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1971.

One of the sweetest albums from that year—hands down.

1971.

Appropriate for these kinds of late nights, I guess.
Here's my contribution: two blues boogie tracks...

1971.

Man, back then we’d head out way down to the abandoned old prison down by Airdrie Hill
where the whole place just smelled like snakes—we'd spend the day out there shooting pistols
but honestly, we weren't really hunting anything--just popping empty soda bottles
to see if we could hit 'em

Quote:

vanchaaa says:

😁

I honestly can't even begin to wrap my head around how we reached this point, where everything feels like a repetitive, mindless loop of absolute nonsense that serves no one. It’s frankly exhausting to watch.

Peter is my trumpet:
your deeds are black, oh dead ones;
black as Socrates' love and foul as an ascetic's body;
your evils are massive and beyond any forgiveness;
there is no forgiveness—the dice have landed for you;
your souls are dead—even Easter is dead!
Peter is my trumpet and the universe is its echo;
eternity smiles—the earth hasn't died;
crosses break and time crumbles tombs—
my song is reckless: let the living live!

J. P. Kamov, dead day

Like some notes on the pride of winter storms,
human rage just piles up in the dark.
A grim wave of battle—just a raw
forest of stars.
Burnt eyebrows and silver hands,
the night calls out to dying soldiers.
In the shadow of autumn ash,
the ghosts of the fallen sigh.
A wilderness of thorns encircles the city.
From blood-stained doorsteps, the moon
hunts down terrified women.

Wild wolves break through the city gates.

Mr. Trakl, Eastern Front

The field is just like any other,
a palmful of green,

A crescent moon mows through,
the wheat in the meadow
where two crossed rays of sun
lay it out like a cross.

The Kos reads aloud
those secret letters scattered across the dirt,

Peonies reaching for the sky
serving four black winds
with the blood of warriors made one.

A field unlike any other,
with the sky above it
and the sky beneath.

V. Pop, Mexico

November... honestly, if months were days of the week, this would definitely be the Monday.

The forest folk—they’d be better off staying deep in the woods.
Pan shows up, carrying some old, worn-out wineskin.
He steps onto the clearing under a slender Jessica tree
And lets out a laugh that echoes through the trees.

Pale shadows drifted out from the dark
Dancing nonstop across the lush green grass.
They were those wild blue Nymphs
Wearing white wreaths upon their heads...

Then comes the morning. Rose has fallen,
Glistening in these huge, heavy droplets.
The morning star shines bright—it flickers and trembles
On the wide leaves of the Jessica tree.

Under the Jessica, the sweet scent of lilies drifts
While they dance in a circle around Pan.
And the woods rustle—that's just the wind moving
At the very first break of dawn...

V. Vidrić, "Morning"

Ionia

(...) There's peace everywhere—just total peace—once I sort through everything that happened
and turn my gaze toward what’s coming next;
toward an entire era where the wine flowed,
along with the laughter and that beautiful, distant bliss.

And just like that, without needing any reason,
our lives will wash over us like the dawn hitting the Appalachian Mountains.
And even without a drink in hand,
I’ll be dancing 'til the end—just happy, drunken souls living in the moment.

I'm still wandering, thin and frail, carried by this intense whisper
shaking off the dust from my wrists with a laugh,
but slowly, following my own trail, I can sense it—
the silence is going to settle in once all of this fades away,
both for me, and for everything else.

M. Crnjanski, "Stražilovo"

I told Jessica that the snow was starting to fall.
The second I said it, her eyes lit up—
then she just pulls me in close and heads
up toward the ridge.
She just opens up when it snows. There’s so much love in how
she watches those tiny flakes drift—
—and I can't help but feel for her, seeing them fall through this freezing winter
so I catch them in my hands to let them rest and stay warm.
It heals the ache within that crystal grip.
We were walking through the dark, —
but under the streetlights, everything starts to blur and she gets all shy
because it feels like her own footsteps
are treading on the souls of the snowflakes
and she keeps stepping softly
just to spray through them
without actually touching them.
We drifted for a long time, kind of like wispy clouds.
The snow showered over us—just constant
—and it made us feel clearer, more connected
through all these white curtains.
The snow really just cleanses us.

B. Pavlović, "Snow"

I dreamed of autumn through fogged-up glass,
Of buddies and you—all laughing together in a crowd.
Like a hawk screaming for blood,
My soul just surrendered itself right into your hands.

But time moved on—age finally caught up,
Silvering the frames like a heavy shroud.
Dawn swept the glass from the garden,
With the bloody, heavy tears of September.

Time grew old. In the armchair, the silk
Cracked like ice—worn out and beautiful.
And even you went quiet—though you used to be so loud,
Until the dream faded away like a distant bell.

Then I woke up. Like autumn, full of ache,
The dawn was there, and the wind—chilling, really—
Scattered the birches across the sky,
Like light straw being blown from a car in the rain.

B. Pasternak, "Dream"

Rockin' Back

Amparo,
all alone in that empty house,
draped in white

(Halfway between jasmine
and pomegranate)

The Babbling Brook listens
from the courtyard
along with the soft, yellow chirp
of a canary.

In the evening you watch the birds
shivering
on the cypress tree,
while you lightly stitch
silken letters
onto a white shroud

Amparo,
alone in that empty house,
wrapped in white

Amparo,
it’s just so hard to say:
I love you

F. g. Lorca, "Amparo"

wiredmason61 said:After dealing with enough nonsense today, I’m just settling into a quiet workday at home. Is this some kind of weird new routine for me?! 😬

We ran into this little beast while hiking out in the Appalachian Mountains; it was acting all aggressive—nearly bit my finger off, thank god it wasn't in my pocket. 😁



Anyway, give me a moment ...

Regardless, the little guy was pure chaos, honestly. 😬 🤣

What about you? How have things been? Still wandering around somewhere?

Not much here, just heavy metal 🙂 🙂

(...) Here it is—the uninvited guest
A weird presence, just right there

The chill settles right into the surface of my coffee
Like rust creeping onto the edges of our smiles
A snake coiled at the bottom of the mirror

Will I ever be able to wipe you away
From my face and into mine

There's a third shadow now
Walking along with us in this imaginary stroll
An unexpected abyss
Between our words—where hooves thunder
Underneath the arches of our palates

Can I actually manage
On this barren wasteland
To lift a canopy from my palms over you

V. Pop, "Far Within Us (II)"