R.E.M. Fall on Me

BatmanMovea

Nick Drake- Way to Blue Video- Family Tree

blue

Bright Eyes - At The Bottom Of Everything

il video della notte

marijuana - nirvana

If we kissed-Fiona Apple

Electricity, eye to eye.
Hey don't I know you? I can't speak.
Stripped my senses on the spot,
I've never been defenseless,
I can't even make sense of this.
You speak and I don't hear a word.

What would happen if we kissed?
Would your tongue slip past my lips?
Would you run away?
Would you stay?
Or would I melt into you?
Mouth to mouth, lust to lust,
Spontaneously combust

The room is spinning out of control.
You act like you didn't notice, brushed my hand.
Forbidden fruit, ring on my finger.
You're such a moral mortal man.
Would you throw it away? No question.
Will I pretend I'm innocent?

What would happen if we kissed?
Would your tongue slip past my lips?
Would you run away?
Would you stay?
Or would I melt into you?
Mouth to mouth, lust to lust,
Spontaneously combust
What would happen if we kissed?

Ahhhh...
Oh
Ahhhh...

I struggle with myself again
Quickly the wall, I'm crumbling
Don't know if I can turn away

What would happen if we kissed?
Would your tongue slip past my lips?
Would you run away?
Would you stay?
Or would I melt into you?
Mouth to mouth.
If we kissed,
Would your tongue slip past my lips?
Would you run away?
Would you stay?
Or would I melt into you?
Mouth to mouth.
If we kissed.
Oehh-oh
If we kissed.
Oehh-oh...

il video della buonanotte

scout niblett "kiss" featuring bonnie 'prince' billy


A kiss could've killed me,
If it were not for the rain.
A kiss could've killed me,
Baby, if it were not for rain.

And I, had, a feeling it was coming on
And I, felt it coming,
For so long.
If I'm to be the fool,
Then so it be.

This fool can die now.
With a heart that soared.
Ho---oww,
How, had it coming
For so long.

And darling take my hand,
And lead me through the dawn.
Let's kidnap each other,
And start singing our song,

'Cause my heart is charged now,
Dude it's dancing in my chest!
And I fly and I walk out
From the spell in that, kiss.

Cause I...

It could've.
It could've killed me.
It could've killed me.

If were not for the rain.

Oh darling let me dream (let me dream)
Cause somewhere in me (inside of me)
I have been waiting (waiting)
So, patiently

For you.

You, you.

So don't you!

Break!

Don't break my dreams.

(yeah yeah yeah yeah)

Don't break my dream.

And rain will exalt us
As the night draws in.
Winds howl around us,
As we begin.

What a way to start a fire (ooooh)
Broken with the break of day.

A kiss could have killed me, baby.
If it were not for rain.

And I, had,
a feeling it was coming on,
I felt it coming,
For so long.

And I...

It could've!

It could've killed me!
It could've killed me!

If it were not for the rain.

da circa 30 anni Hilario C.S. e la sua banda, "los Pishtacos", uccide esseri umani (si stima da 60 a 200 vittime) per vendere alle case produttrici di cosmetici, europee, il grasso e i tessuti dei loro corpi. per l'incredibile cifra di 15mila dollari al chilo. ovviamente questo traffico avviene grazie a una rete internazionale. quattro assassini sono stati arrestati e altri sette sono ancora latitanti. in libertà anche due italiani.

peace and love



in Danimarca hanno creato un nuovo "advertgame" contro la violenza alle donne. si chiama "Hit the Bitch", cioé colpisci la sgualdrina. andando sul sito si può colpire virtualmente (mouse o webcam) con un ceffone una ragazza. più ceffoni si danno più sale il punteggio del giocatore, fino a "100% gansta". allora, mentre la ragazza a terra piange, una voce fuori campo rimprovera il giocatore: "Il gioco l'hai perso la prima volta che hai alzato le mani su una donna"... vabbé

peace and love

irrsinn eine fiktion in bewegung/ cie. toula limnaios/ contemporary dance

persistence of memory

il video dela nanna Michael Nyman - Molly - Wonderland

I am sad

I'm the blue bruise on your back
I'm this headache

Sometimes
Always
Often
Never
Forever

I'm the street light turning red
I am sad

You say
You keep saying
I'm on my way
I'm not away
But I'm on my own

I'm the things you never had
The unsaid

I'm the ones you never met
Half-smoked cigarette

I'm the deep scar on your leg
I'm this airbag

I'm the pills on your bed
I am sad

I am sad

Wedding Dress

Would you put on that long white gown
And burn like there's no more tomorrows?
Will you walk with me underground
And forgive all my sicknesses and my sorrows?
Will you be shamed if I shake like I'm dyin'
When I fall to my knees and I'm crying?
Will you visit me where my body rests
Will you put on that long white dress?
Ba dadada, da, badadadada dadada
Ba dadada, da, badadada
The end could be soon, we'd better rent a room
So you can love me
Will you put on that long white dress
While I burn when there's no more tomorrows?
Will you remember me through the years I'll miss
And forget all the sadnesses and the sorrows?
Ba dadada, da, badadadada dadada
Ba dadada, da, badadada
We got buried in the fever
Now you love me
Get a room, so you can love me

il video della sera...

Cat Power - The Moon

Moon is not only beautiful
It is so far away
The moon is not only ice cold
It is here to stay

When I lay me down
Will you still be around
When they put me six feet underground
Will the big bad beautiful you be around

Everyone says they know you
(they know you)
Better than you know who
(better than you)
Everyone says they own you
(they own you)
More than you do
When I lay me down
Will you still be around
When they put you six feet underground
Will the big bad beautiful moon be around

Cause the moon is not only beautiful
It is so far away
The moon is not only ice cold
It is here to stay

Everyone says they know you
(they know you)
Better than you know who
(better than you)
Everyone says they own you
(they own you)
More than you do

La poesia di lunedì: Anna Achmatova

«Двадцать первое. Ночь. Понедельник» Анна Ахматова

Двадцать первое. Ночь. Понедельник.
Очертанья столицы во мгле.
Сочинил же какой-то бездельник,
Что бывает любовь на земле.

И от лености или со скуки
Все поверили, так и живут:
Ждут свиданий, боятся разлуки
И любовные песни поют.

Но иным открывается тайна,
И почиет на них тишина...
Я на это наткнулась случайно
И с тех пор всё как будто больна.

Январь 1917, Петербург

Notte del ventuno. Lunedì.

Notte del ventuno. Lunedì.
La città è immersa nel buio.
Un qualche burlone ha scritto
che c’è amore sulla terra.
E per pigrizia o per tristezza
tutti ci hanno creduto. E così vivono:

anelano incontri, temono i distacchi,
cantano amorose canzoni.
Ma diverso si rivela il mistero
e il silenzio calerà su ognuno…
Anch’io mi ci sono imbattuta per caso
e d’allora sono sempre come ammalata.

Twenty-first. Night. Monday.

Twenty-first. Night. Monday.
Silhouette of the capitol in darkness.
Some good-for-nothing -- who knows why --
made up the tale that love exists on earth.

People believe it, maybe from laziness
or boredom, and live accordingly:
they wait eagerly for meetings, fear parting,
and when they sing, they sing about love.

But the secret reveals itself to some,
and on them silence settles down...
I found this out by accident
and now it seems I'm sick all the time.

© Sick Butterfly by Batsceba Hardy

HAVE A NICE MONDAY: Peace and Love

Zoé - Peace and Love

Sunday Morning

Il video di una domenica mattina qualsiasi

by Wallace Stevens
1

Complacencies of the peignoir, and late
Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair,
And the green freedom of a cockatoo
Upon a rug mingle to dissipate
The holy hush of ancient sacrifice.
She dreams a little, and she feels the dark
Encroachment of that old catastrophe,
As a calm darkens among water-lights.
The pungent oranges and bright, green wings
Seem things in some procession of the dead,
Winding across wide water, without sound.
The day is like wide water, without sound.
Stilled for the passing of her dreaming feet
Over the seas, to silent Palestine,
Dominion of the blood and sepulchre.

2

Why should she give her bounty to the dead?
What is divinity if it can come
Only in silent shadows and in dreams?
Shall she not find in comforts of the sun,
In pungent fruit and bright green wings, or else
In any balm or beauty of the earth,
Things to be cherished like the thought of heaven?
Divinity must live within herself:
Passions of rain, or moods in falling snow;
Grievings in loneliness, or unsubdued
Elations when the forest blooms; gusty
Emotions on wet roads on autumn nights;
All pleasures and all pains, remembering
The bough of summer and the winter branch.
These are the measure destined for her soul.

3

Jove in the clouds had his inhuman birth.
No mother suckled him, no sweet land gave
Large-mannered motions to his mythy mind.
He moved among us, as a muttering king,
Magnificent, would move among his hinds,
Until our blood, commingling, virginal,
With heaven, brought such requital to desire
The very hinds discerned it, in a star.
Shall our blood fail? Or shall it come to be
The blood of paradise? And shall the earth
Seem all of paradise that we shall know?
The sky will be much friendlier then than now,
A part of labor and a part of pain,
And next in glory to enduring love,
Not this dividing and indifferent blue.

4

She says, "I am content when wakened birds,
Before they fly, test the reality
Of misty fields, by their sweet questionings;
But when the birds are gone, and their warm fields
Return no more, where, then, is paradise?"
There is not any haunt of prophecy,
Nor any old chimera of the grave,
Neither the golden underground, nor isle
Melodious, where spirits gat them home,
Nor visionary south, nor cloudy palm
Remote on heaven's hill, that has endured
As April's green endures; or will endure
Like her remembrance of awakened birds,
Or her desire for June and evening, tipped
By the consummation of the swallow's wings.

5

She says, "But in contentment I still feel
The need of some imperishable bliss."
Death is the mother of beauty; hence from her,
Alone, shall come fulfillment to our dreams
And our desires. Although she strews the leaves
Of sure obliteration on our paths,
The path sick sorrow took, the many paths
Where triumph rang its brassy phrase, or love
Whispered a little out of tenderness,
She makes the willow shiver in the sun
For maidens who were wont to sit and gaze
Upon the grass, relinquished to their feet.
She causes boys to pile new plums and pears
On disregarded plate. The maidens taste
And stray impassioned in the littering leaves.

6

Is there no change of death in paradise?
Does ripe fruit never fall? Or do the boughs
Hang always heavy in that perfect sky,
Unchanging, yet so like our perishing earth,
With rivers like our own that seek for seas
They never find, the same receding shores
That never touch with inarticulate pang?
Why set pear upon those river-banks
Or spice the shores with odors of the plum?
Alas, that they should wear our colors there,
The silken weavings of our afternoons,
And pick the strings of our insipid lutes!
Death is the mother of beauty, mystical,
Within whose burning bosom we devise
Our earthly mothers waiting, sleeplessly.

7

Supple and turbulent, a ring of men
Shall chant in orgy on a summer morn
Their boisterous devotion to the sun,
Not as a god, but as a god might be,
Naked among them, like a savage source.
Their chant shall be a chant of paradise,
Out of their blood, returning to the sky;
And in their chant shall enter, voice by voice,
The windy lake wherein their lord delights,
The trees, like serafin, and echoing hills,
That choir among themselves long afterward.
They shall know well the heavenly fellowship
Of men that perish and of summer morn.
And whence they came and whither they shall go
The dew upon their feel shall manifest.

8

She hears, upon that water without sound,
A voice that cries, "The tomb in Palestine
Is not the porch of spirits lingering.
It is the grave of Jesus, where he lay."
We live in an old chaos of the sun,
Or old dependency of day and night,
Or island solitude, unsponsored, free,
Of that wide water, inescapable.
Deer walk upon our mountains, and the quail
Whistle about us their spontaneous cries;
Sweet berries ripen in the wilderness;
And, in the isolation of the sky,
At evening, casual flocks of pigeons make
Ambiguous undulations as they sink,
Downward to darkness, on extended wings.

Katie Melua - 'If You Were A Sailboat'

If you were a cowboy, I would trail you
If you were a piece of wood, I’d nail you to the floor
If you were a sailboat, I would sail you to the shore
If you were a river, I would swim you
If you were a house, I would live in you all my days
If you were a preacher, I’d begin to change my ways

Sometimes I believe in fate
but the chances we create
always seem to ring more true
you took a chance on loving me
I took a chance on loving you

If I was in jail I know you’d spring me
If I were a telephone you’d ring me all day long
If I was in pain I know you’d sing me soothing songs

Sometimes I believe in fate
but the chances we create
always seem to ring more true
you took a chance on loving me
I took a chance on loving you

If I was hungry you would feed me
if I was in darkness you would lead me to the light
If I was a book I know you’d read me every night

If you were a cowboy I would trail you
If you were a piece of wood I’d nail you to the floor
If you were a sailboat I would sail you to the shore
If you were a sailboat I would sail you to the shore

vision of you