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[Dec. 28th, 2009|04:18 pm] |
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[ siŋciks ] |
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[Dec. 28th, 2009|03:53 pm] |
Ideja
Jāsāk ražot krekliņi.
Melns krekls, kuram virsū lieliem, baltiem burtiem rakstīts "Balts". Zemāk ļoti maziem un pelēkiem - "Sēlis"/"Zemgalis"/"Latgalis"/"Kursis"/"Žemaitis"/"Augštaitis"/v.c.
Uz muguras auseklis. |
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[Dec. 13th, 2009|03:22 pm] |
By Eddie White
Long ago my city’s luminous heart, beat with the song of four thousand cats.
Crooners who shone in the moonlight mimicry of the spotlight.
Jazz singers. Hip cats that went ‘Scat!’
Buskers with open-mouthed hats hungry for a feed.
Parlours paraded purring glamorous songstresses.
Smoky hookahs and smoking hookers.
Strays strummed string and sung a cocktail of cat’s tails.
A decadent party of meowing sound.
A bohemian behemoth, post-midnight soiree.
Amongst the chorale ‘o tuneful ones was one fair queen who drew me from o’er the way.
Her fur, an amorous white and a voice that made all the angels of eternity sound tone deaf.
Blind with love at first sight, touched by the taste of her sound,
I longed to be the microphone she cradled near her breast.
‘Twas our Shang-ri-la of sound,
A paradise found where nothin’ could stop us.
Or so it seemed.
Singers began to vanish like sailors lost at sea.
Snatched from stage alley way
Shanghai’d from behind scarlet curtain.
Into thin air they disappeared without a single cry.
Police study the clues.
Foot-prints from human shoes.
So you’ve heard of every instrument but?
Torn from your history books is this pianola,
This harpsichord of harm.
The cruellest instrument to spawn from man’s grey cerebral soup.
The Cat Piano.
Confined were the cats in a row of cages.
With each note struck upon it’s ivory tusks,
A sharpened nail would pierce each cat’s tail,
Forcing a note from each pitch on the scale.
I ran my cursed writer’s run to tell her beware.
She wasn’t there.
My soul capsized.
Like a fish, paralysed.
On a chopping board, its spinal cord ripped forth from its body,
Her vocals the last the thief had needed,
A rare celestial pitch that would complete his collection.
The city in unrest.
Fights broke out in its sleep.
I couldn’t dream anymore.
There was a hole in my heart and everything fell out of it.
All music forbidden.
Keep your lullabies hidden.
And your A and E minors off the street after dark.
My town grew cold and bitter.
In icy hibernation was the once thumping heart.
Now seizing up.
Freezing up.
Katzenklavier.
The torturous worm of sound burrowed deep into my ears.
Le Piano du chat
I thought of Van Gogh.
Neko Piano.
I’d put an end to this incessant, inescapable drone.
Mao Gang Qin
I enlisted an army of the brave and I their general declared war.
Poised with tooth and fire in paw.
We would finally settle this musical score.
Eyes with fierce intent that glowed.
Through tempestuous waters we rowed.
Storming the shores,
Swarming in scores,
Scaling its walls with well-sharpened claws,
We invaded the tower through all its doors.
Up the winding stairs,
To meet him with blinding stares.
There he sat.
The organ grinder.
He turned, we pounced, we scratched and bit.
He stumbled.
Fell through the window.
Screaming into the indigo waters below.
We freed the chain gang from their jail.
Cremated the piano.
And for home we set sail.
The city had reclaimed its vestal muse.
It would live again.
Beat again.
Cats would sing in the street again.
And I in anonymity as I had been long before this soliloquy,
Could sit and listen from afar.
The Cat Piano, now a healed over wound.
And this ode its fading scar. |
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[Dec. 12th, 2009|01:37 pm] |
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Apturiet pasauli, es gribu iekāpt. |
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[Nov. 23rd, 2009|11:50 am] |
Slimot ir jautri. Summā trīs stundas jautri. Pēc tam vēl mazliet varonības izjūta. Bet vispār draņķīgi.
Es nemāku blogot. |
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[Nov. 14th, 2009|05:35 pm] |
Problēma ar lasāmvielu.
Piemērs: Transmetropolitan.
Tas, ko esmu dzirdējis par produktu, liecina, ka tas ne tikai ir lasīšanas, bet arī pilna monetārā atbalsta vērts. Diemžēl, man pašam nav tehniskās iespējas to nopirkt pašam, piratēt roka neceļas iepriekšminēto iemeslu dēļ un, lai pirktu ar kāda cita palīdzību, man trūkst inciatīvas.
Eh. |
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| WriMo |
[Nov. 12th, 2009|07:07 pm] |
2165 vārdi pa šodienu.
16599 kopā
Dienas minimums pārsniegts par 293.11 vārdiem
Jaunais dienas minimums 1855 vārdi |
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[Nov. 10th, 2009|12:29 am] |
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No tumsas izpeldēja balts taisnstūris, tad vēl viens un vēl daudzi. Tie tuvojās un sāka riņķot ap viņa galvu. Vai arī viņa galva riņķoja ap taisnstūriem. Tas nebija nosakāms. Viņa rokas centās satvert kādu no peldošajiem objektiem, bet atklājās, ka viņam nav pirkstu - tikai plakani stumbeņi plaukstu vietā. Viņš mēģināja kliegt, bet viņam nebija mutes. Viņš plaūkojās lejup un redzēja savas kājas iestigušas zemē. Ap tām no zemes auga bezgalīgi gari koki ar sudrabotām lapām. Viņš mēģināja iztrausties no zemes, bet gaužām nesekmīgi. Viņa galva nosēdās atpakaļ uz pleciem un viņš centās izraut ieraktās kājas, pielikdams visu savu svaru un svērtību. Visbeidzot tas viņam arī izdevās, lai gan rezultāts ne tuvu nebija vēlamais - pa gaisu pašķīda sēņu gabali un aizpeldēja koku bezgalībā. Viņa kājas beidzās sprīdi zem ceļiem ar sārtām sēņu cepurītēm, gluži kā no pasaku grāmatas. Beidzot spējīgs pārvietoties, viņš centās izlīst no savas ieaudzes, bet rokas un kājas grima irdenajā zemā un katrreiz, kā viņš nonāca pie kādas koku starpas, tā koku zari noliecās viņam ceļā un sasējās necaurredzama biežņā. Viņš centās raudāt, bet viņam nebija acu. Viņš centās sist zemi, bet arī viņa locekļi bija pagaisuši. Viņš cantās skumt bezcerībā, bet viņa paša vairs nebija. |
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[Nov. 9th, 2009|09:13 am] |
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Gandrīz viena piektdaļa uzrakstīta. Tam iztērēta ceturtdaļa laika. Pārāk lēni. |
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[Oct. 16th, 2009|09:18 pm] |
Vajag vai nu labu mūziku vai labu kompāniju. Kad beidzas abi, tad ir jāaizklīst.
Vajag laikus pamosties vai neaizmigt. Ja nē, tad ir jāsoļo.
Vajag aktīvāk. |
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[Oct. 11th, 2009|11:23 pm] |
NaNoWriMo
Es laikam jūku prātā, bet es gribu tajā piedalīties. Un darīt to sekmīgi. |
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[Sep. 17th, 2009|12:59 pm] |
Kaupo strode through a natural tunnel, his strikeforce on the battlemarch again. He read the slightly tattered note in his hands.
"Service Deathcave, be rewarded by Council of 13. Oppose and oppose the Horned Rat. Breeders, warpstone, loot and riches. Enlist now." Later negotiations promised riches that may bring the clan to prominence. Depending on performance, of course. A condition that did not go unnoticed and was quite the reason for caution.
Meanwhile rows and rows of slaves were pulling heavy carts laden with barrels, each bearing the sigil of Ascheraden Brewery. Kvas. The drink that burns throats with a gluttonous flame and all else with a blue one. The old rat Halceon insisted on bringing them along: "When need arises, you'll know its use." Right now, though, the load was just slowing them down.( ... tālāk ... ) |
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[Sep. 16th, 2009|11:08 am] |
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Ut sentio, ita dico. |
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[Aug. 26th, 2009|05:16 pm] |
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Vai nav interesanti, ka pedagogu atbalsta stipendiju projekta noteikumos rakstīts gan "Projekta iesniedzējs ir Izglītības un Zinātnes mnistrija", gan "projektu iesniegumu vērtēšanas komisijas sastāvā ietilps Izglītības un Zinātnes ministrijas pārstāvji"? |
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[Aug. 10th, 2009|06:10 pm] |
We'll go out raising Cain.
Vasara ir nomācošākais gadalaiks, jo ierastajam vidējam aritmētiskajam nelabumam ir patīkamā laika fons. Izceļas. |
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[Aug. 1st, 2009|07:58 pm] |
Laimei daudz nevajag.
Bija. |
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[Jul. 16th, 2009|09:07 pm] |
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Kurā jomā tagad ir daudz vakanču? |
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| A Johnny Zell short, in which a minor character makes his apearance |
[Jul. 11th, 2009|10:56 pm] |
Johnny Zell was returning from his last battle with infocapitalist forces. These skirmishes were happening ever more often. "The final battle is nigh," thought Zell and holstered his guns. Slowly his airship the SRSA Kronnie, a gift from Cpatain Hazard after their last adventure and named after Johnny Zell's wife, of course, chugged across the skies. The crew was hidden away at their workstations and everything worked swimmingly.
Suddenly the radio hissed to life: "…eed hel… …verrun… Jomondo Guu… …warms of them…." Quickly Johnny issued a trace on the signal and ordered the airship flown towards it. "Jomondo Guu, my arch-nemesis. What mockery are you up to again!?" Within minutes the Kronn had arrived at the scene, and what a horrid scene it was: a village completely beset by myriads of crystal-toting new-age hippies. Zell slammed his fist into a nearby support beam. "NO!" he cried, "That many… We'll need the whole day to rid this place of them, and the whole week to repair the damage." A hint of desperation struck Zell. He wasn't scared, of course. The blonde viking of justice knew no fear. But he did realise how great a setback this would be. And once more that extra-dimensional bastard, Guu, would elude him. He readied his laser pistols and prepared for the leap when suddenly the radio spoke again: "Hold it! Diving headfirst into adventure as usual, are you? I beg you to reconsider."
"Who is this?" Zell demanded.
"I am Aeon. Haltz Aeon. And i could be of service to you today."
"Service? Pah! Johnny Zell needs no help! Johnny Zell prevails alone and glorious."
"True, true. Bot Johnny Zell also is hard pressed to keep up, to be on time where needed, am i not right? Allow me to remedy some of that."
"In what way would that be?"
"Observe," Said Haltz chuckling.
Screeching like the furious charge of a million PMSing banshees, a spheroid object flew past SRSA Kronn and crashed in the middle of the village. A green gasseous substance poured out of it. Zell sniffed the air and thought "Ganja?"
"Yes, Johnny Zell, you've probably identified my weapon. In just moments my servants will arrive and cleanse the streets of the scum that now sits their ecstatic and motionless."
"Well, you've proven your worth, Haltz Aeon, but why are you doing this?"
"Let's just say i am a man of… revenue. This has been a free demo. Next time i'll be sure to have a favour in need of completion. But as long as you can deliver on your side, i'll deliver with full fidelity on mine. We will speak again, i'm sure."
Zell looked down at the village, saw the hippies being dragged to the sewers by some strange hunched creatures. "I don't like this Aeon character, not one bit," thought Johnny Zell, as the airship took course towards a keep, where a certain "God of Nothing" was rumoured to reside. |
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