Самиздат/Окунцова Наталья Евгеньевна. Самодеятельность

dream 4k "Стихотворение" Переводы
You Tell Me! перевод A chest in the desert, rusty hinges and all Enter a house, it has only one wall Rock music playing, songs sung by a monkey Stairways to nowhere, red-haired baby so chunky Wearing no clothes, none there to see Sturdy ship with no sails stuck in a tree Frost flavoured cookies, tongue glued to the floor Red planet with nine moons, an unending chore Trembling, sweat-drenched, legs became one Hang in there, there's more and I've barely begun Running so fast that you're already there Amazon women, hats growing hair Dead people who hug you, stung by a bee Naught seems to matter, so much to see Rocks that are talking, whale stuck in a sink To save all the humans I need a tall glass of ink Must write this all down without opening my eyes Alarm clock is ringing, real life i despise Soon it will all leave and I don't want to wake This world in my dreams with me I would take But if awake when sleeping then asleep when awake All I have written real sense seems to make Small wonder when night falls we rush to the bed Awake is the hunger, in our dreams we are fed Ящик с замками что все проржавели Стенку одну лишь оставить успели Рок дребезжит,обезьянки визг тонкий Лестницы нет ,только рыжий мальчонка Пухлый стоит он в чем мать родила Лодка без паруса в щели дупла Мерзлый бисквит,крем весь слипшийся с полом Огненный мир ,воздух чдом проколот ноги в одну обвились раскорячясь Сверху повисли,но я только начал,быстро представива всве действо пред вами Вид амазонок ,их шлемы с хвостами Мертвых обьятья,ужаленных ядом Чтоб все понять ,это видеть вам надо Шепот камней .в сток кита засосало Все описать мне чернил будет мало Крепко зажмурясь пишу свои мысли...тут вдруг будильник звонит ненавистный Все пропадет.просыпаться не буду в жизнь й унесу я с собой это чудо Только ...что если ,проснувшись ,забуду Хоть и запомню что,где и откуда В чем же секрет этих снов притяженья? В них утотоляем мы воображенье: You Tell Me! перевод A chest in the desert, rusty hinges and all Enter a house, it has only one wall Rock music playing, songs sung by a monkey Stairways to nowhere, red-haired baby so chunky Wearing no clothes, none there to see Sturdy ship with no sails stuck in a tree Frost flavoured cookies, tongue glued to the floor Red planet with nine moons, an unending chore Trembling, sweat-drenched, legs became one Hang in there, there's more and I've barely begun Running so fast that you're already there Amazon women, hats growing hair Dead people who hug you, stung by a bee Naught seems to matter, so much to see Rocks that are talking, whale stuck in a sink To save all the humans I need a tall glass of ink Must write this all down without opening my eyes Alarm clock is ringing, real life i despise Soon it will all leave and I don't want to wake This world in my dreams with me I would take But if awake when sleeping then asleep when awake All I have written real sense seems to make Small wonder when night falls we rush to the bed Awake is the hunger, in our dreams we are fed Ящик с замками что все проржавели Стенку одну лишь оставить успели Рок дребезжит,обезьянки визг тонкий Лестницы нет ,только рыжий мальчонка Пухлый стоит он в чем мать родила Лодка без паруса в щели дупла Мерзлый бисквит,крем весь слипшийся с полом Огненный мир ,воздух чдом проколот ноги в одну обвились раскорячясь Сверху повисли,но я только начал,быстро представива всве действо пред вами Вид амазонок ,их шлемы с хвостами Мертвых обьятья,ужаленных ядом Чтоб все понять ,это видеть вам надо Шепот камней .в сток кита засосало Все описать мне чернил будет мало Крепко зажмурясь пишу свои мысли...тут вдруг будильник звонит ненавистный Все пропадет.просыпаться не буду в жизнь й унесу я с собой это чудо Только ...что если ,проснувшись ,забуду Хоть и запомню что,где и откуда В чем же секрет этих снов притяженья? В них утотоляем мы воображенье

ds 45k "Рассказ" Переводы
Colin C. Conway 86th Street and the Summer of Love I despised the dumpy kid for curling up and letting us beat on him. He didn't know it, but the less he fought the worse he made it on himself and the harder he made it on me. I hated feeling the guilt for something we hadn't even done yet. We'd found the kid walking alone a few blocks from 86th Street, our turf. He was walking with a fudgesicle in one hand and a bottle of Coca-Cola in the other. He didn't have a care in the world as he waddled down the street. For him, summer vacations meant time away from the teasing and cruelty of high school. Being a tubby kid with pimples would be tough amongst the sharks that stalk the halls everyday. When I had that realization, I felt sorry for the little bastard and what we were about to do to him. I don't think the rest of the guys felt the way I did. They looked forward to moments like this. Miles Morgan, Ronnie Dougan, Terrance "Terry" Smalls and Jay O'Neal were my friends, my family, my brothers. Together we were the 86th Street Choppers. All of us were eighteen except Ronnie who was nineteen and the meanest motherfucker in the bunch. We stopped the pudgy kid in the middle of the sidewalk and surrounded him. He wore a dirty white t-shirt and high-water jeans. Everything about him practically begged for this moment. The kid stopped eating his fudgesicle and muttered, "What's up, fellas?" Miles grinned and shook his head while clicking his tongue against his teeth. Miles was a thick guy, not fat, just naturally big. He weighed in around two hundred pounds and none of it was soft. Miles scratched his chin and said, "I'm thirsty." The kid stared at the Coca-Cola in his hand, thoughts racing through his mind. The fudgesicle dripped down onto his other hand. Jay O'Neal snatched the bottle of soda away from the kid and handed it to Miles. Jay was Miles' shadow and a scrapper in the best Irish tradition. He hated his red hair so much that he always had on a Yankees baseball hat to cover the flat top he sported. Miles studied the bottle and growled at the kid whose eyes were now wide in fear. "Coke? I hate Coke." < 2 > Miles glared back up at the kid. "You know I hate Coke, right?" Jay laughed before saying, "Shit, everyone knows you hate Coke." Mile nodded at Jay and held the bottle up to the kid's face. "Then why isn't this Pepsi?" The fat kid stuttered, "B-b-b-because I l-l-like C-C-Coke." Miles threw the bottle against the nearby brick building. It shattered, exploding shards of glass everywhere. Terrance smacked the fudgesicle from the kid's hand, sending it to the sidewalk. The kid squealed in fear. Terry had a chip on his shoulder because he grew up black in this neighborhood. I could care less what color Terry was. His blood was red just like mine and we had spilled plenty of ours together in battles over turf and respect. Until he got in with us, things were tough for Terry. There were plenty of ignorant bastards around who would attack any person because of their color. Maybe that's why Terry liked these moments so much. An evil smile found its home on Ronnie's face. He stepped in front of the kid and laid down the rules. "Fight back or it'll get worse." Confusion spread on the kid's face. "Huh?" Ronnie whipped out a punch to the kid's nose and sent him reeling backwards. Terrance caught him and shoved him back into the circle. Fight back, I chanted to myself in hopes it would somehow magically inspire the little bastard to come up swinging. Ronnie slammed two punches into the kid's head before stepping back to let the others in. The kid held up his hands and cried out, "I don't wanna fight." His voice was suddenly high and screechy. Miles slipped in and hook-punched the kid in the kidney. As the kid screamed in pain, Miles laughed and danced around like Cassius Clay. I stepped in front of the kid and slapped him hard across the face. His eyes focused hard and drool ran from his lips. I leaned into him and ordered, "Fight back." The kid bawled and shook his head wildly. "Fight me," I growled and drove a punch deep into his soft stomach. Tears and dirt covered his face as he begged for us to stop. Ronnie kicked him in the back of the thigh, ending the whimpering by dropping the kid to the ground. < 3 > Miles booted the kid's big belly, doubling him up and forcing him to suck for more air. Ronnie yelled "Grab him" and we scrambled for a hold as the kid thrashed around. I ended up grabbing his legs with Miles. All of us dragged the kid into the street and Ronnie pressed the kid's face on to the edge of the curb. He kept pushing until the kid opened his mouth in pain and ended up with a mouthful of concrete. The rest of us pinned the kid down on the ground. We all glanced around constantly, checking for witnesses and cops. Ronnie asked, "Who's up?" Jay said, "It's Mike's turn," as he struggled to keep the kid's chest pinned: Colin C. Conway 86th Street and the Summer of Love I despised the dumpy kid for curling up and letting us beat on him. He didn't know it, but the less he fought the worse he made it on himself and the harder he made it on me. I hated feeling the guilt for something we hadn't even done yet. We'd found the kid walking alone a few blocks from 86th Street, our turf. He was walking with a fudgesicle in one hand and a bottle of Coca-Cola in the other. He didn't have a care in the world as he waddled down the street. For him, summer vacations meant time away from the teasing and cruelty of high school. Being a tubby kid with pimples would be tough amongst the sharks that stalk the halls everyday. When I had that realization, I felt sorry for the little bastard and what we were about to do to him. I don't think the rest of the guys felt the way I did. They looked forward to moments like this. Miles Morgan, Ronnie Dougan, Terrance "Terry" Smalls and Jay O'Neal were my friends, my family, my brothers. Together we were the 86th Street Choppers. All of us were eighteen except Ronnie who was nineteen and the meanest motherfucker in the bunch. We stopped the pudgy kid in the middle of the sidewalk and surrounded him. He wore a dirty white t-shirt and high-water jeans. Everything about him practically begged for this moment. The kid stopped eating his fudgesicle and muttered, "What's up, fellas?" Miles grinned and shook his head while clicking his tongue against his teeth. Miles was a thick guy, not fat, just naturally big. He weighed in around two hundred pounds and none of it was soft. Miles scratched his chin and said, "I'm thirsty." The kid stared at the Coca-Cola in his hand, thoughts racing through his mind. The fudgesicle dripped down onto his other hand. Jay O'Neal snatched the bottle of soda away from the kid and handed it to Miles. Jay was Miles' shadow and a scrapper in the best Irish tradition. He hated his red hair so much that he always had on a Yankees baseball hat to cover the flat top he sported. Miles studied the bottle and growled at the kid whose eyes were now wide in fear. "Coke? I hate Coke." < 2 > Miles glared back up at the kid. "You know I hate Coke, right?" Jay laughed before saying, "Shit, everyone knows you hate Coke." Mile nodded at Jay and held the bottle up to the kid's face. "Then why isn't this Pepsi?" The fat kid stuttered, "B-b-b-because I l-l-like C-C-Coke." Miles threw the bottle against the nearby brick building. It shattered, exploding shards of glass everywhere. Terrance smacked the fudgesicle from the kid's hand, sending it to the sidewalk. The kid squealed in fear. Terry had a chip on his shoulder because he grew up black in this neighborhood. I could care less what color Terry was. His blood was red just like mine and we had spilled plenty of ours together in battles over turf and respect. Until he got in with us, things were tough for Terry. There were plenty of ignorant bastards around who would attack any person because of their color. Maybe that's why Terry liked these moments so much. An evil smile found its home on Ronnie's face. He stepped in front of the kid and laid down the rules. "Fight back or it'll get worse." Confusion spread on the kid's face. "Huh?" Ronnie whipped out a punch to the kid's nose and sent him reeling backwards. Terrance caught him and shoved him back into the circle. Fight back, I chanted to myself in hopes it would somehow magically inspire the little bastard to come up swinging. Ronnie slammed two punches into the kid's head before stepping back to let the others in. The kid held up his hands and cried out, "I don't wanna fight." His voice was suddenly high and screechy. Miles slipped in and hook-punched the kid in the kidney. As the kid screamed in pain, Miles laughed and danced around like Cassius Clay. I stepped in front of the kid and slapped him hard across the face. His eyes focused hard and drool ran from his lips. I leaned into him and ordered, "Fight back." The kid bawled and shook his head wildly. "Fight me," I growled and drove a punch deep into his soft stomach. Tears and dirt covered his face as he begged for us to stop. Ronnie kicked him in the back of the thigh, ending the whimpering by dropping the kid to the ground. < 3 > Miles booted the kid's big belly, doubling him up and forcing him to suck for more air. Ronnie yelled "Grab him" and we scrambled for a hold as the kid thrashed around. I ended up grabbing his legs with Miles. All of us dragged the kid into the street and Ronnie pressed the kid's face on to the edge of the curb. He kept pushing until the kid opened his mouth in pain and ended up with a mouthful of concrete. The rest of us pinned the kid down on the ground. We all glanced around constantly, checking for witnesses and cops. Ronnie asked, "Who's up?" Jay said, "It's Mike's turn," as he struggled to keep the kid's chest pinned

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Окунцова Наталья Евгеньевна Самодеятельность

Окунцова Наталья Евгеньевна
Самодеятельность