imanamanai: castraveti murati fara nimic

luni, 14 decembrie 2009

castraveti murati fara nimic

castraveti murati fara nimic. nothing fancy.down to earth. and back again.

like a big pizza pie, that's amore, un umar gol, a wet towel, un sarut pe tampla umeda, a dance in the attic. some withered flowers in a glass, a peach on a plate, yesterday's tears of happiness. gather them in a jar and make a spell -and just whisper never to end, never to end, never to end, never to end.

e praf peste tot! si norii astia ! am interzis norii! norilor, gata cu ploaia! GATA! GAta, am zis....gata..ga..! norul asta nu mai termina odata cu picaturile lui cu efect intarziat, parca-ar fi un pisacios batran.

mi-aduc aminte de un smochin care nu dadea rod!

mine.mine.mine. he's mine

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Alice: But I don't want to go among mad people.

The Cat: Oh, you can't help that. We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad.

Alice: How do you know I'm mad?

The Cat: You must be. Or you wouldn't have come here.

Alice: And how do you know that you're mad?

The Cat: To begin with, a dog's not mad. You grant that?

Alice: I suppose so

The Cat: Well, then, you see, a dog growls when it's angry, and wags its tail when it's pleased. Now I growl when I'm pleased, and wag my tail when I'm angry. Therefore I'm mad.

If you shut your eyes and are a lucky one, you may see at times a shapeless pool of lovely pale colours suspended in the darkness; then if you squeeze your eyes tighter, the pool begins to take shape, and the colours become so vivid that with another squeeze they must go on fire. But just before they go on fire you see the lagoon. This is the nearest you ever get to it on the mainland, just one heavenly moment; if there could be two moments you might see the surf and hear the mermaids singing. The children often spent long summer days on this lagoon, swimming or floating most of the time, playing the mermaid games in the water, and so forth. You must not think from this that the mermaids were on friendly terms with them: on the contrary, it was among Wendy’s lasting regrets that all the time she was on the island she never had a civil word from one of them. When she stole softly to the edge of the lagoon she might see them by the score, especially on Marooners’ Rock, where they loved to bask, combing out their hair in a lazy way that quite irritated her; or she might even swim, on tiptoe as it were, to within a yard of them, but then they saw her and dived, probably splashing her with their tails, not by accident, but intentionally.