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Poetry.
Nov 19, 2006 23:12:31 GMT -5
Post by lovelymetaphors on Nov 19, 2006 23:12:31 GMT -5
Er, let's see...someone once asked what I saw, and this is what I told them.
What do I see? I see destruction and construction and a thousand contradictions. I see people on the streets with cardboard signs and cardboard houses; I see people driving past them with telephones to their ears and tinted windows hiding them from view. I see footprints in the sand and birds crossing paths with the sun. I see spinning tires and spinning rides casting colour into our eyes. I see people helping each other and people bringing each other down. I see the mountains and the ocean, the sky and the trees. I see all the miracles that happen everyday, everywhere, and I often take advantage of them like so many others. I see the little things and sometimes forget about the big ones. I see kindness and malice side by side. I see people who try so hard and people who don't give an effort. I see arrogance and spite making fun of humility and respect. Sometimes I don't know what to make of everything because it is so completely confusing. But when I see sunlight filtering through dark raindrops projecting beauty across space, and when I see the sinking sun saturate the air with glorious hues that are nothing but light reflected from dust and smog--I see everything so optimistically again.
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Poetry.
Nov 20, 2006 12:45:04 GMT -5
Post by snoolli on Nov 20, 2006 12:45:04 GMT -5
Well, that´s pretty good.
Keep ´em coming, milady.
What about the others? No one here who wants to speak up?
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Poetry.
Nov 20, 2006 21:04:43 GMT -5
Post by lovelymetaphors on Nov 20, 2006 21:04:43 GMT -5
Apparently not, ah well. We'll just have a duo going on :-p
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Poetry.
Nov 20, 2006 21:39:18 GMT -5
Post by snoolli on Nov 20, 2006 21:39:18 GMT -5
Yea, it looks like it.
More soon.
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Poetry.
Nov 20, 2006 22:30:26 GMT -5
Post by lua on Nov 20, 2006 22:30:26 GMT -5
i would contribute but i have the creativitiy of a rock, i'll just keep reading and enjoying what you two are coming up with
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Poetry.
Nov 21, 2006 14:17:40 GMT -5
Post by snoolli on Nov 21, 2006 14:17:40 GMT -5
It feels like dying, you know...
Oh well, it could be worse. We are sitting above every tower watching our hope losing its dignity, that´s the bright side, yeah we got one honey. Not only we can see it, we are living with our grandmothers drinking red wine while the lost ones are drinking the last drop from this desert of mine. Six minutes is like the neverending story of hours passing days... can you imagine the night crossing years? Oh well, the parade will survive this land, the miles spreading wide, they are not home yet and never will... oh, no. I´m not sure about you, but I´m getting a bit tired of the loss of friendships while there´s none. Long gone they walk, and they are still walking. I will watch, yeah, I will watch them. And the dying ebullience, we should call for an ambulance. Do you really think they´ll learn from it? Do you really think it would be worth it? The ton is careening on its left side, and it tumbles in its self. And by the rite they are building fires... there´s no bourn in sight. There´s no rooftops, only the red sky reflecting the color of this shoreless clime.
Sarah? Are you still with me? John! Where´s my whiskey?
And, John! One more thing... pick up the phone and call for a fleeting succor. I´m having some struggles with this world.
-By Viktor Kaldalóns.
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Poetry.
Nov 21, 2006 15:46:58 GMT -5
Post by lovelymetaphors on Nov 21, 2006 15:46:58 GMT -5
I wrote this about the show last week (edited now that I know the name of one of the new songs)
Everyone was huddled in a massive crowd around the stage, patiently listening to the opening act as anticipation for our band grew. We all applauded politely, but they knew what we came to see. They knew. Out they came, one by one, those humble Texans. After a quick word, it began with single tinkling note. The effect was instantaneous. First Breath After A Coma. A slow heartbeat began to sound, and those of us so inclined imitated the movement with our hands and heads. The sounds awoke, and they took off, as if in a race. The lights flashed and all anyone could do was stare at those four men. They built a sonic castle all around us and nothing felt more right. As if in a trance, they all segued into something foreign and familiar at the same time and bade Welcome, Ghosts. A glance into the next epic, we all listened for the first time. In a moment, everything was still. Feedback filled the room as they drank from water bottles and began the Poor Man's Memory. From the soft pattering in the beginning to the intensity later on, we followed every move with every limb in the room. Out of the amps grew Yasmin The Light. Everyone knew when it was to come, and when those musicians took that impending breath, every person in the audience rose and crashed with them. They stood as puppeteers on the stage pulling the strings of every fan in the room. Another unfamiliar piece surfaced next, but it took us all inside of it as all the others did. One last transition into The Only Moment We Were Alone, and as the instruments filled space, every pair of hands rose into the air and clapped to every pulse. Any tiredness from standing for hours, any stress from navigating to the venue, anything else happening around us was completely lost and unimportant. We moved as one, pounding on the stage and the floor, eyes closed or open, minds completely overtaken by the noise assailing our hearts. A day later and I'm sure every one of us still breathes differently, beats differently, thinks differently. It's almost spiritual.
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Poetry.
Nov 21, 2006 15:55:45 GMT -5
Post by snoolli on Nov 21, 2006 15:55:45 GMT -5
I have to say, this as a one good review.
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Poetry.
Nov 21, 2006 15:56:39 GMT -5
Post by snoolli on Nov 21, 2006 15:56:39 GMT -5
The brighter side of the day goes down in three, two, one...
... And it lived for a minute.
-By Viktor Kaldalóns.
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Poetry.
Nov 21, 2006 16:16:19 GMT -5
Post by lovelymetaphors on Nov 21, 2006 16:16:19 GMT -5
At least it lived.
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Poetry.
Nov 21, 2006 17:29:28 GMT -5
Post by snoolli on Nov 21, 2006 17:29:28 GMT -5
Yea... we could look at it that way.
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Poetry.
Nov 21, 2006 17:36:03 GMT -5
Post by lovelymetaphors on Nov 21, 2006 17:36:03 GMT -5
I'm always that way...thinking incessantly optimistic. Sorry about that, haha.
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Poetry.
Nov 21, 2006 17:46:13 GMT -5
Post by snoolli on Nov 21, 2006 17:46:13 GMT -5
Ástarljóð til hins visna.
Lágreist orð hljómuðu um dalinn rauða, seglið sem fokið er frá flakinu, það líður út af með barninu rjóða, dagurinn tekur hinn sísta andardrátt.
Og með setningunni það hrynur niður á við; "Þessi heimur geymir ei frið." Frá barmi steypist fram af hæstu húsum, lautin er á flótta undan traðkandi sporum.
Heimurinn er flúinn frá þér, hann flaug yfir himininn.
-By Viktor Kaldalóns.
Oh, I´m sorry about that. Sure you´ll understand.
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Poetry.
Nov 21, 2006 20:40:54 GMT -5
Post by lovelymetaphors on Nov 21, 2006 20:40:54 GMT -5
I wish I did! That language fascinates me to no end.
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Poetry.
Nov 21, 2006 20:44:01 GMT -5
Post by lovelymetaphors on Nov 21, 2006 20:44:01 GMT -5
Remember, all I know is "óendanleiki"
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