I lay all nagoy to the ceiling, my gulliver on my rookers on the pillow, glazzies closed, rot open in bliss, slooshying the sluice oflovely sounds. Oh, it was gorgeousness and gorgeosity madeflesh. The trombones crunched redgold under my bed, andbehind my gulliver the trumpets three-wise silverflamed, andthere by the door the timps rolling through my guts and outagain crunched like candy thunder. Oh, it was wonder ofwonders. And then, a bird of like rarest spun heavenmetal, orlike silvery wine flowing in a spaceship, gravity all nonsensenow, came the violin solo above all the other strings, andthose strings were like a cage of silk around my bed. Then fluteand oboe bored, like worms of like platinum, into the thickthick toffee gold and silver. I was in such bliss, my brothers.Pee and em in their bedroom next door had learnt now not toknock on the wall with complaints of what they called noise.I had taught them. Now they would take sleep-pills. Perhaps,knowing the joy I had in my night music, they had alreadytaken them. As I slooshied, my glazzies tight shut to shut in the bliss that was better than any synthemesc Bog or God, Iknew such lovely pictures. There were vecks and ptitsas, bothyoung and starry, lying on the ground screaming for mercy,and I was smecking all over my rot and grinding my boot intheir litsos. And there were devotchkas ripped and creechingagainst walls and I plunging like a shlaga into them, andindeed when the music, which was one movement only, roseto the top of its big highest tower, then, lying there on mybed with glazzies tight shut and rookers behind my gulliver, Ibroke and spattered and cried aaaaaaah with the bliss of it. And so the lovely music glided to its glowing close.
A clockwork orange.
(fragmento)
Agh, amo, amo, amo, amo ese fragmento.
Es alucinante.
Se me acabó el corticoesteroide, moriré. Snif.
Currently listening:
Pulp ~ Common people.