so what now?

I guess we just keep dancing...

and the sign said

the words of prophets are written on subway walls

I need you tonight

cause I'm not sleeping
there's something about you girl
that makes me sweat

some kind of triangle

we keep passing unseen through little moments of other people's lives.

like those in the valley behind us

most people stand in sight of the spiritual mountains all their lives and never enter them, being content to listen to others who have been there and thus avoid the hardships. some travel into the mountains accompanied by more experienced guides who know the best and least dangerous routes by which they arrive at their destination. still others, inexperienced and untrusting, attempt to make their own routes. few of these are successful, but occasionally some, by sheer will and luck and grace, do make it. once there they become more aware than any of the others that there is no single or fixed numbers of routes. there are as many routes as there are individual souls...

when you try to climb a mountain to prove how big you are, you almost never make it. and even if you do, it's a hollow victory. in order to sustain the victory you have to prove yourself again and again in some other way, and again and again and again, driven forever to fill a false image, haunted by the fear that the image is not true and someone will find out.

that's never the way.

the audacity of hope

I believe that we have a righteous wind at our backs, and that as we stand on the crossroads of history, we can make the right choices and meet the challenges that face us.

I'd flip through catalogues and wonder

what kind of dining set defines me as a person?

(12) john wants to marry a girl with green eyes

apart from anything else, john, like most of us at one time or another, may be subject to irrational and contradictory desires: he might resolutely maintain that he wants to marry somebody he does not want to exist.

it may be argued that, if john wants to marry a girl with green eyes, having no specific girl in mind, he must nonetheless want it to be the case that there is a girl with green eyes such that he marries her...

I do not find this argument at all persuasive.

фьони е кафява

светло кафява.

кадифено меки са перата й.
фьони мъти кръгли речни камъни
седем.

Това е Фьони.

Това са камъните Фреска, Фон, Фретон, Фритоли, Персифедрон, Орон, Жиг.

Камъните също са кафяви.
Светлокафяви, продълговато кръгли.
Камъните много си приличат.
Само Фьони може да ги различи.
Само Фьони може да ги назове по име.
Фреска
Фон
Фретон
Фритоли
Персифедрон
Орон
и Жиг.
Фьони ще им бъде нежна майка.

Това е Фреска.

Фреска е единственото й момиче.
Прекалено женствена ще бъде тя.
Трябва да внимава с нея -
красота и доброта
събрани заедно
добро не носят.

Това е Фон.

Фон ще бъде доверчив и непохватен.
Ще се разболее от детски паралич
и ще му изсъхне
лявото крило.
Горкичкият.

Това е Фретон.

Това е Жиг.

Фретон - груба сила
без чувствителност.
Ще извади едното оченце на Жиг.

Това е Фритоли.

Това е ножът.
Фритоли ще бъде весел дебелак.
Склонност към шеги без остроумие.
Ще го заколят млад.

Това е Персифедрон.

Любимецът на Фьони е Персифедрон.
Пъргав и стеснителен,
поривист и сдържан -
всичко това едновременно!

Орон.

Орон - тъмен характер,
мистична душа.
Няма да признае Фьони за родител.
Възмездие за сторен грях -
преди, някога, далече назад...

Това е Жиг.

Това е Фретон.

Жиг ще има хитро изражение.
А когато Фретон му извади едното оченце,
лицето му ще захитрее още повече.

Фьони мъти кръгли речни камъни.
Двадесет и второ денонощие.
Ослушва се.
С нежна човка чуква върху Фреска.
Тишина.
Фьони разсъждава така:
Забави се Фреска.
И Фон се забави.
И Фретон.
И Фритоли.
И Персифедрон.
Орон и Жиг -
също така.
И е тъжно това.
Много е тъжно това.
Има ли нещо по-тъжно от това?

Ах, нека се парализира Фон!
Ах, нека ослепее Жиг!
Ах, нека заколят Фритоли!
Ах, нека, ах, нека!
Само да имаше!
Ах, да имаше:
Фреска
Фон
Фретон
Фритоли
Персифедрон
Орон
и Жиг!

Уви, това е невъзможно:
Фьони мъти кръгли речни камъни.

Фьони е тъжна. Фьони плаче.

Камъните са тъжни. И камъните плачат.

почивай в мир.

hear my echo, dancing bear

send seasonal greetings from nowhere

I'm working and playing away

remember the moment of leaving

yesterday, yesterday

It's a great thing

when you realize you still have the ability to surprise yourself.

then he which had received the one talent

came and said, Lord, I knew thee that thou art an hard man, reaping where thou hast not sown, and gathering where thou hast not strawed:

and I was afraid, and went and hid thy talent in the earth: lo, there thou hast that is thine.

his lord answered and said unto him, thou wicked and slothful servant, thou knewest that I reap where I sowed not, and gather where I have not strawed:

thou oughtest therefore to have put my money to the exchangers, and then at my coming I should have received mine own with usury.

take therefore the talent from him, and give it unto him which hath ten talents.

for unto every one that hath shall be given, and he shall have abundance: but from him that hath not shall be taken away even that which he hath.

and cast ye the unprofitable servant into outer darkness: there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth.

I don't need to sell my soul

he's already in me.

I wanna be adored

електролитна дисоциация

анионите към катода.

катоините към анода.

everything in its right place.

п.с. chrome не е никак зле.

никак не харесвам социални мрежи

и сайтове за запознанства:

През последната седмица invisiblechild не е изпратил нито една покана за приятелство Той не е получил нито една покана за приятелство.
invisiblechild няма нито един приятел.

знам, че съм малко кофти, но трябва ли да ми се натяква толкова грубо?

and if he was calm like you

locked up inside of your loops
then he'd know full well
that all he had to say was
all he had to say was goodbye

I can assure you

my intentions are strictly honourable.

que tan largo tiempo os ha esperado

... y se dice que la princesa descendió al reino de su padre. y que ahí reinó con justicia y bondad, por muchos siglos. y que dejo tras de sí, pequeñas huellas de su paso por el mundo, visibles solo para aquel que sepa donde mirar.

you know that ringing in your ears?

that 'eeeeeeeeeeeeeee'? that's the sound of the ear cells dying, like their swan song. once it's gone you'll never hear that frequency again.

enjoy it while it lasts.

ето едно самоописание

от преди четири години, за списание библиотеката:

§ за себе си: 18 години, софия. не карам ски, сърф или скейт. понякога се разхождам из центъра и зяпам хората. и седя по пейките. и чета книги. не говоря много. не се набивам на очи. и обичам да слагам точката.
§ занимава се с: преди всичко и най-вече лентяйство. от онзи спешъл вид, който до нищо хубаво не води. също така с физика. и мъъъничко психология. но най-вече с книгочетене.
§ творчество: имам написани няколко тона поезия, която за нищо не става и двайсетина хубави стихотворения. и няколко импресии, които си обичам. но напоследък никак не мога да пиша. сигурно остарявам.
§ като музика: остава, белослава, radiohead, placebo, faith no more, unkle, ebtg, rhcp, portishead, nirvana, korn, etc etc etc. напоследък умирам за ян тиерсен. но като цяло трип-хоп + джаз = моята музика. и изобщо всичко, което е алтернатива на поп, рок и хип-хоп.
§ последните три песни, които ми харесаха: franz ferdinand - this ffffire; semisonic - secret smile; tool - schism.
§ литература: кажи-речи каквото ми падне пред очите - това. избягвам обаче прекалено розови романи и също астрология и пилешка супа. може да се каже, че лелея за сериозна литература (тоест такава, класическа, немодерна и на места скучновата); обаче пък понякога умирам за фентъзи.
§ любимите ми книги: "Нещо се случи", "Форест Гъмп" и едно томче на Хемингуей

не съм се променил много.

I'm not living

I'm just killing time

не съм много сигурен за какво да мечтая сега

she was sitting up now

my arm was around her and she was leaning back against me, and we were quite calm. she was looking into my eyes with that way she had of looking that made you wonder whether she really saw out of her own eyes. they would look on and on after everyone else's eyes in the world would have stopped looking. she looked as though there were nothing on earth she would not look at like that, and really she was afraid of so many things.

I am the third revelation

I have a competition in me. I want no-one else to succeed. I hate most people... there are times when I look at people and I see nothing worth liking. I see the worst in people. I don't need to look past seeing them to get what I need. I've built my hatreds up over the years, little by little

търся те

но знам
няма как да се намерим
скитаме сами

оказа се, че всъщност нямам кой знае колко много притежания.

have you ever kissed a girl?

- I don't know.
- you don't know?... open your mouth. open, like this. like you were tasting something very good... and very soft. like this. close your eyes. it's okay, ray.
- yeah.
- how was that?
- wet.
- then we did it right.

I drink till I'm drunk

and I smoke till I'm senseless

trust me, it's paradise

this is where the hungry come to feed

for mine is a generation that circles the globe
in search of something we haven't tried before
so
never refuse an invitation
never resist the unfamiliar
never fail to be polite
never outstay your welcome

just keep your mind open
suck in the experience
and if it hurts...
well you know what?

it's probably worth it.

our relationship is like an addiction

... like vindaloo curry. really really hot indian curry they make with red chilli peppers. you're abrasive and annoying and come on way too strong, like... vindaloo curry. and when you're crazy about curry, that's fine - but no matter how much you love curry, if you have too much of it, it takes the roof of your mouth off. and then you never want to see curry for a really really long time but you wake up one day and you think...

god I really miss curry.

burroughs is in tangiers

I don't think he'll come back it's sinister.
are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?

the world is just a ride

in an amusement park. and when you choose to go on it you think it's real because that's how powerful our minds are. and the ride goes up and down and round and round and it's got thrills and chills and it's very brightly coloured and it's fun for a while. but some people have been on the ride for a long time and they begin to question - is this real? or is it just a ride?

and we kill those people.

let them play their jazz records

and dance all night if they want to.

so, what do you really want to do?

- I want to be a shepherd.
- really?
- I wanna move up to nashua, get a nice little spread, get some sheep and tend to them.

you are a part time lover

and a full time friend
the monkey on your back is the latest trend
I don't see what anyone can see in anyone else
but you

perhaps it is easy

for those who have never felt the stinging darts of segregation to say 'wait'. but when you have seen vicious mobs lynch your mothers and fathers at will and drown your sisters and brothers at whim; when you have seen hate-filled policemen curse, kick and even kill your black brothers and sisters; when you have seen the vast majority of your twenty million negro brothers smothering in an airtight cage of poverty in the midst of an affluent society; when you suddenly find your tongue twisted and speech stammering as you seek to explain to your six-year-old daughter why she can't go to the public amusement park that has just been advertised on television, and see tears welling up in her eyes when she is told that funtown is closed to colored children, and see ominous clouds of inferiority beginning to form in her little mental sky, and see her beginning to distort her personality by developing an unconscious bitterness toward white people; when you have to concoct an answer for a five-year-old son who is asking:"daddy, why do white people treat colored people so mean?"; when you take a cross-country drive and find it necessary to sleep in the uncomfortable corners of your automobile because no motel will accept you; when you are humiliated day in and day out by nagging signs reading "white" and "colored"; when your first name becomes "nigger", your middle name becomes "boy" (however old you are) and your last name becomes "john," and your wife and mother are never given the respected title "mrs."; when you are harried by day and haunted by night by the fact that you are a negro, living constantly at tiptoe stance, never quite knowing what to expect next, and are plagued with inner fears and outer resentments; when you are forever fighting a degenerating sense of "nobodiness" - then you will understand why we find it difficult to wait.

there comes a time when the cup of endurance runs over, and men are no longer willing to be plunged into the abyss of despair.

trust thyself

a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines. with consistency a great soul has simply nothing to do. he may as well concern himself with his shadow on the wall. speak what you think in hard words and to-morrow speak what to-morrow thinks in hard words again, though it contradict every thing you said to-day. - 'ah, so you shall be sure to be misunderstood.' - is it so bad then to be misunderstood? pythagoras was misunderstood, and socrates, and jesus, and luther, and copernicus, and galileo, and newton, and every pure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. to be great is to be misunderstood.

when i grow up

I want to be a little boy.

he walks away

the sun goes down
he takes the day but I'm grown
and in this gray
in this blue shade
my tears dry on their own

because once upon a time

the line followed the river
and peeked into all the backyards
and the laundry was waving
and the graffiti was teasing us
from brick walls and bridges

we were rolling over ridges
through valleys
under stars
I dream of touring like duke elington
in my own railroad car
I dream of waiting on the tall blonde wooden benches
in a grand station aglow with grace
and then standing out on the platform
and feeling the air on my face

golden brown

texture like sun
lays me down, with my mind she runs
throughout the night
no need to fight
never a frown
with golden brown

I never really got there

I just pretended that I had
words are blunt instruments
words are sawn off shotguns

but then, you know

we have to come to the pool of self-reflection and therein lies the monster of reason.

like air bubbles

trapped in cement, the decisions we make in a moment haunt us for the rest of our lives.

because we separate

like
ripples on a blank shore.

who's jodie?

I'm just a sad, sad little box.