Verena von Horsten - I cannot Breathe - Bukowski opening 5 Jahre Zukunft Zürich
Am 3. November fällt der Startschuss mit VerenaVon Horsten und Admiral James T. King Automatic. ... VerenaVon Horsten hebt sich vom Gros der Schweizer Songwriterinnen ab. ... Verena Von Horsten a sexy systematic talent, she slices you in switzadeutsche, cuts you with her voice before you can exhale gulf, from Winterthur this vixen smokes you out, holds you in harlem for the rest of your exhale,
letter to beer maiden
found anonymous
I know you don't wish to see this napkin, thats why I'm hiding behind the salt shakers annd rubbing it through with my fingers. I'm nervous, I've never seen such a pretty girl, and I don't know how to say to you that I love you. you probably get napkins like this all the time, but I have felt my heart out to this ink spill on paper, and hope that you will hold it as ferverently as I did, dear miss, dead beautiful face of krakow
Venice at Night
-Dago Hollander
You lie next to her, watching the ceiling fan, thinking: so this is what Venice sounds like. I’m in fucking Venice staring at a ceiling fan. Places are not people and people are not places, but if Venice was something like human, something like a person, this is what she would smell like, sound like.
There’s a bathroom with a shower down the hall. A dirty little room with a window facing the street. The water takes forever to heat up.
You don’t think about it because you’re not used to thinking about how it is without. Other sounds become more pronounced. There are no cars. You know this but, still, you think something is a little off. You can listen in on people’s conversations. Boats are silent things, after all. Venice at night is fucking silence.
It’s the sound of this ceiling fan, you see. If you listen intently, you can hear electricity in the walls. And you think: where did the years go? What does Venice have to do with anything?
If they made a movie of my life that's what it would be called: Venice at night. I have nothing on Venice and Venice have nothing on me. Nobody belongs in Venice. Venice is full of holes, dark crevices, forgotten memories, bad postcards. Places aren’t people, but still. Venice at night dress up in feathers and hold a thousand daggers gleaming against your throat and suddenly you can't breathe. Gondolas rock gently against her rough edges. Fucking Venice.
so what did you do, what did you do, in Venice?
I’ll tell you. I'll tell you before those other motherfucking geniuses come whispering, their photo albums showing how they did Venice this way and that.
We did Venice. Fucking awesome.
I'll tell you. Not a damned thing. We didn’t do a damned thing. We walked. We watched a movie. We ate. We slept.
Still.
I think of Venice sometimes. I don’t want to go back. If it goes under, I don’t want to know about it, so don’t send any letters. It’s not easy explain. Places have an effect. They can be like people in a way, they’re not completely silent. Sometimes I think that I left something there, in Venice, something I didn't know at the time, like a part of me, like you leave your keys on the table at night and the next morning they’re gone. Like part of me is still there, staring at that same ceiling fan, suspended in time, listening for sounds that aren't even there.
And I think: which part of me is the real one? Am I real? Maybe the real me is still in Venice? Maybe I'm just a walking ghost?
I hear you
The sun coming through the curtains. Venice in the morning. I’m not sleeping well here, I don’t know what it is. Nothing is ever truly silent but you get used to your own silence that you walk around with, develop some kind of relationship to. In a way, that silence is you when you're the most real. Your particular brand of silence, different from everyone else’s. I think there’s some kind of conflict going on between my silence and Venice’s silence. Like siblings that don’t get along.
So you get dressed. You pay a visit to the filthy bathroom down the hall with the window with the blurred glass and the shower with the water that will never fucking heat up. You try to rid yourself of this feeling, this conflict of silences. Venice at night.
There’s a bathroom with a shower down the hall. A dirty little room with a window facing the street. The water takes forever to heat up.
You don’t think about it because you’re not used to thinking about how it is without. Other sounds become more pronounced. There are no cars. You know this but, still, you think something is a little off. You can listen in on people’s conversations. Boats are silent things, after all. Venice at night is fucking silence.
It’s the sound of this ceiling fan, you see. If you listen intently, you can hear electricity in the walls. And you think: where did the years go? What does Venice have to do with anything?
If they made a movie of my life that's what it would be called: Venice at night. I have nothing on Venice and Venice have nothing on me. Nobody belongs in Venice. Venice is full of holes, dark crevices, forgotten memories, bad postcards. Places aren’t people, but still. Venice at night dress up in feathers and hold a thousand daggers gleaming against your throat and suddenly you can't breathe. Gondolas rock gently against her rough edges. Fucking Venice.
so what did you do, what did you do, in Venice?
I’ll tell you. I'll tell you before those other motherfucking geniuses come whispering, their photo albums showing how they did Venice this way and that.
We did Venice. Fucking awesome.
I'll tell you. Not a damned thing. We didn’t do a damned thing. We walked. We watched a movie. We ate. We slept.
Still.
I think of Venice sometimes. I don’t want to go back. If it goes under, I don’t want to know about it, so don’t send any letters. It’s not easy explain. Places have an effect. They can be like people in a way, they’re not completely silent. Sometimes I think that I left something there, in Venice, something I didn't know at the time, like a part of me, like you leave your keys on the table at night and the next morning they’re gone. Like part of me is still there, staring at that same ceiling fan, suspended in time, listening for sounds that aren't even there.
And I think: which part of me is the real one? Am I real? Maybe the real me is still in Venice? Maybe I'm just a walking ghost?
I hear you
The sun coming through the curtains. Venice in the morning. I’m not sleeping well here, I don’t know what it is. Nothing is ever truly silent but you get used to your own silence that you walk around with, develop some kind of relationship to. In a way, that silence is you when you're the most real. Your particular brand of silence, different from everyone else’s. I think there’s some kind of conflict going on between my silence and Venice’s silence. Like siblings that don’t get along.
So you get dressed. You pay a visit to the filthy bathroom down the hall with the window with the blurred glass and the shower with the water that will never fucking heat up. You try to rid yourself of this feeling, this conflict of silences. Venice at night.
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we the working children of third world wish to make this following message. this hello kity t-shirt with fine books logo u order come soon. we hope you will make feel very good wearing and cool. you motherfuckers. go to churhc yea. pray god eat be happy yeh? always wear good clothes and unhungry?
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SweetieSvettie73 f/brno/single
czech dating profile
I cannot show you my face, for fear my family will see me here,
but it doesn't keep me from wanting to have fun!
I hope you have a car!
Me, live in Brno, 23, I have 4 roommates, most of them are artists, but I pay the bills!!
looking to listen to rap music, maybe drive around, I'm not so specific
I love hockey, and American Tv! Sometimes would just like to stay in,
maybe watch american idol? Simple, not to much involved
I am attending University here, but I don't know if its for me, sometimes I just
want to get married and raise a family,
I hope you secretly want to too!
but till then, no reason we can't have some fun! Send me an Email Guys!!
but it doesn't keep me from wanting to have fun!
I hope you have a car!
Me, live in Brno, 23, I have 4 roommates, most of them are artists, but I pay the bills!!
looking to listen to rap music, maybe drive around, I'm not so specific
I love hockey, and American Tv! Sometimes would just like to stay in,
maybe watch american idol? Simple, not to much involved
I am attending University here, but I don't know if its for me, sometimes I just
want to get married and raise a family,
I hope you secretly want to too!
but till then, no reason we can't have some fun! Send me an Email Guys!!
Static Budapest
by Szabolcszs Enszdrődi
Things have gotten worse, I can hardly get through all the static. This video has been circulated around the parliament and with the ongoing protests in the street, I am in fear of my precious wine supply dwindling. I am doing my best however burning candles and taking mothers daily palinka doses, but the fires are ragin all over heroes square, terez korut is a wash with women wearing blank sensible pants in the summer! I am glad that the cold will come and cover this filth, damn poetry rilin' shit up again! all my love, -sabo
found postcard
european holidays
by jake sumpter
you know that look on her face by about 50 ft, goes all the way past the map, the girlfriends, the luggage, the distress on her feet, holiday.
such a sweet inspiring place to find yourself printed in the street,
staining such beautiful polaroid for a mere moment
as I pull hat down
my dog days are over
such a sweet inspiring place to find yourself printed in the street,
staining such beautiful polaroid for a mere moment
as I pull hat down
my dog days are over
to be dead or to be fashionable?
underground poets everywhere beAware!
-by janika fellini
Check out this
outrageous (and bulbous!) M. Jacobs cashmere coat complete with LA CRASIA
GLOVES! 1,900+300=! (stuffing/tumor & headgear not included) "W"
magazine JESUS
CHRIST died for your sin to look this fabulous!
one good way to quit smoking is have lots of sex
-Janus Lietzk, translated from the original Lithuanian by Boris Schultz
One good way to quit smoking is have lots of sex.
Better than one palm in the woods, three minutes
till midnight.
One good way to spend an afternoon is look for childhood friends
on facebook to see who died and who should have
but is still alive.
One good way to make new friends
is sign up for a bible-study couples night. Bring a side dish.
If boys make necklaces out of purple flowers
instead of boats
God dies a little. That's a promise. One good way
to quit smoking
is have lots of sex.
Better than one palm in the woods, three minutes
till midnight.
One good way to spend an afternoon is look for childhood friends
on facebook to see who died and who should have
but is still alive.
One good way to make new friends
is sign up for a bible-study couples night. Bring a side dish.
If boys make necklaces out of purple flowers
instead of boats
God dies a little. That's a promise. One good way
to quit smoking
is have lots of sex.
suicide art in the style of amsterdam
found mexico city 2003
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"One thing I love about this blog is how many different topics mingle together creating weird new cocktails of possibilities. One such recent cross-pollination for me has been the posts on LDR and Kafka coinciding with the gymnastics part of the London Olympics."
-anna S.
-anna S.
