24.2.17

Peter Weiss




These lies they tell about the ideal state
The rich will never give away their property
of their own free will
And if by force of circumstances
they have to give up just a little
here and there
they do it only because they know
they’ll soon win it back again
The rumor spreads
that the workers can soon expect higher wages
Why
Because this raises production and increases demand
and thereby fills the entrepreneurs’ pockets
Don’t imagine
that you can beat them without using force
Don’t be deceived
when our Revolution has been finally stamped out
and they tell you
things are better now
Even if there’s no poverty to be seen
because the poverty’s been hidden
even if you ever got more wages
and could afford to buy
more of these new and useless goods

which these new industries foist on you
and even if it seems to you
that you never had so much
that is only the slogan of those
who still have much more than you
Don’t be taken in 
when they pat you paternally on the shoulder and say 
that there’s no inequality worth speaking of 
and no more reason 
for fighting 
Because if you believe them 
they will be completely in charge 
in their marble homes and granite banks 
from which they rob the people of the world 
under the pretense of bringing them culture 
Watch out 
for as soon as it pleases them 
they’ll send you out 
to protect their gold 
in wars 
whose weapons rapidly developed 
by servile scientists 
will become more and more deadly 
until they can with a flick of the finger 

tear a million of you to pieces.




Kim Gordon - 1977

21.2.17

David Gilmour divino por Bizet



Je crois entendre encore,
Caché sous les palmiers,
Sa voix tendre et sonore
Comme un chant de ramiers !
Ô nuit enchanteresse !
Divin ravissement!
Ô souvenir charmant!
Folle ivresse! Doux rêve!
Aux clartés des étoiles,
Je crois encor la voir,
Entr’ouvrir ses longs voiles
Aux vents tièdes du soir!
Ô nuit enchanteresse!
Divin ravissement!
Ô souvenir charmant!
Folle ivresse! Doux rêve!


I think I still hear, hidden under palm trees, her voice soft and sound like a song of wood pigeons. Oh, enchanting night, divine rapture, oh, delightful memory, mad euphoria, sweet dream! In the clear starlight, I think I still see her, half drawing her long veil in the tepid night breeze. Oh, enchanting night, divine rapture, oh, delightful memory, mad euphoria, sweet dream! Delightful memory!