In my ears

Tonight I took a long walk, it was snowing somewhat heavily, big fat flakes, beautiful.

In my ears “and up above, aliens hover, making home movies for the folks back home” and I was thinking, have I become a spectator of my own life?

In my ears “let it flow like a mud slide when I get on I like to ride and Glide I’ve got depth of perception in my text y’all I get props at my Mention ’cause I vex y’all so what’cha want” What is it that I want? What am I looking for here?

In my ears “A sickened mind and spirit, The mirror tells me lies, Could I mistake myself for someone, Who lives behind my eyes?” Is it really me here, or just a few layers that needed to be shed?

In my ears “In this theater that I call my soul, I always play the starring role” Center stage. Look at me, look at how miserable I am, look at how sad my situation is, look at meeeeee, hello????? I’m here, over here, hey, look here!

Strangely, I’m in a good mood tonight.

Pain in the blog

A funny thing happened. I started to write here because something was missing, things were changing, events were definately not happening. And I was wondering where my love for writing had gone. Slowly it came to me, that torrent of words, of ideas, of emotions, feelings, thoughts, pains. Now I just can’t stop. Can’t hold anything inside.

In the few months I’ve been here, I’ve browsed other peoples spaces, read their thoughts, ideas, stories, poems. Interacted with a few, to different degrees. Some want to be writers, some are. Some, like me, just need a place to express their feelings, no matter how dark. Others are true artists, social commentators, spectators.

It’s a wonderful experience so far. I belong wherever I go. And every one belongs here. I like to leave comments, I like it when people leave comments here. I try not to think about the audience when I write though. That’s a big trap. I’m not here because I want to be a writer when I grow up. I’m here for everything else.

Anyways, here’s Maddox’s take on blogs, enjoy!: If these words were people, I would embrace their genocide.

One Slip

I will, I will she sighed to my request
And then she tossed her mane while my resolve was put to the test
Then drowned in desire, our souls on fire
I lead the way to the funeral pyre
And without a thought of the consequence
I gave in to my decadence
-D. Gilmour

Decadence… what a lovely word. Nothing proper these days, nothing appropriate pleases me. I want depravity, self indulgence. I don’t want to please anyone. I want to be pleased.

Motion Picture Soundtrack

Red wine and sleeping pills
Help me get back to your arms
Cheap sex and sad films
Help me get back where I belong
I think you’re crazy, maybe
I think you’re crazy, maybe
Stop sending letters
Letters always get burned
It’s not like the movies
They fed us on little white lies
I think you’re crazy, maybe
I think you’re crazy, maybe
I will see you in the next life

Wild is the Wind

By Nina SimoneLove me love me say you do
Let me fly away with you
For my love is like the wind
And wild is the wind

Give me more than one caress
Satisfy this hungriness
Let the wind blow through your heart
For wild is the wind

touch me…
I hear the sound of mandolins
kiss me…
With your kiss my life begins
You’re spring to me
All things to me
Don’t you know you’re life itself

Like a leaf clings to a tree
Oh my darling, cling to me
For we’re creatures of the wind
And wild is the wind
So wild is the wind

Wild is the wind
Wild is the wind

-Dimitri Tiomkin, Ned Washington

Thorn in my pride

Do you dream to touch me?
And smile down deep inside
Or could you just kill me?
It’s hard to make up your mind, sometimes…
My angels, my devils, my thorn in my pride.

-R. Robinson & C. Robinson

Café Rimbaud

Café Rimbaud

Je t’attends au café Rimbaud
Je sais que tu ne viendras pas
J’écris dans un carnet de notes
Une mélodie au crayon feutre
Une chanson pour la radio

Demain je serai toujours là
A la même table qu’autrefois
J’aurais écrit une symphonie
Un concert pour boîte à musique

Je t’attends au café Rimbaud
Je sais que tu ne viendras pas
J’écris dans un carnet de notes
Une mélodie au crayon feutre
Une chanson pour la radio

Demain je devrai m’en aller
Avec mes souvenirs rétro
Et mes visions au fond des yeux
Comme des images d’Épinal

J’ai laissé au café Rimbaud
Une page de mon carnet de notes
Je sais tu ne la liras pas
Je t’écris un space-opéra
Dans un hôtel tout près du ciel
Au bout du monde en t’attendant
-Lucien Francoeur