неделя, 21 февруари 2010 г.

Madonna "Erotic"**

Sweet, gentle darkness.
A stray moonbeam coming from somewhere and ending nowhere.
Tall trees and taller shadows.
Her warm skin.

You whisper something in her ear.
I don't remember what, but it must have been lustful.
She bites our neck and holds us tighter.

Warm breath.
Flaming eyes.
Soft hair.

We claw at her.
We bite back.
We lick her skin.
We embrace her tighter.
We kiss her.

This is what freedom tastes like.

_____________________________________________________


** "Erotic" is a different version of the song "Erotica", which comes out as a single, accompanying the "Sex" book.

сряда, 17 февруари 2010 г.

KoЯn "Tearjerker"

The room is dark.
The only light is coming from the dimmed display of the stereo. It makes everything it somehow manages to touch seem eerie, ghostly, pale and surreal. The darkness seems to be trying to eat away all traces of this pale light.

It's Her room.
Were sitting on Her floor.
For once - you are at a loss for words.
So am I.

We somehow manage the strength to reach the stool and lean on it.
Our trembling fingers grasp the remote and point it at the stereo.
Track 14.
We somehow manage to press play, and collapse on the ground.

We want Her to hear the song.
Hear the lyrics.

We want Her to understand.
To feel, like I do.

She just sits there on the bed.

She pays no attention to the song.

There is no other sound but the stereo.
There are no other words.

You've lost the remainder of your strength.
You can't stop my tears any more.

The song ends.

Silence.
Darkness.

понеделник, 8 февруари 2010 г.

Broove "I'll see you again someday" ***

Morning.
The sun is slowly rising.
It's cool, but not cold.
Everything is covered in snow.
Everything seems to shine.

The light is the colour it was, when we were kids - soft and golden.
It's so calm.
So quiet.
The snow gently crunches under our feet.
The fresh air fills our lungs.

We smile.
We used to smile at these mornings when we were kids too.
We don't have a care in the world.

Just a golden morning and a white, puffy road ahead of us.


_____________________________________________________
*** The song is from Newgrounds' audio portal. I tried linking to it, but it seems the author has taken it down. I still have it on my MP3 player and on my PC. You can find it in one of Newgrounds' flash portal submissions. I believe it was "Colour my heart", but I'm not sure.

събота, 6 февруари 2010 г.

Simon & Garfunkel "The sound of silence"

We were sitting on the cold slab behind the wartime memorial.
It was too quiet - you could hardly even hear cars in the distance.
There was no one around - just the ever-green trees, the stones and the statues.
We were smoking our umpteenth cigarette, looking at the dirty rectangular hole in front of us, that was once, long before we were born, a fountain.

I was shouting my lungs out, but no sound could escape our lips.
Just the blue-grey smoke, reminding us to breathe.

You were going over all the telephone numbers again. There was no one left to call.

We don't like the rain - you and I.
Yet at at that moment...
We wished for rain.
For the first and last time.

The sky was clear and the sun was shining.
The day was bloody wonderful.

петък, 5 февруари 2010 г.

Michael Jackson "Ghosts"

A pub.
Dimmed lights. Smoke. Rock music flowing from the speakers. Dark wooden benches and huge tables.
A truly huge pint of beer in front of us, covering someone's writing on the worn-out wood.
Our closest friends around us.
The place is a sea of long hairs, black clothes, spikes, chains and loud voices.

You look at them. You try to follow the conversation.
You smile at their jokes and make witty remarks.
Your attention sometimes drifts to the decorations around us.
You think the fake spider-webs are a nice touch.

I'm looking across the pub.
There they are - behind a table at the other end of the room.
That zombie of a man is trying to look alive.
He holds her. He smiles. He kisses her.
All because we're there.
We are the only reason for him to try and look human.


But you and I - we know.
Tomorrow she'll call.
Tomorrow she'll come to us again.
Tomorrow she'll be ours again.
She knows it's just a show. Just a play he puts up.
That's why she keeps coming to us.

You take out a cigarette and light it.
I place a highlighter and a piece of paper in your hands.
I force you to listen to my dictation.
We write the fucking bastard a poem he'll never read.

Eagle Eye Cherry "Save Tonight"

4 AM - the coldest, darkest hour of the day.
It's the end of summer. We're sitting on a small balcony, the girl sits on our lap.

You notice the street below is dirty and many of the buildings around are unfinished.
The chimneys on the finished building over there remind you of Easter island.
The sky is clear, you can make out the stars easily through the city's smog.
You wonder how many cigarettes you have left.
For a short moment you think of the one that hurts us - of the last chance you will give her tomorrow.

I don't notice any of this.
You told me it's chilly, but for me - that's just an excuse.
To pull her closer and to hold her tighter.
I seek her warm lips.
I caress her hot skin.
I smile at her.

There is beauty in this stolen moment.
It's intimate. It's sincere.
It will never happen again.
But now... Now it is.

She plays us a fitting song.
She sees us off at the bus stop.
No goodbye kiss.
No "I'll miss you."

None needed.