Skip to main content

the walkers

I'm the man who wanders. Met the gal who walks...
trampling the dust, sinking into the night...
I am sexual said the gal who walks,
I am a loner said the man who wanders.

Daring digesting digested dust.
drunk, skunk.
Push it push it push...
are you a pusher?...
no sexy... I am the man who walks...
I will use you-just do it
- walk home-
I want to walk onto you mountains.
Hold my hand,
let's walk until our skin, skunk, sunk,
dried dies...


Labels:

Comments

Anonymous said…
This piece is really cool,man! It kind of makes me recall one of my best friends (Rodrigo Arteaga) who is a great writer too. Both of you guys have the same style: both of you write with blood as Nietzsche used to say of those who really use language not so much to communicate but to express what lives and dies inside, deep inside.

Cheers!

ZHP
10:14 PM
Darko said…
mmm thanks!... i'm speechless... it took me two minutes to write it... after i met a gal and walked with her for about 4 miles. weird stuff thou.
2:35 AM
Jake said…
Hola!DArko...gracias por los comentarios...
El mapuche tiene también su encanto. Algunas frases y conceptos los aprendí cuando trabajé en el sur de la Argentina...por la patagonia con escuelas en comunidades barriales en las que había muchos niños/as cuyas familias eran curru wincas...o sea oscuro-blanco
una forma de autodenominarse mestizos.

te comparto una:
Amutuy pu peñi pu ñaña!

algo asi como:
vamos compañeros!
un decir de ánimo ante la adversidad. Literalmente es: "vamos hermano, hermana".

Abrazos
J
4:44 PM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Volan's last will.

This is a picture of the envelope I received. On September the 29th I received a letter sent from London Metropolitan Police’s forensic department. The envelope contains Volan’s death report. I am still recovering from such a terrible moment. As Volan’s closest (and perhaps sole) friend I am in the obligation of publishing these lines on his own blog, as it was his last will. In strange circumstances my dearest friend Volan passed away in the dawn of the 23rd of September in Homerton Hospital in London. His body was carted off from the churchyard of Saint Paul’s Cathedral after a mad night out with Siobhan (Sweeny), -an Irish-Scottish blues singer whose Volan had just met few hours before in the surrounding areas of Anexo Bar, close to Farringdon Station. At the moment that the ambulance arrived at the place Volan showed a critical state and almost without vital signals dying a while after indoors, in the above mentioned hospital. The death certificated shows a very cryptic language ...
10 comments
Read more

Vomiting in Old Kent Road.

Darko's last post is dated back to 2008... have all this years been a dream, a nightmare, am I back to life, back to death?... Shioban! Shioban... where are you? I died and got back to life... or vice versa. Shioban didn't I see you in the Middle Kingdom? Didn't I? Where have you gone Shioban? Irish Muse? Back to death from life... and a sketch she made in 2006, back the "deadly ol' smoke" Back form the toxic earthly smoke, life deterrent, as I walk covered in tar and sweet pop music, baijiu. Shioban!... you are young, I am gray.... Shioban where have you taken my bones? am I ashes, tar or smog? I still have got that ugly punch you directed at me nose, that night at Kingsland road, I landed, smacked my head to the ground only to wake up at Lewisham... or near, Shioban, you crazy Irish death.... was it Old Kent and Rotherhithe where we vomited solitudes that night? Shioban.
Post a Comment
Read more

norman mclaren

Norman McLaren was one of the most significant abstract filmmakers of the British inter-war period. Born in 1914 in Stirling, Scotland, he entered the Glasgow School of Fine Arts in 1932, where he became interested in film and joined the School's Kine Society. His earliest extant film, Seven Till Five (1933), a "day in the life of an art school", was clearly influenced by Eisenstein and displays a strongly formalist attitude. (more)
4 comments
Read more