Hung

Vladimir: (...) What do we do now?
Estragon: Wait.
Vladimir: Yes, but while waiting.
Estragon: What about hanging ourselves?
Vladimir: Hmm. It'd give us an erection!
Estragon: (highly excited). An erection!
Vladimir: With all that follows. Where it falls mandrakes grow. That's why they shriek when you
pull them up. Did you not know that?
Estragon: Let's hang ourselves immediately!
(...)
Vladimir: Well? What do we do?
Estragon: Don't let's do anything. It's safer.
Vladimir: Let's wait and see what he says.
Estragon: Who?
Vladimir: Godot.
Estragon: Good idea.
(...)
Silence. They remain motionless, arms dangling, heads sunk, sagging at the knees.

Waiting For Godot

Samuel Beckett

Strange

People are strange when you're a stranger

Faces look ugly when you're alone

Women seem wicked when you're unwanted

Streets are uneven when you're down

When you're strange

Faces come out of the rain

When you're strange

No one remembers your name

When you're strange

People are strange

The Doors

Absurdity

"In a universe that is suddenly deprived of illusions and of light, Man feels a stranger. His is an irremediable exile. This divorce between Man and his life, the actor and his setting truly constitutes the feeling of absurdity"

Albert Camus

Thoughts of a dying thought

Is it really dark?

Or have I become blind?

Am I really alone and lonely?

Or am I pushing people away from me?

Is there something called joy?

Or am I no longer able to feel

Nothing but a deaf agony?

I was dying for a meaning

Now, I'm dying for dying

I was weeping for a sense

Now, I'm weeping for an eternal rest

Something is perishing inside of me

Something is perishing inside of me

I found meaning in meaninglessness

In this sterile life

I found meaning in my suicidal dreams

In the booth of my screams

I'm so tired

I'm a bunch of aches

With bleeding veins

Realizing I'm alive

Tears me apart

Breathing makes me cry

I'm broken into pieces

Shattered carelessly on the ground

I'm fucked by life

No need for a poison tonight

The poison is already inside

Eating is a poison to my body

Thinking is a poison to my mind

Feeling is a poison to my heart

I'm fucked by life

Waste is my past

Waste is my future

Waste is the name of my path

So

Bring me a gun

Help end my suffocation

Is it fun?

seeing me twisting and burning

Bring me a gun

And I'd give you the rest of my years

I'd shoot the pain away

And I'll be shot with the pain

Just bring me a gun

Be happy for my destiny

And miss me when I'm gone

I'm so tired

Tortured by life

It's only you and I, Mr Moonlight

And the very dead sound of sadness

With the stars

Witnessing my great fall

To you

I confess my vows

To you

I offer my soul

Death, have mercy on me

Stop this agony

I've been left to myself

Even words deserted me

With midnight tears

I'll sleep tonight

And I'll have visions

Of the cemetery of my dreams

Where's the fucking gun?!

April 29th, 2008

To Talk To You

Oh grandmother

How I miss you

Under the earth

Wish I was with you

To talk to you

To talk to you

...

If I lay on the earth

Could you hear

Oh grandmother

I'm so lonely

All my life

If I lay on the earth

Could you hear then

If I lay...

To Talk To You

PJ Harvey

Oh! Sweet Nuthin'

And everynight she falls when she does

She said

Oh sweet nuthin'

You know she ain't got nothing at all

Oh sweet nuthin'

She ain't got nothing at all

Oh! Sweet Nuthin'

The Velvet Underground

All Tomorrow's Parties

And what costume shall the poor girl wear

To all tomorrow's parties

A hand-me-down dress from who knows where

To all tomorrow's parties

And where will she go and what shall she do

When midnight comes around

She'll turn once more to Sunday's clown

And cry behind the door

And what costume shall the poor girl wear

To all tomorrow's parties

Why silks and linens of yesterday's gowns

To all tomorrow's parties

And what will she do with Thursday's rags

When Monday comes around

She'll turn once more to Sunday's clown

And cry behind the door

And what costume shall the poor girl wear

To all tomorrow's parties

For Thursday's child is Sunday's clown

For whom none will go mourning

A blackened shroud, a hand-me-down gown

Of rags and silks, a costume

Fit for one who sits and cries

For all tomorrow's parties

All Tomorrow's Parties

The Velvet Underground