Perpetual playlist

The soundtrack, my everyday life. Sounds and words. Like air and water. Ever changing, ever present.

She’s leaving home. She goes downstairs to the kitchen clutching her hankerchief… Such a beautiful phrase. That song for me represents the brilliance of their songwriting.

I’ve just seen a face. The Beatles again. I have never known the like of this, I’ve been alone and I have missed things and kept out of sight for other girls were never quite like this.

After forever. Black Sabbath. Nobody ever brought that one up when they accused them of satanism.

Fake plastic trees. Radiohead. Everything Radiohead. If I could be who you wanted, all the time.

Cry me a river. Just by Ella, she can express so many emotions in only one sentence.

B.Y.O.B. System of a Down helps me get the shit out. Whenever I’m pissed I just put on Mezmereize.

Settle for nothing. RATM. Read my writing on the wall, no one’s here to catch me when I fall.

Motorbreath. Metallica. First 4 albums, then St Anger. Period.

Airport song. Guster. Can’t stand the other stuff they do. But I love the melody and the arrangements in that song.

Wot’s… Uh the deal. Pink Floyd. People look at me weird when I say this. But I actually love Obscured by Clouds.

Institutionalized. Suicidal Tendencies. I was a huge fan in the mid 80’s. Just rediscovered them. Great road rage music.

Wild is the wind. Nina Simone. My song to curl up and die.

Suzanne. Leonard Cohen. I played that one at my mother’s funeral. Couldn’t listen to it for years. I’m happy to say I can now.

Where is my mind. The Pixies. Heard it for the first time watching Fight Club at the theater. I won’t get into the movie here, it’s in another post. But it was a revelation.

Life on mars. Bowie. I love Bowie. Just plain love. I don’t care what he says, I love his 80’s material. I loved what he did in Tin Machine, with NIN. Did I mention I love Bowie?

Kiss off. Violent Femme. That pretty much sums up what I feel most days.

And on a loop: Charlie Parker, Dexter Gordon, Stan Getz, Chet Baker, Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Thelonius Monk and Charles Mingus.

Slices of my days.


Mais qu’est-ce que je fais là?? Dans quoi je m’embarque? Jamais j’ai pensé me rendre là. Je voulais juste lui dire bonjour. J’avais pas l’intention de lui dire tout ça. Ah fuck… Mais je peux tu avoir un peu de fun dans ma vie ciboire? Je laisse tomber la culpabilité. Ça sera ma coke.

J’ai des papillons, des rires nerveux, je suis tout le temps allumée… Advienne que pourra (ou quelque chose de même).

Fight Club

I’m obsessed with Fight Club. I can’t count the number of times I’ve watched it anymore. The first time was at the theater. I went alone. I was so shocked, I stayed until the credits rolled off, walked out to my car. It was a life changing experience. The dissociation, so complete, so unconditional really scared me. The violence is really an accessory. The acceptance that we are not who we really think we are, because we can’t define ourselves by the standards of what is now socially indispensable through consumerism. That struggle is what brought the violence for the Narrator. But that can also apply to all aspects of our internal struggles.

I discovered that I have a Tyler Durden! She never comes out though. But she’s been giving me a hard time lately. And there are days when I can feel her just melt in me, spread her being throughout my body and my brain. I don’t think she really wants to come out anyway. She wants me to become her. So I’m asking myself, could it be that she’s really me and I’m her? Could it be that I’ve let myself dissapear inside another me?

I don’t think I’m becoming. I’m slowly coming to realize that I’ve been sleeping at the wheel, lucky enough to have an autopilot.

le parfum du passé

Alors puisque je n’écris plus, je fouille dans mes anciennes inspirations… C’était pas si mal. Ce qui est le plus étrange c’est que mes sentiments d’incertitude, de peur de ne pas être aimée, d’être blessée, étaient les mêmes qu’aujourd’hui. Étrange dans le sens d’épeurant.

Je ressentais déjà des craintes par rapport à ma relation avec cet homme il y a 15 ans. Me voilà maintenant face à mes échecs, mes réussites, mes joies et mes peines, comme au premier jour: une fille qui a peur.

Sentiments enfouis sous le poids des années, de l’oubli, du désarroi.
Rêves éthérés par la peur et le malaise.
Fatigue accumulée par le combat.
À chaque faux pas mon coeur s’arrête.
L’approbation qui ne vient jamais.
À quand la certitude d’être?

Shit, c’est déprimant tout ça.