After much thought and reflection time to mature, after have brainstormed for days, two boxes of kitchen items, ephemera disparate art books (which gave a hard time with the movers) or compact disc, two songs from Dumas, after deliberately wanted to end this long series of notes without head or tail, like a suicide words that mean anything anymore, after having too much longer knew what to think, I'm back. In small doses, probably. For moderation in good taste.
we say more. Back in black, pink scarf like me a bad nausea in the long run. Exit the atmosphere peptobismolisante . Black maybe, but no shade. Black because my shadow is black, but over my horizon. Black, because, well, the black slims. And I needed a sacred weight loss. It is not my weight problem. In fact, though. I bore the brunt of the world on my shoulders, like the giant Atlas , feminine version 5'10 and less mythological it goes without saying (well, there is no entry about me on Wikipedia . At least not yet! But your humble servant is working.:-p)
This weight soared into the cosmos in a remote area, poof, gone, vanished, removed. I regained my happiness gradually, not without having worked hard and raised in passing a few kicks in the butt.
past two months allowed me to redefine myself. To survive first. Then live. Because life is good. In
thus stronger than ever, earlier this week, I symbolically celebrated two birthdays. In my first month, a month of living solo in a small loft charming as any, though still filled boxes in transit between home and abroad. Then, a fourth-month baby who did not take to his heels despite the high concentration of complications that I represent necessarily for a normal human being (you're wrong, darling, tell me?).
I note in passing an event that punctuated the last two months of an artistic break well deserved and almost orgasmic (no less). I attended - along with a sick baby, whose sore muscles failed to join my ecstatic trance in the driveway, because my top few inches and a half, I was afraid to veil view at that weight sitting behind me - a musical performance by my favorite singer from Quebec, and I named Patrick Norman. Well, no, anyway. Should not spoof. Returning a few lines above ... between boxes of widgets with no future, who is it?
What precious memories. Both musically and visually speaking (ohhhhhh it was trooooop cabbage in red and black, my favorite colors). What time hallucinating. I had the impression of being on both the acid, caffeine, alcohol and a powerful psychotropic amend all my sense perceptions. And yet, I had ingested any illegal subtance that day. Except maybe some unfortunate slices of bacon.
Dumas is undoubtedly one of the most fascinating being, that moves its audience to the sound of his brilliant melodies coupled with exceptional texts of a poem exhilarating, which is addictive unsuspected. You become addicted.
I've never seen Dumas flesh and bone. Nay. Sweaty and guitar. What a performance. It literally gives the stage like a modern day Jacques Brel - and not too Belgian either. I had goosebumps. Shortness of breath. When he played
So then a long shudder went through my neck. My heart almost stopped anywhere. I grabbed the hand of honey. Not that this is my favorite song. But, emotionally speaking, it's a song that speaks to me like no autre.Qui carries me like no other. It is our song, one that we welded to each other. Casting a glance towards a darling whose gaze transfixed by the emotion hit me as I ressere my fingers against his people and I enjoyed the song, our song. Depths of my being, I reach and I let myself be carried. I was in my bubble.
*
we say more. Back in black, pink scarf like me a bad nausea in the long run. Exit the atmosphere peptobismolisante . Black maybe, but no shade. Black because my shadow is black, but over my horizon. Black, because, well, the black slims. And I needed a sacred weight loss. It is not my weight problem. In fact, though. I bore the brunt of the world on my shoulders, like the giant Atlas , feminine version 5'10 and less mythological it goes without saying (well, there is no entry about me on Wikipedia . At least not yet! But your humble servant is working.:-p)
This weight soared into the cosmos in a remote area, poof, gone, vanished, removed. I regained my happiness gradually, not without having worked hard and raised in passing a few kicks in the butt.
past two months allowed me to redefine myself. To survive first. Then live. Because life is good. In
thus stronger than ever, earlier this week, I symbolically celebrated two birthdays. In my first month, a month of living solo in a small loft charming as any, though still filled boxes in transit between home and abroad. Then, a fourth-month baby who did not take to his heels despite the high concentration of complications that I represent necessarily for a normal human being (you're wrong, darling, tell me?).
I note in passing an event that punctuated the last two months of an artistic break well deserved and almost orgasmic (no less). I attended - along with a sick baby, whose sore muscles failed to join my ecstatic trance in the driveway, because my top few inches and a half, I was afraid to veil view at that weight sitting behind me - a musical performance by my favorite singer from Quebec, and I named Patrick Norman. Well, no, anyway. Should not spoof. Returning a few lines above ... between boxes of widgets with no future, who is it?
What precious memories. Both musically and visually speaking (ohhhhhh it was trooooop cabbage in red and black, my favorite colors). What time hallucinating. I had the impression of being on both the acid, caffeine, alcohol and a powerful psychotropic amend all my sense perceptions. And yet, I had ingested any illegal subtance that day. Except maybe some unfortunate slices of bacon.
Dumas is undoubtedly one of the most fascinating being, that moves its audience to the sound of his brilliant melodies coupled with exceptional texts of a poem exhilarating, which is addictive unsuspected. You become addicted.
I've never seen Dumas flesh and bone. Nay. Sweaty and guitar. What a performance. It literally gives the stage like a modern day Jacques Brel - and not too Belgian either. I had goosebumps. Shortness of breath. When he played
So then a long shudder went through my neck. My heart almost stopped anywhere. I grabbed the hand of honey. Not that this is my favorite song. But, emotionally speaking, it's a song that speaks to me like no autre.Qui carries me like no other. It is our song, one that we welded to each other. Casting a glance towards a darling whose gaze transfixed by the emotion hit me as I ressere my fingers against his people and I enjoyed the song, our song. Depths of my being, I reach and I let myself be carried. I was in my bubble.
*
