One of my favourite songs of all time. The most merciful. I've been near death a few times, and always then lullabies, soft blankets like this are lowered on me. It's so comforting, so sweet to be sung to sleep by these people. It's like hypothermia: it get's colder and colder
until it's warm and safe and you fall asleep.
And the unavoidable truth of the spring of hearts: When the ice / begins to thaw / oh, you will see /how beautiful we can be
Frozen World - Emilie Simon
Won't you open for me
The door to your ice world
To your white desert
I just want to stare
Out over these snowfields
Until we are one again
We belong to the frozen world
When the ice begins to thaw
Becomes the sea
Oh, you will see
How beautiful we can be
Everything is calm
At the end of the planet
In our white desert
The sun kissed the ice
It glistens for me
And we are one again
We belong to the frozen world
When the ice begins to thaw
Becomes the sea
Oh, you will see
How beautiful we can be
When the ice begins to thaw
Becomes the sea
Saturday, November 7, 2009
My name is Luka - Suzanne Vega
I've been listening to this song and crying for some time. It reminds me of my own fucking psycho parents. Real good medicine.
Most of my childhood memories are horrible. If you ask me what I remember of my childhood then almost every fucking thing is something totally horrifying and unbelievable and tragic and confusing. It's horrifying to the extent that it's completely comical. Just plain insane.
But it's so good to cry. I'm sometimes so sad that I forget I'm sad. Because "it's no use" to be sad. You won't "survive" and all those other highly "useful" things when you're sad.
But if you're sad too long without crying, then nothing feels like anything anymore. There is no surviving or life without sorrow. So let's have some Suzanne Vega.
My name is Luka
I live on the second floor
I live upstairs from you
Yes i think you've seen me before
If you hear something late at night
Some kind of trouble, some kind of fight
Just don't ask me what it was (3x)
I think it's 'cause i'm clumsy
I try not to talk too loud
Maybe it's because i'm crazy
I try not to act too proud
They only hit until you cry
And after that you don't ask why
You just don't argue anymore (3x)
Yes i think i'm okay
I walked into the door again
If you ask that's what i'll say
And it's not your business anyway
I guess i'd like to be alone
With nothing broken, nothing thrown
Just don't ask me how i am (3x)
My name is Luka
I live on the second floor
I live upstairs from you
Yes i think you've seen me before
If you hear something late at night
Some kind of trouble, some kind of fight
Just don't ask me what it was(3x)
They only hit until you cry
And after that you don't ask why
You just don't argue anymore (3x)
Most of my childhood memories are horrible. If you ask me what I remember of my childhood then almost every fucking thing is something totally horrifying and unbelievable and tragic and confusing. It's horrifying to the extent that it's completely comical. Just plain insane.
But it's so good to cry. I'm sometimes so sad that I forget I'm sad. Because "it's no use" to be sad. You won't "survive" and all those other highly "useful" things when you're sad.
But if you're sad too long without crying, then nothing feels like anything anymore. There is no surviving or life without sorrow. So let's have some Suzanne Vega.
My name is Luka
I live on the second floor
I live upstairs from you
Yes i think you've seen me before
If you hear something late at night
Some kind of trouble, some kind of fight
Just don't ask me what it was (3x)
I think it's 'cause i'm clumsy
I try not to talk too loud
Maybe it's because i'm crazy
I try not to act too proud
They only hit until you cry
And after that you don't ask why
You just don't argue anymore (3x)
Yes i think i'm okay
I walked into the door again
If you ask that's what i'll say
And it's not your business anyway
I guess i'd like to be alone
With nothing broken, nothing thrown
Just don't ask me how i am (3x)
My name is Luka
I live on the second floor
I live upstairs from you
Yes i think you've seen me before
If you hear something late at night
Some kind of trouble, some kind of fight
Just don't ask me what it was(3x)
They only hit until you cry
And after that you don't ask why
You just don't argue anymore (3x)
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
about love
I'd really like to have more of this atmosphere in the world generally. The image is Mother and a Child by Picasso.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Crazy Man Michael : Fairport Convention
Crazy Man Michael, he wanders and walks
And talks to the night and the day-oh
But his eyes they are sane and his speech it is plain
And he longs to be far away-oh
Michael he whistles the simplest of tunes
And asks the wild woods their pardon
For his true love is flown into every flower grown
And he must be keeper of the garden
And talks to the night and the day-oh
But his eyes they are sane and his speech it is plain
And he longs to be far away-oh
Michael he whistles the simplest of tunes
And asks the wild woods their pardon
For his true love is flown into every flower grown
And he must be keeper of the garden
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