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19 janvier 2013 6 19 /01 /janvier /2013 17:18

Which colour is Dublin?

Is it red? Is it yellow?

Is it grey? Is it green?

Do you ever know?

 

Can you tell?

Have you been?

Have you seen?

Oh the hell!

 

No painter could tell

What colour she is!

No poet could hail

What his eye seizes!

 

Even the streets have no clue,

The Guinness’s black and blue,

The people keep shining

 

And I am getting blue

As I t’ink back of you,

My Dublin...

 

(2012)

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7 septembre 2010 2 07 /09 /septembre /2010 00:10

In an all-made-in-China world,

Where all lads turn sad, or bad, or mad,

(Choose whatever, but mark my word)

Am a self-made man, and am glad!

In an all-made-in-China world,

Am a self-made man and am free,

And not even for all the tea

In China, (where they sell fish),

Would I let myself be bad, or mad, or selfish!

In an all-made-in-China world,

Am a self-made man and one of the few,

One of the few who dares to care!

In an all-made-in-China world,

Am as free as the air,

And as polluted too...

But tell me: who does really care

In an all-made-in-China world?

Well I personally do...

God knows am one of the few,

One of the few who cares to dare,

In an all-made-in-China world,

Where every little thing stinks,

Even Heaven and feelings,

They smell of plastic!

Am still one of the few who tries to think,

One of the few who does not stick,

(No, no never stick to any ideal;

Always remain a soul rebel!)

In an all-made-in-China world,

Compliments are most useful:

With them you can pay any fool,

And still do credit to the Lord...

But in an all-made-in-China world,

I must admit am most bored,

'Coz in an all-made-in-China world,

There ain't any cause worth fighting for;

And in an all-made-in-China world,

Men only know the use of sword,

But me, oh me my Lord!

In this whole made-in-China world,

Me, am only waiting and hoping for,

Someone, for some woman Lord,

To turn me mad, and sad, and more...

 

(2010)

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16 août 2010 1 16 /08 /août /2010 11:21

Heard them say on the telly,
That Life is the only remedy,
The problem is, I just can't afford it,

Politicians, scientists and priests,
They should all have expected it!

But instead we're all cattle
Left for the battle,
We're all alluring whores
Lost in a world of wars,

So now, what's up princess Life?
What are the news?
Don't want you as my wife,
You're too much of a bitch I should abuse.

Don't wanna pay the price
For membership among the sheep
I had rather throw the dice twice or thrice
And see what pleasure I still can keep

For Life is a game
And we are but game
Left for famous names
To toy with in flames

Will Jesus ever have the guts
To leave alone all his motherfucking sluts
And come back to this Earth
Come back to this hearth?

Am afraid Life has been dead for years,
Belief, hatred, and blood,
Have now become our masters,
And we cannot help the flood.

So now, what's up princess Life?
What are the news?
Don't want you as my wife,
You're too much of a bitch I should abuse,
You're too much of a bitch I should abuse...

(2010)

 

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6 août 2010 5 06 /08 /août /2010 18:26

Let me mock for a second,

The passing of Time,

With its chariot of hours blind,

Following him close behind,

Strucking at intervals on the chime.

 

Let me mock for a second,

Say, the passing of seasons,

With their chariot of memories blind,

From which hang these lives of ours,

Following them doggedly behind.

 

Like some beast lame,

Lost in the fog,

We are stuck in the peatbog,

Of our own shame;

 

Nothing will ever be or do,

That could ease our mind;

We shall all carry on going to the loo,

Unknowing what is in store for mankind...

 

(2010)

 

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13 avril 2010 2 13 /04 /avril /2010 23:45

Life is a whole,

a war,

a hole,

a whore, 

With whom I make,

money and love,

Only for pleasure's sake,

Do I fall in love,

Love is fool,

full,

of folly,

hopefully,

Money is good,

as gold,

it's food,

for the soul,

it's old,

it's odd,

it's bold,

it's God...

 

 terre.jpg

 

 

it's God,

it's bold,

it's odd,

it's old,

for the soul,

it's food,

as gold,

Money is good,

hopefully,

of folly,

full,

Love is fool,

Do I fall in love,

Only for pleasure's sake?

Money and love,

with whom I make,

a whore,

a hole,

a war,

Life is a whole...

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11 avril 2010 7 11 /04 /avril /2010 02:08
I am not a man,
I have never been,
That's too much work,
And shame,

I am not a man,
I am a name,
One you've surely seen,
On some screen,

I am part of a system,
No one can ever get a sense of,
I am part of this poem,
I am a part of all this stuff,

And apart from myself,
I know not whom to hate,
Or love, or masturbate,
I am bound to be deaf,

Only but constantly,
Hearing the shrill melody,
Of my own interior orchestra,
Of thoughts and ego-drama...
(2010)
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11 avril 2010 7 11 /04 /avril /2010 01:54

They say money has no smell,
Is that true? Is that Truth?
Well then there's one thing I can tell,
On hearing It coming out from this mouth,
And that is it smells like over-cooked Hell,

The infest taste,
And the scent of Absinth,
Will forever rest,
Hangovering on my mind like a saint,
Flying through the depths of my chest,

This alcoholic of sorts,
Is surely no angel,
But he would make any human hearts,
Cry tears of Honesty & Virtue as out of a well,
With the ferocity of a lost soul...

 

(2010)

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11 avril 2010 7 11 /04 /avril /2010 01:53
ELS stuff #1

Just WRITE! Just WRITE!
Keep WRITING, it's as simple as this!
Just WRITE, WRITE, WRITE please!
It should be alright, (ain't it?),
Well anyway: shut up and WRITE,
But where shall I go now?
Maybe I could turn on the right?
And left behind me all this light?
I feel like WRITING now,
Which, in a way, is a fight,
To the finish, to the end of the night,
And the beginning of Dreams,
Of Dreams and Sight,
And the beginning of Dreams,
Of Dreams and Might...
(2010)
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11 avril 2010 7 11 /04 /avril /2010 01:26

If you were to find me,
Down on my knees,
It would rather be,
I'm giving head, than praying for ya Jeez,

To come and jerk me off,
This masturbating place,
Come and jerk me off,
This religious mess,

Full of massing priests,
Priests and pricks,
But hey, you've got no choice,
Still I ask you in the mellowest possible voice,

To please have mercy,
Have mercy on me,
Though it's true I don't believe in thee,
You ain't got no choice but to say "yes", I'm sorry,

Must confess,
I rarely miss ya,
And your black mess,
You messy messiah,

I fuck, I smoke, I drink,
Never mind what you think,
You might as well say I sink,
But you, and your ways stink,

The Holy Spirit’s,
Like a sieve,
Full of holes and culprits,
Fools and thieves,

Jesus! Goddamn!
There's something you must know,
I don't give a damn,
About what you're trying to show,

About your bloody sermon,
I'd rather be on my knees to blow,
Than to swallow your manna from Heaven,
This deadly poisoned semen full of sorrow...

 

(2009)

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10 avril 2010 6 10 /04 /avril /2010 23:25
Have you ever felt,
That irresistible desire to flee away,
To try and escape,
Your own Destiny, your own way,
As if nothing on earth,
Could of any importance be,
Nor of any worth?

There is no such thing as a belief,
For belief is just a relief,
An analgesic for the tortured mind,
Some morphine for the suffering blind,
To believe is not to know,
You can believe in anything,
But what you know,
Is far from being anything: it is something,

And that little something we call "knowledge" is,
What makes Beauty come out from that barren landscape,
This plain desert we call "mindscape",
It raises mountains and cliffs of Love and Passion,
Out from our own Imagination,
Mountains and cliffs on which edges,
We are able to sit and look from above,
At the Beauty of our own soul, this marvellous living grove...
(2009)
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