I wrote a draft of lyrics for my friend Klaim, for his song project Friends With Benefits – you can listen to the demo on Soundcloud:
A: We danced and we sang and we swam and we drank most nights
We couldn’t stay still at your parties, our bodies were so fit
Aroused by the earthquakes and the prickly pear bites
Did we really enjoy all these calibrated radio hits?
I just remember the benefits, can’t remember being friends
Did you know my name or did you just pretend?
As I was shedding my outfit under your burning hands
You thought it was a game a funny little trend
B: I was hypnotized, I was staring at you, swaying in the moonlight
Your clinking dress that I took, water over your bare thighs
With you in my pool on my floor in my room I always forgot I was high
But were we cool or just fools dying in the night
Can you remember we were friends, friends with benefits,
Or was I deluded, my head in the sand, lost in my own fame?
I think about us, about the band, ever since we have split,
We were living in wonderland were we to blame?
I went for a wistful, Californian-ish mood but it might change later, as well as the pacing.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy the demo!
This is an “automatic” text, using the same stream of consciousness method I used here, for instance.
I wrote it in August/September 2015, when I was looking for a job in the London area, and thinking about living in Camden – I do now!
Flickering lights over all those bricks, I trick and play while I rent for mercy and delightfully stumble upon a dark material made of black rubber and velvet. I wish I could stay in those daydreams where I wander aimlessly along wide canals and shallow waters, full of dirty roads when the mind just goes blank.
I foresee the cast of an Iron Will, when I just can go everywhere and throw away anything that I ever made in Paris, where I wish to retain only a portion of what was left after you. Curly, long fingertips brush on silky skin while a shark takes its toll on a giant road full of stacks.
Be careful, my dear, for you are losing any hope you ever had of retaining a semblance of normalcy. Chaos, chaos everywhere, and it leads to a darker shade under the willow tree, the bridge where dreams and reality meet.
You stand proudly on a derelict path, waiting for your destiny to unfurl. Faithful to the last newcomer, you dwell in the suburbs full of hate and shame until you just can’t breathe anymore, your lungs full of crime and blame. Raise your anger my friend, see the red light broadening your way, guiding you to the place among the places, the one you were avoiding and craving for at the same time.
I can’t stand my neighbourhood anymore but tonight it feels both great and wistful. On the piss-smelling pavement, old cats from decrepit houses are meowing. Suspicious dwellers close their shutters while teenagers play football on dirty playgrounds. It seems so grey and mediocre and meaningless but also alive and fascinating. At the junction between a real railway and an abandoned one, an open door leading to a council estate is daring me to enter.
And so I crouch alone in the dark, in an empty, post-apocalyptic looking courtyard, leaning back against a slightly mouldy cuboid building. I listen. The wind. Creepy noises in the trees. Trains passing by. Police sirens. A weird humming from a nearby electrical cabinet. The lights on the wall, dimmer than my phone’s backlight, don’t make this place more welcoming than a prison yard. Yet I’m not afraid. It feels right to stay here for a while and write. When I can’t feel my legs anymore, I just walk away.
(I learnt later this might be the place where a late great aunt had lived…)
Lee Ashworth, un personnage de Broadchurch, demande : “Est-ce que les jacinthes des bois poussent en France ?”. En fait oui, mais il est vrai que je ne me rappelle pas en avoir vues depuis longtemps. Je ne sais même pas ce qu’elles sentent. La jacinthe ? Il faut que j’essaie quelques parfums à la “bluebell”. Il est aussi possible qu’enfant j’ai parfois confondu les jacinthes des bois et les campanules. D’ailleurs l’erreur est assez commune, puisque les sœurs Brontë elles-mêmes parlaient en fait des campanules dans leurs poèmes intitulés “The Bluebell”… Les campanules fleurissent en été, alors que les jacinthes des bois (Hyacinthoides non-scripta) fleurissent entre mi avril et mi mai.
As Broadchurch character Lee Ashworth asks, “Do bluebells even grow in France?“. They do, but I don’t remember having seen bluebells for a long time, and I don’t actually know what they smell like. Hyacinth, maybe? I need to try some bluebell perfumes. Now that I think about it, I might also have mistaken harebells for bluebells from time to time as a child. It’s a common mistake, even the Brontë sisters were really talking about harebells in their poems named “The Bluebell”… Harebells can be found in summer, whereas bluebells (Hyacinthoides non-scripta) bloom between mid April and mid May…
Certaines de mes bibliothèques de fiction préférées sont assez improbables : des livres magiques dans Harry Potter, des labyrinthes médiévaux dans Le Nom de la Rose, des rayons dignes d’Escher dans American McGee’s Alice, une planète – bibliothèque dans Doctor Who…
… grâce au Zeppelin Potentiel. D’ailleurs, je me dois d’orner mon manoir de rêve d’une magnifique bibliothèque.
10- La bibliothèque de China Sorrows – Skulduggery Pleasant (Skully Fournery en VF), Derek Landy, 2007-2014
Skulduggery Pleasant (Skully Fourbery pour les quatre tomes – sur neuf – parus en français) est une série de livres fantastiques pour la jeunesse que j’ai découverte il y a un an et demi grâce à une amie. Les personnages, dont China Sorrows (China Spleen en français) et les personnages principaux, Valkyrie et Skulduggery, vivent principalement vers Dublin, en Irlande. Les choix qu’ils vont devoir prendre vont changer leur vie à jamais. Certains moments sont magnifiques d’espoir ou au contraire d’horreur, à un point assez rare dans des romans marketés pour un public aussi jeune. China Sorrows est une “adepte” aux impressionnants pouvoirs qui collectionne des objets et surtout des livres. Dans le premier tome, sa bibliothèque est décrite comme gigantesque et labyrinthique.
Some of my favourite fictional libraries tend to be very improbable: magical books in Harry Potter, medieval mazes in the Name of the Rose, Escherian bookshelves in American McGee’s Alice, a planet library in Doctor Who…