café shabu : ο ηχος του café shabu
Welcome to the café shabu.
Permit me to introduce you to some of our regulars.
Starting on my immediate left, ladies and gentlemen, here in café shabu, you’ll note a poet, a man of words by trade.
And yes, that’s a refugee from an unnamed political philosophy, come here to spread his message of joy and peace amongst us.
Thank you very much Sir.
Over here, next to him we see a lady who has traded-in a lifestyle of the rich and famous for work with underprivileged and exceptional children which I am sure makes her very pleased with herself, ladies and gentlemen.
Sitting next to her a man of letters and words and moods.
A man who spent most of his life deceiving himself and now finds himself facing six years in rehabilitation prison and a death sentence on the outside.
Sitting next to him on a banquette, a ballerina.
She’s had two grapes, a raisin, and a chicklet, and she’s full.
In fact, she’s been stuffed for years.
Next to her are two spinsters knitting their way in and out of various predicaments coloured by the excesses of their ancestors.
And close by them, some surreal painter’s brooding over the very over-emphasis of colour-violence.
Violence on the blue end of the scale.
Next to them, two off-duty detectives checking each other out.
Next door to the sugarholics, see them shivering, see them staring into the distance, see them growing, oh, see them go comatose.
Insulin please, maitre D’!
On my immediate right several politicians smiling lizard-like, see them assure themselves that their status is indeed quo.
Rip up the cheques said the maitre D’. See if I care. I do this for the company. I’ve got no-one to trust any secrets to but myself.
In the basement, in the vault, in the attic on the walls are the pictures I take in part-payment for my time.
And the waitress reminds you that in the backroom bathed in red, glowing with the speed of light that reflects the demands of the living for the dead, are our angels, a host at your service to meet your every need.
So order up, the waitress said.
Our great café serves everything.
*
Το παραπανω ειναι δημιουργημα των John Cale-Bob Neuwirth και βρισκεται στο album Last Day on Earth



i ll have the last one, please
thank u!
”…that reflects the demands of the living for the dead.”
sooo true.
ki epsaxna ena tetoio magazi.
ειναι αξιολογα και (γιαυτο;) δυσευρετα αυτα τα μαγαζια χρυσοπσαρακι…
συγνώμη… με ακουτε? ναι?
μηπως μπορειτε να συνοψισετε τα μπλογκ σας σιγα σιγα?
να ας πουμε εδω… ε?
φαβιτσα, εχεις δικιο.
σκορποχωρι ειμαι και ταλαιπωρω και τους φιλους μου.
θα δω τι θα κανω επι του θεματος….
και αμα θες και την γνωμη μου, βαλε πιο ανοιχτο template. το μαυρο ειναι λιγο κουραστικο…
φιλακια!
φαβιτσα, τι αλλο θα κανω εγω για σενα, καλη μου;
μαρεσει αυτο. μαρεσε και τ’αλλο.
το πολυ πολυ αν μου λειψει θα ανοιξω και αλλο μπλογκ!
λολ
χαχαχα
mas xevoleveis xristougenniatika
P
ειναι για να υποδεχτουμε τον νεο χρονο ανανεομενοι αγγελε vs ζωη!
οnce and for all μετακομιση, το υποσχομαι.