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По фоткам - Гамлет :Р

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Чтоб хуй стоял () и деньги были! ()

только я интроверт... от общения я устаю.

* * *

 

Your eyelashes look synthetic

Your hairdo looks pathetic

Your charm is a clowness’s charm

Your heart beats like a drum

In the afternoon calm

Inside your velveteen head

A bothersome thought

A restless preacher

Beneath a dome of gold

* * *

 

My friend, do you know the name of our God  

His damask steel sword is red with a blocker’s blood.  

Like Andalusian soil is his terra cotta tan,    

With his spell he has summoned a rebel called Man.

Or maybe you know better the antagonist of our play,

A humongous statue of entropy cast in clay.

 

* * *

 

A jolly prisoner toying with his chain

His nostrils greedily inhaling freedom’s scent

Poem after poem, like game after game

Of solitaire to kill the time he played.

And as his comrades took out the guards

He passed to me his deck of lyric cards.

 

 

* * *

 

There once lived a Lady in Houston,

Who really loved Whitney Houston.

When her stereo broke,

It was not a joke

For that silly Young Lady from Houston.

 

* * *

 

There was one Caesar of Rome,

Who wrote tome after tome.

“I am way too great for revenge;

People like Brutus can change!”

Explained that Caesar of Rome.

 

* * *

 

Four legs, two arms, she was nothing but a chair,

But you – a lovely tennis ball with blonde hair

We flew to Mars, to Jupiter from there

I spent a lot of money, so unfair…

But I would not agree to date you here

What if we bumped into an eye, an ear?

This planet is not safe from busy bodies,

We haven’t copyrighted yet our bodies.

 

* * *

 

“All religions are basically same.”

Doesn’t this banality sound lame?

True they warship God with pleas

Groveling on their knees.

Their flattery untamed,      

Insincerity buys prophets’ fame.

Only one voice sounds true:

“Jesus fill me up” - was it you?

Growing old but feeling young,

Being young, but feeling old,

Her beauty streaming from her tongue,

He becomes her Christ, her Lord.  

Son of God or son of a bitch,

What’s the fucking difference -

Her agenda is to get rich!

Everything else is inference.

* * *

 

A young woman in Granada

Waits forever for her lover

And she whispers to the blooming

Orange planted by her father

“In this soil - my mother’s tears…

In this weal - the lizards moan…

In this heart - my sweetheart’s dreams…

In this world - I am alone.

Life is but my lover’s joke…

Maybe weeping is the cure,

Let me weep in papa’s garden

Where love is pure…”

 

As the dawn breaks - brilliant maze of dew 

Virgin grass blades not yet bent by you!

 

Those flowers are my children

They shall bloom when I am gone.

They shall own this little orchard

They shall fall upon my bones

Life is just my lover’s secret

Maybe tears are the cure

Let me shed them…

In this soil

Where love is pure.

 

As the dawn breaks, brilliant maze of dew

Virgin grass blades not yet bent by you.

* * *

 

Stroking my fingers along your spine

You say my fingertips feel divine

Tonight we drank a lot of wine,

What number are you, 59?

Your breathing getting heavier

The grinding’s getting steadier

Why can’t you wait a little while?

Is foreplay such a crime?

 

The crescent, like an old prostitute’s grin

Drink gin, and ravish a piece of skin.

 

I know that you like it hard,

You like to hear your pussy fart.

Like a fish out of the water

In agony you wiggle your ass

As you receive my sweet caress.

You seem too young, just like my daughter

After your mother I’ve embraced.

Appears to me unripe your grace. 

 

The crescent, like an old prostitute’s grin

Drink gin, and ravish a piece of skin.

 

Oh, if I were that enthusiastic!

I feel with you almost plastic.

I feel with you almost chaste…

But that’s the beauty of the game

Ice cooling off the vigorous flame,

Lust cares not for age or caste.  

So calming the drumming of the rain,

But all will go down the drain.

But everything will go to waste.

 

The crescent, like an old prostitute’s grin

Drink gin, and ravish a piece of skin.

 

Can procreation be of consolation?

Forgive me for the sloppy orchestration

The instrument is not at fault

The temperature is very hot

And quite sufficient the lubrication

The tuning is perfect to a fault.

But this old cellist is too jaded,

And by your mother overrated.

This battery needs a little jolt.

 

The crescent, like an old prostitute’s grin

Drink gin, and ravish a piece of skin.

картиночки прекольные :) особенно сочетания цветов радуют  :) чесслово

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Чтоб хуй стоял () и деньги были! ()

Спасибо. Надеюсь они помогут определить мой ТИМ.

* * * 

 

Waste away in the kingdom of day!

You, who flee tranquil night’s drunken sway,

Like a sleazy dance instructor the night

Swings your searching soul left and right 

Gelled hair, wrinkled vests, rouges of lust -

They are dancing Dandut in the “House of Rust”

Waste away in the kingdom of day,

Where smog from the jeeps paints gray

Schoolgirls lining up holding up their passes,

Soon they will know what’s what,

And we will fill their glasses.