October 13, 20186 yr +1 Al' ova Indijeva je neispravna. Krene da rotira al' onda svaki čas zapne i stane
October 21, 20186 yr If I had wings, I wouldn't do anything beautiful and transcendent No, I'd get my finger into everything I wanted I'd do all the beautiful things, those thing you can't do Because nobody wants you to be able to do the things that make you feel good Like you can't smoke on the aeroplane I remember smoking on the aeroplane I used to love the smoke on the airplane Those were the golden days of air travel They would just open the door at the airport And you'd walk right out the tarmac And up those stairs and light a big cigarette And stick it in the ashtray and the stewardess would come along And if she was hot, you can try to pick her up Once I was flying from New York to DC, I didn't have much time And the stewardess was smoking She was a dusky tall American beauty And I put down my tray table, snorted a gram of cocaine Till I got up my courage to say, "Can I have your phone number?" And she gave me the number, that was the good news The bad news was I got too stoned and I lost the number The stewardess would've been better than the cocaine I made an error in judgement But still I remember smoking on the aeroplane Smoking on the aeroplane Smoking on the aeroplane, everybody did it They gather at the back on the way to Australia And all puff up at once outside the bathroom And that's why if I had wings That would be a bad idea, hahahahaha, I guess According to everything I've been taught about the laws of Ethics and karma and good behavior, hahahahaha If I had wings, I'd go, yum, yum, yum-yum, yum-yum, yum, ow! I'd have fun If I had wings, I'd have fun Smoking on the aeroplane Sunlight on my wings
December 6, 20186 yr "Ono toplo klupko životnih snaga, što sve nas nosi po svijetu, što se miče u nama, što neodoljivo čini, te se i mi mičemo u tom opasnom micanju sveukupnosti, to klupko crijeva, mesa, topline, uspomena, nagona, ljepote, straha, sve se to steže u takvom mozgu kao školjka i rastvara kao rana: u tom rastvaranju, u tim posljednjim izdisajima, u tome sklapanju zjenica, u onom posljednjem zbivanju prije nego što se konačno spusti zavjesa nad svim, prije onog posljednjeg prijeloma pred nepovratom, u one dvije-tri sekunde događanja, otvaraju se prostori, koji moraju da su isto tako veliki i isto tako intenzivni kao što je bio čitav život onog lica, koje se otkinulo od stvarnosti u nepovrat. To kidanje mora da je ipak bolno! Krvavo! To je kidanje uzbuđenog bunila, groznice i strave pred - ipak - nepoznatim, bolne panike za svime što je bilo toplo, poznato i drago: za kućama, za jelima, za djetinjstvima, u jednu riječ, za svim ugodnostima živaca i mozga, crijeva i kože, tijela i krvi. A ispod toga je smrt: hladna narkoza, kao oblog kamfora, tako hladna horizontala tajanstvene maglice oko pruge, oko lokomotive, oko telefonskih žica, što zuje na vjetru. Pupkovina se rastrgala, zinula je blatna voda i hladna, nepovratna, mirna, dosadna tmina." (Povratak Filipa Latinovića)
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