Another Week Day Poetry: Your Breasts Is The Best But Your Brain Is A32 Size Tumour

Your titties will get shitty soon,

So play again the song you like to croon.

Your posture will get shrunk one day

And skin will be as wrinkled as shar pei.

Your titties will be hanging on your knees

And no one will be willing for a squeeze,

Your charming bum that jiggles on the go,

Won't do it all the time, you know...

Beside all that you'll die. And probably in pain.

So please make sure your titties weren't here in vain,

When you'll be suffering in smelly, pissed, old bed,

Make sure you'll think 'life wasn't really bad'.

«It's sweet, long life»,- you'll say without shade of doubt,

Well yeah, until you really think about,

About inescapable, yet simple trick of fate,

My dear, your titties will get shitty soon or late.

Monday Poetry: Blue-Blue, Cold-Cold Sky

Look at the blue-blue, cold-cold sky,

It wouldn't pretend, wouldn't fake it, wouldn't lie,

If it wasn't so, clouds would rather be slow,

But there are no clouds at all.

If there was at least something, it would be a different day,

Different time limits, different universe, different dogs to pray,

There may not be cigarettes, thou might be absent too,

What can I possibly forget in such place without you?

There could be some fun, immortality, few new games to play,

As a tourist I'd try, but I'm not sure I'd stay,

Who made it up? What is this place where you can't even die?

I don't know, I think I'll go for 'Blue-Blue, Cold-Cold Sky'! 

To my dearest man-boy M.

P.S Just in case, there is no mistake with the dogs.

Spontaneous Tuesday Poetry: The FB Wall Sodomy

The information you spread is pretty boring my dear.

Are you trying to hurt me or simply to jeer?

For those who asleep or those who are warring

Every fucking day, every fucking morning.

The information you share was digested awhile,

It can't shock any more, cannot touch or make smile.

It just brings irritation or some kind of a bile

And it sounds like - No way! What a clever fucking style!

The treasures you've found, about art, past and youth,

About power of nature or night sky on the roof

Doesn't attract and tastes like a spoof

Because all of it, simply leftovers in truth.

To be dumb like a stone and as mole to be blind,

How does it feel? What it is like? 

To catch tiny reflections of another man's mind,

Does it make you feel proud of your glorious kind?

Crying Fool

Lately I've began more and more to pay attention to women with a comic point of view. Some of my friends, or just passers-by, repeatedly give me ideas like "Oh, this feature could be used so funny ..." For example today on the street, I saw a girl my age who actually provoked and inspired me for this post. She was peroxide blonde, with that lollipop type of figure (or maybe a panda ice cream when it’s not only the head but the body and the head of a panda on a stick) when the legs are thin-thin, and on top of them planted quite oval, a bit fat body, short neck and a very round head. However the most amusing was the fact that she was very sad, even tearful. For sure I sound a bit harsh, but she's the only one who fascinated me. Even my 11 year-old niece has an absolutely ridiculous voice (Seriously, it sounds like a grown male trying to do clearly unnatural high, squeaky, begging voice). Don’t get me wrong, I don’t laugh at other people’s shortcomings (I don’t think of them so, but fine, let's call them that), I see them as privileges, like special highlights that are not given to simple and thus more of a mortal peoploids.

Inability to laugh at yourself generates more reason to take offense at others, thereby isolating you in the list of "those with whom you cannot joke." (Well, okay, we can have a good time without jokes. Without even a single joke in your direction. We can read a book. And even better if we do it separately. Everyone alone at home. Mmm. I bet your friends truly hate you).

 I believe that the biggest mistake of most women is fear to look silly, to be a little fool, this frantic mania to fix yourself, to repair, to replace, to hide, to become a role model, what a fucking waste of time. However no one even thinks how funny it could be the way it is. (Hence: laughter is positive, you make people laugh, they like you for it, they add you to friends and they like your photos, and there is no need for the 57th photo with unfunny ducky face). Of course there is a side where a woman wants to be a simply beautiful woman, because the devil editor of a women's magazine said so, but ... oh my God ... I cannot refute this ... something’s not allow me to ... ah, it's just that chip integrated in my brain that controls me, so then I won’t think too much and won’t say anything wrong that could affect the sale of the magazine.

Anyway, whether it is a big nose (potato type, pear type, eagle, slightly melted Toblerone, it doesn’t matter, I love big noses) plompy silly cheeks, Excessive thinness, extra folds (simple love handles and complex handles), a large height and clumsiness, small height and funny bouncing gait, risible voice of any kind, speech defects, nationality, your life, manners, and even personality traits that somehow annoy or amuse others. Add to this a little observation of yourself and the outside world and in theory the golden key is yours. All this (and more) is priceless, I think. As long as you are able to notice it in yourself with humour and take the piss out of it (so that no one else can do it with you again * tear *).

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The Friday Poetry at Thursday. "To hobo"

Two days ago, in front of my window has died a homeless person. I have watched him for a long time. Slept on the ground, on cardboard. Even at the end of the summer, when it began to get cold I thought how he would go on like this, and then he has died. And here's something I wrote. (Originally I wrote it in Russian, so the English version may seem painfully awkward, but I firmly believe that this is forgivable in poetry.

Russian version below )

I just want you to live well

And were a good person, no woe

That thou shouldest be stronger and smarter than was

And didn’t have to take cover with snow,

How many losses and how many roads

So helplessly you're wandering heaved 

But that someone would write a few lines to you

You would never have believed,

Rotted chair and a pair of plastic bags

All the wealth that you've managed to find

Instead of a soft bed and balloons

To solemnly, proudly say goodbye.

Aloof, offended, you slept and smoked

On your aching bones

But maybe, sometime, you have lived and loved

Among seemed, as you thought of ‘yours’,

Turned out, broke down perhaps you could not

Did not find the right words and accents

To hell are you damned, God said to you

And lost in the crucial moments,

I do not want to pity, this feeling is bad

Meaningless and speechless

I would like at least now

You have finally found, a plenty of intimate rest.

" Бомжу "

Хочется просто чтоб ты жил хорошо
И был хорошим человеком
Чтобы ты был сильнее и умнее был
И не спал укрываясь снегом ,
Сколько потерь и сколько дорог
Так беспомощно ты бродил
Но что кто - то напишет пару строчек тебе
Ты бы никогда не поверил ,
Прогнившее кресло и пару кульков
Все богатства что смог ты найти
Вместо мягкой постели и воздушных шаров
Чтоб торжественно , гордо уйти ,
Отчужденный , обиженный , спал и курил
На костях ты своих больных
Но быть может , когда - то ты жил и любил
Среди как бы , казалось своих ,
Обернулось , сломалось , а возможно не смог
Не нашел нужных слов и акцентов
Пропади же ты пропадом , сказал тебе бог
И пропал в переломных моментах ,
Жалеть не хочу это чувство плохое
Бессмысленное и немое
Хочется просто чтоб хотя бы сейчас
Ты обрел в достатке покоя .

ours, serfdom imperious (LIFTL) NEW VIDEO!

A small symbolic video by Karina Azlanova about the life of serfs and the instagraming of bourgeois ham. We wish you a pleasant browsing and light work in the fields! LIFTL

New song chapz-gutz

 

Opportunities by Love is for the Living

Friday Poetry: round bed of rain and flowers

don't look behind

don't sleep whole night

she'll never notice

she is blind

don't close your eyes

don't listen to those guys

they'll never tell you

what you want to know

and if you want the reason

why season goes by season

the answer everywhere

where's you would like to dare

to know the sense

inside my chest your hands

that something what is keeping

my old fence

for you to grow

the rose that blooming in your soul

for everyone who needs a bit of salt

and if you need a proof

i'll save it on your roof

i'll stay a while to meet my dear

without doubt's and with no fear

LIFTL Book Club teaser