A bunch of random things

On the eve of this election, I urge you to watch (if you can find it), a "Clean Escape", by Sam Egan, which was the first episode of "Masters of Science-Fiction".If you can't find your hands on it, read this very detailed and adequate recap - but warnings, because it is SPOILERIFIC.This being said - I'll be watching, and crossing my fingers. The US is making history, in the next 24 hours. So what else is new?

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I fail at work, these days. Come to think of it, I'm fail at a lot of things - including NaNo, it's not even funny. I'm not sure what's wrong with me in that respect. For work, I know - I'm suffering from Short Timer Disease. Even if I'm trying to motivate myself with the desire to not let down .... Mr. Burns. (current boss, here, yes, he really, really looks like Mr. Burns, except he's actually nice, and I actually like him. No, that doesn't make me Smithers. **shudder**)

ETA: My boss just made an impersonation of Monty Burns. I am flailing inwardly.

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But for NaNo, I'm not sure. I like my story - it's a fun adventure thingie, where I get to be very cruel to my people. I created a fun pair of characters, and I like them. So. Why can I not write? Damn it! I feel so lazy, at night, it's not even funny. I told my mum about NaNo, and Burns, and also ... how do I call this one? I'm going to call him Wallace, for the Wallace in Sin City. No. He should be Helmholtz Watson, from Brave New World. Because he's perfect. Though I guess I could recast Mr. Burns as Bernard Marx, in that case. Which makes me Lenina. It even works because BMarx has been sort of hitting on me, much to my despair. I'd much rather it be HWatson. Srsly. Anyway. HWatson said he'd be my reader, which is cool. I like him, and I trust him. Too bad this is a one-time assignment together.

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I saw Sin City again last night. It was awesome. I love Marv. I love to hear him say, "That is one damn fine coat you’re wearin’ ". I love Dwight McCarthy so much, too.

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I've been rediscovering Pink Floyd. High Hopes feels so appropriate - I'm not sure why, exactly, but it feels like a good song for a place like Rwanda, were innocence has been so direly tested over the past 40 years.



Beyond the horizon of the place we lived when we were young
In a world of magnets and miracles
Our thoughts strayed constantly and without boundary
The ringing of the division bell had begun
Along the long road and on down the causeway
Do they still meet there by the cut
There was a ragged band that followed in our footsteps
Running before time took our dreams away
Leaving the myriad small creatures trying to tie us to the ground
To a life consumed by slow decay

The grass was greener
The light was brighter
With friends surrounded
The nights of wonder

Looking beyond the embers of bridges glowing behind us
To a glimpse of how green it was on the other side
Steps taken forwards but sleepwalking back again
Dragged by the force of some inner tide
At a higher altitude with flag unfurled
We reached the dizzy heights of that dreamed of world

****

Encumbered forever by desire and ambition
There's a hunger still unsatisfied
Our weary eyes still stray to the horizon
Though down this road we've been so many times

The grass was greener
The light was brighter
The taste was sweeter
The nights of wonder
With friends surrounded
The dawn mist glowing
The water flowing
The endless river

Forever and ever

That's it. Tata. Sorry for being so random.

Once upon a night in Banda

On TV, for background noise, I put on the only occidental channel available, Star World, and right now, they are showing Friends. I've never followed the series assiduously, and so my understanding of the storyline is very limited, but I like the fact that it is almost every where I go. Consistency in a world such as mine, where everything is ephemeral, is much appreciated. I just got off work, a second day of a 6 week long assignment. My team and I are sitting in a place which we call the Fishbowl, because it is surrounded with glass windows, and I spent the day idly revising documentation, trying to find gaps in the system.

Indonesia is a strange place to be, and for all the painful memories it holds, I do like it. The language is exotic, the people are smiling, the architecture is alien and elegant, the food burns my pallet exquisitely, the smells assail me everywhere. Even cigarettes smell differently here: the Indonesians smoke Kretek sticks, and they contain clove. Some people don't like it, but I do – I find it spicy and pleasant, contrary to the ordinary stuff.

I've opted to skip dinner out tonight. For that, I have a lot of good reasons. One of them is, I'm running out of cash, and I can't go to the ATM until tomorrow. The other is, since my luggage got lost on the way here, I have few clothes, and it's so hot and humid outside, my scant reserves are going to dwindle much too fast if I go out again. And… well… my boss is moody tonight, and that means unpleasant company – so I'm skipping. Best to be alone then poorly escorted. I'm alright, though. Now, if only my room had more natural light, I'd be happy.

I'm not particularly depressed... but this inspires me with a poem that echoes of the darkness surrounding my sleepless state.

My name is solitude, in a cave of darkness I dwell.
Arpeggios and songs fill my mind, treasures unshared, unkept.

My name is longing. I seek warmth and only find the chill
Of all that is lonely and sullen, of all night’s obscurities accept.

My name is ugliness. Nothing beholds that which will
Seduce or ensnare, but all that is monstrous, in the lottery, I swept.

My name is solitude, and I wish to be broken.
My name is longing, and I wish to be sated.
My name is ugliness, and I wish to be reclaimed.

Oh, lotus-eater, where art thou?

The Beaver
My guest map is wonderful ! And you'd all be wonderful to post, all of you lurk mode readers!
Thanks and may the winds of Fate blow your way !

Acrostiche n. 1

There is little to say today, I
Am exhausted, bewildered, burnt.
Kindly have patience with my poucing
Instincts, with my broken limbs and my
Negations, my abnegation, my wanton
Guile which is only self-protection.

Think of those days of summer,
Hear your heart break asunder,
Elate yourself for your own joy.

Have you not found that you missed her, the
Elegy to lost dreams, the muse to madness, the
Anti-heroin who incessantly, madly, relentlessly,
Tries to keep the flame of hope alive with her loyal heart.

The Beaver

My guest map is wonderful ! And you'd all be wonderful to post, all of you lurk mode readers!
Thanks and may the winds of Fate blow your way !

Love’s Eulogy…

On the eve of St-Valentine’s day, some beaver sour grapes on the matter of love….

Don’t buy me chocolates today,
Don’t take me to the Cinema,
Don’t bring roses to my doorstep
Or tell me sweet unordinary things.

Don’t pretend to love me today
Just to be like all the others
Love me yesterday, or the day after
Love me without presents or bleeding red hearts.

Don’t protest that we are perfect
Don’t take me to that romantic place
Rather, hold my hand in silence
Kiss me, hold me, want me, choose me.

Say nothing, do nothing,
Let what you feel be true and real,
Let your heart be sincere
Let your smile be my only, my unique…

My beautiful Valentine.

P.S. This is me, trying not to be cynical on this ever commercial day, despite my notorious bad luck in the affairs of the heart.

The Beaver

My guest map is wonderful ! And you'd all be wonderful to post, all of you lurk mode readers!
Thanks and may the winds of Fate blow your way !

Is this how it’s going to be?

Just a little ditty I scribbled to pass time. It's hard to rhyme in English, so it's an exercise more than anything else.

You will smile and I will melt,
My heart will skip at your sight,
You will talk and I will listen,
My body will respond without a fight.

You will laugh and I will grin
I’ll enjoy every thing you do
I will follow your every whim
Without thinking a thing or two.

I will belong to you always,
Feeling ever so miserable,
Because I will count all the days

Whether or not I am able
To stay away from my loved daze,
Only dreaming up this fable.

The Ballad of the Wandering Soul

The sunlight struck my face today.
It wasn’t a slap or a kiss, it was a smiling greeting,
Gentle like the touch of a million rose petals
On a clear morning sky.

I slipped on shoes and roamed the town.
It’s not pretty, or even interesting,
But smiles were returned as I threaded in my dream,
As I let myself walk off the strangeness of my days.

They are spent in idle attempts
At fulfilling empty dreams and shallow goals
They are lost in waiting or in fancies
In hoping and in sketching...

The mad designs of my complicated thoughts
The insane views of my lonesome soul
The solitude that plagues me
The freedom that lifts me.

It’s not a song from Elton John
Or something by Philip Jeays,
But it is what I can write
Original and personal

To tell you, again and again,
My patience knows no bounds
My fickle mind battles my loyal heart
But if you ask if I still, I will tell you,

Unabashedly, sincerely, madly,
With all the strength and energy of my entire being
That I never stopped.
Yes, I never stopped.

Cut me, I bleed

Just a little poem by yours truly....

I am not made of stone, or wrapped in sky-spun fantasies,
I am not the one who carries naught but phantasms of lost prayers.

I am the wind in the galleys
Where dancers breed perfected graces

I am the heart and the pulse
Of the ever changing cities of the new century

I am the beat the drummer makes
With bleeding sticks that reflect no more than his own fury

I am the tempest that cleans
The storm that rebuilds, I am the hope that refuses to die.

I am not the solution to your idiosyncrasies
I am not the messiah come to thread unbidden in your stagnation

I am a free horse in the pampas of Chile,
An unknown stranger offering help unexpected,

I am the lovely brush of a sensual hand,
Waiting to give a caress of love to skin divine, sublime

I am wilderness uncaged,
Whose heart belongs to no-one and all, open and innocent.

I am the prayer and the request
Of a little girl in a silent church, believing against all odds in what may come.

Cut me, I bleed.
Love me, I live.


The Beaver

My guest map is wonderful ! And you'd all be wonderful to post, all of you lurk mode readers!
Thanks and may the winds of Fate blow your way !

Poesie en prose....

This is just a little bit of embroidery on a well-known theme. I'm nowhere close to jumping off a bridge, worry not.

He used to keep me sated with his endearing hedgehog ways, his intelligent comments, his warm heart and his well-chosen words.

Silence feels akin to darkness and forgiveness only gives a limited sense of sensibility. Indifference or despair? I try not to ponder the question, and only to wish him well – true affection is such, or so they say, and so I struggle to forget my own need for reassurance to the benefit of patience.

Work beckons. Immersion in fetid business idioms will hopefully alleviate my own need to forget, my own need to taste the absolute. It was an Equal Music. It is enough to taste such perfection from time to time, not too much, or the soul could not sustain it.Such is what I tell myself, and yet I cannot help but feel my mind stretching across the universe in a secret caress which never reaches its goal.

Patience.

The Beaver
My guest map is wonderful ! And you'd all be wonderful to post, all of you lurk mode readers!
Thanks and may the winds of Fate blow your way !

This Time (Tracy Chapman)

This time
I won't show
I'm vulnerable
This time
I won't give in first

This time
I will hold out with my love
This time
I will not be hurt

I'm gonna love myself
More than anyone else
I'm gonna treat me right
I'm gonna make you say
That you love me first
And you'll be the one with the most to lose tonight
This time

This time
I won't let my emotions rule my life
This time
I'm gonna keep my heart locked safe inside
This time
I'm gonna be my own best friend
This time
I'm gonna be the one

To win
Your love
Your affection
To hide
My fear
Of rejection
This time
(c) Teddy Pendergrass

The Beaver

My guest map is wonderful ! And you'd all be wonderful to post, all of you lurk mode readers!
Thanks and may the winds of Fate blow your way !

Boys have Coodies

They try to be man but never succeed
They think they love you
But only love your love
Boys have coodies

They're proud to bear the seed
They freeze when you are true
Then screw you from above
Boys have coodies

They say you're what they need
Then one day eyes so blue
Remind remind him of the cove
Boys have coodies

The problem you must heed
Is that no matter what when who
You forget like a dove
That boys have coodies.

The Beaver


My guest map is wonderful ! And you'd all be wonderful to post, all of you lurk mode readers!
Thanks and may the winds of Fate blow your way !

2004-2006 : Rest In Peace

Oh piece of technology,

Here is your ulogy,

At last thine end hast come.

Does it sound like a drum?

Far and wide thou travel'st, high and low, around the Earth.

But yet thine fate is sealed, with no hope of rebirth.

Thine owner well you served, with work and with hobbies,

And your user weeps the loss of her MP3's.

May you make with glory, your way out of this stance,

And may the warranty give you back radiance.

The Beaver

My guest map is wonderful ! And you'd all be wonderful to post, all of you lurk mode readers!
Thanks and may the winds of Fate blow your way !

Lettre a un jeune soldat / Letter to a young soldier

Child soldier, Liberia (1997) -
WCC (Francais)
WCC (English)
«Les enfants sont notre avenir. Accepter que des enfants soldats participent à des conflits armés, c’est accepter la destruction de notre avenir, un enfant après l’autre.»

Kofi Annan, Session extraordinaire de l’ONU consacrée aux enfants, mai 2002

Ton corps est un temple, garde le. Ne laisse pas l'ombre du mal t'approcher.

Un fusil est une arme. C'est un objet mature pour une main mature. Si ton index ne trouve pas la gachette, laisse le.

Your body is a temple, keep it. Do not let the shadow of evil near you.
A gun is a weapon. It is a mature object meant for a mature hand. If you index cannot find the trigger, leave it.

Pense a ta mere si tu vois une femme.
Pense a ton pere si tu vois un homme.
Si tu vois des enfants, pense a tes freres et soeurs.

If you see a woman, think of your mother.
If you see a man, think of your father.
Think of your brothers and sisters when you see children.

Ton ame est un tresor. Toi seul en est le gardien. Toi seul peut la garder.
Ton esprit est un lieu de songes et de beaute. Interdit-toi la violence.

You soul is a treasure. You only are its warden. Only you can keep it.
Your spirit is a place of dreams and beauty. Forbid yourself from violence.

Tes yeux sont des mysteres insondables. Ils portent en eux tout ce que tu es. Ils sont tout ce que tu as de beau et d'unique.

Your eyes are neverending mysteries. They carry all that you are. They are all that you have that is unique and beautiful.y

Ta vie est un chemin ouvert. Prend la a bras le corps, ne la laisse pas s'echapper.

Your life is an open road. Take it by both hands, do not let it slip away.

Ton sourire est ton innocence. Partage le.

Your smile is your innocence. Share it.

Tout ce que tu apprends, garde le en memoire. Un jour, tu le transmettras.

Remember all that you learn. One day, you will share it too.

The Beaver