Lavage, ménage, TLMP. Ça manque un peu de sel tout ça.
Mother
I miss my mom. I never thought I would, not that bad. She was sick for so long, when she finally passed away I thought I was through mourning. And quite frankly, I was. I couldn’t handle it anymore. She had no family, I’m an only child. So the responsabilities were just suffocating me. And I felt ashamed for being relieved when she died. But as with everything, I coped.
It will be 5 years on December 12th. The day after my birthday. And right now the only person I really want to speak with is her. Funny, while she was alive we rarely had mother-daughter talks. I was mostly the mom anyways. Not only in the last years, but all my life. I never turned to her when I really I should’ve. I think I denied her of her role, in my constant need for control.
I never agreed with the choices she made in her life. And I blamed her for a long time for my short comings. I was strong enough to get to here, but not enough to face the reality of my own weaknesses. I always thought she could’ve done more for us. She was smart enough to know it too. But maybe she did do enough. I see that now, when I look at my own children. What is it that I need to do for them, more than love them, accept who they are becoming and show them how beautiful life can be?
Now my mom is gone, and every day I wish she was here. But she still lives in me, and as the years pass, everything about her that I was denying myself to be is sufacing. I can live with that now.
Read and release!
Isn’t that a beautiful idea? If you haven’t done so yet, visit Bookcrossing. I won’t explain, just go have a look.
I’ve been a member for months, registered my books weeks ago… Meant to release them but got sidetracked a bit… I’ll go release a few next week for sure. I have to. It’s too good an idea.
I released only one and someone catched it a couple of days later. I hope he releases it back once he’s done!
Deception?
It was, of course, the voice that made her swoon. The face she had known for a while. But once she heard him on the radio, the face somehow took the backseat and became a blur in her mind. The intelligence, the sexiness… Oh, how he turned her on.
And so she wrote him an email claiming her love, jokingly, in a way that she thought showed some wit. To said email he replied very briefly, even reluctantly, but she pushed on. And soon they were having conversations about their lives, turn-ons. Everything was moving so fast, she was caught in a whirlwind of being anxious about the next email, feeling elated after reading it and getting all hot and heavy replying.
And then he wanted to meet. And then she said no, and then she said yes. And then they had unbelievable sex. And then he said it was too much to bear. And then he disappeared. Blocked her email, said fuck you and went on his way. Well fuck you too buddy she thought, not really meaning it.
Ok, it was a stupid idea to start with anyways. You had it coming. He didn’t have to be an asshole about it though.
So on that very sad night she lit up the thousandth cigarette of the evening and contemplated the possibility of becoming a psychotic stalker.
But then, she realized, she was just too fucking lazy.
Gone
He’s gone. Like a fucking thief. Can’t write.
I shall be released
I’ve lost a friend. Or whatever he is. Mostly I’ve lost a presence. I’ve lost myself a bit too I think. I guess I’ll post here more often, since I can’t talk to him anymore. Or so little. I know it’s over, I know he’ll say goodbye soon.
I can’t be someone else’s concience, fuck that. I just wish he was able to talk to me. I’m afraid he’ll just fade away, or disapear suddendly. I’ve become dependent, it’s so pathetic, I can’t believe how weak I’ve been.
It’s a matter of days I know. There’s this nice letter waiting, not too long, just nice. Just a few words I’d like to say before he vanishes from my life. I’ll never send it. Weak, weak. Weeeeeeeeeak. Maybe I’m just freakin out… But I don’t think so. The silence. It’s killing me.
Tonight is the end of everything. The man in my life has lost something that was important to him, and I’m losing someone that probably has become too important to me. I’m not ready, I don’t want to see him go 🙁 I’ll wait and see.
Writers list
Une liste d’auteurs que je veux découvrir, lire, aimer ou détester. I’ll keep that one open for revision 🙂
Maurice G. Dantec. Son passage à TLMP a fait réagir les gens au bureau… My god, je ne pensais même pas qu’ils (elles surtout) avaient des opinions.
John Brunner. Surtout Stand on Zanzibar.
William Gibson. Le pape du cyberpunk. J’ai même pas lu Neuromancer.
Bruce Sterling. Un autre pionnier du cyberpunk.
Jim Thompson. Pulp fiction writer, really hard boiled.
Dylan Thomas. The power of words over reality. I should read more literature.
Nelson Algren. The man with the golden arm. I’ve always loved that movie with Sinatra… Chicago in the 50’s.
Charles Bukowski. “There will always be something to ruin our lives, it all depends on what or which finds us first. We are always ripe and ready to be taken.” Man, ’nuff said!
Joseph Conrad. Heart of Darkness of course. Birth place of Apocalypse Now. The original setting was Belgian Congo.
Oscar Wilde. He was consumed by temptation. Aren’t we all…
Dennis Lehane. J’ai lu Mystic River et maintenant je dois lire tout ses livres. Pas le choix.
La liste reste ouverte.
La fin du monde, c’est quoi?
C’est tu la fin d’un couple? Est-ce que tout s’arrête quand rien ne bouge de toute façon? J’ai plus de désir, j’ai plus d’envie. Je cherche dans ses yeux la lumière. Peut-être y est-elle encore. Peut-être que c’est moi qui dans le fond ne veux plus la voir.
J’essaie de faire la conversation, j’essaie de faire des blague, j’essaie d’être affectueuse, j’essaie d’être intéressée, j’essaie de sourire, j’essaie d’obtenir de l’amour, j’essaie d’avoir juste un bec des fois.
Au cours des dernières années j’ai perdu du poids, changé mon attitude, changé mes habitudes alimentaires, amélioré mon comportement, calmé mon tempérament, baissé ma voix avec les enfants, relâché mon contrôle.
Je n’ai reçu aucun compliment, aucun commentaire. J’ai reçu un reproche ce soir. Je ne mets jamais de bas de nylons. C’est quoi des bas de nylons, c’est rien, c’est tellement niaiseux. Ça fait toute la différence pour moi. C’est ma bougie d’allumage.
Hey, sais tu quoi? Je m’en câlisse! (ok je l’ai juste pensé) Après 18 ans à coucher ensemble, on peut tu passer à autre chose? Ça me fait tellement de peine de voir à quel point on est rendu loin l’un de l’autre. Je pense qu’on est beyond loin. On est complètement perdus.
Manhattan
Je ne crois pas à la réincarnation. Pas du tout. Mais quand je me retrouve à New York, j’ai comme l’impression d’y avoir déjà habité. Je me sens chez moi, je sais où trouver ce dont j’ai besoin, je peux dénicher un resto pas cher ou une librairie juste en passant dans un quartier. C’est vraiment étrange.
J’aime les odeurs, les gens, les rues, les parcs, le bruit. Je veux y retourner bientôt. Seule ça serait bien. Pas de gogosses de touristes à visiter, pas d’empire state, pas de statue, pas de bloomingdale’s. Juste moi dans mon hotel weird mais pas cher. Le Carlton Arms. Je post des photos bientôt.
J’ai hâte de retourner dans mon petit Irish pub cruiser avec le barman, aller chercher mon thé et mon croissant à la pâtisserie l’autre côté de la rue. Regarder les étudiants se rendre à leurs classes, ou faire leurs travaux sur leur laptop, assis sur un banc. Je veux retourner regarder les vieux jouer aux échecs sur les tables en marbre dans le parc de l’hôtel de ville, magasiner pour des livres chez Borders, marcher dans SoHo en plein après midi, quand on a le soleil dans la face, me perdre dans la foule du Chinatown le soir, avec ses lumières suspendues, ses anguilles sur le trottoir, et passer devant les terrasses hupées de Little Italy. Me faire offrir des lunettes Boakleys dans Battery Park et croiser les power brokers de wall street, les Masters of the Universe…
La chanson qui tue
Wild is the wind, interpretée par Nina Simone… non mais sérieusement, j’ai juste envie de mourir quand j’écoute ça.
Mais je l’écoute pareil. Sa voix c’est comme si mon coeur parlait. Chaque intonation devient une émotion. Ok, j’arrête, je braille trop.