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Kitsch mais oh so good

Et une soirée de fous rires à trouver les vidéos les plus atroces sur YT. Avec Gotainer cependant, on touche au sublime.

Au passage, je suis toujours traumatisée d’avoir vu le héro de mon adolescence, Michael Knight (et K2000) dans ce que j’ai d’abord cru être une parodie avant de m’effondrer atterrée quand j’ai compris que non, en chanteur, il se prend totalement au sérieux. La fin d’un mythe…

Pour Marie et Kitsune 😉

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Nür für dich…

This one is a bit of a cheat since my friend Rue made it… I love it though so let’s share ! He’s got such a beautiful voice !


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Home is where you can choose to be

Celle-là est un pincement au cœur bien particulier. Un mélange de nostalgie pour l’océan, de regrets d’une rencontre manquée et de promesse. Where are you Izaak, wanderer ?

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So wild

Et pourquoi j’aurai pas ma playlist moi aussi ? Hum ?

This one is me ’cause I am

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Bitter sweet Andrew

Trying to reach your side of silence… This one hurts 😥

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Dance of life

This is the sound of my dear smartheart ♥

And that means meaningful conversations on how to deal with sorrow and how to love oneself. It’s sharing the lighthearted joy of dances even when we are hundreds of klicks apart. It’s also the music of a deep voice whispering foreign nonsense of which somehow the meaning is conveyed clearly, by some kind of telepathic magic…

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Dancing evil away

The music is a mere rhythm now, players having given up one after the other from exhaustion. I feel my concentration fail, my muscles tremble. Our survival is at stake, as it is now each and every time. It should have been overwhelming but it doesn’t impress me anymore. The Shadow comes, threatening, unspeakable and unknown horrors hidden in its depths and the Dance makes it disappear like a bad dream in the morning light. Entering the Shadow produces strange effects. Disappearances, madness, deformities, death for the lucky ones. Each time it comes it is denser, wider and stays longer. By chance it only appears here, in the temple and at night. No one remembers a time it didn’t and it feels as though it’s  always been with us. The Shadow, and the Dance that banishes it. Continuer la lecture de Dancing evil away

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The five-cat or how cats tamed themselves 

She-Of-The-Lashing-Claws by Sid

T’was long and ago, Best Beloved, in the time before time, before the cats changed to the little furry things that purr on your knees.

In that time, cats were wild and fierce and they really could live nine lives. They were so wild they could barely live within ten miles of one another. As you can guess Best Beloved, kittens were becoming scarce.  One of them, by the name She-Of-The-Lashing-Claws, was a five-cat : she had lived a few of her lives already and only had five left. She had died the first time under the fangs of her mother, as was customary, as soon as she was weaned. It had toughened her and she had fought many battles against her kind but not so much that she wouldn’t see how few of them were left, without enough birth to replenish their numbers. Continuer la lecture de The five-cat or how cats tamed themselves 

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Prince Scarring 

Now that I’m in better shape emotionally, I really want to have my own little family. So I keep looking for my « ideal mate » (you know, the prince charming we’ve been brain-washed with forever : they-had-many-children-and-lived-happily-everafter-prince ?) the one who’s gonna be a fantastic father and will also accept that I am everything but ordinary, conformist, monogamous, straight and so on. My favourite meeting place still is OKcupid -for all sorts of reasons I developed in a post that was unfortunately French only. Whatever the qualities of the site, you can still meet some not so nice guys, as you can see by this message I received after a few exchanges :

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More seriously, each time I learn more about you, I discover you have a passion for « inexact sciences ». I think you’re not very good at thinking. You say you’re an intellectual but the result of your thoughts doesn’t seem very coherent. Farewell. And good luck to anyone who’s gonna choose you as the mother of his children.

My first reaction was WTF ? Then I felt upset (who do you think you are ?) Then I wanted to thank him for sparing me his company. In the end, instead of trading insults, I decided to answer the form rather than the substance :

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Well, I wonder what I said to earn such an aggressive message ! You are entitled to your own opinion and to think I am not rational (that seems perfectly logical given we don’t take the same facts into account) but I don’t appreciate much being insulted without cause. If you don’t want to talk anymore you just have to say so, there’s no need to be unpleasant. Farewell to you too, I hope some day you’ll understand the value of taking more into account than « hard science » -they make your mind and your heart hard.

All this to say I’m rather proud of how I’m now capable handling this kind of event, emotions-wise as well as conversation-wise 🙂

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Heureuse qui comme Ulysse !

Je jure solennellement (sur ma tête de sorcière) qu’on n’a pas touché un seul cheveu de fée lors de cette mue impromptue.

I solemnly swear (and I give you my word as witch) that not a single fairy hair was harmed during this impromptu moult.

La chevelure d’or brun de Mélusine, comme les feuilles, tombe. Il n’y a pas eu de cliquetis, ni d’ombre, pas de grincement, de craquement, de cri dans la nuit. Les ciseaux étaient d’argent et le soleil haut dans le ciel.

As the leaves fall, so does the golden brown hair of Mélusine. There was no creaking, no sneaking, no shadow nor cry in the dead of night. The scissors were silver and the sun high in the sky.

Voyons le bon côté : maintenant que mes cheveux ne me volent plus dans la figure, je vais enfin pouvoir utiliser mon stock de rouge à lèvre 🙂

On the bright side, now that hair won’t fly in my mouth anymore, I’ll get to use my stash of lipstick 😉

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Chanson d’automne

Les sanglots longs
Des violons
De l’automne
Blessent mon cœur
D’une langueur

Tout suffocant
Et blême, quand
Sonne l’heure,
Je me souviens
Des jours anciens
Et je pleure

Et je m’en vais
Au vent mauvais
Qui m’emporte
Deçà, delà,
Pareil à la
Feuille morte.

Paul Verlaine, Poèmes saturniens

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The morns are meeker than they were,
The nuts are getting brown;
The berry’s cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.

The maple wears a gayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I’ll put a trinket on.

by Emily Dickinson


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In the beginning was speed and the pure joy of the wind beneath my wings.

I reacquainted myself smoothly with how to ride a powerful bike, feeling each acceleration in my bones, my legs instinctively tightening around the rider, while still seeking the best position for my arms.

I anchored my claws on my mount, a solid and unwavering embrace, my serpentine tail coiled in its usual place, secret kundalini in the belly of The-Figurehead. I stretched my neck to the zenith and yelped the sheer pleasure of the race.

The intense, animal joy of speed overcame me. I closed my arms around the man in front of me, letting myself be carried on the asphalt river, into the eternal moment of sensuality and the warm embrace of trust. My whole body tense for the race, I breathed the warm smell of the fields. Far left, a fox stopped caught my eye and was left behind, distanced by the roaring symphony of the engine. I felt my femininity vibrating in rhythm with the accelerator and barely held back an animal cry by my silent lips.

I opened my wings wide and the wind lifted me at once. I hovered a while above The-Figurehead. Planing lazily in the sun, I carelessly plucked a few leaves  from the canopy. I felt the surprise of The-Figurehead ‘You are a veggie?’ Amused, I dived into the forest.

I felt her frolic in the vegetal ocean, playing with the wind and bathing in hot sun. I smelt with delight the scents of damp undergrowth, moss and mushrooms, received the brief downpour with a smile and finally discovered the medieval heart of the village. As always the sight of centuries old houses sent images of those who lived, loved and died there spinning in my head. The river, eternal impermanence, laid her languid canals, ponds and waterfalls, deserted in this late summer peppered with rain. I was looking for the wyvern but she concealed her presence well, artful magician that she was. Only when I was alone did she finally reveal herself, blissful creature, triple whimsical, emerging from deep water without a wrinkle. Her golden green body melted into the bronze vase and algae background, reflections of her inner fire mixed in the glow of the setting sun. Her wings reduced to thin fins, she was betrayed only by her ice-blue eyes. I admired the abandonment of her wild nature, the magic that welled from her presence, observed her movements and how fluidly she played with water and wind.

I was dazed by her rugged, powerful beauty. It was the first time I could really see her and she looked amazing. I averted my eyes just a moment from the fabulous display and she took the opportunity to slip away. In my head a question stayed: ‘What is your name?’

I am you, once, water,
I am you, twice, air
I am you, thrice, fire
Blissful trine beast, Beatrice…

As I rode away from the village, I saw, nestled in the dale, the tip of an old steeple. Around was winding, tail of serpent, and above beating, wings of wind, the blissful fiery beast, the melusine.

Written at Moret-sur-Loing… my muse was a Ducati 800cc

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Rise of the Wyvern

We are late and for once I want to see the basement of the museum so we probably won’t write the way we use to. My guide show me to a room where the foundations of the Middle-Age castle are visible. I barely step in the room that I feel uneasy. Would that be my part-time claustrophobia playing tricks on me ? But the ceiling is at least 10 metres high and the walls are anything but oppressive.

Continuer la lecture de Rise of the Wyvern