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O zi plină. Dar plină. Brrr. Deja mă ia cu furnicături. Mă trag de mână și mă azvârl oriunde nu e o tastatură.

Astăzi recomand ieșitul în ploaie, fără umbrelă. Aș face și eu asta, dar deja mă ascund de trei zile de gripă, și e mai sportivă ca mine!

 

‘Bluebird’ by Charles Bukowski

There’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out, but I’m too tough for him. I say, stay in there, I’m not going to let anybody see you.

There’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out, but I pour whiskey on him and inhale cigarette smoke and the whores and the bartenders and the grocery clerks never know that he’s in there.

There’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out, but I’m too tough for him. I say, stay down, do you want to mess me up? You want to screw up the works? You want to blow my book sales in Europe?

There’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out, but I’m too clever. I only let him out at night sometimes when everybody’s asleep. I say, I know that you’re there, so don’t be sad. Then I put him back, but he’s singing a little in there. I haven’t quite let him die and we sleep together like that with our secret pact and it’s nice enough to make a man weep.

But I don’t weep. Do you?

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