Rum Diary Hunt Thompson
Hunt Thompson did not disappoint. Again, a good book. Like "Fear and Loathing" Diary - a gifted raspizdyaya. Oh, that old fox knew what to hook the reader. Well, anyone interested in reading about the misadventures of drunk, an aging American zhurnalyugera in a foreign land? Everything! - Respond to you Thompson. And there are no brilliant moves the story or vivid images. Do not expect love and participation dray hero in war or revolution. No great meaning, no big ideas, not deeds. Dull, gloomy days filled with rum and disappointment.
truth is that in Puerto Rico, at a time celebration of American democracy. And this cynical journalist, satirist Hunt. He lives in Paradise. No shit does not, unless the whole day hanging out on sunny city, changing the expensive living in the wild beaches full of adventure-hungry socialite, interfering with rum and beer, and lobster bridou pineapple. Besides receiving for a lot of money and being with all his womanizing best journalist in the newspaper. For one of the few able to keep boredom and alcohol.
Oh, that's incredible boredom! But the boredom is much better and more desirable every one in which we live. Says the modern Russian proverb: "better life for the Kolyma Honduras than Honduras in Kolyma.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Interview Thank You Property Management
Confession audiolista:)
Big Javi "El Inspector", Efelgo Buendia "Cafe Tacuba", Roberto (Pulpul) Ska-p is dedicated to:)
hearing voices fall outside the window - the whisper of leaves, shouting schoolchildren, sleepy hum of flies between window frames, I crawl on reality. Slowly, almost covering his eyes, dripped in honey yellowness weary of the sun on the wall. Sweet voice of someone else's song beckons me in my summer, and I unoshus after him. In his town with bright colorful clothes and flowers Roma voices that swirl around his voice. Oh, Xavi! Here everything and passionate, languid tango in Buenos - Aires, and shameless motley skirts of flamenco dancers in Adalusii, and chocolate of your low, uniquely courageous voices of the city of Monterey. Oh, serious men with stern faces under chinnymi hats. How do you know how to sing about love!
O Efelgo! Brown arms - dancing neural network of veins, exciting guitar his passionate blood! Cock up long hair when you toss up that would combine a clean, shiny metal to the voice of melody. Macho with clean, almost feminine voice. You try to make it more courageous - launches into a wheeze, emotions Roughly its purity ... I bet no one even really do not know how your face looks. But everyone knows - you're handsome. Impossible handsome, as used to say before.
Oh, Roberto! Boldly and brazenly digging into the emptiness voice spits, shouted protest his rebellious soul, his whole body leaning into the microphone. The whole thin, strong, flexible and penetrating as a string. There is no one louder you, you - the sound itself. Passion, lamentation, hatred of all things low and small, come on.
great patriot. Yes, "Poets die." But the new poets are born. AND want to sing with you. And add your voice in this sea of passion and lose memory. Carried in a stream of frantic music and love, suffer, to hate only those rhythms, but with a passion, only in this language.
Big Javi "El Inspector", Efelgo Buendia "Cafe Tacuba", Roberto (Pulpul) Ska-p is dedicated to:)
hearing voices fall outside the window - the whisper of leaves, shouting schoolchildren, sleepy hum of flies between window frames, I crawl on reality. Slowly, almost covering his eyes, dripped in honey yellowness weary of the sun on the wall. Sweet voice of someone else's song beckons me in my summer, and I unoshus after him. In his town with bright colorful clothes and flowers Roma voices that swirl around his voice. Oh, Xavi! Here everything and passionate, languid tango in Buenos - Aires, and shameless motley skirts of flamenco dancers in Adalusii, and chocolate of your low, uniquely courageous voices of the city of Monterey. Oh, serious men with stern faces under chinnymi hats. How do you know how to sing about love!
O Efelgo! Brown arms - dancing neural network of veins, exciting guitar his passionate blood! Cock up long hair when you toss up that would combine a clean, shiny metal to the voice of melody. Macho with clean, almost feminine voice. You try to make it more courageous - launches into a wheeze, emotions Roughly its purity ... I bet no one even really do not know how your face looks. But everyone knows - you're handsome. Impossible handsome, as used to say before.
Oh, Roberto! Boldly and brazenly digging into the emptiness voice spits, shouted protest his rebellious soul, his whole body leaning into the microphone. The whole thin, strong, flexible and penetrating as a string. There is no one louder you, you - the sound itself. Passion, lamentation, hatred of all things low and small, come on.
great patriot. Yes, "Poets die." But the new poets are born. AND want to sing with you. And add your voice in this sea of passion and lose memory. Carried in a stream of frantic music and love, suffer, to hate only those rhythms, but with a passion, only in this language.
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