November 17th, 2011

dark and stormy.

bricolage

she was like a shipwrecked man who sinks, borne under by one last wave less furious than others he has vanquished. the bewildering pangs of her condition kept her from knowing the lapse of time. at the moment when she felt that, alone, without help, she was about to give birth to her child, and to all her other terrors was added that of the accidents to which her ignorance exposed her, the count appeared, without a sound that let her know of his arrival. the man was there, like a demon claiming at the close of a compact the soul that was sold to him.

the leaping glare beyond sent a ray into his corner and for a moment every little detail was distinct. it was marshal dubois. he was lying against a huge slab of the war map. to it there stuck and from it there dangled little wooden objects, the symbols of infantry and cavalry and guns, as they were disposed upon the frontier. he did not seem to be aware of this at his back, he had an effect of inattention, not indifferent attention, but as if he were thinking....

he had previously lived a retired life, and his contemporaries were unaware of his ability.




in a basement window she saw the sign 'ladies' restaurant': a pie and a dish of doughnuts lay against the dusty pane like petrified food in an ethnological museum. she entered, and a young woman with a weak mouth and a brazen eye cleared a table for her near the window. the table was covered with a red and white cotton cloth and adorned with a bunch of celery in a thick tumbler and a salt- cellar full of grayish lumpy salt. julia ordered tea, and sat a long time waiting for it. she was glad to be away from the noise and confusion of the streets.

what do i care, in the dreams and the languor of spring,
that my songs do not show me at all?
for they are a fragrance, and i am a flint and a fire,
i am an answer, they are only a call.

but what do i care, for love will be over so soon,
let my heart have its say and my mind stand idly by,
for my mind is proud and strong enough to be silent,
it is my heart that makes my songs, not i.
  • Current Music
    gone - voodoo child
  • Tags
i never thought tonight could ever be /

balzac

people of an observing turn, of the sort who are bent upon finding out where you buy your candelabra, or who ask you what rent you pay when they are pleased with your apartments, had noticed, from time to time, the appearance of an extraordinary personage at the fetes, concerts, balls, and routs given by the countess. it was a man. the first time that he was seen in the house was at a concert, when he seemed to have been drawn to the salon by marianina's enchanting voice.

"i have been cold for the last minute or two," said a lady near the door to her neighbor.
the stranger, who was standing near the speaker, moved away.

"this is very strange! now i am warm," she said, after his departure.

"perhaps you will call me mad, but i cannot help thinking that my neighbor, the gentleman in black who just walked away, was the cause of my feeling cold."

ere long the exaggeration to which people in society are naturally inclined, produced a large and growing crop of the most amusing ideas, the most curious expressions, the most absurd fables concerning this mysterious individual. without being precisely a vampire, a ghoul, a fictitious man, a sort of faust or robin des bois, he partook of the nature of all these anthropomorphic conceptions, according to those persons who were addicted to the fantastic. occasionally some
german would take for realities these ingenious jests of parisian evil-speaking. the stranger was simply an old man. some young men, who were accustomed to decide the future of europe every morning in a few fashionable phrases, chose to see in the stranger some great criminal, the possessor of enormous wealth. novelists described the old man's life and gave some really interesting details of the atrocities committed by him while he was in the service of the prince of mysore.
  • Current Music
    scenes from an italian restaurant
obsowleted

you might run on / for a long time

Oh, thy bright eyes must answer now,
When Reason, with a scornful brow,
Is mocking at my overthrow!
Oh, thy sweet tongue must plead for me
And tell, why I have chosen thee!

Stern Reason is to judgment come,
Arrayed in all her forms of gloom:
Wilt thou, my advocate, be dumb?
No, radiant angel, speak and say,
Why I did cast the world away.

Why I have persevered to shun
The common paths that others run,
And on a strange road journeyed on,
Heedless, alike, of wealth and power -
Of glory's wreath and pleasure's flower.

These, once, indeed, seemed Beings Divine;
And they, perchance, heard vows of mine,
And saw my offerings on their shrine;
But, careless gifts are seldom prized,
And mine were worthily despised.

So, with a ready heart I swore
To seek their altar-stone no more;
And gave my spirit to adore
Thee, ever - present, phantom thing;
My slave, my comrade, and my king,

A slave, because I rule thee still;
Incline thee to my changeful will,
And make thy influence good or ill:
A comrade, for by day and night
Thou art my intimate delight, -

My darling pain that wounds and sears
And wrings a blessing out from tears
By deadening me to earthly cares;
And yet, a king, though Prudence well
Have taught thy subject to rebel.

And am I wrong to worship, where
Faith cannot doubt, nor hope despair,
Since my own soul can grant my prayer?
Speak, God of visions, plead for me,
And tell why I have chosen thee!
  • Current Music
    i wish i was a person / with unlimited breath
everybody's tired of something

comin' outta my cage









There should be no despair for you
While nightly stars are burning;
While evening pours its silent dew,
And sunshine gilds the morning.
There should be no despair--though tears
May flow down like a river:
Are not the best beloved of years
Around your heart for ever?

They weep, you weep, it must be so;
Winds sigh as you are sighing,
And winter sheds its grief in snow
Where Autumn's leaves are lying:
Yet, these revive, and from their fate
Your fate cannot be parted:
Then, journey on, if not elate,
Still, NEVER broken-hearted!
  • Current Music
    in between days (ben folds' version)
fucking magnets!

so you can take this chance / in the end everybody's gonna be wondering / how ya deal

opportunity, as we know, is fleeting. the observer, more than any other, is obliged to take it by the forelock. preoccupied as i was with other researches, i but gave a glance at the magnificent subject which good fortune offered. the opportunity fled and has never returned.

let us make up for it with trivial things of frequent encounter, a condition favourable to consecutive study. what is common is not necessarily unimportant. give it our sustained attention and we shall discover in it merits which our former ignorance prevented us from seeing. when patiently entreated, the least of creatures adds its note to the harmonies of life.
  • Current Music
    because i don't know if i take that chance just where it's gonna lead