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Wednesday, May 4, 2011

The moon all too fair...

Ugh. Finals week is here again. This is my fourth one. Finished a huge paper today, and am celebrating quietly by myself with some great seasonal beer and some lightening. I am also listening to sappy, sweet songs that make me want to dance or cry. Or both. This is the most beautiful song translation I've ever found. I've never known the translation, but looked it up tonight. Hope you enjoy, cause that's all you're getting until I finish the rest of my finals this week. Have a great night blogland.

Complainte de la Butte
La lune trop blême
Pose un diadème
Sur tes cheveux roux
La lune trop rousse
De gloire éclabousse
Ton jupon plein d'trous

La lune trop pâle
Caresse l'opale
De tes yeux blasés
Princesse de la rue
Soit la bienvenue
Dans mon coeur blessé

The stairways up to la butte can make the wretched sigh
While windmill wings of the moulins shelter you and I

Ma p'tite mandigote
Je sens ta menotte
Qui cherche ma main
Je sens ta poitrine
Et ta taille fine
J'oublie mon chagrin

Je sens sur tes lèvres
Une odeur de fièvre
De gosse mal nourri
Et sous ta caresse
Je sens une ivresse
Qui m'anéantit

The stairways up to la butte can make the wretched sigh
While windmill wings of the moulins shelter you and I

Mais voilà qu'il trotte
La lune se flotte
La princesse aussi
La la la la la La la la la la Mon rêve évanoui

Les escaliers de la butte sont durs aux miséreux
Les ailes des moulins protégent les amoureux

English Translation:

The moon, all too fair, in your russet-red hair sets a sparkling crown
The moon, all too red with glory, is spread on your poor, tattered gown
The moon, all too white, caresses the light in your world-weary eyes
Princess of the street, do allow me to greet you, my broken heart cries

The steps of Montmartre, all uphill, are hardest on the poor
The sails of the mill, like wings, shelter all paramours

I feel, beggar-girl, your fetters, they curl as they seek out my wrists
I feel your young breasts, your thin little waist
I lose my regrets
I taste on your mouth the feverish breath of a half-starving waif
And with your caress I sense drunkenness erasing my life

The steps of Montmartre, all uphill, are hardest on the poor
The sails of the mill, like wings, shelter all paramours

And see how she skips, the moon how she drifts,
The princess in tow
Da da da da da da da da da da
My reveries grow

The steps of Montmartre, all uphill, are hardest on the poor
The sails of the mill, like wings, shelter all paramours

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Moonlight



Supermoon tonight...also know as a Perigee moon...looked for it, couldn't find it. Oh well, my creative juices are still flowing. Cleaned my room after a week long fit of flu, drank some green tea and feeling a little inspired and romantic. Here some pics I took tonight...






I also made a kickass supermoon playlist. Listen and love. Have a good night!

Get a playlist! Standalone player Get Ringtones


Sunday, February 27, 2011

Oasis


The paths that we lay upon this paper
appear.
Barely.
Smudged off by fingers that leave telltale
prints on other's necks and cheeks.
The signs that we cut are brushed close
with wretched branches that fall from
ancient trees.
These landmarks and coordinates are hazy
as we suffer from hyperthermia.
With dry leathery tongues
and dusty breaths we continue
to waste our short time with
talk of water.
Water.
Water.
Follow these hazy tracks
with double, now triple vision.
Search for an oasis that will hold
your writhing body close to the shade
and away from the flame.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Late Night Answering Machine #1

When I was a baby, my father dropped me on my head and I bounced into my mother's arms. My mother cried everyday until she died. I wonder if she was crying for me or for herself.

Friday, February 4, 2011


These are the moments
I return to.
Warm air electric
with the current
of energy that
seeps through pores
of a body that cares.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Etiquette

Fuck the etiquette of
what should be said
and fuck the thoughts
that control my head.
Fuck the life
that holds me
tight with
both thumbs white
against my throat
Until I choke back
all the words that
must be said
Fuck the weight
of the blood in my brain
as it thickens and clots
into
resolutions
and
decisions
that may just leave me
bleeding on the floor.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Pretty Stuff

Hold me tight
(but not too tight)
as I open myself up
to reveal the
pretty stuff
that makes me up
as it slides out on the
floor in a puddle
at your feet
try not to act
shocked
as I give you
ALL of me
with the crazy
and the lovely
and everything
in
between.
Hold me close
(but not too close)
as you wait
for me to
declare
How she shall live life.
Fill in the ending with a word
that just won't rhyme.