#4126 Re: Haj'mo malo o kulturi ... ma, uuuđite slobodno ... :-)))
Posted: 23/03/2018 19:05
Eee, nek mu je laka ova sniježna zemlja, mogao je još malo ostati s nama.Bloo wrote:Sad vidim vijest...preminuo profesor Premec
Skoro pa sevdalinka!Bloo wrote:JA SAD IDEM VAN
Jiri Sotola
Ja sad idem van i vratit ću se tek ujutro.
Bit ću vani, ne čekaj me, idi spavati, ondje ću sjediti
i čučati i doći ću pijan.
Ja sad idem van i vratit ću se možda tek za tristo godina,
pa zar je to neko vrijeme?
Past ću ti na prozor u spodobi jednog bezprizornog
razrokog fotona.Posadit ću se u obliku
prašine, spale nelome s cipela,
na prag tvojih vrata.
A ti onda ne budi zla i pusti me k sebi.Ne pravi mi
scene. Ljubavnike
ćemo pokupiti u pokrivač i izbaciti kroz prozor.
I ostavit ćemo sebi svjetlo.Ma pusti me k sebi.
Ma pusti me već k sebi, pa pusti me već,zašto ti
to toliko traje, to je nekoliko trenutaka, ma to je
grozno dugo,pa ja ću tu usahnuti umrijeti umrijet od
žalosti,ma molim te ipak otvori il' ću ti ta vrata razvaliti,
kožu ću ti izgrebsti, oči ću ti iskopati
ljubavi moja
John Cleese wrote:People expect old men to die. They do not really mourn old men.
Old men are different. People look at them with eyes that wonder when . . .
People watch with unshocked eyes, but the old men know when an old man dies. (O.N.)
Spotidpiupiu wrote:John Cleese wrote:People expect old men to die. They do not really mourn old men.
Old men are different. People look at them with eyes that wonder when . . .
People watch with unshocked eyes, but the old men know when an old man dies. (O.N.)
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People expect old women to die. They do not really mourn old women.
Old women are different. People look at them with eyes that wonder when...
People watch with unshocked eyes, but the old men know when an old woman dies. (PiuPiU)
Spot an intruder.![]()
Odmah sam prepoznao njegov lartpourlartanski stil.Bloo wrote:Jer je nebo neobicno plavo jutros, kao razlicak...i mahala jos spava..
“Alone”
From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were—I have not seen
As others saw—I could not bring
My passions from a common spring—
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow—I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone—
And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone—
Then—in my childhood—in the dawn
Of a most stormy life—was drawn
From ev’ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still—
From the torrent, or the fountain—
From the red cliff of the mountain—
From the sun that ’round me roll’d
In its autumn tint of gold—
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass’d me flying by—
From the thunder, and the storm—
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view—



piupiu wrote:Šta je ovo, sve neke zamotane tete.![]()

Bloo wrote:Meni liči na one paranormalne ektoplazme...
John Cleese wrote:piupiu wrote:Šta je ovo, sve neke zamotane tete.![]()
Ovo drugo je djecak
Storija kaze da je sjor Medardo bio inspiriran sjecanjem na trenutak kad je djecak provirio kroz nekakvu zavjesu ili sta je vec bilo
I tebi, sinepiupiu wrote:Sretan 6. april!
piupiu wrote: Bez tvoje ljubavi
ja
sunca nemam,
a ne znam gde si, ne znam s kim si.