /><br />tonight on stage there'll be fire!<br />he'll burn the audience till it turns coal<br />he'll run away on his flaming tires<br />you know, 'cause he's the king of rock'n'roll<br /><br /><br />no place to carry a juggernaut<br />no place he finds to rest his head<br />no one told him something that mattered<br />no one said rock'n'roll was dead<br /><br />he prayed jesus, budah, satan and such<br />'cause in this damn world he felt alone<br />no one to share his great catch<br />of being the king of rock'n'roll<br /><br />no one told him rock'n'roll was dead<br />no one told me rock'n'roll was dead<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-8060509840041740397?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-79297552895321808542009-06-29T07:35:00.000-07:002009-06-29T08:35:50.298-07:00<span style="font-style: italic;font-family:times new roman;font-size:100%;" >How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!<br />The world forgetting, by the world forgot.<br />Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!<br />Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd</span><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:78%;">Alexander Pope "Eloisa to Abelard"</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-7929755289532180854?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-28838120230917608052009-06-29T07:08:00.000-07:002009-06-29T08:04:21.037-07:00<div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;" >boulders become rocks become stones become stuck (inside the shoe) become sand become juggernauts</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">for no reason, apparently</span><br /></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-2883812023091760805?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-74521975712750845062009-06-18T20:27:00.000-07:002009-06-18T20:43:53.403-07:00<div style="text-align: left;">The day with its cares and perplexities is ended and the night is now upon us. The night should be a time of peace and tranquility, a time to relax and be calm. We have need of a soothing story to banish the disturbing thoughts of the day, to set at rest our troubled minds, and put at ease our ruffled spirits. </div><p> And what sort of story shall we hear? Ah, it will be a familiar story, a story that is so very, very old, and yet it is so new. It is the old, old story of love. </p><p> Two lovers sat on a park bench, with their bodies touching each other, holding hands in the moonlight. </p><p> There was silence between them. So profound was their love for each other, they needed no words to express it. And so they sat in silence, on a park bench, with their bodies touching, holding hands in the moonlight. </p><p> Finally she spoke. "Do you love me, John?" she asked. "You know I love you, darling," he replied. "I love you more than tongue can tell. You are the light of my life, my sun, moon and stars. You are my everything. Without you I have no reason for being." </p><p> Again there was silence as the two lovers sat on a park bench, their bodies touching, holding hands in the moonlight. Once more she spoke. "How much do you love me, John?" she asked. He answered: "How much do I love you? Count the stars in the sky. Measure the waters of the oceans with a teaspoon. Number the grains of sand on the sea shore. Impossible, you say." </p><p> "Yes and it is just as impossible for me to say how much I love you." </p><p> "My love for you is higher than the heavens, deeper than Hades, and broader than the earth. It has no limits, no bounds. Everything must have an ending except my love for you." </p><p> There was more of silence as the two lovers sat on a park bench with their bodies touching, holding hands in the moonlight. </p><p> Once more her voice was heard. "Kiss me, John," she implored. And leaning over, he pressed his lips warmly to hers in fervent osculation.<br /></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:78%;">samuel johnson (lovers on a park bench)</span></p><object height="25" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/vCUsvrny4hQ&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/vCUsvrny4hQ&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="25" width="425"></embed></object><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:78%;">philip glass' knee 5</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-7452197571275084506?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-65611511999564932092009-06-17T13:48:00.000-07:002009-06-17T14:03:59.851-07:00<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br />Gave away horse and sword for whores and sore...<br /><br /><br /></span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-6561151199956493209?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-77701229677070611502009-06-16T20:08:00.000-07:002009-06-16T20:23:53.511-07:00<div style="text-align: center;">if love is still a possibility, please, you should not!<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >AND YOU DON'T!</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >AND I DON'T THINK I DO...</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >A SQUARE CAN'T EVER BE NOTHING BUT A POLYGON</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >AND NOTHING OR NO ONE CAN EVER POLISH THE EDGES.</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_u8S5AoHw7Bs/SjhhYjlFnlI/AAAAAAAAAKA/m2OcSEqZq9c/s1600-h/TRIANGLE.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 302px; height: 271px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_u8S5AoHw7Bs/SjhhYjlFnlI/AAAAAAAAAKA/m2OcSEqZq9c/s320/TRIANGLE.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348131631998017106" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">TRIANGLE IS NO CORRECT FORM FOR A HUMAN BEING.<br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">I CAN NOW BE A POET!</span></span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:78%;">(an oldie from my notebook)</span><br /></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-7770122967707061150?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-90755349269212923212009-06-16T15:01:00.000-07:002009-06-16T15:06:34.953-07:00The necessary correlate of musical standardization is <em>pseudo-individualization</em>. By pseudo-individualization we mean endowing cultural mass production with the halo of free choice or open market on the basis of standardization itself. Standardization of song hits keeps the customers in line by doing their listening for them, as it were. Pseudo-individualization, for its part, keeps them in line by making them forget that what they listen to is already listened to for them, or "pre-digested".<br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:78%;">theodor w. adorno (on popular music)</span><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-9075534926921292321?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-31395842600447171342009-06-14T08:48:00.000-07:002009-06-14T11:38:12.831-07:00<span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" ><br />20"<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:130%;">We carry our homes<br /></span></div><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" ><br />within us<br /><br />which enables us to </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" >fly</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:78%;">j.cage</span><br /></div><blockquote></blockquote><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-3139584260044717134?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-14988671383991791452009-06-12T07:52:00.000-07:002009-06-12T07:57:38.449-07:00<span style="font-style: italic;">I am here , and there is nothing to say .</span><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-style: italic;">If among you are</span><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;">those who wish to get somewhere , let them leave at</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">any moment . What we re-quire is</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">silence ; but what silence requires</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> is that i go on talking.</span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:78%;">j. cage (lecture on nothing)</span><br /></div></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-1498867138399179145?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-78056827503225759202009-06-04T08:11:00.000-07:002009-06-04T19:03:19.408-07:00<a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_u8S5AoHw7Bs/SiflCOXuAQI/AAAAAAAAAJo/cK15QB8gQUU/s1600-h/painel2-manipula%C3%A7ao.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 218px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_u8S5AoHw7Bs/SiflCOXuAQI/AAAAAAAAAJo/cK15QB8gQUU/s320/painel2-manipula%C3%A7ao.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343491309278462210" border="0" /></a><br /><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" >A cavalo morto não se contam moscas</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" >A carne decomposta vaporiza ácido</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" >As narinas ardem</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" >Os corvos pousam</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" >A cavalo morto não se contam primaveras</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" >A carne decomposta adoece</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" >A pele vaporiza</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" >As baratas aproximam-se</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" >A cavalo morto não se olha de frente</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" >A carne decomposta vaporiza ácido</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" >Os olhos ardem</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" >Os abutres salivam</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" >A cavalo morto não se olham maleitas</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" >A carne decomposta morre</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" >O fedor vaporiza</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" >As larvas nascem</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" >A cavalo morto não se morre</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" >Não se mata</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" >A carne vive</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" >Falece a alma</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" >Decompõe-se.</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-7805682750322575920?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-70631536680810666632009-05-07T19:17:00.000-07:002009-06-14T09:01:02.646-07:00<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;font-size:2000%;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">PLEASE LET ME INCREASE LIFELOVE AND MORALITY NOW......</span><br />.?.! :#<br />PERFECT BLOG OF GHOSTS<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">AND RAIN</span> DOGS!<br />don't be affraid<br />br<span style="font-weight: bold;">ai</span>nstorm<br />WHAT'S THE BIG PROBLEM WITH<br />COLOSSALITY?!</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-7063153668081066663?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-50362151402781441732009-05-07T18:42:00.000-07:002009-05-08T20:12:14.837-07:00<span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:135%;" >so i expose it... like this: synopsis of a succeeded yet failed love story.</span><br /><br />my mistakes have enlightened me to a better self</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">your mistakes we're luxurious and selfish, destroyers</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">my mistake was to make you think freedom was a light burden to carry</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">your mistake was to juggle your freedom</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">our mistake was to get involved</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">our mistake was to get separated</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">if you haven't got a clean conscience,</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">i'll be happy to know</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">it means you're still conscious</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">i hate to know you don't know a thing</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">i hate to know why, because</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">i do</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">hate to still love you</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;" >(after what you've done to me, and after you've gone)</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-5036215140278144173?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-24492371961786640942009-05-04T06:47:00.000-07:002009-05-07T18:33:40.124-07:00<span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Mariazinha, deita os olhos para o mar</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Pela tardinha, quando a noite espreitar</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >E no verde das águas sem fundo</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Já se perde da esperança do mundo, a afundar, a afundar</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Mariazinha, deita os olhos para o mar</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Tão pequenina, sem saber que pensar</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Vê a roda do mundo girando</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >E os navios ao longe passando, sem parar, sem parar</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Mariazinha, deita os olhos para o mar</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Tão quietinha, a chorar, a chorar</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Uma fonte de sangue no peito</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Uma sombra na boca e um trejeito no olhar, sem parar</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Mariazinha, deita os olhos para o mar</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Tão caladinha, a chamar, a chamar</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Vai para o fundo da noite fria</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Numa barca de rendas, vazia, a afundar, sem parar</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Mariazinha, com rendas de algas tapada</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Tão quietinha</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">No fundo do mar pousada</span><br /></span><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">josé mário branco (mariazinha)</span></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-2449237196178664094?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-65895204268784797532009-05-03T17:11:00.000-07:002009-05-03T18:52:16.570-07:00Olá!<br />D<span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);">o</span>em-me as vísceras e os tomates. O<span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 51);">k</span>?<br />Obri<span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 51);">gado</span>.<br />E ad<span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">eu</span>zinho.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-6589520426878479753?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-3292832495199723422009-05-02T12:19:00.000-07:002009-05-02T12:23:31.347-07:00a abelha que cantamos será mosca<br /><span style="font-size:180%;">até morrer</span><br />o medo que nos salva da<br /><span style="font-size:180%;">loucura</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-329283249519972342?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-21569329534301838522009-05-02T12:10:00.000-07:002009-05-02T20:55:46.273-07:00<div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;font-size:180%;" >O CORAÇÃO OPRIMIDO PELOS DENTES QUE </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;font-size:180%;" >O IMPEDEM DE SER CUSPIDO À CALÇADA.</span><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 308px; height: 285px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_u8S5AoHw7Bs/SfycDCNRrSI/AAAAAAAAAIA/s2Nmrqc3iLk/s400/triangulo3.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331307634845920546" border="0" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_u8S5AoHw7Bs/SfycDCNRrSI/AAAAAAAAAIA/s2Nmrqc3iLk/s1600-h/triangulo3.png"></a><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >FILHOS DA AUSÊNCIA DO DITADOR.</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" ><br /></span><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >FILHOS DA IGNORÂNCIA.</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" ><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >INFELIZES SERES LIVRES,</span><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >INCONSCIENTES SERES REPRIMIDOS.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >PERFILADOS DE MEDO</span><br /></div></div></div></div></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-2156932953430183852?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-6169154821376968032008-12-26T22:56:00.000-08:002008-12-27T08:41:52.456-08:00<div style="text-align: center;">LAMP DUST IS THE LAMB'S SKULL IN CONDENSED SWEAT OF A BUS'S WINDOW.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><span style="font-size:180%;">HUMIDITY. HUMUS.</span></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><span style="font-size:180%;">FUNGUS. TANGO.</span></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-size:85%;">COMPOSED THE RIGHT SQUARE<br /></span></span></div><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><span style="font-size:180%;"><br /></span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-616915482137696803?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-56806773054239882862008-12-24T04:58:00.000-08:002008-12-25T06:13:21.398-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_u8S5AoHw7Bs/SVI0nwxK7cI/AAAAAAAAAEc/dPxmKTBknNI/s1600-h/sc000f4f8c-manip.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 84px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_u8S5AoHw7Bs/SVI0nwxK7cI/AAAAAAAAAEc/dPxmKTBknNI/s400/sc000f4f8c-manip.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283343170569694658" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Arithmetic arithmetock</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Turn the hands back on the clock</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">How does the ocean rock the boat?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">How did the razor find my throat?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >The only strings that hold me here<br />Are tangled up around the pier</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">And so a secret kiss</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Brings madness with the bliss</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">And I will think of this</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">When I'm dead in my grave</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Set me adrift and I'm lost over there</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">And </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >I must be insane</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">To go skating on your name</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">And by tracing it twice</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >I fell through the ice</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Of Alice</span><br /></span><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Waits</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-5680677305423988286?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-82959315024895804242008-12-14T07:44:00.000-08:002008-12-14T08:02:46.356-08:00she loves nature<br />she loves laughter<br />she loves lsd<br />she loves sex<br /><br />and she chose me.<br /><br />she says i smell so good<br />and my eyes are beautiful<br />she feels like a teenager again she says<br />says i'm young but not dumb<br /><br />she wants to fuck me so bad.<br /><br />she understands but still she freaks out<br />and keeps saying i'm a good guy<br />keeps saying that i'm so sweet<br />but still she's frustrated she says<br /><br />we have similar past stories.<br /><br />...and didn't sleep.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-8295931502489580424?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-11786442776935934692008-12-12T14:24:00.000-08:002008-12-12T14:25:40.695-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_u8S5AoHw7Bs/SULk0z9QliI/AAAAAAAAAC4/q1Tuv_lKGB8/s1600-h/CCI00007.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 311px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_u8S5AoHw7Bs/SULk0z9QliI/AAAAAAAAAC4/q1Tuv_lKGB8/s400/CCI00007.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279033309183120930" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-1178644277693593469?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-85684623875548225062008-12-12T14:21:00.000-08:002008-12-12T14:23:47.159-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_u8S5AoHw7Bs/SULkTw1DLuI/AAAAAAAAACw/JItrTaURdQE/s1600-h/CCI00000.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 311px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_u8S5AoHw7Bs/SULkTw1DLuI/AAAAAAAAACw/JItrTaURdQE/s400/CCI00000.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279032741407698658" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-8568462387554822506?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-28696051503406156332008-12-12T14:19:00.000-08:002008-12-12T14:20:53.176-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_u8S5AoHw7Bs/SULjtcXSF4I/AAAAAAAAACg/rOMfFNo4aDo/s1600-h/CCI00001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 311px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_u8S5AoHw7Bs/SULjtcXSF4I/AAAAAAAAACg/rOMfFNo4aDo/s400/CCI00001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279032083079108482" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-2869605150340615633?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-70628886946833534102008-12-12T14:11:00.000-08:002008-12-12T14:19:01.603-08:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_u8S5AoHw7Bs/SULiFQRX2YI/AAAAAAAAACY/c33hd4QADGI/s1600-h/CCI00005.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 308px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_u8S5AoHw7Bs/SULiFQRX2YI/AAAAAAAAACY/c33hd4QADGI/s400/CCI00005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279030293126699394" border="0" /></a>JACK DENIALS BRING FUTURE HARM AS DISEASES.<br />CRAWLERS ARE DODGERS, AND ORPHANS BE FALLERS IN CRISIS.<br />JUNKIES ARE NOT BUMS! THE ONLY BUMS ARE BASTARDS.<br />BASTARDS MAKE THE WORLD GO ROUND.<br />BUT ONLY <span style="font-style: italic;">MARY</span> GOES ROUND IN THE WORLD.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />SEX IN THE BEACH<br />SEXIN' THE BITCH<br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-7062888694683353410?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-52242567655633762742008-12-10T20:15:00.000-08:002009-05-08T09:41:06.503-07:00In a paranoid struggle<br />I jumped off Michelle's rear,<br />I ran away bungle<br />convinced I was leer.<br /><br />I was sick of the spinning,<br />but never had the courage to tell her.<br />So now I was rambling<br />and now I was wondering<br />the evil I'd been to her.<br /><br /><br />My clay was too dry,<br />and I was dying for water on my skin.<br />So I got sad and started to cry,<br />and tears revitalized me and washed away my sins!<br /><br />Now I was changed and firm as concrete,<br />and I was sure of what I wanted.<br />Only one thing would make me complete!<br />But for her, I was now obsolete.<br />Looked away while I fainted.<br /><br />(She could keep riding alone, and went back to France...)<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-5224256765563376274?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-84112513665735498732008-12-10T17:43:00.000-08:002009-05-08T09:41:28.421-07:00Time passed...<br />But landscape stood the same.<br />Seasons were running fast<br />I was the only one who changed.<br /><br />My clay skin was now drying,<br />as I was getting older.<br />I felt I was close to dying<br />and Michelle would keep on riding<br />and always feeling stronger.<br /><br /><br />For ever she would hang on to life<br />and to that beautiful Merry-Go-Round.<br />She was stable, I was wobbly<br />on her torso, carried up and down.<br /><br />Scratching in despair<br />i wounded her.<br />But she was strong enough to bear.<br />Not being fair, I did not care<br />and my clay became bitter.<br /><br />(She would never let the ride end...)<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-8411251366573549873?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-66623887523770315192008-12-10T14:42:00.000-08:002009-05-08T09:25:13.621-07:00Friends called me Scissorhands,<br />and I thought it was <span style="font-style: italic;">cliché.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span>My hands were almost normal,<br />Eyes and carcass made of clay.<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /></span>Family gave me no name,<br />but used to call me moonstruck.<br />They thought I was insane<br />and existence was vain<br />with such tough luck.<br /><br /><br />I named myself Johnny Eye<br />and found an imaginary friend.<br />We promised to be together 'till we die,<br />and our bodies turn to sand.<br /><br />Her name was Michelle,<br />and she was a voyager from France.<br />She was a beautiful horse from a carousel,<br />and there was where she dwelt<br />and where we would ever dance<span style="font-style: italic;">.<br /></span><br />(She would never let me fall...)<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-6662388752377031519?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-65934405340184785802008-12-09T13:50:00.001-08:002008-12-09T13:55:12.419-08:00<span style="font-size:78%;">never more i will let you down, if you still need me.<br /></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-6593440534018478580?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-43825396174234866812008-12-05T16:47:00.000-08:002008-12-05T13:00:57.432-08:00The dust on this lamp shall never be cleaned up. But keep that lamp well locked in the safe, make me never look at it again.<br />Lock me well in another safe, save me to save anothers, swallow the key, bury your stomach.<br />We're all going to be mud, in the end, you don't need to drink your own eyes.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;">time pass...<span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></span>and time passed.<br /><br />I'm now cleaning this lamp, it's too dusty and I want to read. At night, I need that light, so I blow and make the dust fly suspended by invisible strings.<br />Now I can see better everything, and the details I missed in this room. I can see beauty now.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;">time stop.</span> and reprogram it.<br /><br />Welcome the young new dust but never let it lay down still. Leave the old grandfather's clock, give it freely, be generous. Change it for a nice watch and wind it the first time, and on and on<span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">.<br /></span></span><span style="font-size:180%;"><br />time refresh.</span> and time reloaded me.<span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-4382539617423486681?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-915365424542640292008-12-02T19:29:00.000-08:002008-12-03T11:31:41.017-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_u8S5AoHw7Bs/STX9M31dAaI/AAAAAAAAACQ/BVAafcqQdhs/s1600-h/CCI00004.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 265px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_u8S5AoHw7Bs/STX9M31dAaI/AAAAAAAAACQ/BVAafcqQdhs/s400/CCI00004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275400936122810786" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-91536542454264029?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-12052141889560896782008-12-02T13:23:00.001-08:002008-12-02T13:30:26.983-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_u8S5AoHw7Bs/STWoLgYFXSI/AAAAAAAAACI/MzjXBxdVQjc/s1600-h/CCI00003.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 402px; height: 299px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_u8S5AoHw7Bs/STWoLgYFXSI/AAAAAAAAACI/MzjXBxdVQjc/s400/CCI00003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275307454157380898" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-1205214188956089678?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410017949819598113.post-65259161563189571452008-11-03T06:18:00.000-08:002009-10-11T14:30:02.842-07:00Streets dry tears and hustle shades of the greasy sidewalk<br />and Poe's ravens shrill cry, and pierce night's bloody tympana.<br />night turns to dream, turns to nightmare, turns amusement park,<br />no reality's intended to be trusted, so we hide in the shadows,<br />we drink from the gutter, we eat the moss of rot walls...<br /><br />"nevermore" they weep...<br />and the calm of the night is no more than a child illusion of sleepy fairy tales,<br />the calm is the wait, and the wait pre-dictates the kill<br />covered by the honey melody of wounded animals and struggle.<br />and bugs try not to buzz, and snakes reach tree tops and hail the moon...<br /><br />and they all try to figure out the blurry words you left me<br />under the grooviness of a shredded black square on pen lines<br />and they all scream "nevermore" while reading the Chapter Zero,<br />and tell ancient tales of past memories and burn forbidden books...<br /><br />and i end up on the floor of the rusty bar 'round the corner,<br />lightened by languishing yellow lamps, gulped in cheap red wine<br />and i drown... i drown in the sorrow of the last words you left me.<br />and i write them down and wait for the broken clock to save time and vanish rage...<br /><br />with time, he says... and the pointers never dare a step,<br />and the bell clapper's apathetic and quiet as hell...<br />and I'm injected with poison of broken dreams,<br />and dream broken truth...<br /><br />and i wait while the darkness goes, inebriated for the day...<br />a man of mettle walks under a wooden dreadnought...<br />retired vampire, junkie, bum...<br />his iron knuckles could smash any solid glass heart, and melt the ice we freeze in...<br /><br />We're down to minus zero Centigrade degrees...<br />We're down to minus zero altitude and under dirt...<br />and your photograph just fell off my wall like an autumn leaf...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/410017949819598113-6525916156318957145?l=lampdust.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mr. Andros, the dead (Junco)http://www.blogger.com/profile/11925958340498076408noreply@blogger.com4