<!-- --><style type="text/css">@import url(https://www.blogger.com/static/v1/v-css/navbar/3334278262-classic.css); div.b-mobile {display:none;} </style> </head><body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/plusone.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d30607781\x26blogName\x3dSuperpowers+rely+in+the+ties\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dBLACK\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttp://urileye.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den_GB\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://urileye.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d6520492152046469444', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>

La mort de Fred Chichin

Wednesday, November 28, 2007


Christine Albanel a salué la mémoire de l’aryiste, en soulignant qu’ «avec lui les mots de diversités et de variétés prenaient tout leur sens». «Il était réellement ouvert à toutes les influences musicales, à toutes les cultures, toutes les traditions» et «savait merveilleusement les faire dialoguer pour les adapter au mieux à la fantaisie, à l’humour, au non-conformisme des Rita Mitsouko» a ajouté la ministre de la Culture.
- Le Figaro

Labels: ,

posted by Primessa Espiritu
9:52 pm



Tie

Tuesday, November 27, 2007


I can hold my speech for a very long time, believing that someone will eventually speak what I would have.

Labels:

posted by Primessa Espiritu
9:17 pm



Grendel - Chapter Eleven

Saturday, November 17, 2007


When I look back, it's no real surprise to me that I have turned out the way I have.

An excerpt from a book that my uncle offered me maybe ten years ago...

His voice, though powerful, was mild. Voice of a dead thing, calm as dry sticks and ice when the wind blows over them. He had a strange face that, little by litte, grew unsettling to me: it was a face, or so it seemed for an instant, from a dream I had almost forgotten. The eyes slanted downward, never blinking, unfeeling as a snake's. He had no more beard than a fish. He smiled as he spoke, but it was as if the gentle voice, the childlike yet faintly ironic smile were holding something back, some magician-power that could blast stone cliffs to ashes as lighting blasts trees.


Grendel is a 1971 novel by John Gardner. It retells Beowulf from Grendel's point of view.

Labels: ,

posted by Primessa Espiritu
11:57 am

0 comments



Juste un rire

Wednesday, November 14, 2007


Entendu via la luminosité d'un courrier électronique:

J'ai pensé me joindre aux Nostalgiques Anonymes. Mais c'est pu ce que c'était.


- Un Fred parmi les Freds Anonymes

posted by Primessa Espiritu
12:03 am



Go get a guitar and sit in your basement

Sunday, November 11, 2007


I missed Wiretap this afternoon but it was a nice surprise to see that there are more audio clips of the show up on the official site.


Now listening to: Family Album on cbc.ca

Labels: ,

posted by Primessa Espiritu
3:07 pm



The boy who cried wolf

People are walking around, feeling alone and all they do is murmur “nobody cares” and nobody can muster up the courage to scream at all the space in between. If you scream, you are thrown into a bin. Nobody wants to go in a bin. So there are pills and alcohol to bring them together. The disenchanted and the lonely. What also helps bring them together is their belief of being incomplete. There is also that darn regret. That life-sucking monster that wants to drag all hope down into the abyss. It freezes life into the background. So while drinks are being mixed, the little voices are drowned in the noise of the gathering of empty bottles and cash being registered.

If there exists important questions, I would like to have the answers to them and to have the remedies that would calm the hearts and souls around me. I wish I could save lives with my speech. When someone says “All I need is for you to come here, hold me in your arms, tell me that you love me and that you will love me like before.” that I could say “I will,” but I can’t. Instead, I have words and colors. Maybe I should try to write the script of a revolution. I will sit here at my desk, write dialogues for actors that will play disenchanted and lonely adults who, through those dialogues, will unite and recreate the world. I will do this from my desk. While I write, he will be sitting in a white room, full of strangers, asking himself where he went wrong and how he can make it right again.



Lars and the real girl


Maybe, while I write, he will plan ahead instead of feeling trapped. When you feel the wolf approaching, you don’t sit and wait for the strike, you plan.

He’s not like everyone else. Everyone else seems to think they know what normal is like. He’s the guy with the ruse. He may look like a poor little mouse, yet you can see the darkness of a lion in his eyes. They try to push him into a corner, to be a man’s man, get the girl and do the girl.

What if one day, he showed-up with a life-size doll? That would put them in their place. They would see how ridiculous it is to give in. Unless, unless they play along. Well, it could be amusing. It would be like childhood all over again. Oh, sweet tea time and dinner parties. The pretending wouldn’t last long. Unless, they all want her to be real. Unless they want the fake to be a real part of their lives. Then, he could end up dancing, alone, in the middle of a crowded room, in front of the monster he created and asking himself where he went wrong and how he can make it right again.

He could also get lost, asking himself what everybody sees in this plastic truth. Why do they desperately hang on to it? He might believe for a moment that this doll is more than what she really is. Because, again, they are making it a reality as they dress it in hope and by making him feel that he is not part of it. The ruse could overtake him: to kiss her once, to be the prince charming who wakes her from her comatose so they could both be real, together.

Well, that’s not how the story goes, Pinocchio.

Labels: , , ,

posted by Primessa Espiritu
2:20 pm



The wind spat back your caution

Tuesday, November 06, 2007


Your healthy sense of detachment gives you the ability to dig into emotionally significant areas of your life without getting overwhelmed by the feelings. Others may think you are acting aloof, even if you are engulfed in a process of analysis. Take the time to communicate what's going on for you so that you don't alienate someone you love.


Voilà.

posted by Primessa Espiritu
9:22 pm



Hummer

Sunday, November 04, 2007


When every room is dark and all I can hear is a low electrical humming of a computer, I feel it a comfortable time to write. While I sit and batteries recharge before I completely turn myself off, I think of you, Charlie. I finally opened the envelope. It took me days to pick it up for it looked quite at its place, there on the corner of my desk. If you had warned me of what you asked in your letter, I may have left it there a few weeks. I admit that if you had clued me in as to what you sealed in that envelope, I would have prepared myself.

Today was one of those days that you would have loved to feel. There were a few clouds between the leaves and the sun and a few cold winds passing through between the houses. I wore my heavy coat and two pairs of socks to stay warm. No need for more. There are so little days like this left before December. Then it will suddenly be the end of December, the time when everything changes, or the chosen time to make the changes. But waking up is a drag. The darker it gets, the heavier the air becomes.

I went to see a movie tonight. Again, a friend saved me from locking myself in. Is there anything better than seeing a movie in a theater? Sitting with friends, in the dark, staring at some light? Yes, ha, there is something better... I enjoyed the movie very much. Actually, we could all agree on that, the movie was good. There is always a smile on someone’s face when the destination becomes a speed bump.

I don’t know what else to tell you. I know that what you want from life is beautiful. I know that what you see in it can be ashen and that while you stand in the fire that you have made for yourself, as I make my own, you will reach out to the very nature that helps you burn. Will it save you? I can’t say. There will always be a few clouds, a few winds, a few suns, a few me, a few you. It’s what we keep remembering every year. I also know that this is probably not what you expected of me. If you knew what I know and knew what step I would take next, would you still be here? Would you still operate the same way you have been?

Labels: , ,

posted by Primessa Espiritu
11:46 pm



Teardrop on the fire

Thursday, November 01, 2007


I love to feel you think my name so loud.

Labels: ,

posted by Primessa Espiritu
12:38 pm



Powered by Blogger All posts copyright © 2007-2013 Primessa Espiritu