maROCK / moROCKo

geez i came back from morocco yesterday evening and it was great!

visez-moi ce dromadaire qu'il est sympa^^

et ça, c'est-y pas bô?

yay morocco rocks that's why it's morocko

my utopia

to me, a perfect utopia is a world where there's no religion, no mind control, no war, no intolerance. it sure would (and could) not be this world. here muslims or jews or whatever they call themselves keep fighting for the same nonsense, the only difference is how they introduce it. americans go on a modern crusade to iraq, for nothing but the counrty's doom. so, no religion. then, no morons; no brainless and useless humans; everyone would be either clever or dead, believe in science, trust progress and help it happen, and most of all, they would act free-willingly. everyone should be REALLY equal and no one would be poor or neglected.

a perfect place?

it would be somewhere quiet, like a seashore but with no dock standing nearby. a real, natural shore, with birds and all. since humans are the ones who spoiled the world, if i happened to be in this place, the only person i would let live with me is my lover. we wouldn't be bothered by anyone, we could live as we wish to, and maybe, just maybe, be happy. that's all i would like to be, really. just a bit of long-lasting happiness, peace, calm, for more than a single stupid day. for everytime i start smiling, something comes through and fucks everything up. so this place would be very, very far away from here. it's obvious that there can't be any place like that. it will never exist and i have no hope for it to exist. maybe i'll reach it when i die, since this place looks like a nice void and death IS void. nice dream though is it not?

Placebo - Twenty years

There are twenty years to go

And twenty ways to know

Who'll wear, who'll wear the hat

There are twenty years to go

The best of all I hope

Enjoy the ride

The medicine show

Thems the breaks

For we designer fakes

We need to concentrate on more than meets the eye

There are twenty years to go

The faithful and the low

The best of starts, the broken heart, the stone

There are twenty years to go

The punch drunk and the blow

The worst of starts, the mercy part, the phone

And thems the breaks

For we designer fakes

We need to concentrate on more than meets the eye

Thems the breaks

For we designer fakes

But it's you i take, cause you're the truth, not I

There are twenty years to go

A golden age I know

But all will pass will end too fast you know

There are twenty years to go

And many friends I hope

Though some may hold the rose

Some hold the rope

That's the end - and that's the start of it

That's the whole - and that's the part of it

That's the high - and that's the heart of it

That's the long - and that's the short of it

That's the best - and that's the test in it

That's the doubt - the doubt, the trust in it

That's the sight - and that's the sound of it

That's the gift - and that's the trick in it

You're the truth, not I, you're the truth, not I

You're the truth, not I, you're the truth, not I

You're the truth, not I, you're the truth, not I

You're the truth, not I, You're the truth, not I.

boo

boo. i'm bored.

i just thought of a joke

careful, its a stupid one. very, awfully stupid.
.




it's in french so it's stupid.
oh. i said it again.
ni! *_*


"mon mouton m'a dit quelque chose!
-ah bon? quoi?
-il m'a fait comprendre que ce monde terne et insipide le dégoûtait.
-comment il a pu exprimer ça?
-comme un français... "bêêêêêêêêêêêêêêêêêêh...""

aow so stupid it hurt my hands to type it. well it's actually my baby/cat/mimou/victor/gaaaaaaah who put its claws through my skin; now i have been scratched on the forearm. boo-hoo.
shit.
gonna put some almost pure alcohol on it so that i dont get infected/tetanos/whatever.

HNY07

HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOZ HUMANZZZZZZZZZZZ
LOOKS LIKE WE ALL SURVIVED TO SEE YEAR 2007 START :)
so all the best
happy new year 2007
and i took the resolution to kill bush in some way, any way (gotta start thinking about it)(not now)(tired and lazy)(no i didnt take the counter resolution :P)

téléphone - le jour s'est levé...

Le jour s'est levé
Sur une étrange idée
Je crois que j'ai rêvé
Que ce soir je mourrais
Le jour s'est levé
Plein de perplexité
Si ce n'était pas un rêve
Qu'il faille s'en aller
S 'en aller

Comme le jour avançait
En moi je pensais
Si ce n'était pas un rêve
J'ai tout à aimer
Quand le jour s'est couché
J'ai réalisé
Que ce n'était qu'une trêve
Dans ma réalité
Nous sommes ici pour croire
Rien d'autre à laisser croire
Croire que l'on meurt ce soir
Pour qui veux bien voir

Le voile est levé
Sur ma pauvreté
Qu'ai-je donc à garder
Qui ne sera sofflé
Oui, le voile est levé
Tout est si coloré
Qu'ai-je donc à donner
Qui ne sera soufflé
Nous sommes ici pour croire
Rien d'autre à laisser croire
Croire que l'on meurt ce soir
Et qu'il est déjà tard

Déjà tard
Mais pas trop tard
A toi de voir
A toi de croire

Le jour s'est levé
Sur cette étrange idée
La vie n'est qu'une journée
Et la mort qu'une nuit
La vie n'est ajournée
Que si la mort lui nuit

pleymo - rock

Les mots sont l'arme du menteur
Mon ego aime tellement qu'on le flatte
Les détails prennent parfois de l'ampleur
Nos failles sont des amis de longue dates
Et pourtant je me nomme, ROCK, ROCK, ROCK
C'est le nom qu'on me donne, ROCK, ROCK, ROCK

J'aimerais me libérer l'esprit
De tout ce qui cache ma vue
De tout ce qui conditionne ma vie
Je saurai trouver mon issue
C'est comme sa qu'on me nomme, ROCK, ROCK, ROCK
Dans ma tête il résonne, ROCK, ROCK, ROCK

Deux choses que je n'ai pas choisies
Mon nom et le milieu d'où je suis
Le reste fait partie de mes choix
Le reste doit partir en éclats
Pour enfin me sentir vivre
Enfin me sentir libre
Etre fier de ce nom, ROCK, ROCK, ROCK
Et lever haut le front,ROCK, ROCK, ROCK

DDT DDT DDT DDT I LOVE DDT KEEP THINKING OF IT DDT DDT DDT

YEEAAAHHH DOLLS OF PAIN DDT WAAAAHHH DDT DDT DDT DDT LOVE THOSE MEMORIES DDT DDT DDT ANGELS IN THE DARK DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT DDT

people. peephole. peep ole. pip ole. peep all. pip all.

=shit............................
...............................................

blehhhhhhhhhhhhhh

..........................................

piiiicccczzzzzzzz im emptying my folderzzzzzz

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subject: write a 3-page story in which autumn plays a role

Halloween


By me



I used to have a brother. Aye, I did. A big, a huge big brother who was so tall I believed he could touch the stars with his fingertips; or so I thought as a little girl.
Memories of these times that I keep in a corner of my mind are fuzzy. He would always talk in verses, a pure and such a beautiful poet. He loved Autumn; so cold, so tedious, yet so adorable to him, he was simply charmed by this season, its colours, smells, tastes.
His lover killed him. He would always catch the flu during the last two weeks of October, a dreadful flu that came every year, making his white skin ever whiter, his gorgeous blond hair ever thinner. His lungs were weak, sometimes he would spit blood. Every year, a terrible fright clasped my heart as I wondered if he would die or survive. So I would beg Autumn not to be so cold and so windy, but Autumn did not listen to me. The wind would blow fiercer; nights would be colder and longer, and on October’s last day, a few years ago, my dearest and only brother, my blue-eyed angel on earth, left me alone. A sickening pain grips my heart and my body shivers when I think of him smiling at me calmly, and dying with this last earthly look, this last stretching of his soft lips, that last gift he gave to me, to me only, the only being he cared about.
Death leaves you alone. I hate Autumn because this bloody season took my perfect brother, loving and lovely being that shared my blood. Aye, Autumn holds a scythe, and it’s not just meant to reap crops and flowers. This horrid, cold season ripped us apart forever.
Autumn, ye be damned!

Now I live in a huge town, stressed and thoughtless, with massive buildings, where dead people are not to be talked about, for they are not there anymore. I miss my brother all the time. He left me alone, without any other family or relatives. Alone, alone, alone. That’s all I am. I study biochemistry nowadays, get the best marks, pass every exam brilliantly, and I have a nice amount of money.
Sometimes I hang around at night. That one was Halloween’s night. Aye, per hazard it was. The thirteenth anniversary of my brother’s death. A pain that I got used to.
It was the most beautiful starry night I had ever seen. So many stars were there, the moon was shining bright; in the dead of an autumn night, children were playing games and trick-or-treat, trying to scare each other. They looked so carefree and happy in their witch, mummy or zombie disguises. They didn’t know that they were celebrating the Grim Reaper’s night… Autumn’s night.
Of course they wouldn’t know, of course they would stay oblivious to that side of life for as long as their parents could manage it. It was obvious though, that it left you alone, empty, cold, with good memories that made you cry, moan, mourn, and sometimes scream with the ache of loss, and need, and crave for the beloved departed’s presence beside you.
I wore a black velvet dress that night, sleeveless, that left my shoulders bare, and gloves that reached my forearms. I didn’t feel the cold; only death gives me chills. I have my brother’s features, except for my dark and slightly curly hair, which reaches down by back; there are always reddish reflections in this black mane of mine. My brother adored it, and caressed it often.
As I approached the dock and went near the empty beach where no one went after September, I felt that someone was following me. Then, when I heard a poem recited, my heart stopped for a second, only to start beating at a mad speed, wildly, so hard that I could feel it at the edge of bursting.

“Do you remember me, little dove?
How beautiful, how suspicious
Turn around and be curious
Look at me my little love
Then see the stars above
Always for you they shone
So the moon sitting on her throne
Thou wonder’st what drove
Thy soul here; or
Is it Autumn that you came for?”

I was stunned and frightened, starting to realize that it was my brother’s voice. I turned around and saw a manly shape dressed like the Grim Reaper. I let my anger out.
“You hellish son of a dirty bitch! How dare you, how dare you imitate my beloved Amadeo! Isn’t it enough that he left me alone with memories without you damn clown making fun of him?”
I first thought of slapping him, but he seemed to be strong enough to hurt me if I went on. So I just carried on with walking, a bit faster that before, on the dry sand.
I didn’t hear him following me; I could just listen to him speaking, as his voice was so astonishingly as sweet as Amadeo’s.

“look, little one, look
Thou hatest Autumn because
It shows how life comes and goes
And for it simply took
Thy brother away? Thou shalt not
It’s written in life’s plot
My beauty, go, live on
I haven’t reached so far beyond
many spaces, many skies
just to see thy heavenly eyes
dwell on the loss and pain
please, Mayflower, don’t cry in vain.”

Warm hands on my shoulders. Soft, tiny fingers that ran through my hair and a voice, his voice, that calls me by the nickname he gave me.

“please, please darling, please
Dear faerie, be at ease
Remember when thou sayeth
I should be the one thou lovest
And I sayeth I loveth thee too,
And thou sayeth “no, not thou
Autumn hath got love of thine
And thou won’t stay mine,” he murmured in my ear.

“I cannot stand this any longer. You are not Amadeo, he’s dead and buried, despite your tries to stupidly imitate him. Get off me, leave me alone; take your necrophilia elsewhere… but… gosh you smell like poppy fumes!” I exclaimed as I pushed him away to face him. Under his cloak, I saw no human look in the empty eyeballs of the fake skull. It was a fake one, right?

“poppies… and mayflowers.
Little sister, so fairly named,
My dearest Gabrielle, thy shivers
Aren’t to be blamed
My embrace should show thee
That thou dost remember me.”

He enclosed me in his arms and put his head against mine.
In the gloom of the gaunt moon, a bunch of shiny blond hair fell from the hood in front of my eyes.
He let me go after a minute, maybe more.

“I bid thee good night
The moon shines less bright
And dawn shall come soon
Thy guides shall be called stars and moons
Go home, little sister, stay my
Angel; goodbye, goodbye.”

My heart pounded furiously in my breast as I screamed, out of myself and far away from any grief: “Amadeo, brother! Don’t leave me again, please!”
I begged this stranger not to go, wailing ,weeping like a child on the sand, near the ocean that sent back blue lights from the city nearby, from a life I was not part of.
He was already gone.
So I went home on foot, back toward my crappy old studio. It started raining; cold water from the skies mixed with my tears as I mourned with heartache.
Here he stood, under a street lamp. He was completely dry, as if water could not reach him. I was soaking wet and every part of my body felt like ice. “So this is farewell” I said. “I will never see you again, will I?”

“see me not, if thou askest
But forever with thee I stay
Even through what’s hardest
Always with thee by day
And night
As the moon shines bright.
And every falling leaf you see
Brings you love and a kiss from me.”

He leant forward to close his mouth on mine. No more skulls, this was his fair skin, his sweet taste of berries from the forest where we used to wander.

“I shall walk near thee
Goodbye darling, I love thee.”

He disappeared as suddenly as he had appeared – slipped back in the shadows.
For the first time in thirteen years I smiled.
From this night on, I smile, for I will never be alone again. I feel him, smell him, hear his verses everywhere I go, whatever I do. He taught me to have friends, to be happy, to like life and live on.
The dead choose moments to talk and help…
Oh my Amadeo, how I love you.

missing mind -- Eths - entends-tu les pas (not for weak-minded and sensible people)---00whispered horrors00

Entends-tu les pas de celui qui vient te prendre à terre te jeter, en toi s'épandre. Ses paroles douces et chaudes à l'instar de ces mains. Glissent sur tes hanches, subliment tes reins. Son regard perce, le soir, les miroirs de ton âme. Tes plus honteuses pensées, tes désirs, ta flamme. Sa langue, choquante, ne peut point décevoir. Rafraîchissant ta peau, la pointe de tes seins. Androgyne sexuel aimerait une fois au moins, entrer dans ce corps.... qui peut recevoir une pléthore de caresses, aussi brûlantes, que glacées. Le goût du miel, a celui du sang mélangé. Ses yeux prennent soudain, l'expression d'une catin jamais rassasiée, dévorée par la faim. Déposes dans tes fines mains le pouvoir phallique. Les gestes se font divins, les regards diaboliques. Brutalités et onctions, à outrance, mêlés, autant d'invitations à un viol partagé. Exhibitionniste et voyeur à la fois, avant de caresser par tes formes excité. D'une raideur caudale fait léviter ces draps qui se jouent des cambrures, aimant ton corps déguiser, délice, le gourmand orifice. Ce jardin mystique, où il aime à s'enliser; il glisse sur le chemin de tes cuisses puis pose ses lèvres sur les tiennes... trempées. Sent tes cuisses, autour de sa nuque tressaillir. Voluptés occultes, offrandes outrageuses, hurlement implicites entre effroi et plaisir. Dominer, se soumettre dans une scène scandaleuse. Le remugle utérin devient alors le plus doux des parfums. Bien plus froid que la mort. Ce mal en toi, n'est pas là pour saillir, obscène, veut palper ton esprit, tes plaisirs. Puis sentir d'une exquis spasme vaginal, le funeste sentiment d'une jouissance fatale...

FAVE QUOTATIONS

here are my 2 favorites quotations:

1-"some people who are weirder than you may call you a weirdo" [me]

2-"nos nuits sont plus belles que vos jours" [Racine durant son séjour à Uzès]

1 en français, "certaines personnes qui sont plus bizarres que vous vous qualifierons de bizarre"[moi]
2 in english, "our nights are more beautiful than your days" [Racine]

a stupid (french) joke

Cela se passe pendant la guerre 39-45 une troupe de parachutistes anglais sont parachutés sur un lieu occupé par les allemands. 1 seul anglais dévie sa trajectoire. A l'aterrissage il se casse une jambe. Des bonnes soeurs le ramassent et s'en occupent. Le lendemain une troupe d'allemands débarque au couvent et disent : quand je vous montrerai du doigt, vous lèverez votre jupe et vous direz votre nom. Il en montre une du doigt, elle lève sa jupe et dit : soeur Marie Thérèse. Il en montre une autre : soeur Mathilde. Il montre l'anglais déguisé en bonne soeur : il lève sa jupe et dit soeur Prize !!!