Pegazove jasle

Here's looking at you, kid...


06.04.2008.

Šestoaprilska

Hej, rajvoSa! Nek ti je sa srećom!
Ako ti je do slavlja.
Meni nije.
U prošlom postu Džamonja.
I dobijem Reufov komentar:
"Najveci medju najvecima. Covjek koji se do kraja smijao svojoj tragediji. Ako Sarajevo nema ulicu Darija Dzamonje, i to ulicu na koju su nanizane Dacine kafane, onda to i nije grad. Onda ga zaista nikada nije zasluzilo. Nadam se da je ima.
Lijepo sto si nas podsjetio na tu pricu.
Zivio. "
Nešto ne bih rek'o da imaš njegovu ulicu, rajvoSa.
Nabijem te na kurac!
Tebe, Šeheru, šta gledaš?!
Nabijem te na kurac!
I nije to samo zbog Džamonje.
Ne kurči se previše, nisi ga ti dao.
Mater ga je njegova rodila, kakva je da je.
Dobro, pičko, što puštaš da ti ovo rade?
Glumiš mi nekog mangupa sa svojim Vratnikom i Bistrikom, sa Švrakinom i Ali - pašinom.
A večeras gledam na TV - u prilog o protestima ispred pozorišta.
Kažu da su odali počast Denisu i Ljubici.
Poštujem.
Ali jesu li odali počast Denisima i Ljubicama?
Gled'o sam i drugi prilog jutros na TV - u.
O tvojoj odbrani, o ranim devedesetim.
O klincima koji su poginuli prije nego što su se propušili.
Ni junf nisu skinuli.
Na derneku nisu bili.
TEBE su branili, pičko!
Ko je njima od'o počast večeras?
Pitaju li se to oni pred pozorištem?
Pita li se iko, mamu ti jebem?!
A što niko ne pomenu rahmetli Juku danas?
Ni o Caci ništa ne čuh.
Kurac bi iko slavio da njega nije bilo!
A Klicu, rahmetli? A Adisa? A Feđu?A...
Čitav dan da su samo izgovarali imena poginuli, malo bi bilo.
Baš si se prokurv'o, Šeheru...



Pegazove jasle
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Na sve spremna budi (Izet Kiko Sarajlić)

Pijana pjesma (Tolji...)
Ove noći mogu napisati i najp'janije stihove.

Napisati, na primjer:"Mirišu lipe.
Vlati trave iz sveg glasa viču 'CARPE DIEM'."

Nebo je uzelo overdose oblaka.

Ove noći mogu napisati najp'janije stihove.
Noćas se liječim od patetike.

U tramvaju plavi mundiri:"Karte na pokaz!"
"Zar ne vidite da povraćam?!"

Fraze broj 8, 14 i 26, poput bijelog štapa,
Sljepački lupkaju za mnom po asfaltu.

Ove noći mogu napisati i najp'janije stihove.
Pred kinom Dioniz prodaje kokice. "Dvije flaše, molim!"
Slika se okreće i asfalt mi se razmazuje po licu.
Duboki uzdah, OM i tantrički sex s ulicom.

A u Vilsonovom, umjesto džankija, zaljubljeni
Na kašičicama tope svoju dozu ljubavi.

Ne, hvala. Ja se skidam s patetike.

Ove noći mogu napisati najp'janije stihove.
Kod Trovača još jedan ritualni masovni suicid.

Amor i Venera traže kandidate za put u tri materine.
"Leteći start"? Sorry, nemam pasoš.

Došlo je do zabune. Neruda je, znate, umro.
Ovo nije ljubavna pjesma.
Noćas pišem najp'janije stihove.
Ciroza jetre? Ma ne! Više ih umire od tuge...

Kavih

As Time Goes By ("Casablanca" soundtrack)
You must remember this
A kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh.
The fundamental things apply
As time goes by.

And when two lovers woo
They still say, "I love you."
On that you can rely
No matter what the future brings
As time goes by.

Moonlight and love songs
Never out of date.
Hearts full of passion
Jealousy and hate.
Woman needs man
And man must have his mate
That no one can deny.

It's still the same old story
A fight for love and glory
A case of do or die.
The world will always welcome lovers
As time goes by.

Oh yes, the world will always welcome lovers
As time goes by.

Paris at night (Jacques Prevert)
Tri šibice upaljene jedna za drugom u noći
Prva da ti vidim lice
Druga da ti vidim oči
Posljednja da ti vidim usta
I čitava tama noći da bih se sjetio svega toga
Stežući te u zagrljaju.

Sunday Morning Coming Down (Johnny Cash)
Well, I woke up Sunday morning
With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt.
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad,
So I had one more for dessert.
Then I fumbled in my closet through my clothes
And found my cleanest dirty shirt.
Then I washed my face and combed my hair
And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.

I'd smoked my mind the night before
With cigarettes and songs I'd been picking.
But I lit my first and watched a small kid
Playing with a can that he was kicking.
Then I walked across the street
And caught the Sunday smell of someone frying chicken.
And Lord, it took me back to something that I'd lost
Somewhere, somehow along the way.

On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down.

In the park I saw a daddy
With a laughing little girl that he was swinging.
And I stopped beside a Sunday school
And listened to the songs they were singing.
Then I headed down the street,
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing,
And it echoed through the canyon
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday.

On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down.



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