C’est pas vrai. Je m’emmerde.
J’gosse mon blog, j’gosse mes amis, j’gosse après la télécommande, j’gosse après les trois livres que j’essaye de lire en même temps. Y en a pas un qui arrive a m’intéresser plus de 10 minutes. J’ai fumé trop de cigarettes, j’ai plus rien à fumer, sauf des cigarettes. J’attends, j’attends, j’attends, j’ai tellement faim. Je suis à combler.
Month: February 2006
Commenting comments
I suck at commenting on your blog. I know. And that’s when I do post a comment. And when I do, it’s mostly because I want to you to know I’m here, I’m reading you, I still come around, if that means anything to you. It does to me. I lurk, and you welcome me. You lurk, and I welcome you. No comments necessary nor expected.
I travel all around the world, across continents, or just a few miles, walk into your house, your space, and I really appreciate you letting me in. And commenting is my way of saying thank you. But I know my comments suck. Sometimes after reading a post, I need to reflect on it. At other times it just makes me smile, or cry. And still at other times I feel all has been said and what more could I add, except something like “I agree, you’re right, that was great, thank you…”
Everything I tell you is true. I just wish it sounded better, made me look smarter, translated everything I thought about your post. About your post, not you personally. We’re only on a nickname basis afterall.
So this is my appology. For my empty comments. I just wanted you to know that I meant a lot more. I meant to praise, console, revere, sympathise, share a laugh, differ on an opinion, be thankful for the experiences you’ve shared with me.
Scorpio rising
When you kiss the base o’my spine
Make my body into your shrine
You give me this feeling deep inside
One that I can no longer disguise
While other snakes just shed their skins
Fucked holes pointing out my sins
Even though I realise that history’s not on my side
Even though I realise the pioneer skin still curls up in my eyes
If I don’t go crazy, I’ll lose my mind
I saw a life before me but now I’m blind
I wanna go to heaven, never been there before
I wanna go to heaven, so you give me some more
-Death in Vegas
Rising from ashes scattered already
I am not lost, just looking for a destination
I want to go there
I want to go where you saw it
What did you see anyway?
Not saying, not telling
Well, I’m on my way
I’ll be there. To see.
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It’s been occuring more and more. I find more meaning in other people’s words than in mine. It frustrates me and inspires me at the same time. Sometimes I feel like all has been said, then I realize that what I have to say, write, cannot come from someone else, therefore can not have been told. I’m exploring other words, other rythms. In my head. Now I have to give them life.
Writing is becoming an art. Again. After all these years. First here now. Journal. Now here something else. I love it, but I’m afraid. Of what I can write. And what I can’t write. That may be why I’m paying more attention to lyrics, stories, written by other people.
I need to write. That I know. Sometimes I don’t write, I don’t post, but the words are all there. Knocking, tearing, pushing. I’m holding back, but what? At other times I write like mad. Unsent letters. And I know it’s good. But why is it easier to delete than send or post?
Merlot
From afar, or close by
Smells textures shapes that I miss
I see so clearly
I could reach
I could touch
I want to bury my face in the warmth
I want to drown my words in the dark
Swallow the past
Expell my shame
Scream my all my whole
Not all is lost
For I still have a bottle opener
I pour and the overlflow flows
Touches my toes
I walk in wet memories
And leave a trail to follow
She wore an itsy bitsy teeny weeny…
I walked in the store, my mind made up. I want a bikini. I’m done hiding, being ashamed. I love my body, it’s the others that don’t. Some of them anyways. You know the kind. The kind that thinks that skin is always smooth, that hair doesn’t grow back, that nipples should be tiny, that boobs shouldn’t sag, that bellies should wear a six pack at all times. Fuck ’em.
I’ve been hiding, camouflaging, avoiding. I walked in the store today thinking about all this. The fact is, I never really looked at my body. Then I lost all that weight. And now I can’t stop looking touching feeling. It’s not perfect, and as a matter of fact, some parts of me I liked better with the weight on. Nevertheless, I chose today to live a little.
I walked in the store and looked at all the bathing suits, and I couldn’t believe what I’ve been missing. All these years hidding in a black one piece. The colors, the fabrics, the shapes. I tried at least 15 on. Bikinis. And 2 one peice, for good measure. Well not for good measure. My little voice was not so little today. It was screaming “You can’t do that! Can’t wear a bikini, you’re too old, too fat, too soft, too too.” I tried a one piece and walked around with it in my hands for quite a while. Then I found the perfect one. The perfect 2 piece. Dumped the one piece like it was on fire. Told the voice to shut the fuck up.
So what. I have stretch marks. My ass is sagging a bit. And? I look great in that bikini. It’s yellow and orange and green and white and, and, and…. I look like a surfer girl 🙂
All this… for what? Cartagena Colombia. In three weeks.
Quant à toi
Parce que j’y pense, on y pense tous.
Parce qu’on se pose de ces questions qui ne méritent pas de réponses.
Parce que partout les mots ne nous suffisent plus, ne nous définissent plus, ou à peine.
Il y a de ces moments où seul le silence peut tout expliquer.
QUANT À TOI
Quant à toi dépasse la tour,
Allonge la main au faîte de la tour
Et fais signe à ceux qui n’ont pas de vue au-dedans.
Fais ce silence et parle ces signes
Afin qu’on sache qu’il est des choses dans la tour
Que là-dedans vit quelque chose qu’on ne voit pas
Mais existe, une perle précieuse.
-Saint-Denys Garneau
Afin qu’on sache qu’il est des choses dans la tour
Que là-dedans vit quelque chose qu’on ne voit pas
Mais existe, une perle précieuse.
-Saint-Denys Garneau
Immobile, pour l’instant
la perfection, l’idéal, le summum. le top man. c’est moi des fois. dans des yeux. dans un sourire. dans une caresse. dans les mots qui me tombent dessus, venus de nulle part. ils m’arrivent, demandent rien, sont là. and then I fucking rule.
cinq minute plus tard, c’est la dèche. le ciel s’ouvre et m’innonde d’encre noire qui s’infiltre dans mes yeux mes oreilles mes narines ma bouche. c’est le dead end du dépotoire. les yeux, le sourire, la caresse, même les mots… sont tachés, sales. and then I write.
une seconde, immobile entre les deux, qui va décider du mouvement. et je la tiens entre mes doigts. et je l’écrase doucement. et je souffle dessus. et elle part en poussière.
Sanding the edges
.
It was hard to write this. And it drained me. But drained a lot of shit. A lot of a lot.
I’m starting to really appreciate my tendency to dwell on some things. I dwelled… only to realize that it’s because I still had to deal. To heal. To embrace their presence in me, accept what they have brought me. What they will bring me.
Birds flying high you know how I feel
Sun in the sky you know how I feel
Reeds driftin’ on by you know how I feel
It’s a new dawn
It’s a new day
It’s a new life
For me
And I’m feeling good
Fish in the sea you know how I feel
River running free you know how I feel
Blossom in the tree you know how I feel
It’s a new dawn
It’s a new day
It’s a new life
For me
And I’m feeling good
Dragonfly out in the sun you know what I mean, don’t you know
Butterflies all havin’ fun you know what I mean
Sleep in peace when day is done
That’s what I mean
And this old world is a new world
And a bold world
For me
Stars when you shine you know how I feel
Scent of the pine you know how I feel
Oh freedom is mine
And I know how I feel
-Anthony Newley, Leslie Bricusse / by Nina Simone
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The Kong
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Finally saw King Kong tonight. I loved it. It was everything I wanted it to be. No more, no less. Some people I know thought it was lacking in lightsaber action, but it was fine by me.
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