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Showing posts from May, 2006

About that mood...

  
  
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About That mood post.

I feel I have to say something. So I will. Because I think it will make things easier for me, for whoever stops by here.

I've said this in private, and now I will say it here. Nothing that I write here relates to anyone that reads me. It is not about you, or you, or him, or her. Unless I notify you in private, you will not read about you here. Never. I do not fuck with other people's feelings or trust.

I would love to say the things I write to the persons my words are intended to, and sometimes I do. This is only an extension of feelings and thoughts. Not a place to settle scores or give false hopes or whatever might be percieved.

My email address is right here in my profile. If you want to talk to me, please do so, I'll be happy to hear from you. I'm not hiding. There is no screen. No games.

I just wanted to make this clear. I hope no one takes it the wrong way. I don't want to hurt anyone, that's not what I'm about. So if I have, I apologize. But I'm glad I said it.
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L'été, l'été, l'été c'est fait pour jouer

  
  
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Ce sera un été chaud et humide qu'ils disent. Moi je l'savais. J'aimerais que ce soit un été qui sent bon aussi. Les concombres du jardin, coupés, salés, poivrés, sur la table. La crème solaire. La sueur. Le steak sur le charcoal. L'haleine de Mr Freeze des enfants. Le chlore de la piscine. L'eau du lac. Les frites sur la route de campagne. Le popcorn au ciné-parc. La barbe à papa à la Ronde. Le Kool Aid à l'orange. La crème glacée molle à la crèmerie. La bière froide sur le patio. La sangria sur la terrasse. Le joint sur Ste-Cath au festival de Jazz.

Plus de parfums du passé simple.

Des odeurs faiseuses de souvenirs.

Des mélodies aussi, comme seule l'été peut en donner. Les enfants, leurs amis et nous, dans la piscine. Les moteurs de bateaux. Les insectes dans leur forêt d'herbes hautes. Les voisins qui jasent doucement sur la galerie à deux heures du matin. L'écho du Grand Prix sur les rives du St-Laurent. La guitare au bord du feu. Les rires du party dans la maison d'en face. Les roues de mon vélo sur les cailloux du sentier.

Plus de ce chant lancinant, déchirant qui m'assourdi.

Des airs nouveaux. Soundtrack pour une série sans fin. Sans prequel, sans sequel. Real time.

Ma découverte ce soir: Shooter Jennings. Mais j'arrive pas à mettre le code pour le player pour le moment... suivez le lien si ça vous chante!

Shooter Jennings: Sweet Savanah (c'est pas un vieux porn des années 80 ça?)
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On the waterfront

  
  
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The ducks were still there. The music was the same. I was out of breath again.

Has a fall been that silent before? I see everything rushing by. I don't grasp at anything.

Slide.

I've never let go of anything that big. The handles carved experiences in my hands.

Miles cannot erase. My knees pumping cannot erase. My heart ready to burst will not erase.

One day, I said. One day you'll see the ducks and hear the music.

It will take your breath away.
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That mood

  
  
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Another time, another misplaced promise
At the end of the day, I was still in that mood
I don't understand how everything works
But I do. Sometimes. Without much thought I know

I wish at times I wasn't able to perceive so much
I wish at times I was wrong more often
Some inner working getting broken
So I wouldn't anticipate so brutally

Spare me nothing but your lies
Don't lead me on then float above my own high
Words cost nothing but are worth my world
I'm broke, I have said so much

There is nothing between your lines
That I haven't read before
And in these silent bursts of lucidity
You'll come to understand how much I know

Of all the things you haven't said
One I will always know you wish you had
But time has eased the urgency
And life itself has escaped the opportunity

I can't turn away, I can't walk
If only because of how you smiled
A thousand thoughts, a million tears ago
But for a glimpse into the possibility

That I was wrong
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Ce qui aurait été parfait

  
  
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ta tête entre mes jambes, ta langue en moi, tes doigts
aussi, dans mon cul.

ma tête entre tes jambes, ta queue dans ma
bouche, ma langue, mes doigts, sur elle, tes couilles
aussi. je me confesserais de tous mes péchés, à
genoux, ta queue dans mon visage.

mains, langues, doigts, bouches. mes cheveux, tes
cuisses, ton ventre, ma vulve, mes fesses, tes fesses.

mais bon. ça doit être l'alcool qui parle.

bonne... whatever. soirée, fin de semaine.
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Faim, c'est tout.

  
  
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baiser
manger
manger
manger
les mots
ta peau
j'ouvre grand
mets y tes doigts
tes lèvres
mes dents s'enfoncent
entre le rose et le rouge
je laisse couler tes saveurs
sur ma langue
et plus jamais
je serai repue
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Deeper than the pond

  
  
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Go Taylor!!!

  
  
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And I am not saying anything else...
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A Crunchy story

  
  
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From a comment came the idea... Why not? Why not offer you a little bit of my translated self? Here goes, for the first time.

From my previous post, Conte.

Here is the result from my translation tool:

---oOo---

Story

He was once an a bit lost girl
Which brushed the wrong way way in every junction
Which searched dead end streets
Where it was more facile to stop

He was once an adventuresome girl
Which had basted between trees
Which had blown all candles
Which searched the black at all costs

He was once a girl who meant goodbye
Which had realized that between trees there are dead end streets also
Which had roused himself eyes to be moved forward in his forest

It sits down the girl
It stops
It sniffs little
And ask to be never found



Here is my own:

---oOo---

Tale

Once upon a time there was a girl who was a bit lost
Who backtracked at every crossroads
Who was looking for dead end strees
Where it was easier to stop

Once upon a time there was girl who was adventurous
Who slid between the trees
Who blew all the candles
Who was searching for darkness at all costs

Once upon a time there was a girl who wanted to say goodbye
Who realized that between the trees there are dead end streets also
Who tore out her eyes from moving forward in her forest

The girl sits down
She stops
She breaths a little
And prays never to be found

---oOo---

The translation tool made this a completely different story, which I like. The perspective of course. But it did translate the tone, something I find amusing.

It's very hard to translate a poem. Even some other posts, that are of a narrative nature. Whenever I start to write, the language has already been decided. And to put the words in an other one just takes out the meaning, I feel. But I enjoyed the exercise!
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Conte

  
  
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Il était une fois une fille un peu perdue
Qui rebroussait chemin à chaque croisée
Qui cherchait les cul-de-sacs
Où il était plus façile de s'arrêter

Il était une fois une fille aventureuse
Qui s'était faufilée entre les arbres
Qui avait soufflé toutes les bougies
Qui cherchait le noir à tout prix

Il était une fois une fille qui voulait dire adieu
Qui s'était rendu compte qu'entre les arbres il y a des cul-de-sacs aussi
Qui s'était arraché les yeux à avancer dans sa forêt

Elle s'assoit la fille
Elle s'arrête
Elle respire un peu
Et prie de ne jamais être trouvée
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Broadcast

  
  
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And let me stay
I can be small
I can be invisible
But let me stay

-----oOSOo-----

I'm so tense these days, I can't stand still. I blog for a while, then move to the couch to read a few pages, then go tidy up the kitchen, then come back to the computer, then watch some tv. Spin cycle. Yet everything is a mess.

-----oOSOo-----

Fickle. Too many pulls. Not enough will. Even this post tears me apart. A mountain of words. Can't seem to settle for one. I want to say, write, sing, chant, whisper, implore for fuck's sake. I belong here. I belong here.

-----oOSOo-----

It's not block. It's confusion. About every single stupid decision I've made. I'm not second guessing myself all the time. But I feel like I forgot something at the crossroads. Nothing, no one can bring it back for me. Because every one has moved on. What's left behind is my bad judgement.

-----oOSOo-----

I'm hungry. Again. Always. I have to be fed.
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Incubation

  
  
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I write my posts in Blogger. Never use spell checking. Never save a draft. Never go back to change. Anything.

I sit, I write, I post. I don't work the sentences. I don't rearrange the paragraphs.

I do use dictionaries, sometimes for help, sometimes for inspiration.

I don't ponder about, I don't think ahead.

I sit, with a worry, with a pain, with a smile, with a desire.

I write, I fly, I live, I breath.

I post, I give, I surrender.

-------oOSOo-------

I read my past sometimes
I have regrets sometimes
I am happy sometimes

-------oOSOo-------

A very generouse writer showed me the beauty of working with words, the movements of inspiration, the pleasure of constant company.

I just can't explain the abouts and hows. I can about the whys.
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Attrape traffic

  
  
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Je ne suis pas accros à mes stats. J'aime surtout savoir de quel pays viennent les gens qui passent ici. Le nombre de visites ne m'obsède pas, ça me laisse même indifférente.

Mais j'adore les mots clés! Pour mon propre plaisir. D'autres sont meilleurs que moi pour s'amuser publiquement avec les élans curieux des surfers.

Mais là, aujourd'hui, je sais pas ce qui se passe... Coudonc, y a tu un party Julie D'araiche/Michel Fugain en quelque part à soir? Parce que j'ai eu quatre hits dans la journée avec ces deux là. Ok, c'est pas tant que ça. Mais c'est tout de même étrange.

Mon plus gros succès est le mot JUPE. Un post, une centaine de hits. Le deuxième plus populaire étant MA CULOTTE. J'ai eu un hit avec "Matter les belles fesses" aussi aujourd'hui. Et "Latex bound dominated".

Alors quelqu'un veut matter mes belles fesses dans des culottes en latex sous ma jupe en écoutant du Julie Daraiche et du Michel Fugain?
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Vernissage

  
  
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I had the weirdest dream last night. I was in a huge room, high ceilings, my footsteps echoing. The room was filled with easels, all occupied by large canvases. On the canvases were my posts, written in black paint, still wet, dripping at places.

And as I was walking, trying to make out the words, a guy was walking behind me, saying

-This has to go, this has to go, you can't keep these
-No, no, I want to keep them all
-But you can't, you have to get rid of them, it's too many

I was feeling threatened, dread was mounting. I was looking, trying to read, but I couldn't get close enough to any of the pieces. Everything was blurry, because I didn't have my glasses. And the guy was getting closer. I wasn't looking behind me, I couldn't see his face. But I could feel his nervousness, hear his breath, smell his clothes.

-This room HAS to be empty by tomorrow
-But what am I gonna do?
-I don't care, just get rid of them
-No I won't!

And I started running towards the center of the room, smelling the paint, the rust from the pipes on the walls. And I woke up. I don't remember having smelt in my dreams before.
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Hello! My name is:

  
  
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Once I was in a NFB (National Film Board: a government owned film production agency) movie. They threw a post production party and invited all the participants to a viewing and cheap buffet.

When I saw myself on the screen it was the biggest shock of my life. I started crying. Everything, everything. My face 20 feet tall showed everything. All the things I was working so hard to hide were there. And all I could think of was, when the lights come up, people will look at me. Because they have seen. I couldn't follow the movie. A loop, playing. They see me, they see me, they see me. Of course they didn't see.

My layers, through the years, have grown thicker. Have melded. Made a heavy coat that at some point I thought was comfortable enough to wear all the time. I could run, jump, dance, fuck and never break a sweat.

Everything gets done slower now. My shoulders are bent and my knees are about to give. My name tag flew off at some point. I'm not even sure that coat belongs to me.

Individuality is a bad excuse for disguise.
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Mother's day... for real

  
  
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Because they are the most beautiful, wonderful children a mother could dream of having

Because every day makes sense when we kiss goodnight

Because I can make their frown disapear with my arms

Because they can make my frown disapear in theirs

I am thankful there is a Mother's day

It reminds me how lucky I am to have such beauty surround me every day

I love you, I love you, I love you.
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Mother's day...La fête des mères

  
  
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Perfect gift: home alone for a few hours

Even more perfect gift: CSI's second season DVD boxset

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Le cadeau parfait: quelques heures de solitude à la maison

Le cadeau plusss parfait: le coffret DVD de la deuxième saison de CSI

EDIT: Le cadeau ultra plussss parfait... genre:

(j'ai du enlever le code, désolée) T'as le look Coco, c'était la toune.


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Mantra

  
  
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There's always after
There's always tomorrow
Right now is already gone

Right now is a war raging
Yesterday was a prelude
The second between the two was a breath

The moment in stillness
The stillness of moments
I can't stand unsettled ripples

I heard: I am here I am back
Wallowing in images from a flash of light
I thought it held the truth

Does lighting make you blind, even for a moment?
Not an imprint of reality
But the emptiness of absolute whiteness

Alone in its clarity
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Si j'avais porté une jupe

  
  
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Dans l'auto j'ai relevé ma jupe un peu, enlevé mes sandales parce que j'aime conduire pieds nus. La fenêtre baissée, le vent. J'ai mis ma main entre mes jambes, poussé le bord de ma culotte, j'ai pensé à tous ces yeux, toutes ces mains, sur moi, en moi. Sur Bonaventure, à 120 km/h. j'ai même pas levé le pied de la pédale.
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I rock... sink to the bottom

  
  
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1400 people at the Montreal Traffic Club's Lobster party tonight. That's alot of toupees and cheap suits. That's my world. That's people I've worked for/with/against for ten years. That's also alot of eyes on me. For the first time. In a long time. Eyes like hands. Eating. Drinking from my fountain. And I gave free refills. Cleavage, tight black pants, heels, leather coat. My hair like an aura. Eyes trying to see through mine. Smiles hard to contain. Both sides.

-They look at you like you're a piece of meat!
-And?...

-My God, you look FAN-TAS-TIC!
-Why, thank you!

-Wow, the older you get, the better you look!
-Oh, that's so kind, thank you!

-Hey! You lost weight! You look amazing!
-Thank you! Yes, 30 pounds!

-Swan, you are beautiful tonight, wow!
-Thanks Ex-Boss!

-Haven't we met before? Don't I know you? Oh, wow, I can't believe it's you!
-Awww, come on! (keep it coming)

Level 1 000 568 on the ego scale.

Home. I'm invisible. No hands. Crash. Back to square one.
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Plus rien à voir

  
  
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Je suis là. Mais j'observe.

Je suis là, je suis là, je suis là.

Mais.

J'observe.

Ce n'est pas possible
Autant se retirer
Autant tourner le dos

Le mal de ne plus voir
Fait plus peur que l'improbable
Le n'arrivera plus

Le passé sculpté dans ma peau
Le passé caché sous mon lit

Il est là. Mais il observe.
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Let them in

  
  
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It seems like I'll never be what I wish I was. What I know I can be actually. Cause it's right there, I feel the two (three, four?) trying to become one. The change could be emminent. If only I could let it happen. I try. In the silence of words written to be told.

Let's use another word. Change is worth shit. Become? Evolve? Ah fuck... I got it. Mature. No, no, no, does it have to be that one? It means way too much. Aren't I done with this? I don't want to be mature. About anything. It shows the way to so many things I know I do wrong. That I enjoy doing wrong.

It's not about responsability. I've been responsible all my damn life. It's about me and the others. So many blogs I read, so many people saying they are not a people's person, they are not sociable, they actually hate people. And I can totally identify. But at some point, doesn't it affect my whole way of being, my ability to mature, to be part of life?

Nothing relates to me in the outside world. I can't relate to anything or anyone. Yet here everything is about me. And it's so easy to believe that this is the truth. I mean every word I write, yet I can't communicate my needs out loud. I can verbalize my anger, my despair, my insecurities, yet I can't bow my head and cry in my living room.

There was a time when I didn't exist. When all I could do to survive was to come here and write. Because I was the ghost of someone wanting to be. Now I'm too big, too real. And I'm getting smaller and smaller as each day passes. I know what I have to do. I know what my words mean. Each and everyone of them. I love them, embrace them, make love to them. I have to let them back in.
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Un paysage de l'autre côté

  
  
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Mon regret plus rapide que son ombre
Au flanc d'une montagne d'attente
Je regarde en haut
J'en peux plus de courir
J'me laisse rattraper

Quand ça brûle dans mes poumons
Quand le feu prend entre mes seins
Quand mon corps est un ange de flammes
Quand l'air disparait, se sauve, m'échappe
Ça ne fait plus mal

C'est quand je reprend mon souffle
Et commence à monter
Gravir la pente vide, la pente totale
Que je sais tout
Que je sais tout
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Famine

  
  
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The night air is cool and I want to cry. My skin calls the shiver of a kiss, the warmth of my hips in your hands. I would. Anything.

Erotica makes my throat close and my eyes burn. The characters hate me. Hurt me.

Ripple through me in waves I'd rather not know existed.

Love stories don't do anything for me. I couldn't care less about their endless embrace under the stars. But when they take off their clothes in haste, to feel... I cry.

I cry the wet grass on my back. I cry the echo of my gasp of your whisper. I cry the leaves in my hair.

Twenty fingers locked.
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Zone sinistrée

  
  
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C'est une bonne chose qu'il n'y ait pas d'arme à feu à ma portée. Mais je regarde le dessus de mon bureau, et je vois les possibilités.

Brocheuse, ciseaux, règle en métal. Même mon téléphone me donne des idées.

D'un autre côté je pourrais très bien la tuer avec mes mains. Mes ongles aussi. Mes dents?? Ahhhhh oui, je sens son sang chaud innonder ma bouche.

Tout ce qui me passe par la tête quand elle parle c'est "ta yeule, ta yeule, ta yeule, ferme ta colisse de yeule avant que j't'arrache la face avec mes dents, que j't'étrangle avec le cordon de mon téléphone, que je t'assomme avec mon clavier, que t'enfonce ma souris dans la gorge. TA YEULE!"

Ah oui, j'ai l'image si claire, si vrai dans ma tête. L'élan de mon clavier, la poussière qui s'échappe d'entre les touches au ralenti, sa face qui s'affaisse contre le clavier. Ça doit tellement faire du bien. À elle. Ça la réveillerait un peu.

Ben non j'pas PMS... Ouan ok, pis même si je l'étais, qu'est-ce que ça change?

Ok, ok, je le suis, un peu, si peu...

On sait ben vous autre les hommes, on peut pas être agressives sans que vous pensiez qu'on l'est. Non, j'suis pas émotive, arrête de m'regarder, qu'est-ce qu'y a j'suis pas belle? J'suis grosse?

Respire, relaxe, c'est juste tes hormones, t'as pas de contrôle la dessus.

Arrrrghhhh, le monde est noir, je veux mourir, je veux toutes les tuer, fuck que tu me tappe sur les nerfs, décolisse!!!!!

PMSPMSPMSPMSPMSPMSPMSPMSPMS c'est pas rien qu'une excuse...


Promis juré. Je suis pas vraiment folle.

Or am I?
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What it means

  
  
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I wonderthinkdream about. I hope. I hope not. Did you? Have you? Will you? Why don't you?

Fill

This will not happen. It happened. Fickle thread between stances.

Steps that I know by heart yet fail to remember when it's the only thing that matters.

Wrongs that I walk around pretending they're rights in need of repairs.

Air

Moving within the space where I was. Sucked out of my backtracks. Remember to breath.

Particles. Fragments. Pieces. Huge chunks. All in. I take it all in.

Anything you want to throw at me. Or flood me with. Don't push me under the shelter. Please. Just let it fall.

FIlled

With air

Empty of meaning, consequences, decisions uncalled for, arguments, strike.

Strike. The thread broken by a single letter that brought our lips together.
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And once again, on the outskirts of sociability (trust)

  
  
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A family with an extra plate on the table will take me in. But only for one meal.

I can't hang around too long. Don't want to meet the expectations. Don't want, not can't. Closed, for fear of intrusion. But why do I crave my lock to be picked then?

Every one talking, laughing, passing around plates. Smiling. Engaging converstation. And I jump in. And as the evening grows, I start to wonder... Is my laugh too loud? Did I sound stupid with that quote? Did I sound obnoxious with that remark? Did they really think that was funny, or they were just being polite? Should I get another drink? Did I have too much to drink? Did I talk too much about myself? Did I listen well?

Air kisses, let's exchange numbers, that was quite an evening don't you agree, let's do this again soon, please call...

I will sit at your table and eat your food and be thankful. More than you think. Even though we won't see each other again.

I just hope there are no mushrooms in the sauce, I hate mushrooms.



This is part 3 of an ongoing project with Perrasite Premier. The first two parts are in French. Part 1 can be found here (That's it) and part 2 here (Ça y est, encore).
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Burn baby burn

  
  
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So, this is what my last burning session included. In no particular order.

Maiden: Flight of Icarus, Powerslave, Aces High, 2 Seconds to Midnight, Run to the Hills, Hallowed by Thy Name

Billie Holiday: Autumn in New York, Willow Weep

Billy Joel: Scenes from an Italian Restaurant, You may be Right

celtic Frost: Suicidal Winds, Circle of Tyrants

Doobie Brothers: What a fool Believes

ELO: Telephone Line, Strange Magic

Kansas: Carry on wayward Son

King Crimson: Epitaph, 21st Century Schizoid Man, In the court of the Crimson King

King Diamond: Welcome home

Marillion: Chelsea Monday, He knows you Know, Lavender

Megadeth: Darkest Hour, Last Rites/Loved to Death, Liar, Mary Jane, Mechanix, Peace Sells

Metallica: The Four Horsemen

Moody Blues: Tuesday Afternoon

Paul Simon: Slip Sidin' Away, Still Crazy

Dio: Last in Line, We Rock, Rainbow in the Dark

Supertramp: Even in the quietest Moments, Fool's overture, Lord is it mine, Rudy

Yes: Close to the Edge

I just went with the easy stuff, familiar sounds. I still have some ideas... You care to share yours?

Edit: some new additions, from right now...

Loudness: Crazy Nights

Scorpions: The Zoo, Bad boys running Wild

Jethro Tull: Locomotive Breath, Cross-Eyed Mary, Thick as a Brick, Aqualung

Celtic Frost: Visual Agression

Gentle Giant: In a glass House, Free Hand

Soft Machine: Octopus

Front 242: Headhunter, Quite Unusual

Marillion: Forgotten Sons
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