SEXPLEASE- Inner Tour 2009

Eleftheria Arvanitaki - Parapono - H Xenitia (lyrics)

Decídome a poñer de novo esta grandisima canción tras ser surpimido o antigo video uns post atrás. Esta nova versión enche ainda mais...
Ten as letras traducidas ó inglés, usa a palabra krasi (viño) o cal multiplica o seu poder inspirador

A PRESENZA

A Panagiota

THE MAGUS

O outro dia merquei un Etch a Sketch de segunda man, sei que levo uns cantos anos de retraso, pero isto é o que saiu da pantalla despois dunhas cantas voltas. O debuxo final está un pouco retocado co paint.

A MEDUSA DO AEROPORTO DE VANCOUVER

FLOTA ENTRE AS VÉRTEBRAS DO VIAXEIRO

NO CAMIÑO

CAMISETA AVANTEHERMÉTICA

avantehermetico@hotmail.es

MULLER

FRATER PERDURABO III

Outro tributo a A. Crowley a partir dunha fotografía súa

AMENCER

PARQUE DAS TRES CHIMENEAS- BARCELONA

A LOITA

Experimento en pintura sobre tela, con certos tratamentos posteriores.

NAS PAREDES

BOLSA AVANTEHERMÉTICA

avantehermetico@hotmail.es

MARILLION-Script for a Jester's Tear

So here I am once more
In the playground of the broken hearts
One more experience, one more entry in a diary, self-penned
Yet another emotional suicide
Overdosed on sentiment and pride
Too late to say I love you
Too late to restage the play
Abandoning the relics in my playground of yesterday

I'm losing on the swings
I'm losing on the roundabouts
I'm losing on the swings
I'm losing on the roundabouts
Too much, too soon, too far to go, too late to play
The game is over, the game is over

So here I am once more
In the playground of the broken hearts
I'm losing on the swings
I'm losing on the roundabouts
The game is over

Yet another emotional suicide
Overdosed on sentiment and pride
I'm losing on the swings
I'm losing on the roundabouts, roundabouts, the game is over

Too late to say I love you
Too late to restage the play
The game is over

I act the role in classic style
Of a martyr carved with twisted smile
To bleed the lyric for this song
To write the rites to right my wrongs
An epitaph to a broken dream
To exercise this silent scream
A scream that's born from sorrow

I never did write that lovesong
The words just never seemed to flow
Now sad in reflection did I gaze through perfection
And examine the shadows on the other side of morning
And examine the shadows on the other side of morning
Promised wedding now a wake
Promised wedding now a wake, awake

The fool escaped from paradise
Will look over his shoulder and cry
Sit and chew on daffodils and struggle to answer "Why?"
As you grow up and leave the playground
Where you kissed your prince and found your frog
Remember the jester that showed you tears, the script for tears

So I'll hold our peace forever when you wear your bridal gown
In the silence of my shame the mute that sang the sirens' song
Has gone solo in the game
I've gone solo in the game, but the game is over

Can you still say you love me
Can you still say you love me
Can you still say that you love me
Do you love me
Do you love me
Do you love me
Do you love me, the jester's tear

Can you still say you love me
Can you still say you love me
Can you still say that you love me?

The jester's tear, the jester's tear
Do you love me

MARILLION-Script For A Jester's Tear

EX LIBRIS IV

AVANTEHERMETICO- GRANOLLERS

FRANCO BATTIATO-UP PATRIOTS TO ARMS

La fantasia dei popoli che è giunta fino a noi
non viene dalle stelle...
alla riscossa stupidi che i fiumi sono in piena
potete stare a galla.
E non è colpa mia se esistono carnefici
se esiste l'imbecillità
se le panchine sono piene di gente che sta male.

Up patriots to arms, Engagez-Vous
la musica contemporanea, mi butta giù.

L'ayatollah Khomeini per molti è santità
abbocchi sempre all'amo
le barricate in piazza le fai per conto della borghesia
che crea falsi miti di progresso
Chi vi credete che noi siam, per i capelli che portiam,
noi siamo delle lucciole che stanno nelle tenebre.

Up patriots to arms, Engagez-Vous
la musica contemporanea, mi butta giù.

L'Impero della musica è giunto fino a noi
carico di menzogne
mandiamoli in pensione i direttori artistici
gli addetti alla cultura...
e non è colpa mia se esistono spettacoli
con fumi e raggi laser
se le pedane sono piene
di scemi che si muovono.

Up patriots to arms, Engagez-Vous
la musica contemporanea, mi butta giù.

COROAS SUECAS

EX LIBRIS III

Danse Macabre - 1922

EX LIBRIS II

ALEISTER CROWLEY. Camiseta, t-shirt, samarreta

Velaquí a nova camiseta avantehermética, todavía unha versión primixénia. A intención e facela nunha tirada mais grande, con calidade serigráfica se hai xente interesada en mercala.

avantehermetico@hotmail.es

EX LIBRIS

Velaqí un adianto do que será unha colección de EX LIBRIS que aparecerá de aqui o Vran.

COMPARSA

JACQUES BREL-Dans le Port d'Amsterdam

JACQUES BREL-Dans le Port d'Amsterdam

Brel Jacques
Miscellaneous
Amsterdam
Paroles et musique : Jacques Brel
(c) 1964, Éditions Pouchenel, Bruxelles

1 Dans le port d'Amsterdam
Y'a des marins qui chantent
Des rêves qui les hantent
Au large d'Amsterdam
Dans le port d'Amsterdam
Y'a des marins qui dorment
Comme des oriflammes
Le long des berges mornes
Dans le port d'Amsterdam
Y'a des marins qui meurent
Pleins de bières et de drames
Aux premières lueurs
Mais dans l'port d'Amsterdam
Y'a des marins qui naissent
Dans la chaleur épaisse
Des langueurs océanes.

2 Dans le port d'Amsterdam
Y'a des marins qui mangent
Sur des nappes trop blanches
Des poissons ruisselants
Ils vous montrent des dents
À croquer la fortune
À décroisser la lune,
À bouffer des haubans
Et ça sent la morue
Jusque dans l' coeur des frites
Que leurs gross' mains invitent
À revenir en plus
Puis se lèvent en riant
Dans un bruit de tempête
Referment leur braguette
Et sortent en rotant.

3 Dans le port d'Amsterdam
Y'a des marins qui dansent
En se frottant la panse
Sur la panse des femmes
Et ils tournent et ils dansent
Comm' des soleils crachés
Dans le son déchiré
D'un accordéon rance
Ils se tordent le cou
Pour mieux s'entendre rire
Jusqu'à c' que tout-à-coup
L'accordéon expire
Alors d'un geste grave,
Alors d'un regard fier
Ila ramènent leur batave
Jusqu'en pleine lumière.

4 Dans le port d'Amsterdam
Y'a des marins qui boivent
Et qui boivent et reboivent
Et qui reboivent encore
Ils boivent à la santé
Des putains d'Amsterdam
D'Hambourg ou d'ailleurs
Enfin ils boivent aux dames
Qui leur donnent leur joli corps
Qui leur donnent leur vertu
Et pour une pièce en or
Et quand ils ont bien bu
Se plantent le nez au ciel
Se mouch'nt dans les étoiles
Et ils pissent comm' je pleure
Sur les femmes infidèles
Dans le port d'Amsterdam,
Dans le port d'Amsterdam.

POLEMIKÓS

HIPNOSE

Tomeime a liberdade de coller prestada a imaxe orixinal, descoñezo o nome do autor.

PREMIATA FORNERIA MARCONI-Impressioni di Settembre

Impressioni di settembre
Premiata Forneria Marconi (PFM)
Mogol - Pagani - Mussida

(1971)

Quante gocce di rugiada intorno a me
cerco il sole, ma non c'è.
Dorme ancora la campagna, forse no,
è sveglia, mi guarda, non so.
Già l'odor di terra, odor di grano
sale adagio verso me,
e la vita nel mio petto batte piano,
respiro la nebbia, penso a te.
Quanto verde tutto intorno, e ancor più in là
sembra quasi un mare d'erba,
e leggero il mio pensiero vola e va
ho quasi paura che si perda...
Un cavallo tende il collo verso il prato
resta fermo come me.
Faccio un passo, lui mi vede, è già fuggito
respiro la nebbia, penso a te.
No, cosa sono adesso non lo so,
sono un uomo, un uomo in cerca di se stesso.
No, cosa sono adesso non lo so,
sono solo, solo il suono del mio passo.
e intanto il sole tra la nebbia filtra già
il giorno come sempre sarà.

DANZA PÓNTICA

Danza polemikós,
isto é para a guerra,

supoñemos a fuxida,
os recordos gardados
na casa das arañas.

Estamos feitos de moita auga
e hai tritóns e salamandras.
E esos demos que agarran as pernas
transparentes.

O animal salta
sobre ramas de espiño
nunha xungla inventada.

CORPO COMA TEMPLO

Canción Para Una Discoteca- LEOPOLDO MARÍA PANERO

No tenemos fé
al otro lado de esta vida
sólo espera el rock and roll
lo dice la calavera que hay entre mis manos
baila, baila el rock and roll
para el rock el tiempo y la vida son una miseria
el alcohol y el haschisch no dicen nada de la vida
sexo, drogas y rock and roll
el sol no brilla por el hombre,
lo mismo que el sexo y las drogas;
la muerte es la cuna del rock and roll.
Baila hasta que la muerte te llame
y diga suavemente entra
entra en el reino del rock and roll.

“Poesía” 1970 - 1985

O HOME QUE ARRINCOU OS PÁXAROS DA CABEZA

BLACK SABBATH

DISCOTECA

NECRONAUTAS

TUNGSTENO LIVE T.N.T. COMPOSTELA

MOUCHOS LEVAN NOITE A WELLINGTON

A AMIZADE NEGRA

STATE OF GRACE

DANIEL JOHNSTON-I Had Lost My Mind 1982

I had lost my mind.
I lost my head for a while was off my rocker outta line, outta wack.
See I had this tiny crack in my head
That slowly split open and my brain snoozed out,
Lyin' on the sidewalk and I didn't even know it.
I had lost my mind.

Why, i was sitting in the basement when I first realized it was gone.
Got I my car rushed right over to the lost and found.
I said "pardon me but I seem to have lost my mind."
She said "Well can you identify it please?"
I said "Why sure its a cute little bugger
About yea big a little warped from the rain"
She said "Well then sir this must be your brain"
I said "Thank you ma'am I'm always losin' that dang thing."

I had lost my mind.

INNER TOUR II

Feliz aniversario a Miúltimodia.

DANSE MACABRE

MOUCHOS

A Panagiota

MADAME TETRALLINI

Así é como se fan os monstros
Madame Tetrallini
cubrindo os teus fillos
co lume de leite,

monstros.

Sae dos peitos
e queda quedo Honk Kong,
hai que irse
cando se derrete o plástico
en Sanxoán,

e os ríos de reloxios

e o aceite

pingado nas rúas
tamén arden en Barcelona,

Madame Tetrallini
desta vez
agochámonos no metro
cheo de noite.



Freaks,Tod Browning 1932

CAMISETAS-SAMARRETAS-T-SHIRTS LOS INÚTILES

VELAQUI ESTÁN AS CAMISETAS DE LOS INÚTILES NUNHA TIRADA LIMITADA DE 50, EN DIFERENTES TALLAS, SE VOS INTERESA ALGUNHA CONTACTADE EN avantehermetico@hotmail.es

MESMERISMO

SEXPLEASE-INNER TOUR 2008

Velaqui o que será o cartel do próximo concerto de Sexplease en Compostela, a data e a localización todavía son un enigma. Mentres tanto aquí esta proxección gráfica do que alí veremos. Anatomía Imposible, rock and roll raro, SEXPLEASE

Patti Smith - Horses

Patti Smith - Horses

The boy was in the hallway drinking a glass of tea
From the other end of the hallway a rhythm was generating
Another boy was sliding up the hallway
He merged perfectly with the hallway,
He merged perfectly, the mirror in the hallway

The boy looked at johnny, johnny wanted to run,
But the movie kept moving as planned
The boy took johnny, he pushed him against the locker,
He drove it in, he drove it home, he drove it deep in johnny
The boy disappeared, johnny fell on his knees,
Started crashing his head against the locker,
Started crashing his head against the locker,
Started laughing hysterically

When suddenly johnny gets the feeling hes being surrounded by
Horses, horses, horses, horses
Coming in in all directions
White shining silver studs with their nose in flames,
He saw horses, horses, horses, horses, horses, horses, horses, horses.
Do you know how to pony like bony maroney
Do you know how to twist, well it goes like this, it goes like this
Baby mash potato, do the alligator, do the alligator
And you twist the twister like your baby sister
I want your baby sister, give me your baby sister, dig your baby sister
Rise up on her knees, do the sweet pea, do the sweet pee pee,
Roll down on her back, got to lose control, got to lose control,
Got to lose control and then you take control,
Then youre rolled down on your back and you like it like that,
Like it like that, like it like that, like it like that,
Then you do the watusi, yeah do the watusi

Life is filled with holes, johnnys laying there, his sperm coffin
Angel looks down at him and says, oh, pretty boy,
Cant you show me nothing but surrender ?
Johnny gets up, takes off his leather jacket,
Taped to his chest theres the answer,
You got pen knives and jack knives and
Switchblades preferred, switchblades preferred
Then he cries, then he screams, saying
Life is full of pain, Im cruisin through my brain
And I fill my nose with snow and go rimbaud,
Go rimbaud, go rimbaud,
And go johnny go, and do the watusi, oh do the watusi

Theres a little place, a place called space
Its a pretty little place, its across the tracks,
Across the tracks and the name of the place is you like it like that,
You like it like that, you like it like that, you like it like that,
And the name of the band is the
Twistelettes, twistelettes, twistelettes, twistelettes,
Twistelettes, twistelettes, twistelettes, twistelettes

Baby calm down, better calm down,
In the night, in the eye of the forest
Theres a mare black and shining with yellow hair,
I put my fingers through her silken hair and found a stair,
I didnt waste time, I just walked right up and saw that
Up there -- there is a sea
Up there -- there is a sea
Up there -- there is a sea
The seas the possibility
There is no land but the land
(up there is just a sea of possibilities)
There is no sea but the sea
(up there is a wall of possibilities)
There is no keeper but the key
(up there there are several walls of possibilities)
Except for one who seizes possibilities, one who seizes possibilities.
(up there)
I seize the first possibility, is the sea around me
I was standing there with my legs spread like a sailor
(in a sea of possibilities) I felt his hand on my knee
(on the screen)
And I looked at johnny and handed him a branch of cold flame
(in the heart of man)
The waves were coming in like arabian stallions
Gradually lapping into sea horses
He picked up the blade and he pressed it against his smooth throat
(the spoon)
And let it deep in
(the veins)
Dip in to the sea, to the sea of possibilities
It started hardening
Dip in to the sea, to the sea of possibilities
It started hardening in my hand
And I felt the arrows of desire

I put my hand inside his cranium, oh we had such a brainiac-amour
But no more, no more, I gotta move from my mind to the area
(go rimbaud go rimbaud go rimbaud)
And go johnny go and do the watusi,
Yeah do the watusi, do the watusi ...
Shined open coiled snakes white and shiny twirling and encircling
Our lives are now entwined, we will fall yes were together twining
Your nerves, your mane of the black shining horse
And my fingers all entwined through the air,
I could feel it, it was the hair going through my fingers,
(I feel it I feel it I feel it I feel it)
The hairs were like wires going through my body
I I thats how i
Thats how i
I died
(at that tower of babel they knew what they were after)
(they knew what they were after)
[everything on the current] moved up
I tried to stop it, but it was too warm, too unbelievably smooth,
Like playing in the sea, in the sea of possibility, the possibility
Was a blade, a shiny blade, I hold the key to the sea of possibilities
Theres no land but the land

Looked at my hands, and theres a red stream
That went streaming through the sands like fingers,
Like arteries, like fingers
(how much fits between the eyes of a horse? )
He lay, pressing it against his throat (your eyes)
He opened his throat (your eyes)
His vocal chords started shooting like (of a horse) mad pituitary glands
The scream he made (and my heart) was so high (my heart) pitched that nobody heard,
No one heard that cry,
No one heard (johnny) the butterfly flapping in his throat,
(his fingers)
Nobody heard, he was on that bed, it was like a sea of jelly,
And so he seized the first
(his vocal chords shot up)
(possibility)
(like mad pituitary glands)
It was a black tube, he felt himself disintegrate
(there is nothing happening at all)
And go inside the black tube, so when he looked out into the steep
Saw this sweet young thing (fender one)
Humping on the parking meter, leaning on the parking meter

In the sheets
There was a man
Dancing around
To the simple
Rock & roll
Song

Ψαραντώνη.Psarantonis

Música escura dende a illa de Creta.

LOS INÚTILES - Sala Ardora, Porto do Son 1-AGOSTO-2008

LOS INÚTILES - Sala Ardora, Porto do Son 1-mar-2008

CÁUSTICO

Eadweard Muybridge

O XOGO

ELEFTHERIA ARVANITAKI-Η ΞΕΝΙΤΙΑ (I XENITIA)

Aqui vai unha aproximación a esta grande canción, recomendovos que tentedes atopar a versión orixinal xa que esta esta en directo e como cortada. Canción tradicional armenia, con arranxos e adaptada por Ara Dinkjian, letra de Lina Nikolakopoulou.
Gracias a Panagiota por descubrirma.

AUTOMATIC

BRUCE DICKINSON, FILMMAKER

Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law

Parece ser que Bruce Dickinson colleu este fin de semana o seu propio avión e voou cara Cannes, o motivo, non encher de sublimes berridos ningunha arena, non, esta vez foi presentar o seu novo filme Chemical Wedding do que é guionista, se esto era pouco, ademais o filme usa a figura de FRATER PERDURABO, si señores e señoras nin mais nin menos que Aleister Crowley. Según parece Bruce sintese atraido pola figura deste prohome dende os 15 anos, e tal vez esto poda explicar o seu polifacetismo (cantante de Iron Maiden, escritor, piloto de avións comercials, actor e espadachín). O filme coelaborado co director Julian Doyle, antiguo creador de videos de Iron Maiden, parece versar sobre o espiritu de Aleister Crowley volvendo á terra neste tempo actual, non a loitar contra os pijos, ou eso creemos. Pois eso boas novas para jevis e outras xentes, pronto nas salas con mellor gusto.

Love is the law, love under will

SEN TITULO

NOVA ZELANDA IS DIFFERENT

Por suposto, como a maioría dos lugares, polo menos esto é o que puden apreciar nesta a miña pequena viaxe por Nova Zelanda. A pesar de estar alí por dous meses e medio, a gran parte do tempo foi traballando nunha bodega en vendima, co que esto supón, moitas horas de traballo coa consecuente inmersión nesa realidade concreta. Polo tanto non tiven demasiado tempo do que se da en chamar viaxar. Non son persoa que tenta extraer conclusións, pero unha vez estou neste hemisferio de novo, e o meu corpo e ciclo mental están mais ou menos reestablecidos, hai unha palabra que ven a mente cando penso en NZ, esta é a palabra Kitsch. Non sei se é que accidentalmente acabei empuxado por algunha forza ós epicentros do extrano. Foi nestes lugares onde me din conta desa liberdade estética que non foi tan doada de atopar noutros lugares que visitei. Tal vez a palabra Kitsch é demasiado peiorativa, pero a intencion desta historia non é nin a de catalogar nin a de minorizar estéticamente, só poñer en contexto as fotos que podedes ver. Con gran admiración por esta liberdade que modifica. Coma homenaxe a esos sitios, Blenheim, Wellington, Rotorua, Christchurch sirva este post.


Ejaculation Helmet no TE PAPA, Wellington, Museo Nacional de Nova Zelanda, un moi recomendable museo interdisciplinar


No mesmo museo, non na sección de arte moderno. Na placa pon algo así como "batido de collon de coello infectado con rabbit calicivirus" .


Festa de graduación en espacio público en Palmerston North, había canapés


Sorprendeme a cantidade de animais
esmagados na estrada
no bus na noite a Wellington,
e eu só quero durmir.
Preguntome que tipo de animais
son estes irrecoñecibles.
Entón a lebre entra pola esquerda do meu ollo
e metese baixo as rodas.

SEED, OVERFLOW, DESPAIR bosquexo

PETER ORLOVSKY, FRIST POEM,fragmento

I look out the window and see nobody, I go down to the street,
look up at my window and see nobody.
So I talk to the fire hydrant, asking "Do you have bigger tears
than I do?"


A métrica deste poema non se axusta coa orixinal, supera os límites físicos do blog, o poema orixinal xunto con outros pode atoparse en http://boppin.com/orlovsky.html

HAKA

Unha das cousas interesantes deste tempo en Nova Zelanda.
A enerxia dos ollos ben abertos.

CRUZA A LUZ

MULLER TRANSPORTE I

AVERAGE-GRANOLLERS

QUE FOI DE THE MARY´S GREEN JUNGLE?

Nin Myspace nin nada, busquei na rede, non hai peixes de información coa etiqueta MARY´S GREEN JUNGLE. Recordo telos visto no que podería ser 1999 na Sala Nasa en Compostela, nunha especie de concurso de bandas novas. Quedeime con que eran de Cangas. O outro día nunha das miñas voltas a Galiza atopei o disco cheiño de pó.
Unha grande ledicia escoitalos de novo, un deses discos que no escoitas só pola música, un deses discos que carrexan a alma por fora. Co inquedante título de SALAD FOR A HAPPY DAY, cinco temas (incluindo unha versión de Madonna (material girl), e unha canción que usa a palabra Whore), conforman un disco moi escoitable e inspirador. Pois iso que foi deles?

GODJ (nave dos tolos)

NEW FRONTIERS

FRANCO BATTIATO.New Frontiers

L'evoluzione sociale non serve al popolo
se non è preceduta da un'evoluzione di pensiero.
The new frontiers
of the nouvelle vague.
Organizza la tua mente in nuove dimensioni,
libera il tuo corpo da ataviche oppressioni.
Organizza la tua mente in nuove dimensioni
libera il tuo corpo da ataviche oppressioni.
The new frontiers
of the nouvelle vague.
Libera la tua immaginazione temporale,
e mandala al potere nel tuo organo sessuale.
Libera la tua immaginazione temporale,
e mandala al potere nel tuo organo sessuale.
Uomini innocenti
dagli istinti un po' bestiali
cercano l'amore dentro i parchi
e lungo i viali.
Le pareti del cervello
non hanno più finestre.

POPEIRA

CURSES, INVOCATIONS. PASEO POR VENICE BEACH

JIM MORRISON-CURSES, INVOCATIONS

Curses, Invocations
Weird bate-headed mongrels
I keep expecting one of you to rise.
Large buxom obese queens
Garden hogs and cunt veterans
Quaint cabbage saints
Shit hoarders and individualists
Drag strip officials
Tight lipped losers and
Lustfull fuck salesman
My militant dandies
All strange order of monsters
We welcome you to our procession.

Here come the Comedians
Look at them smile
Watch them dance an Indian mile.
Look al them gesture
How aplomb
So to gesture everyone.
Words dissemble
Words be quick
Words resemble walking sticks.
Plant them they will grow
Watch them waver so.
I’ll always be a word man
Better than a bird man.

LOS INÚTILES LIVE PORTO DO SON

AMIZADE

ALEISTER CROWLEY- At Sea

As night hath stars, more rare than ships
In ocean, faint from pole to pole,
So all the wonder of her lips
Hints her innavigable soul.

Such lights she gives as guide my bark;
But I am swallowed in the swell
Of her heart's ocean, sagely dark,
That holds my heaven and holds my hell.

In her I live, a mote minute
Dancing a moment in the sun:
In her I die, a sterile shoot
Of nightshade in oblivion.

In her my elf dissolves, a grain
Of salt cast careless in the sea;
My passion purifies my pain
To peace past personality.

Love of my life, God grant the years
Confirm the chrism - rose to rood!
Anointing loves, asperging tears
In sanctifying solitude!

Man is so infinitely small
In all these stars, determinate.
Maker and moulder of them all,
Man is so infinitely great!

SPEAKERS CORNER foto

ALLEN GINSBERG:HOWL 1

HOWL

For Carl Solomon

I

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by
madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn
looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly
connection to the starry dynamo in the machin-
ery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat
up smoking in the supernatural darkness of
cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities
contemplating jazz,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and
saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tene-
ment roofs illuminated,
who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes
hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy
among the scholars of war,
who were expelled from the academies for crazy &
publishing obscene odes on the windows of the
skull,
who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burn-
ing their money in wastebaskets and listening
to the Terror through the wall,
who got busted in their pubic beards returning through
Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,
who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in
Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their
torsos night after night
with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, al-
cohol and cock and endless balls,
incomparable blind; streets of shuddering cloud and
lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of
Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the mo-
tionless world of Time between,
Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery
dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops,
storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon
blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree
vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brook-
lyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,
who chained themselves to subways for the endless
ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine
until the noise of wheels and children brought
them down shuddering mouth-wracked and
battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance
in the drear light of Zoo,

MUSCLO bosquexo

DERVICHES

CORNO

BOMBARDEIG

Hai demasiadas forzas
rabeadas da súa meta
tamén neste
altoaire que, en apariencia,
sulcan as estrelas.
Paul Celan

Piloto,
co método de morte
asubía o ceo,
no espanto potente do átomo
comeza a viaxe no interior da cuncha,
a doenza.
O paxaro de noite
arrinca esta ompeia do cemento
con actividade cafeínica,
o seu peteiro métese
na carne do proxecto.
O exilio embulle as serpes
que marcan o camino.

No seu poder
desminte o graznido,
parece calma
pero o berro da maquina
pide máis corpos
e cubre de cinza a cidade
que divide a multitude
na que aboia a persoa morta.

VIRXE DO SOUND

JESÚS LIZANO- MAMÍFEROS

Yo veo mamíferos.
Mamíferos con nombres extrañísimos.
Han olvidado que son mamíferos
y se creen obispos, fontaneros,
lecheros, diputados. ¿Diputados?
Yo veo mamíferos.
Policías, médicos, conserjes,
profesores, sastres, cantoautores.
¿Cantoautores?
Yo veo mamíferos...
Alcaldes, camareros, oficinistas, aparejadores
¡Aparejadores!
¡Cómo puede creerse aparejador un mamífero!
Miembros, sí, miembros, se creen miembros
del comité central, del colegio oficial de médicos...
académicos, reyes, coroneles.
Yo veo mamíferos.
Actrices, putas, asistentas, secretarias,
directoras, lesbianas, puericultoras...
La verdad, yo veo mamíferos.
Nadie ve mamíferos,
nadie, al parecer, recuerda que es mamífero.
¿Seré yo el último mamífero?
Demócratas, comunistas, ajedrecistas,
periodistas, soldados, campesinos.
Yo veo mamíferos.
Marqueses, ejecutivos, socios,
italianos, ingleses, catalanes.
¿Catalanes?
Yo veo mamíferos.
Cristianos, musulmanes, coptos,
inspectores, técnicos, benedictinos,
empresarios, cajeros, cosmonautas...
Yo veo mamíferos.

SCRATCH

JEFFERSON AIRPLANE- White Rabbit

One pill makes you larger
And one pill makes you small
And the ones that mother gives you
Don't do anything at all
Go ask Alice, when she's ten feet tall
And if you go chasing rabbits
And you know you're going to fall
Tell 'em a hookah-smoking caterpillar
Has given you the call
And call Alice, when she was just small
When the men on the chessboard get up
And tell you where to go
And you've just had some kind of mushroom
And your mind is moving low
Go ask Alice,
I think she'll know
When logic and proportion have fallen sloppy dead
And the white knight is talking backwards
And the red queen's off with her head
Remember what the dormouse said
Feed your head
Feed your head

SEXPLEASE ONTOUR

BIGFATE

LOIS PEREIRO

THE FLOWERS OF FRIENDSHIP FADED
FRIENDSHIP FADED

Presentimos as horas do vrao
vivir de día
os futuros soños fríos
de amenceres de lúa con armarios transparentes de ollos fríos
asesinos de princesas durmidas
en moreas de bebidas inocentes
reises da explosión solitaria
nun día escuro do país acusados de querer ser
ananos e vivir na herba
apuntándovos coa morte en decadencia
dende o día do viaxe
ou fuxida sentimental
oubeando (a chamada do bosco que se me escondía)
o sonido
de senso desesperado
o sonido tráxico.


O éstase
en sorrisa vendo
como Piedad matabas aquil buraco escuro con forma de crime
onde o silenzo ule
a tormenta nostálxica e neurótica
(un centro neurótico pro
cun límite marcado nalgún sitio)
e non era a primeira vez
que o suicidio voaba no ceo da última paisaxe
Mary (buked and scorned)
xa o tiña visto
no ceo de California.

Poemas para unha loia. Espiral Maior. 1997

ANTIREZO

BICÉFALUS, Sechu Sende

Viaxando en dirixíbel
navego en solitário
arredor do mundo.
Guian-me os soños e os pesadelos
guia-me a búsola oxidada
De Xosé o Viaxeiro. Ser dous
é a miña maldición;
o meu camiño a bifurcación.
Busco a babor a paz,
o terror a estribor.
E para todas as cousas teño dous nomes:
o meu dirixíbel: Hoxe e Moby Dick;
o meu peito: Peito e Penélope.
A miña viaxe levou-me aos volcáns,
ao Leviatán, afora do tempo,
ao interior dos homes e os animais,
e o oráculo de Tebas anunciou-me
que no embigo dunha muller
encontraría o numero de ouro,
o equilibrio, o amor
"O seu nome é Cynthia de Santa Lucia".
Mirei-me no espello sen espello
duas veces,
lembrei que os poetas falaran dela,
Propércio, Dereck Walcott,
e collín o leme de Moby Dick
-rumo ás Antillas-
como o home primitivo,
a machada amigdaloide.
Con sede de amor
e de morte no mesmo corazón
cheguei a Cynthia,
Cynthia, veño polo teu amorte.
Ela non soubo en que ollos
deitar o medo e o noxo,
Monstro, berrou.
Subi-na a bordo,
Debo matar-te, dixen eu.
E eu debo evitá-lo, dixen eu .
Subi-na a bordo, digo,
E axeonllei-me:
Decapita-me, roguei
e dei-lle a espada.
Pero saltei sobre Cynthia
e biquei-lle os ollos
e arrinquei-lle os labios de vez,
amando-a e odiando-a a un tempo.
Bicéfalus, berraba o meu peito
ensanguentado, nunca
poderás amar, Bicéfalus,
aprende na dor a ser
un monstro
pois naceches con duas cabezas,
duas bocas e catro ollos;
duas formas de ollar
na túa única sombra eterna.

Odiseas, 1998

VIAXE

LEOPOLDO MARÍA PANERO

MUTIS

Era más romántico quizá cuando
arañaba la piedra
y decía por ejemplo, cantando
desde la sombra a las sombras,
asombrado de mi propio silencio,
por ejemplo: "hay
que arar el invierno
y hay surcos, y hombres en la nieve"
Hoy las arañas me hacen cálidas señas desde
las esquinas de mi cuarto, y la luz titubea,
y empiezo a dudar que sea cierta
la inmensa tragedia
de la literatura.

"El que no ve" 1980

CAMIÑO DA MAN ESQUERDA

CAMIÑO DA MAN DEREITA

HERITAGE

FRANCO BATTIATO

Nomadi
(Juri Camisasca)


Nomadi che cercano gli angoli della tranquillità
nelle nebbie del nord e nei tumulti delle civiltà
tra i chiari scuri e la monotonia
dei giorni che passano
camminatore che vai
cercando la pace al crepuscolo
la troverai
alla fine della strada.
Lungo il transito dell'apparente dualità
la pioggia di settembre
risveglia i vuoti della mia stanza
ed i lamenti della solitudine
si prolungano
come uno straniero non sento legami di sentimento
E me ne andrò
dalle città
nell'attesa del risveglio.
I viandanti vanno in cerca di ospitalità
nei villaggi assolati
e nei bassifondi dell'immensità
e si addormentano sopra i guanciali della terra
forestiero che cerchi la dimensione insondabile.
La troverai, fuori città
alla fine della strada.