zikoff's Journal
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Wednesday, April 21st, 2004
| Time |
Event |
| 12:17p |
Свежак!
Опа! А оказывается еврейский придурок и выпускник 57-й
школы Миша Тифарет меня забанил. По-моему только Махоткин
еще такое делал. Гы. Вот бы еще Апача достать... | | 1:04p |
никак не разберусь
мы угромонголы или финотюрки? Фигня полная.
Вот хохлам хорошо - они исконные словяне. | | 5:42p |
наваждение
койл блэк смит! | | 5:44p |
специально для миши вербита
А правда что ягоды ландыша торкают лучше ЛСД-25? | | 6:41p |
Вика рассказывала про своего бывшего знакомого -
тшедушный такой еврей- в Универе от физры освобожден был.
потом как-то новости по TV - этот самый Сеня (ну, допустим),
потрясает автоматом Узи (M-61, варианты) и кричит - "Западный
берег реки Иордан - наш, НАШ! Не отдадим". Смешно, правда?
Обещал Вике пропылесосить квартиру - вместо этого напился.
Пришла, начала пылесосить, рвать и метать. Дергать сетевые
шнуры. Отрицательные флюиды пускать. Винда 2000 слетела нахрен -
я ее держу именно за устойчивость - гы. Слетела. Восстановить
не удалось - сижу, медленно и печально восстанавливаю ФСЕ.
То-есть, ваще все. Вот так они и жыли. | | 7:29p |
В rabota_ru
Никому не нужен старый грустный клоун?
Только смешить никого не хочу. $1500 - меньше не надо,
и здесь посижу. На жопе. | | 8:07p |
He crouches on the floor
There's a mask on the wall
And he leafs through the pages of a book
But wait as he may in the shadow of other leaves
His heart in embraces to times long since scorched
The horizon folds over with a purple sunrise
And the wind carries smoke from a world that is burning
The smoke locks in his hair and he's covered with patterns
And the descent of his life-trees on his camouflaged soul
With a winter of memories carved powder-bone white
Beyond his skull's form a scorpion lies
In the crunch of the snow as his darkness increases
A twilight of ice encircles his teeth
There's a swastika carved
In the palm of his hand
There's a crooked cross
That is caught in his mind
There waits a falling sun in his eyes
There's the honour of violence on his lips
His father waits for him near the Towers of Silence
Where they worship the fires so long quenched
Under two willow trees with elhaz inverted
The force of life snapped -
There father and son
Shall mingle in dust
As if life itself
Has been mostly illusion but partially real
And partially pain
And over some wall
If you look through the rubble
Amongst ruins of churches where life conquers death
Though empires cannot last
Where blood and soil's concepts
Have faltered and failed
A cloud still sows teeth
As the world disappears...
This is a song for Douglas
After he's dead
This is a song for my Douglas
| | 9:51p |
Here it comes another lonely day, Playing the game
I sail away on a voyage of no return to see
If eternal life is meant to be
And if I find the key, to the eternal dream
The painted ladies of the Avalon, play in the sun
Take to the road, To the north there lies the chills of cold
To the south there lies the tales untold
But in between there lies the place to close your eyes,
and I will stay
I'll not be back, Eldorado
I will be free
of the world, Eldorado
Say goodbye the city's heroes sing, Bird on the wind,
Feel feel so free, through the life upon the rooftop haze,
All the cheating and the broken days,
So through it all I see, there's nothing left for me
Sitting here on top of everywhere, what do I care
Days never end, I know the voyage's end will soon be here
Now eternal life is here for me
And now I found the key, to the eternal dream
and I will stay
I'll not be back, Eldorado
I will be free
of the world, Eldorado
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