Κυριακή, 10 Ιουλίου 2011

not sad, just disappointed

doctor said i,i'd be alright. oh,everything that i believed,it wasn't true.i found it out when i got close to you.i thought you were different,like a dream.things they ain't never what they seem,whoa.thought i could trust you with my soul.but you can't do that anymore.
the doctor said i'd be alright,but i still feel blue.the doctor said i'd be alright,but i still love you.love you,hate you...love you,want you,hate you...ah,yeah...
i'm different.me myself,i'm different than all the rest.i can only speak for myself,but people can trust me. 
dedicated

Πέμπτη, 7 Ιουλίου 2011

passion

I'm dead. No, that's too melodramatic. I'm not dead. But I live without self-respect. I know it sounds silly and pretentious. Most people live without self-esteem. Humiliated at heart, stifled, and spat upon. They're alive and that's all they know. They know of no alternative. Even if they did, they would never reach out for it. Can one be sick with humiliation? Is this a disease we have to live with? We talk so much about freedom. Isn't freedom a poison for the humiliated? Or is it merely a drug the humiliated use in order to endure? I can't live like this. I've given up. I can't stand it anymore. The days drag by. I'm choked by the food I swallow, the shit I get rid of, the words I say. The daylight screams at me every morning to get up. Sleep is only dreams that chase me. The darkness rustles with ghosts and memories. Has is ever occurred to you that the worse off people are, the less they complain? Finally, they're silent even if they're living creatures with nerves, eyes, and hands. Vast armies of victims and hangmen. The sun rises and falls, heavily. The cold approaches. The darkness. The heat. The smell. They're all silent. We can never leave. It's too late. Everything's too late.

Κυριακή, 3 Ιουλίου 2011

βροχος

Τώρα ποὺ σ᾿ ἔχω διαγράψει ἀπ᾿ τὴν καρδιά μου,
ξαναγυρνᾷς ὅλο καὶ πιὸ πολὺ ἐπίμονα,
ὅλο καὶ πιὸ πολὺ τυραννικά.
Δὲν ἔχουν ἔλεος τὰ μάτια σου γιὰ μένα,
δὲν ἔχουν τρυφερότητα τὰ λόγια σου,
τὰ δάχτυλά σου ἔγιναν τώρα πιὸ σκληρά,
ἔγιναν πιὸ κατάλληλα γιὰ τὸ λαιμό μου.

Ντίνος Χριστιανόπουλος