| we get about |
[Mar. 5th, 2011|02:09 am] |
| [ | music |
| | The fall - our future, your clutter | ] |
Kad iedzeros labāk rakstīt angliski.
I am in Tuscany. I have come out to escape from the fifth course of meal (the chef will soon accept applause for his artistic butchering) on to the terrace of the complex, which overlooks Florence in the valley below. There are armed police drinking wine and smoking with the bar staff. Inside there are three tables of politicians form a party of the left wing poking with teeth picks and resting their arms on colleagues' shoulders.
(Es domāju par putniem šodien, kad pamodos. Ar abiem sparniem)
I go back inside and tell Mr F not to make any ex-Soviet Republic citizen sing "The Red Flag", while drunkenly and cretinuously (while the Grappa gave me
EMOTIONAL PERMISSION)
'thinking' about the futility of mine and your (Jāā Jūsu) rational political
posturing
We (Jūs arī) are a bunch of cunts, really.
Cik es saprotu Mick Hucknel kaut kur te dzivo. |
|
|