DINOSAURIA, WE

[Graf von Hirilorn]

Born like this
Into this
As the chalk faces smile
As Mrs. Death laughs
As the ele­va­tors break
As polit­i­cal land­scapes dis­solve
As the super­mar­ket bag boy holds a col­lege degree
As the oily fish spit out their oily prey
As the sun is masked
We are
Born like this
Into this
Into these care­fully mad wars
Into the sight of bro­ken fac­tory win­dows of empti­ness
Into bars where peo­ple no longer speak to each other
Into fist fights that end as shoot­ings and knif­ings
Born into this
Into hos­pi­tals which are so expen­sive that it’s cheaper to die
Into lawyers who charge so much it’s cheaper to plead guilty
Into a coun­try where the jails are full and the mad­houses closed
Into a place where the masses ele­vate fools into rich heroes
Born into this
Walk­ing and liv­ing through this
Dying because of this
Muted because of this
Cas­trated
Debauched
Dis­in­her­ited
Because of this
Fooled by this
Used by this
Pissed on by this
Made crazy and sick by this
Made vio­lent
Made inhu­man
By this
The heart is black­ened
The fin­gers reach for the throat
The gun
The knife
The bomb
The fin­gers reach toward an unre­spon­sive god
The fin­gers reach for the bot­tle
The pill
The pow­der
We are born into this sor­row­ful dead­li­ness
We are born into a gov­ern­ment 60 years in debt
That soon will be unable to even pay the inter­est on that debt
And the banks will burn
Money will be use­less
There will be open and unpun­ished mur­der in the streets
It will be guns and rov­ing mobs
Land will be use­less
Food will become a dimin­ish­ing return
Nuclear power will be taken over by the many
Explo­sions will con­tin­u­ally shake the earth
Radi­ated robot men will stalk each other
The rich and the cho­sen will watch from space plat­forms
Dante’s Inferno will be made to look like a children’s play­ground
The sun will not be seen and it will always be night
Trees will die
All veg­e­ta­tion will die
Radi­ated men will eat the flesh of radi­ated men
The sea will be poi­soned
The lakes and rivers will van­ish
Rain will be the new gold
The rot­ting bod­ies of men and ani­mals will stink in the dark wind
The last few sur­vivors will be over­taken by new and hideous dis­eases
And the space plat­forms will be destroyed by attri­tion
The peter­ing out of sup­plies
The nat­ural effect of gen­eral decay
And there will be the most beau­ti­ful silence never heard
Born out of that.
The sun still hid­den there
Await­ing the next chapter.


CHARLES BUKOWSKI

[Von Horffburg]

Einer der ganz grossen Kaputten...

[Graf von Hirilorn]

Vor allem einer seiner ganz grossen Texte!

[Torque]

ja total... (hitlert ab)

Lesun Sie mal Pugilist at rest/ruhender FAustkämpfer von Thom Jones. Könnte ihnen vllt auch gefallen auch wenns mehr kurzg.schichtun sind...

[Bernard Gui]

Tragischerweise kenne ich nur dieses Gedicht, und auch dies leider nur über die Band "Arkhon Infaustus", die ein paar Zeilen davon auf ihrem aktuellen Album verwurstet hat. Werde mich aber mal darin vertiefen.

[Graf von Hirilorn]

Das brauchen Sie nicht. nasonsten hat Bukowski nicht viel nennenswertes produziert, ausser seinen philosophischen Interviews....

[Torque]

naja... mir taugt er schon ziemlich und in Gedichte, die einer schrieb, bevor er im 8. Stockwerk aus dem Fenster sprang sollte man schon mal reing.schaut haben. alleine schon wegen dem titul

[-apx-]

Ich kenne leider auch (noch) nicht viel von Bukowski, aber das was ich kenne ist schon geil! Ich empfehle die Kurzgeschichtensammlung "Fuck Machine" da sind ein paar echt seltsame Sachen drin !!



"Wie der Mann, der aus einem Flugzeug gesprungen ist und bei einer Radioshow anruft, weil sein Fallschirm nicht aufgeht, und der dann doch nur einen Song vorträgt, bis er auf dem Boden aufschlägt..."
(So oder so ähnlich... )

[Opa Clementor]

Ich zitiere:

Opa Clementor: "Zu viel Text!"