blog personal de Daniel Rojas, poesía, filosofía, pintura y literatura en general.

Melo-manía (música)

Ocho Bolas - Pablo de Rokha



Ocho Bolas - Tributo a Pablo de Rokha.




Pablo por Pablo de Rokha

Yo tengo la palabra agusanada y el corazón lleno de cipreses metafísicos, ciudades, polillas, lamentos y ruidos enormes; la personalidad, colmada de eclipses, aúlla. (Mujer: sacúdeme las hojas marchitas, del pantalón).

Andando, platicando, andando con la tierra por los caminos varios, se me caen los gestos de los bolsillos, — atardeciendo olvidé la lengua en la plaza pública…— no los recojo y ahí quedan, ahí, ahí, como pájaros muertos en la soledad de los mundos, corrompiéndose; el hombre corriente dice: “son colillas tristes” y pasa.

Como el pelo, me crecen, me duelen las ideas; dolorosa cabellera polvorosa, al contacto triste de lo exterior cruje, orgánica, vibra, tiembla y, cargada de sangre, parece un manojo de acciones irremediables. (Radiogramas y telegramas cruzan los hemisferios de mi fisiología, aullando sucesos, lugares, palabras).

Ayer me creía muerto, y hoy no afirmo nada, absolutamente nada, y con el plumero cosmopolita de la angustia, sacudo las telas de araña a mi esqueleto sonriéndome gris, de las calaveras, las paradojas, las apariencias y los pensamientos, como una culebra de fuego, la verdad muerde las costillas al lúgubre Pablo.

Aráñame los cantos, la congoja y el vientre, con las peludas garras siniestras de lo infinito…—VOY A ABORTAR UN MUNDO! Mis calzoncillos se ríen a carcajadas. Un ataúd azul, y unas canciones sin sentido, intermitentes, guían mis trancos mundiales.

Y la manta piojenta de la vida me envuelve grotescamente cual la claridad de los ciegos … (Ruidos de multitudes, automóviles, muchedumbres; van conmigo; como pájaro solo y loco canta lo absoluto en los álamos negros de tu cabeza, Pablo de Rokha!...) Universo, Universo, ¡cómo nos vamos borrando, Universo, tú y yo, SIMULTÁNEAMENTE!


Poeta+arica, poesía+ariqueña, escritor, Daniel+Rojas+Pachas, carrollera, música+histórica, Daniel+Rojas, escritor+ariqueño, escritor+chileno, poeta+chileno

Pink Floyd (time-dark side of the moon)








Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
You fritter and waste the hours in an off hand way
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way

Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain
You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun

And you run and you run to catch up with the sun, but its sinking
And racing around to come up behind you again
The sun is the same in the relative way, but youre older
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death

Every year is getting shorter, never seem to find the time
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the english way
The time is gone, the song is over, thought Id something more to say

Home, home again
I like to be here when I can
And when I come home cold and tired
Its good to warm my bones beside the fire
Far away across the field
The tolling of the iron bell
Calls the faithful to their knees
To hear the softly spoken magic spells.



Poeta+arica, poesía+ariqueña, escritor, Daniel+Rojas+Pachas, carrollera, música+histórica, Daniel+Rojas, escritor+ariqueño, escritor+chileno, poeta+chileno

Yeah Yeah Yeahs.



Y Control.

Oh so all my lovin´ go´s
under the fog fog fog
and i will leave them all
well i´m just a poor little baby
cause well i will leave them all

oh so while you´re growing old
under the gun gun gun
and i will leave them all
well i´m just one poor baby
cause well i will leave them all

[Pre-chorus]
i wish i could buy back
the woman you stole

[Chorus]
Y-control, Y-control
you walk, walk, walk, walk, walk my winners
out of control, out of control
you walk, walk, walk, walk, walk my winners
out of control, out of control
you walk, walk, walk, walk, walk my winners
out of control, out of control
you walk, walk, walk, walk, walk my winners out

so all my lovin´ go´s
under the fog fog fog
and i will leave them all
well i´m just a poor little baby
cause well i will leave them all






Mars Volta




"The WIdow"


He’s got fasting black lungs
Made of clove splintered shards
They’re the kind that will talk
Through a wheezing of coughs
And I hear him every night
In every pore
And every time he just makes me warm
Freeze without an answer
Free from all the shame
Must I hide
'Cause I’ll never never sleep alone
Look at how they flock to him
From an isle of open sores
He knows that the taste is such
Is such to die for
And I hear him every night
On every street
The scales that do slither
Deliver me from....
Freeze without an answer
Free from all the shame
Then I’ll hide cuz i’ll never never sleep alone
Oh lord
Said I’m, Said I’m, Said I’m
Said I’m bloodshot for sure
Pale runs the ghost
Said I'm really swollen on the shore,
Swollen on the shore, everynight
in every pore
The scales that do slither
Deliver me from…
Freeze without an answer
Free from all the shame
Then I’ll hide
'Cause I’ll never never sleep alone
Freeze without an answer
Free from all the shame
Let Me Die
'Cause I’ll never never sleep alone





Eels


Novocaine for the soul.

Life is hard and so am i
You better give me something
So I dont die
Novocaine for the soul
Before I sputter out

Life is white and I am black
Jesus and his lawyer
Are coming back
Oh my darling will you be here
Before I sputter out

Guess whos living here
With the great undead
This paint by numbers life is fucking with my head
Once again

Life is good and I feel great
cause mother says I was
A great mistake

Novocaine for the soul
You better give me something
To fill the hole
Before I sputter out (repeat)





  • Publicado: Miércoles, 26 Diciembre 2007 14:37:19 GMT
  • En: Melo-manía (música)
  • Permaenlace: Eels
  • Comentarios: 0
  • Leído 607 veces.

Invalid Litter Dept.


At the Drive-In.





"Invalid Litter Dept."

intravenously polite it was the walkie-talkies
that had knocked the pins down
as their shoes gripped the dirt floor
in the silhouette of dying
dancing on corpses' ashes

yeah, they had plans for him
they has spun the last of the pimps
polyester, satin nailed jewelry lips
while the guillotine just laughed again
dancing on the corpses' ashes

paramedics fell into the wound
like a rehired scab at a barehanded plant
an anesthetic penance beneath
the hail of contraband

they had been defected and excommunicated
and all the pulses were subverted
and they made sure the obituaries
showed pictures of smoke stacks

a vivid dissection that mocked
the strut of vivisection
semi-automatic colonies
and a silencing that still walks the streets

in the company of wolves
was a stretcher made of
cobblestone curfews
the federales performed
their custodial customs quite well

callous heels
numbed in travel
endless maps made
by their scalpels

on my way
nails broke and fell
into the
wishing well

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