“—You is from hunger, Mr Bones”
Intense.
Recencja w Technopolis/Polityka
Let not young souls be smothered out before
They do quiant deeds and fully flaunt their pride.
It is the world’s one crime its babes grow dull,
Its poor are ox-like, limp and leaden-eyed.
Not that they starve, but starve so dreamlessly;
Not that they sow, but that they seldom reap;
Not that they serve, but have no gods to serve;
Not [...]
A poem by John Balance from the obscure book about the Virgin Prunes from the mid-late 1980s titled VIRGIN PRUNES Faculties of a Broken Heart by Rolf Vasellari.
“Disabled Landscape”
From the spires of an old grey tree
Swings a burial at sea
Her white limbs spilling
Out chains of flowers,golden
Heavy with bees
These [...]
. . . fueled by self-loathing. When the Kuang program met the first of the defenders, scattering the leaves of light, he felt the shark thing lose a degree of substantiality, the fabric of information loosening.
And then - old alchemy of the brain and its vast pharmacy - his hate flowed into his hands.
In the [...]
Percy Bysshe Shelley - (1816)
We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon;
How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver,
Streaking the darkness radiantly! - yet soon
Night closes round; and they are lost for ever;
Or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings
Give various response to each varying blast,
To whose frail frame no second motion brings
One mood or [...]
Hengist wzywa mężczyzn.
Pospieszą z piaszczystych rubieży ginących w bezkresie mórz, z zadymionych chat, z jałowych ziem, z głębi wilczych borów, gdzie w niewiadomych ostępach mieszka zło.
Oracze porzucą pługi, a rybacy sieci.
Porzucą swe żony i swe dzieci, bowiem mężczyzna wie, że w jakimkolwiek miejscu nocy znajdzie nowe kobiety, spłodzi nowych synów.
Hengist najemnik wzywa mężczyzn.
Wzywa ich na [...]