bien que mon amour est fou, ma raison calm la doleur dans mon coeur.
il ma dit, d'etre patient et garder l'espoir.

Saturday, 27 November 2010

who's going to shoe your pretty little foot?

who's going to glove your hand? who's going to kiss your red ruby lips, when i'm in that far off land? the pretty little birds do choose sad songs, and they sing around the land. they sing a sad little goodbye song cause they know that i'm going away.
now when my lips are smiling, my heart is full of pain, cause i know when they send me to that far off land, i may never see you again.

Sunday, 15 August 2010

mim and jessie

ah j'taime. Barbeque and cardigans.

Friday, 13 August 2010

entry way song

So don't you say to me
That life's a trap
The future is nothing but a tragedy
'Cause I'll be out of that window
Yeah, I'll start wishing to die again
Just say we're not walking backwards, kid
And show me to the door
And I'll walk behind
Out into the hot sunlight
Where the world's very much alive
Even when I close my eyes

Well, should I admit
That my promise is counterfeit
That I'm careless and childish
And that's all I can hope to be
And would you concede
That I think only of myself
I refuse everybody's help
Who has been reaching out for me
Well, you reach with the soul of a sailor
And the swing of a miner
You have cleared the rock away
Leaving gold there in its place
And it is more than anyone could claim
Oh, with the sense of a banker
And with the touch of a tailor
You saved this life for me
And you have sown it to beauty
And I am grateful now and I will always be

So would you sing with me
The song is all I know
Some truths are told now only in a melody
So I've been writing a new one
Yeah, I've been taking my time with it
It's gonna be so perfect
It's gonna hold all of us inside of it
You will see
If you just add your harmony
I think it would be complete
And be worthy of singing
Becomes a symphony

Yeah, you're the cool of the water
You're the start of the summer
Keep me still like an anchor
In a storm you're the cellar
When I'm heavy with worry make me light as a feather
When I'm deafened by anger you're the song I remember
With the grace of a dancer and the strength of a pillar
When I'm starving to suffer you just fill me with laughter
You're a poet
And a saint
You are the only one I choose to imitate
Oh, like the love of a father through the eye of a camera
It's this picture I have seen
We're on a sloping hill of green
And you are walking there next to me

Sunday, 8 August 2010

i know you have a heavy heart

i can feel it when we kiss. so many men stronger than me have thrown their backs out trying to lift it.

i'm home. things are feeling strange and difficult.

Friday, 16 July 2010

ne me quitte pas

i leave for france tomorrow. my second home.
jacques brel seems a little appropriate though, i can't help feeling writing letters won't be enough to satisfy my thirst for a certain reciprient. oh god, how i wish i could fall in love with the easy beauty in life, the cheap thrills and garish prettiness. instead i seek out the difficult, the hidden and that which is not mine to take.

ne me quitte pas. il fault oublier. tout peut s'oublier qui s'enfuit deja. oublier le temps, des malentendus, et le temps perdu a savoir comment. oublier ces heures qui tuaient parfois, a coup de pourquoi, le coeur de bonheur.
ne me quitte pas.

don't leave me. forget. everything which has already fled can be forgotten.
forget time, misunderstandings, and the times lost somehow.
forget those times which killed sometimes, by dint of reason, the heart of happiness.
don't leave me.

i've got arms

and i've got arms. let's get together and use those arms.
ohh, time's a wastin'.

Monday, 5 July 2010

I'm not as sad as Doestoevsky,

I'm not as clever as Mark Twain. I'll only buy a book for the way it looks, and then I'll put it on the shelf again. Now I could tell you what I'm thinking but it never seems to do you good. It's beyond me what a girl can see, I'm only lucid when I'm writing songs.

Life is strange. And sad. And beautiful.
And I'm not sure if I will ever understand it, or ever want to.
It's far too... wide. "It's the sky that makes you feel tried, it's a trick to make you see wide. It can all but break your heart in pieces"
I love David Bowie. And Belle & Sebastian.
Today, I was speaking to a boy who'll never read this, about Belle & Sebastian.
He was sweet and nervous and bit my lip when he kissed me, and it made me feel better about everything, about everything that has happened the past few weeks. Life goes on. There will always be another boy that likes Belle & Sebastian and David Bowie.

Tuesday, 29 June 2010

Some Things Last A Long Time

I haven't forgotten about you.

Monday, 28 June 2010

When The Wind Begins To Sing

O, the snows they melt the soonest
when the wind begins to sing
And the corn it ripens fastest
when the frosts are setting in
And when a woman tells me
that my face she'll soon forget
Before we part I'll wage a crown
she's fain to follow yet

The snows they melt the soonest
when the wind begins to sing
And the swallow flies without a thought
as long as it is spring
But when spring goes and winter blows,
my love, then you'll be fain
For all your pride to follow me
across the stormy main

O, the snows they melt the soonest
when the wind begins to sing
And the bee that flew when summer shone
in winter cannot sting
And I've seen a woman's anger
melt between the night and morn
So it's surely not a harder thing
to tame a woman's scorn

O, never say me farewell here
-no farewell I'll receive,
For you shall set me to the stile,
and kiss and take your leave
But I'll stay here til the woodcock comes
and the martlet takes his wing
For the snows they melt the soonest
when the wind begins to sing.

Sunday, 27 June 2010


"Come, gentle night, come loving, black-browed night, give me my Romeo. And when I shall die, cut him out in little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night and pay no worship to the garish sun."

The Prettiest Star

Prom was as i expected prom to be. They played the songs I thought they would play, they shook my hand and wished me luck, they made phony promises to 'meet up for a coffee in the summer' And it made me kind of sad that it all passed me by, and that 5 years in that place were over like that. I was brimming with resentment and pride and regret and excitement, and now I can't stop thinking that i wasted some of it. My dress was 60's and everyone looked at me and I felt out of place, I stick out like a sore thumb >>>
I know that nobody really reads this, so I said I was in love. I know that nobody really reads this, so i can say that I'm not sure what to do anymore. It's like I've been handed the moon and I don't know what to do with it, and every time I try to show someone the moon, every time I really bathe in the light of it, it disapears. The time of day changes, and I'm left standing there, wishing there was some way I could understand the nature of it's coming and going.
How naive I am! And how insolent. I will not let anyone advise me, so I stumble, and I fall.
I will not then let anyone comfort me, I find consolation in only one form.

Friday, 18 June 2010

La vie en rose

I'm in love.
Nobody reads this, so I can say that.
I'm in love.
It's both the worst and the best thing that has happened to me.
There's a part of me that feels so much so soon, like a wave, instead of washing over me it drowns me. But I come up, spluttering and light headed. Because I want to live.
I want to see it and feel it and live it.

"So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be."

Friday, 11 June 2010

Churlish May

My friend has recently had me obsessed with this song, Churlish May, and Johnny Flynn in general. I'm quite infatuated, his lyrics are poetry.

I met Jane is September's throe. January's grasp, we let each other go.
I met Helen on March's back, she took my coat and she stole my hat.
I met you when the weather got fine, you said "I've got yours if you've got mine."

And the worst and best of all we knew stayed out to rust in the morning dew.

Didn't take long to sing our love, was a harvest feast, was a hand to glove.
When winter came, you couldn't stand to sit. You're just the same, never burnt but lit.
With the world at war and my thoughts on you, I didn't care to fall, there wasn't much to do.

And the worst and best of all we knew stayed out to rust in the morning dew.

Churlish May when the year was fair, gone full circle when things went square.
Ate my meal, an unnoble beast, left me to pay, not a movable feast.
Look I've got nothing, don't know where I am, got a fistfull of questions, not an answer to hand.

And the worst and the best of all we knew stayed out to rust in the morning dew.
Morning dew. With a blow me down, we're all dead in the wood,

Further from you now than the roots from the leaves.
Drunk from the wood, never seen any trees.
My oar's out the water and the lake that I'm sailing is your dear father's daughter
and it's cold and I'm ailing.
Are you drowning me slowly? Was a school meant to teach?
Are you leaving so slowly? Where's the shore? Where's the beach?

And the worst and best of all we knew stayed out to rust in the morning dew.

Thursday, 10 June 2010

I want to ride my bicycle

Recently, my math's tutor has become more of a friend. Drinking cups of tea and discussing her old romances seems to take up the hour we're meant to spend on algebra. I've always liked older people, I've never felt very comfortable in my own skin, being my own age. Mama says I was born 40. Her kitten is dying, and I've never seen a woman so dependent on a frail little bag of bones. Prays night and day, but when she sleeps, she doesn't dream of him.

I ride my bicycle to go and see her every sunday morning, I am infamous in Ainsdale for it, you may have heckled me once or twice, many have. If so do continue! Always appreciated. She dreams every night that she is riding a bicycle, something she hasn't done for about 50 years, and says she feels it's her only escape.

Funny the way the subconscious works, isn't it? 50 years. Some dreamy little girl comes along and it's all she can think of.

Wednesday, 9 June 2010

Squeaky clean

New blog. Not that I have the time or inspiration to be doing this, so it's likely a patchwork of thoughts & pretty things I like to look and listen to.

"A la folie, pas du tout" was a bizarre film with Audrey Tatou going a little erotomania and making sweet little collages of this man out of the pills she's meant to take... is it perverse that it was really rather beautiful? Addictive to say the least. Either way, it's the absolute definition of "L'amour fou". Crazy love, foolish love, obsessive love. I love how dramatic the French are,

"Bien que mon amour est fou
ma raison calm la douleur dans mon couer
il ma dit
d'etre patient et garder l'espoir..."

"Though my love is insane
my reason calms the pain in my heart
it tells me
to be patient and keep hoping..."