niedziela, 16 lutego 2014

20 ans d'écart

[Alice paląca marihuanę w taksówce]
- Może jeszcze kokainę sobie pani zapoda?
- Przepraszam.
- To mają być żarty?

[Alice smoking marijuana in a taxi]
- Maybe you'd also like some cocaine?
- Oh, sorry, sorry!
- Is this a joke?

piątek, 14 lutego 2014


... Love is in the air...
I've got fucking enough of this!
I've got enough of this fucking hatered on this fucking world!
Let's all fucking hug!
Love everyone, don't spare anyone. 

niedziela, 9 lutego 2014


She realized that Colonel Aureliano Buendía had not lost his love for the family because he had been hardened by the war, as she had thought before, but that he had never loved anyone, not even his wife Remedios or the countless one-night women who had passed through his life, and much less his sons. She sensed that he had fought so many wars not out of idealism, as everyone had thought, nor had he renounced a certain victory because of fatigue, as everyone had thought, but that he had won and lost for the same reason, pure and sinful pride. She reached the conclusion that the son for whom she would have given her life was simply a man incapable of love. One night when she was carrying him in her belly she heard him weeping. It was such a definite lament that José Arcadio Buendía woke up beside her and was happy with the idea that his son was going to be a ventriloquist. Other people predicted that he would be a prophet. She, on the other hand, shuddered from the certainty that the deep moan was a first indication of the fearful pig tail and she begged God to let the child die in her womb. But the lucidity of her old age allowed her to see, and she said so many times, that the cries of children in their mothers’ wombs are not announcements of ventriloquism or a faculty for prophecy but an unmistakable sign of an incapacity for love. The lowering of the image of her son brought out in her all at once all the compassion that she owed him.