...ég get bara dælt fyrir þúsundkall...: 2017

föstudagur, 23. júní 2017

David Bowie Demo

Inside every teenage girl there's a fountain
Inside every young pair of pants there's a mountain
Inside every mother's eyes is Tommy Tinkrem's bed
Inside every candidate waits a grateful dead

I make it a thing, when I'm on my own to relieve myself
I make it a thing, when I gazelle on stage to believe in myself
I make it a thing, to glance in window panes and look pleased with myself
Yeah, and pretend I'm walking home

I took it so bad, I sat in the correction room
Took me a fag, and a kick in the moon
Well, I ain't gonna suck no radar wing
Because inside this tin is tin
Would you like to techno-plate cause I'm your candidate
Oh yeah

It's a matter of life
And the way you walk, you've got a BrylCream queen
It's a matter of tact
In the things you talk, that keeps his passport clean
A matter of fact
That a cock ain't a cock on a twelve inch screen
So I'll pretend I'm walking home

You don't have to scream a lot to keep an age in tune
You don't have to scream a lot to predict monsoons
You don't have to paint my contact black
Now I've hustled a pair of jeans
Do I have to give your money back when I'm the Fuhrerling

I'll make you a deal
I'll say I came from Earth and my tongue is taped
I'll make you a deal
You can get your kicks on the candidate
I'll make you a deal
For your future's sake, I'm the candidate
Let's pretend we're walking home

uh-huh, uh-huh
I'm the candidate
I'm the candidate
Vote now for the candidate

"Can you tell me where my country lies?" Said the unifaun to his true love's eyes. "It lies with me!" cried the Queen of Maybe - for her merchandise, he traded in his prize.

þriðjudagur, 2. maí 2017

Nýjasta nýtt

Hann var svo hrifinn af henni að það leið yfir hann, og hann skall harkalega með höfuðið á gangstéttina.

Hún horfði á hann full aðdáunar þar sem hann lá í blóði sínu, hreyfingarlaus.

Hún sleikti opið sárið á höfði hans og endurtók í sífellu: "þú verður að skaffa vel, þú verður að skaffa vel."

föstudagur, 28. apríl 2017

Skriftagangur

Einhvern daginn áttaði ég mig á því að ég hef aldrei átt neina fyrirmynd - nokkuð langt síðan - og það hefur ekkert breyst.

Fyrst var ég smá undrandi, en stuttu síðar kunni ég ennþá betur við sjálfan mig en áður.