Little Boys Devendra BANHART_0001.wmv

Life is tough and love is rough


For the man who just can't ever seem to get enough

The days go by and the women come and go

So many that you decide to get rid of your front door

So you don't have to hear them all disappear



You just sit and you wait

Staring at your empty plate

And you can say I'm a lonely sailor

Rockin' gently on my dreams

'Cause I have it all, but I don't want it all

It ain't like I've never ever ever ever tried

I just never been fully satisfied



Just a tie a little shoelace

And to share a sleeping bag

And I look ahead to the day

When I look back at all the fun that I've had

But still, but still, but still..



I see so many little boys I want to marry

I see plenty little kids I've yet to have

Even when the moon goes out

Even when the sea dries out

I still see so many little boys I want to marry

I see plenty little kids I've yet to have now

Even when the sea's all free

And everything's lying on me

Even when the sun ceases to shine

I won't care, I'll still have on my mind

So many little boys I want to marry yeah yeah

I see plenty little kids I've yet to have



And in the shower I get my breathing done

I hold my breath and I wait for the day to come

Oh little Billy, little Timmy, little Jimmy, you're the one

I may not look it, but I swear my heart is young for so many..

Little boys I want to marry

I see plenty little kids I've yet to have you know you know

Amutire

Daca tacerea ii succede cuvantului, in potenta, daca este necesar sa inveti sa vorbesti inainte sa taci, iar albinele au atins atatea petale pentru ceva mai putin dulce decat tacerea, de ce am opinia ca toti vorbim prea mult?

Ce imi place

Muzica. Si: copacii, acasa, fumul de tigara tras in piept, noptile ce preced zile libere, mamaliga cu unt, Eliade citit in iarba, razele de soare pe piele, ochii inchisi atunci cand simt sa, prima zapada, Gog, povestile atribuite lui Buddha, strazile pustii, magnoliile, scrierea cu creionul, castanul meu, migala hartilor, Socotra.

E. S. Posthumus

http://grooveshark.com/#!/search?q=makara

O fată

 

                                                      

                          Copacul s-a înălţat pătrunzându-mi mâinile,

                          Seva lui mi-a urcat prin braţe,

                          Trunchiul său a crescut în pieptul meu –

                          Aplecate,

                          Crengile lui răsar din mine ca nişte braţe.

                          Copac eşti tu

                          Şi muşchi eşti,

                          Eşti violetele dezmierdate de vânt.

                          Un copil – uite-atâta de-nalt! – eşti,

                          Dar toate astea lumii îi par nerozii.

Ezra POUND