Sunday, April 21, 2013

French pop is for lost love

...and there is no one better than Lara Fabian:

I'm ill

Versions: #1#2
I don't dream anymore
I don't smoke anymore
I don't even have a story anymore
I'm ugly without you
I'm dirty without you
Like an orphan in a dormitory
I don't want
To live my life anymore
My life stops when you leave
I don't have a life anymore
And even my bed
Becomes a station platform
When you leave...
I'm ill
Completely ill
Like when my mother went out one evening
And she left me alone with my despair
I'm ill
Perfectly ill
You arrive but you never know when
You start again but you never know where
And you'll have soon been doing that for 2 years
Yet you don't care
Like a rock
Like a sin
I'm attracted to you
I'm tired, I'm exhausted
Of pretending to be happy
When they're there
I drink every night
And every whisky
Has the same taste to me
And every boat
Wears your flag
I don't know where to go anymore, you're everywhere
I'm ill
Completely ill
I shed my blood in your body
And I'm like a dead bird
When you sleep
I'm ill
Perfectly ill
You deprived me of all my songs
You emptied me of all my words
Yet I did have talent
Before your skin...
This love's killing me
If it continues
I'll die on my own
Next to my radio
Like a stupid child
I'll listen to your own, own voice that sings to me
I'm ill
Completely ill
Like when my mother went out one evening
And she left me alone with my despair
I'm ill
This is it, I'm ill
You deprived me of all my song
You emptied me of all my words
And I have a heart that's completely ill
Surrounded by fences
You hear... I'm ill...

Saturday, April 13, 2013

One day later

LATER (one day):  I believe I'll leave it up. Facebook is for community, blogs are the sole proprietary of the author, or as I put it when I first started in a post long gone - I am the tyrant of this blog. If I can't be myself here, speak in my own voice to no one who hears, then where?

Last November, before all the deathly seriousness began, I sent myself two texts so I wouldn't forget.

    "I'd like to be in a relationship to which I'm actually invited."


    "Solitaries don't need lunch, solitaries need families. They need a family that isn't "all of us" until they are there, too, and they need to know it's forever, not just until some Christian charitable obligation is fulfilled."

The latter was in anticipation of the holiday season to come. True to form, and in the blazing face of all the deathly seriousness at hand, not one "Christian" family invited me to a hot meal in their home. I understand the busyness of the holiday meals themselves, people guard that day like the gold at Ft. Knox, and I don't really mind that. Even in the face of heaps of poultry and "special" desserts that we consume every day, the preciousness of those holiday meals have been amped up even higher and they are reserved for family.

What I don't understand, and had to relate in tears to my father in a recent visit, is that not one of these Christian saints of God could find a place or a time to say, "Come and have dinner with us at our house tonight. It will be good see you." Twenty years knowing the same crowd and that's where I stand. Obviously I need new friends, ones with fewer church bragging rights and a place in their hearts for the people in front of them.

The first text is probably the source of the troubles in the second. I'd like to be in relationships (all of them, friendships, co-workers, casual, true love) in which *I* am welcome - the actual me, the me that doesn't have to cut myself up into acceptable portions so the other person can pick out the parts they fancy - like slaw, beans or salad at the Piccadilly. Really, what most people prefer is that I not come into the relationship at all, but just stand at the door, smile and make a joke and leave (before the meal begins.)

Thanks to the ADD, I'm at least a mile wide, I can cover acreage and entertain, but I'm not an inch deep. I also bring the heights and the deep with me, and it's just too much for most. It's definitely too much if you need to dwell by quiet shallow pools. I spin too fast over the next range and up to the cloud banks, and wait in the cool darkness for Leviathan to come near. Who wants all that at dinner every night?

Friday, April 12, 2013


Begin morning nautical twilight
They say that's when attacks were launched during the French and Indian Wars.
Is that why I wake up to rustling sounds of things in motion that I don't want know, things I thought wouldn't be this time, because this was going to be different, but it isn't really? Just more of the same, always more of the same.

Why : it doesn't matter. Why makes no matter, it just is.
Here: because  Facebook is full of  "friends" now, and we (me) must be full of polite and not notice and not know, because we're all nice there now. Here has no followers or readers of any kind, so I can say here in the darkness what I'm not supposed to notice there.

Hello little spam bots. [Delete]

Just listen to the song of my soul, and rock, and hum along. Morning is coming. The dawn will drive away what the heart knows in the night.

Don't worry, this post will go away, too. We must all be nice here, too. I know nothing. Never did.