generaljanuary: (organic coast)
Les cicatrices que tu portes
Et celles que tu a causées
Les flammes que tu as éteintes
Et celles que tu as allumées
Tes yeux qui ont vu trop de splendeurs essoufflées
Et la longévité éreintante
D'une existence accidentelle
Drapée malgré elle de beauté,
Celle que tu n'as jamais su reconnaître,

Cachent un coeur que tout a blessé
generaljanuary: (organic coast)

(untitled as of yet because I'll probably add to it and edit it some more)

My destination is made of clouds
Mind at ease, lost somewhere between
What is comforting and what is unknown
Temporary feeling of freedom in a temporary home
Layers of blue skies upon layers of loose smiles

You don’t know me when I travel, baby
My soul changes with the scenery
The road swallows my sorrow
I tossed my baggage out the window
I’ve got an old, warm jacket
And memories of you folded in my breast pocket
Between my heart and a crushed pack of cigarettes


I wrote these lines in a moment of peace and almost-slumber, in a bus speeding towards the metropole.
My relationship with transportation is complex. I'm afraid on a canoe in a shallow river but never on a huge boat at sea.I am scared of cars, but not of planes. The metro makes my head spin, but only when I'm waiting to get in. I sometimes get short-breathed on city buses when drivers are going very fast or braking and turning sharply. But the getting there. Oh! The getting there!
A few years ago I was playing the trumpet in a marching band, we often had to travel small or big distances for concerts and parades. I was developing a very unhealty pattern of stress and feeling of failure in those fragile days, and just being on the bus, waiting to get to my destination was a refuge. Expectations and the reality of life outside of the bus melted away into the never-ending sky and scenery passing by through my square little window.
Alone on a quiet bus, in between cities, is like being suspended in time, pressing the pause button. You are no where, no one. Nothing can reach you so you have no choice but to reach intside yourself.

More on My Montreal Trip in my next post ;)
generaljanuary: (bored of being you)

 

I've been feeling strangely overwhelmed. No. Not overwhelmed, precisely... Rather... Overpowered. I've been pretty much just sitting around for a few days. Reminds me of about a year or two ago when Seb kept walking in on me just watching my flexing fingers. He asked once: "What are you doing?" and I said: "Just making sure I'm still there."

I wrote this original first person descriptive piece back when I was in a similar mood in the middle of June. At First it was a blocky paragraph, I cut it down this way, but I'm not sure the poetry disguise fits the piece accordingly. I'm thinking of putting it back into a normal paragraph.

 

Tears of no use

He asks about the bucket of water.

I tell him it’s all the tears that I’ve cried

while he was gone.

 

He looks despondant as he says

there couldn’t possibly be that much.

Could there?

 

I answer that he wouldn’t know, really.

 

His teeth clicks as he closes his mouth,

a retort dying in his dry mouth.

My right hand plunging into the clear water,

coming up dripping.

 

I shake off the worst of it,

with a quick and harsh flick of my wrist,

before rubbing the cool water on my left tigh.

 

He remains still and silent,

I repeat the gesture on my right tigh

and just as I’m about to wipe my hand on my clothes,

he rapidly strides across the room towards me,

grabs my forearm forcefully.

 

Slowly, his dark gaze shifts

from my glistening fingers

to my eyes.

 

I  simply look up at him,

my face screaming bitterness.

He then raises my hand towards his face.

A few droplets of water slide down my now upright arm.

I tear my eyes from his gaze

to watch them drip down and pool at my elbow

and I shudder as I feel him lick languidly at my pinky finger.

He lets go of my arm with a disdainful shove

and there is a splatter of water on my right cheek.

Both of my arms fall limply to my sides,

my right hand splashing loudly in the bucket,

my whole body sags.

 

He says the water is not salty.


generaljanuary: (Default)
soucis noirs sur mon ame
l'image s'etouffe et s'estompe
la clarte soudaine, un chemin
mes yeux epuise epris de la paleur
du matin qui trouve ton sourire
sur mon oreiller blanc

The melancholy's been stuck in my throat all day, refusing to let me breath or let me go.

It snowed today. Almost all day. It was only melting snow, so it won't stay. (thank god, it's only October after all) They say this winter is going to be as bad as last year, when we broke all records with a scary 500+ centimeters of accumulated snow. My forecast for the upcoming winter? A lot of helping maman shovel snow around her tiny parking space and countless city buses dropping me off in the middle of impromptu snow mounds. Last year, it was terrible. Everytime it snowed, people became more and more apalled, where are we going to put it? There was literally no more space. The city had to find and buy more vacant lots. When you walked in the suburbs, you couldn't see the houses, they were all buried in snow. If you called for delivery pizza, you had to go wait ouside for it because they couldn't see the adress plates. Mailmen were pulling their hair out and I'm not talking about ambulances. A guy even put his snow on sale on eBay. He got rid of it and donated the money to charity.
I guess every one goes a little crazy in the winter here in Quebec city. :)
generaljanuary: (fannie)

Hnn. I finished watching the Fullmetal Alchemist anime this morning. I always feel so empty after finishing anime series. I own the movie but I don't want to watch it now, although I feel like I can't wait, really. I can't believe I waited so many years to buy the mangas on the sole account of  "but it will be like selling my soul to shonen..."  Haha. Been downloading a lot of scanlated yaoi, it's been a very long time since my local manga store received any new books, have to feed the obsession. *shrugs* ^^;;

Anyway, Seba-kun called yesterday and even though the connection was really bad, I was very glad to talk to him. 8 days 'til he gats back. Oh and he tells me he's been lurking round here. hehe. *blushes*

Oh wow, rented "My Blueberry Nights" starring Jude Law and Norah Jones with maman yesterday. It was love at first view. I don't think I've ever liked Jude Law more. He does excel in the uptights roles, but see what he can do when you let him play a more laid back character? I want to eat blueberry pie, now. Hee.

So, I think I'll beat the End-of-anime-blues by going out to a cafe and finish that poem I've been working on for almost a month now. This one is really eating at my brain, I cannot seem to find satisfaction in it, no matter how many times I re-write it. I do love it, though. It was spurned onto me when I briefly saw an old love of mine in the bus; im being so near without me being able to reach out to him. Yup.

generaljanuary: (Default)
Here I come bearing lame poetry again. Rejoice! It starts out slow and kinda cheesy, but don't give up on it.
It's a bit of a love poem (again, gah! how can I write so many love poems when I haven't been in love in ages?!)

but if you follow the form, it is also about breaking free. I like playing with form in poetry. Maybe it's from trying to compensate for my lack of knowledge/ interest in poetry theory.    :/ anyway, here goes:

Intricate, But Not All That Delicate
(or the strangest poem title you ever heard of)

Breath me into life
And sketch something lovely around my figure
Stretch my skin taut and guess what is inside

Make me.
Fabricate me.

It's not that I am broken but rather that I have never been assembled.

Here's a piece of me.
And another.
Take this one as well.
I'm entrusting them unto you.

Breath life into them
And sketch something lovely out of them
Stretch them taut over your skin, almost a part of you

Keep me.
Intricate me.

It's flying past you right now
Quick! Grab it, my volatile mind
It's mine but it keeps running back to you

If you catch it, please be kind
It's a bit shaky, a bit shy
Could you perhaps tame it
And keep it close at night
Fold it nicely in the inside pocket
Of your favourite jacket

Breath sunshine chuckles into it
And sketch youself in and around it
Stretch it gently around both our hearts

Give yourself to me 
So that I can give you back to yourself
As a piece of me

Fannie D. 24/08/08


 
generaljanuary: (romance)


If I find for the first time
That words would wither my thoughts
It is the baffling fear that they might fail me
That tears me from being transported

For I have found no need
And felt no fascination
Towards the fights of the mind
My breath painfully turns to dust
As your features unfurl
Couched and Burrowed and Adored
In the folds of my soft and round dreams

The distance though written in desolate days
Bears no turmoil or torment
In the vast plain of my loneliness
Flowers of your face bloom and die
And bloom again

Memories as gently waved flags
Swaying silk upon my skin
Committed to nothing, committed to fantasy
Uncertainty dabs bluntly though quietly
At the edges of my fretful feelings
How to describe the loss of sense of self?

If I find for the last time
That words would translate my emotion
It is the baffling fear that you might fail me
That keeps me from you

Fannie D. 17/08/08
generaljanuary: (Default)
I wrote a poem. It's in french. I like it. Sebastien likes it too. Or so he said. I'm not putting it behind a cut. Because I am ev0l. And it's my own damn journal.  The title translates to "Seashell" and it's a sad little thing about not being yourself.

Coquillage


Le visage brisé à moitié à découvert

Habitat cimenté de l’absence

Fissuré, irréparable

 

Une prière de papier

Vole sous les cils scellés

Jamais vu une telle
Imperméabilité

À l’intérieur

Plus rien a protéger

 

Septembre soupire et le torrent tressaille

Les mains froides, les nerfs éteints

Sous la peau

Y a-t-il encore quelqu’un?

 

L’écho de soi-même

Sur un pan de bitume imperturbable

La traduction de la mémoire

En un craquement passif

La destruction lente et inévitable

Ne dérange personne

  
Fannie D.
12`08`08

generaljanuary: (cant make it)
I've been listening to a lot of music recently. There's nothing unusual about that, but these pas months, I've been doing it mostly in search of inspiration. (I'm concentrating mostly on poetry these days.) 
Simon and Garfunkel are really doing a number on my brain. They can make me cry on demand. Seriously. It comes from the weirdest lines.  Must be Pavlovian or something. 


I Know! The weirdest lines! So basically, pop in the S&G cd and I turn into a water fountain. It' a good feeling, though. It's as though their poetry wraps itself around my tender heart and squeezes. Depending on whether I felt sad or fine before I heard the song, I end up feeling empty or filled to the brim. Being moved as such, it's a really great feeling. 
generaljanuary: (Default)
Am I the only person who think that street lights changing in the middle of the night when there is no one to watch is poetic?

Spent an hour writting a post about Mickael yesterday night but my computer went nutters and crashed thus erasing it. It's better this way. I mean, how much can you write in your LJ before you become a pathetic needy open book.

Why am I so fucking scared of people?

I want Zoolander slash!XD

Gotta get my hands on my English scrapbook. All my crap school poetry is in it (including the infamous gay boy one!!XD). I'd like to post it here. It's crap but I like it. I like crap. Probably why I'm still working at McDon'tgothere.

Et, just parce que ça fait vraiment trop longtemps que ne n'ai pas taper en français, un peu de pratique!! ^^;; Je devrais vraiment me mettre a traduire mes foutus fanfics. Bordel que chuis conne. Paresseuse et conne. Je devrais pas faire tant de choses en meme temps. Surtout quand je sais très bien que je suis incapable de mener un projet à terme correctement. Oooh... je pourrais traduire 'L'Incompris'.

rough translation of a french poem of mine...Here goes:


Read more... )

It is very weird in english...O.o

The other day, my mother called me Gary. (Gary=French jerk lover-boy, retired mailman who stole her away from us with his fancy words and sharp political opinions and money ) She always had a hard time with names she'd usually list 'em all until she got the right one. I was often 'Laurie-Richard-Sissi(dog)-Bibi(cat)-Fannie'. I never minded 'Laurie-Richar-Sissi-Bibi'. Somehow 'Gary-Fannie' made me feel the urge to slap her. But then we were on the phone so hey what could I do?

*sigh*

Love meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

I'm so fucking patethic.

Feel like drawing. Or writting that sorta NC-17 zoolander slash idea. mmh... slash. Slash should be a ice cream flavour. The senseless 'I WANNA LICK YOU YAOI-KUN' written on the first page of my agenda would make much much much more sense.

I'll stop now. because i have to stop or else i'll spend all night typing non senses.

adkvnaio0nhaionbai0nbipENFI0GER HJQOGNJ20CV9QGJ IPSJmci0qehm 0ve;qlch g1io0ehy01gieg1cp9vj,djf890c7rj,fkvm90rcfi,jlrnmjioemucv90wr,jédfiouvjicaàb.0t,k8chm0cv89,cjpfbjkzsoprueifj,klcvi;diaxèqwer8-0,

Bonne Nuit à tous ceux que j'aime.

Profile

generaljanuary: (Default)
generaljanuary

September 2011

S M T W T F S
    123
45678 9 10
11121314151617
18192021222324
252627282930 

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Jul. 20th, 2017 12:35 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios