| (no subject) |
[Dec. 1st, 2006|07:37 pm] |
10 things I like beginning with the letter T (letter Saidai gave me):
Traümerai (daydreams)
Tachycardia (one of my favourite words)
Troy Von Balthazard
Taffeta
Tea
Tales
Tipsiness
Trench coats
Trip hop
Twilight
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 18th, 2006|06:11 pm] |
| [ | Mood? |
| |  worried | ] |
| [ | Music? |
| | MOJAVE 3 | ] |
Dark thoughts tangled in my hair, maybe because of the weather. El viento. El viento.
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 18th, 2006|02:04 am] |
No more wine-red shirt.
The cat was lying on the cold ground and acted as if it was a warm pillow. In front of that sweet scene, he tried on some old clothes. Everything he could find in his wardrobe, even the things that didn't fit anymore. He had a sad look when he caught sight of his figure. I can't stop growing old, he said to himself. It's too late to put on that velvet trouser. I'm too old now.
But he was not. Neither physically, nor mentally. He had those sparkles in the eyes- wonderful sparkles that you see only in children's gaze- and that childish way to consider the world as a question with a big question mark.
So he walked across the room and stood in front of the window to see a blurred reflection of his figure. He was currently wearing a black and skimpy suit. Even if it was skin-tight, he looked very at ease with it. He danced with a shadow, imitating a tango dancer. He thought, naively, that tango had been created for them; that it was the dance of passion, of insatiable love. So, he danced tango, alone. He stopped. Tears were in his eyes, giving them the sparkles of maturity, the sensitiveness of childhood. He said, with the voice of a conversation, I'm all alone with my reflection, all alone with my cries. But he knew very well that pure loneliness was a fiction. Unfortunately.
That's how I see him when I dream of him. Like a little boy, enjoying his time with imaginary friends, with clothes and memories. |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 29th, 2006|06:33 pm] |
| [ | Music? |
| | LAURA VEIRS [MAGNETIZED] | ] |
I had been spending my day working on several books I bought for my new essay. Heidegger and Kant. Then, when I was looking for some texts in my parents' library, I found a picture of me on a pony back. I was a little girl. And I remembered that pony trekking perfectly. It came back so clearly to me. I felt sick, I fell, I cried. I hated my pony. After that, my mom took me on her horse and I was pretty happy.
I wondered what kinda little boys were Martin and Immanuel. Maybe they were boisterous. So, after my discovery, by reading their words, I couldn't stop imagining their childhood. It's strange to grow old.
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 27th, 2006|04:02 pm] |
| [ | Mood? |
| | WORKING | ] |
| [ | Music? |
| | REGINA SPEKTOR | ] |
There have been many modifications in my life since my last post. New and former feelings, recomposing and breaking down over and over. New face, darker hair and a little detail, under my lips, that gives me another look. New clothes, for me and my studio. New shoes for the following cold days.
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 27th, 2006|09:03 pm] |
| [ | Music? |
| | SUFJAN STEVENS [concerning the UFO sighting near highland..] | ] |
"Stop it, I'm not playing anymore"
Sometimes things have to be cleared: no sweetheart, Life is not a stage. And I'm not an impassive doll. Look: sometimes I cry when you tell me lies. And sometimes I smile when your words are kind. I'm not your character. I'm Realitys.
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 26th, 2006|09:20 pm] |
Hard day today. Since my awakening, I've been telling myself that Tuesday is the most shitty day of the week ever. Nothing to do but working and dreaming of doing creative things; nobody to see, except the people of my little working world.
Depressing weather; the only thing I can observe is the whiteness of my writing desk, the words of some dead persons that must laugh at my boredom from the above.
Fortunately, I can hear beautiful songs or noises. Hush Hush, Elliott Smith is singing " Tomorrow Tomorrow" and several cars are humming.
Listening to that, I'm thinking about truth. Beloved and non-existent truth. I'm thinking about sincerity. Fallen; fallen every beautiful feeling. Gone. Gone somewhere in the smoke, in the air, in the sky (with the Dead), in the seas, in my memory.
I hope, I really hope that "tomorrow tomorrow" will be a better day. I'd like so much to see people full of Life. No more people looking like china dolls please.
" Well i don't know where I'll go now
And i don't really care who follows me there
But I'll burn every bridge that i cross
And find some beautiful place to get lost " |
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duveteux's journal