Friday, August 11, 2006

Do what I say, Say what I do Mr Magoo


Si EEUU aplicara la misma lógica
que se usa en Beirut,
EEUU debería bombardear Londres ahora mismo.
Punto. Mejor dicho: apunten.

No hay nada como
sátira, Shakira, Al Jazeera, mentira.
Los comentaristas de CNN y FOXNews
son glorificados operadores de radio amateur.

Justo a tiempo para las elecciones de noviembre,
qué fácil es manipular a los votantes,
más fáciles que focas y delfines.

No le hagan preguntas (mucho menos difíciles)
al presidente que le vayan explotar
lo poco de cerebro que le queda.
El pobrecito quiere montar su bicicleta mágica.


Monday, August 07, 2006


Desperté en la madrugada, preparé el café temprano antes que saliera el sol,
me senté a leer el periódico mientras tenía la regadera corriendo agua
sobre el césped. ¿Qué otra recompensa, pero la aprobación de los vecinos
saco de mantener el césped verde? Debería dejarlo secarse para ver.

Estaba bien cansado por la fiesta de ayer, pero decidimos ir a la playa
de todas maneras. Fuimos a Lido Beach. Desde lejos el olor a pescado
muerto; era señal que algo andaba mal. Al acercarnos a la orilla,
millares de larva de camarón flotaban al azar.

Quise enseñarle a una flor como nadar entre las olas, una flor hermosa,
una flor delicada que no quería herirse.

Me frustré, pero mantuve la compostura, como cuando leo el periódico
en la mañana sobre civiles y niños asesinados sin provocación.

Pobres flores son los pobres, y yo me hiero, cicatriz sobre cicatriz,
para sentir su ardor, su dolor, y los primeros instantes de la muerte.
Hasta ahora no he cruzado ese puente negro, sálveme quien sea.

© DW080706

Friday, August 04, 2006

The End, by The Doors (1967)

This is the end, beautiful friend
This is the end, my only friend
The end of our elaborate plans
The end of everything that stands
The end

No safety or surprise
The end
I'll never look into your eyes again

Can you picture what will be
So limitless and free
Desperately in need of some stranger's hand
In a desperate land

Lost in a Roman wilderness of pain
And all the children are insane
All the children are insane
Waiting for the summer rain
There's danger on the edge of town
Ride the King's highway
Weird scenes inside the gold mine
Ride the highway West, baby

Ride the snake
Ride the snake
To the lake
To the lake

The ancient lake, baby
The snake is long
Seven miles
Ride the snake

He's old
And his skin is cold
The West is the best
The West is the best
Get here and we'll do the rest

The blue bus is calling us
The blue bus is calling us
Driver, where are you taking us?

The killer awoke before dawn
He put his boots on
He took a face from the ancient gallery
And he walked on down the hall

He went into the room where his sister lived
And then he paid a visit to his brother
And then he walked on down the hall
And he came to a door
And he looked inside
Yes son?
I want to kill you
Mother, I want to. . .

C'mon baby, take a chance with us
C'mon baby, take a chance with us
C'mon baby, take a chance with us
And meet me at the back of the blue bus

This is the end, beautiful friend
This is the end, my only friend
The end

It hurts to set you free
But you'll never follow me

The end of laughter and soft lies
The end of nights we tried to die

This is the end

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

Strange days, by The Doors

Strange days have found us
Strange days have tracked us down
They're going to destroy our casual joys
We shall go on playing or find a new town

Strange eyes fill strange rooms
Voices will signal their tired end
The hostess is grinning
Her guests sleep from sinning
Hear me talk of sin and you know this is it

Strange days have found us
And through their strange hours
We linger alone
Bodies confused
Memories misused
As we run from the day
To a strange night of stone

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

To the pale dogs of war

Two wrongs don’t make a right

Thunder and lightning is spreading
a thick, dark cloud over the horizon:
to those who don't call war home and their daily bread
to those who spit at the billionaire hell made by the great military machine
to those who invoke a solemn prayer, while drowning in swallowed tears
to those who ask, "god, why is it raining bombs, grenades and bullets?
to those who smell the powder of the disguised filth with the veil of religion.
To the agitator dogs steered by the compass of the fabricated war,
we have brought the blood of flowers, children and the elderly to quench your thirst,
we have brought the cut up bodies to fill your hunger;
here served on the fecal tray there's a town shaking to your boots.
What more shit do you want? Want to be called gods?
We, the people, don't have a say

The children don't have a say

Only pigheads and bullies spread the blanket of death,
Spread the permanent night on the infantile eyes,
Death sows death
Death reaps death

If people want democracy, they'll fight for it,
On their own terms,
In their own time.

All I can do is to protect my children,
Protect them from the immorality of war.