| péché originel |
[03 Jun 2004|12:11pm] |
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Une vie ne peut pas inclure des possibilités latentes.
(A life cannot include unrealized possibilities.)
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| désordre affectif saisonnier |
[12 Jan 2004|02:40pm] |
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Je sombre dans le puits profond de mon âme pourrie.
(I sink in the deep well of my rotten heart.)
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| I, Melvin |
[05 Nov 2003|10:38am] |
Already today I have been provoked to the brink of madness. As I wandered into the train station at the start of my morning journey, I thought I heard the strains of "The Star Spangled Banner," but in a manner so devoid of musical talent that I thought a wee child must be having his way with a recorder. As I descended the stairs, I saw that it was in fact a gentleman of competent mental age wielding a fife.
He gamely struck up an off-key attempt at "The Battle Hymn of the Republic." I clenched my fist and rolled my eyes heavenward, debating what to do. Should I club him dead where he stood with my umbrella? Should I offer him money to stop playing until the train came? I feared that either approach would lead to an unpleasant discussion on the nature and quality of my patriotism, so I slunk away. I may indeed be a patriot, but I am no nationalist, and there is nothing inherent in the meaning of patriotism about suffering through the abuse of the Western musical scale. Just try telling this to the Ashcrofts among us.
Then he lurched into an utterly tuneless rendition of "Greensleeves," followed by a dissonant take on Pachelbel's Canon. All bets are off, I thought, I owe it to myself and the rest of the populus to strike him dead. The train was approaching at long last, and the hapless fool began to tweet his way through "When Johnny Comes Marching Home." I lunched viciously, but was restrained at the last second by a burly buffoon wearing a fleece vest that read "Pro Player."
And you sir, you are a professional at what endeavor? Balding? Overeating? The wearing of stone washed DENIM? I hissed and narrowed the pupils of my eyes like a lizard, and he released me from his grasp as if burned. I dove into a waiting car and stalked to a seat, only to be displaced by an immensely fat woman.
I sulked all the way to the terminus of my route. I wasn’t even able to delight myself with my favorite game of imagination, wherein I script little cards bearing grooming and sartorial advice to be handed to the other passengers.
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| Le Halloween |
[31 Oct 2003|02:21pm] |
Brigands et inquisiteurs, pirates et canailles, OH mon !
(Brigands and inquisitors, pirates and scoundrels, oh my!)
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| Je me suis développé accoutumé à son visage |
[07 Oct 2003|12:18pm] |
| [ |
music |
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Prokofiev - The Gambler |
] |
Nous ne sommes pas les gens qui péché parce que nous péché, nous péché parce que nous sommes les gens qui péché.
(We are not sinners because we sin, we sin because we are sinners.)
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| les abominations de l'occulte |
[06 Oct 2003|05:09pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 dirty |
] |
Contre mon meilleur jugement, je suis devenu impliqué à Ruse raffiné.
(Against my better judgment, I became involved in an elaborate ruse.)
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| je reviens |
[02 Oct 2003|05:07pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 recumbent |
] |
| [ |
music |
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Autour de Lucie |
] |
La jeunesse est toute trop désireuse d'épauler le fardeau de la vie.
(Youth is all too eager to shoulder the burden of living.)
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| Philosophie Remarquable |
[16 Jul 2003|06:07pm] |
Si je ferme mes yeux le monde partira!
If I close my eyes, the world will go away!
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| Pauvre Lola |
[20 Jun 2003|04:28pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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wistful |
] |
| [ |
music |
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the tinkling of a long-forgotten music box |
] |
Quelques mois courts dans la ville peuvent casser une souris de pays.
(A few short months in the city can break a country mouse.)
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| no, je ne regrette rien |
[10 Jun 2003|10:31pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 contemplative |
] |
| [ |
music |
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Wagner, Die Gotterdammerung |
] |
Nous devons apprendre à mourir, et à mourir dans le plus plein sens du mot. La crainte de l'extrémité est la source de tout le lovelessness; et cette crainte est produite seulement quand l'amour commence à s'affaiblir
(We must learn to die, and to die in the fullest sense of the word. The fear of the end is the source of all lovelessness; and this fear is generated only when love begins to wane.)
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| L'Esprit Libre |
[06 Jun 2003|04:35pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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grappling |
] |
| [ |
music |
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blood pounding in my ears |
] |
L'esprit d'un enfant est occupé par les luttes de brutish de bon et de mauvais. À temps, l'homme doit apprendre à dépasser la moralité.
(The mind of a child is occupied by the brutish struggles of good and evil. In time, the man must learn to transcend morality.)
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| Hemingway |
[29 May 2003|08:54pm] |
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J'ai voyagé beaucoup de ligues pour trouver le vieil homme et la mer. Malheureusement, il s'est avéré être un être flatulent avec une barbe puante.
I traveled many leagues to find the old man and the sea. Unfortunately, he turned out to be a flatulent bore with a noisome beard.
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| portrait de l'artiste |
[26 May 2003|11:14pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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artistic |
] |
| [ |
music |
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the swirl of Armagnac in my decanter |
] |
Portrait d'individu dans le torment et la merveille.
Self-portrait in torment and wonder.
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| Une immersion horrible |
[14 May 2003|04:29pm] |
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Avec un mélange d'horreur et de curiosité, j'ai observé la putain ivre se jeter dans la Seine. Sa échine redoutable, une bouche pour des façons d'untold de la mort, et coeur de consommation ne sont pas plus.
With a mixture of horror and curiosity, I watched the drunken whore hurl herself into the Seine. Her dreadful loins, a maw for untold manners of death, and consumptive heart are no more
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| women in the streets |
[08 May 2003|09:09pm] |
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Everywhere, everywhere, they taunt me. Spring's first heat brings a flush to the cheek, the alabaster shoulder. Manicured nails, scratching my head, my neck, my back. Delectable nut brown forearms. A flash of ankle.
I walk back along the docks. A dockworker with a broken leg sits outside a squalid shack, dejected. A stray cat screeches and darts in my path. I tip my head back and laugh.
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| Emprisonné |
[05 May 2003|01:41pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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restless |
] |
l'âme de chaque homme est une prison. La terre, un régal de la corruption et de la dégradation.
Every man's soul is a prison. The earth, a feast of corruption and degradation.
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| Mon putréfié s'abstient |
[01 May 2003|02:07pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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nostalgic |
] |
Le grand-père Luc était un banquier et un industriel. Il était un homme serré, un compteur d'haricot avec un poing de fer et une faiblesse pour le baccara.
Grandfather Luc was a banker and industrialist. He was a tight man, a bean counter with an iron fist and a weakness for baccarat.
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| Unholy le decrepitude du vieillissement |
[30 Apr 2003|02:48pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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rejuvenated |
] |
Inhalez à la tasse de la putréfaction de la mortalité. La vapeur mephitic de votre chair de fléchissement me rappelle que je vis.
Inhale at the the cup of the rot of mortality. The mephitic vapor of your sagging, leathern flesh reminds me I live!
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