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il faut oublier tout peut s’oublier

8 December, 2017

cette chanson, c’est l’histoire d’un con et d’un raté — Jacques Brel.

Does such a thing as ‘the fatal flaw,’ that showy dark crack running down the middle of a life, exist outside literature? I used to think it didn’t. Now I think it does. And I think that mine is this: a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs. — from The Secret History by Donna Tartt.

On n’est jamais si malheureux qu’on croit ni si heureux qu’on avait espéré — from the Maxims of La Rochefoucauld.


It don’t snow here, it stays pretty green

23 November, 2017

When I’m a good dog, they sometimes throw me a bone in

Forgive and forget’s what they teach

They’re putting up reindeer, and singing songs of joy and peace

in derelict sidings, the poppies entwine

11 November, 2017

He thought how ‘Jack’, cold-footed, useless swine,

Had panicked down the trench that night the mine

Went up at Wicked Corner; how he’d tried

To get sent home, and how, at last, he died,

Blown to small bits. And no one seemed to care

Except that lonely woman with white hair.

— from The Hero by Siegfried Sassoon—

Just an empty room, full of empty space

31 October, 2017

On Hallowe’en the old ghosts come

About us, and they speak to some;

To others they are dumb.

They haunt the hearts that loved them best;

In some they are by grief possessed,

In other hearts they rest.

They have a knowledge they would tell;

To some of us it is a knell,

To some, a miracle.

They come unseen and go unseen;

And some will never know they’ve been,

And some will know all that they mean.

— from The New Book of Days by Eleanor Farjeon —

and all the friends lay down their flowers

29 October, 2017

there’s no mistake, I smell that smell
it’s that time of year again
clocks go back, railway track
something blocks the line again
and the train runs late for the first time

I was living my life like a holly wood

17 October, 2017

if I wasn’t such a coward, I would run

Good night, sweet princess

18 July, 2017

and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest

F**k it, dude.

Let’s go bowling.