16.12.07

The Pot - Tool

Who are you to wave your finger?
Ya' must have been out your head.
Eye hole deep in muddy waters.
You practically raised the dead.

Rob the grave, to snow the cradle.
Then burn the evidence down.
Soapbox, house of cards, and glass,
So don't go tossin' your stones around.

You must have been high.
You must have been high.
You must have been.

Foot in mouth, and head up asshole.
Whatcha talkin' 'bout?
Difficult to dance 'round this one
'til you pull it out, boy!

You must have been, so high.
You must have been, so high.

Steal, borrow, refer, save your shady inference.
kangaroo done hung the juror with the innocent.

Now you're weeping shades of cozened indigo
Got lemon juice up in your...EYE!

When you pissed all over my black kettle
You must have been HIGH, HIGH
You must have been HIGH, HIGH

Who are you to wave your finger?
So full of it.
Eyeballs deep in muddy waters
Fuckin' hypocrite.

Liar, lawyer, mirror, show me.
What's the difference?

kangaroo done hung the guilty with the innocent.

NOW!!
You'll weep or, change the cozened indigo.
Got lemon juice up in your high eye.
When you pissed all over my black kettle
You musta been!

So who are you to wave your finger?
Who are you to wave your fatty finger at me?
You must, have been, out your, mind!

Weepin' shades of indigo
Shed without a reason
Weepin' shades of indigo

Liar, lawyer,
Mirror for ya,
What's the difference?
kangaroo be stoned
He's guilty as the government

NOW!!
Will you weep or, change the cozened indigo
Got lemon juice up in your, EYE!!
EYE!!

Now when you pissed all over my black kettle.
You musta been HIGH, HIGH, HIGH, HIGH.
Eyeballs deep in muddy waters
Your balls deep in muddy waters.
Ganja, please, you must have been out your MIND!!!!

["Kangaroo" refers to "kangaroo courts", which were mock courts established to prove people guilty without a fair trial or any real evidence - most of the court cases dealt with marijuana users]

1984...

Debería darte vergüenza...

Cuestiones teológicas... (Por Quino)

15.12.07

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12.12.07

Cómo ser un gran escritor (Por Charles Bukowski)

Tenés que cogerte muchas mujeres
bellas mujeres
y escribir unos pocos poemas de amor decentes.

Y no te preocupes por la edad
y/o los nuevos talentos.

Sólo tomá más cerveza
más y más cerveza.

Y andá al hipódromo al menos una vez
a la semana.

Y ganá
si es posible.

Aprender a ganar es difícil
cualquier boludo puede ser un buen perdedor.

Y no olvides tu Brahms
y tu Bach y tu
cerveza.

No te sobreexijas.

Dormí hasta el mediodía.

Evitá las tarjetas de crédito
o pagar cualquier cosa
en término.

Acordate que no hay un pedazo de culo
en este mundo que valga más de 50 dólares
(en 1977).

Y si tenés la capacidad de amar
amate a vos mismo primero
pero siempre sé consciente de la posibilidad de
la total derrota
más allá de que las razones de esa derrota
parezcan buenas o malas.

Un sabor temprano de la muerte no es necesariamente
una mala cosa.

Quedate afuera de las iglesias y los bares y los museos
y como la araña sé
paciente
el tiempo es la cruz de todos
más
el exilio
la derrota
la traición.

Toda esa basura.

Quedate con la cerveza.

La cerveza es sangre continua.

Una amante continua.

Conseguí una máquina de escribir grande
y mientras los pasos van y vienen
más allá de tu ventana.

Dale a esa cosa
dale duro.

Hacé de eso una pelea de peso pesado.

Hacé como el toro en la primera embestida.

Y recordá a los perros viejos
que pelearon tan bien: Hemingway, Celine, Dostoievsky, Hamsun.

Si pensás que no se volvieron locos
en habitaciones minúsculas
como te está pasando a vos ahora
sin mujeres
sin comida
sin esperanza.

Entonces no estás listo.

Tomá más cerveza
hay tiempo
y si no hay
está bien
igual.

---------------------------------------------
How to be a great writer

You’ve got to fuck a great many women
beautiful women
and write a few decent love poems.

And don’t worry about age
and/or freshly-arrived talents.

Just drink more beer
more and more beer.

And attend the racetrack at least once
a week.

And win
if possible.

Learning to win is hard
any slob can be a good loser.

And don’t forget your Brahms
and your Bach and your
beer.

Don’t overexercise.

Sleep until noon.

Avoid credit cards
or paying for anything on
time.

Remember that there isn’t a piece of ass
in this world worth over $50
(in 1977).

And if you have the ability to love
love yourself first
but always be aware of the possibility of
total defeat
wheter the reason for that defeat
seems right or wrong.

An early taste of death is not necessarily
a bad thing.

Stay out of churches and bars and museums
and like the spider be
patient
time is everybody’s cross
plus
exile
defeat
treachery.

All that dross.
Stay with the beer.

Beer is continuous blood.

A continuous lover.

Get a large typewriter
and as the footsteps go up and down
outside your window.

Hit that thing
hit it hard.

Make it a heavyweight fight.

Make it the bull when he first charges in.

And remember the old dogs
who fought so well: Hemingway, Celine, Dostoievsky, Hamsun.

If you think they didn’t go crazy
in tiny rooms
just like you’re doing now
without women
without food
without hope.

Then you’re not ready.

Drink more beer
there’s time
and if there’s not
that’s all right
too.

3.12.07

Elogio del olvido (José Luis García Martín)

¿A qué grabar un nombre en las paredes,
manchar con torpes trazos la blancura
deslumbrante, impoluta, de la nada?
¿A qué este vano empeño de ir dejando señales,
de escribir en la arena, a resguardo del viento,
las triviales miserias que conforman tu vida?
Sobre las tercas líneas que dibujan un rostro
ha de pasar la mano piadosa de los años
borrando letras, sílabas, palabras sin sentido.
El papel en que escribes volverá a estar en blanco.
¿Y habrá dicha mayor que no haber sido?