Blood Roses
Names
Little spells with the power to make a heart soar;
Little curses with the sinew to bleed a heart barren.
Hergest Ridge
kill all my demons and my angels might die too
Copenhagen In action
Reprinted from Slate Magazine.Imparfait
“Kill all my demons and my angels might die too.“
Whereas some sayings fade in the heart through time, their ability to move diminished, for me this one continues to grow, teach, and shine ever brighter. Using but a few words it reminds me of the beauty of gray, and the high price of perfection we seldom can afford and yet often continue to attempt finance.
The things we accept into our lives all need to meet a very specific criteria, and quite often we’re ready to let pass anything different. Through picking apart everything into individual pieces and qualities, we end up missing the experience of something complete and full; we strive to kill each last imperfection – each demon – failing to notice that often the dark parts are what helps hold the whole together.
Let some demons live, so that angels might still have a sense of purpose and resolve. Let them live, for many are an indispensable part of all things living and aware.
Chassez le naturel, il revient au galop.
Whereas some sayings fade in the heart through time, their ability to move diminished, for me this one continues to grow, teach, and shine ever brighter. Using but a few words it reminds me of the beauty of gray, and the high price of perfection we seldom can afford and yet often continue to attempt finance.
The things we accept into our lives all need to meet a very specific criteria, and quite often we’re ready to let pass anything different. Through picking apart everything into individual pieces and qualities, we end up missing the experience of something complete and full; we strive to kill each last imperfection – each demon – failing to notice that often the dark parts are what helps hold the whole together.
Let some demons live, so that angels might still have a sense of purpose and resolve. Let them live, for many are an indispensable part of all things living and aware.
Chassez le naturel, il revient au galop.
Kiss me, it’ll heal
She reminds me of the one in school, When I was cuttin’
She was dressed in white
And I couldn’t take my eyes off her, But that’s not what I took off that night
She’ll never cover up what we did with her dress, no
She said kiss me, It’ll heal, But it won’t forget
Kiss me, It’ll heal, But it won’t forget
And I don’t mind you keepin’ me, On pins and needles
If I could stick to you, And you stick me too
Don’t break, Don’t break my heart
And I won’t break your heart-shaped glasses
Little girl, little girl, You should close your eyes
That blue is getting me high
She reminds me of a one I knew, That cut up the negatives of my life
I take my hands off her, She wouldn’t let me be anywhere but inside
And I don’t mind you keepin’ me, On pins and needles
If I could stick to you, And you stick me too
Don’t break, Don’t break my heart
And I won’t break your heart-shaped glasses
Little girl, little girl, You should close your eyes
That blue is getting me high, And making me low
Heart-Shaped Glasses
Copyright 2007 Marilyn Manson, Tim Skold, Interscope Records
Montreal End Days
Back from Montreal, but I feel a bit as if I came back from the UK. The second hostel was full of life, parties, and drunken karaoke singing. “I only know two tunes – “Silent Night” and “God Save the Queen” – and I only know which is which ’cause one of them, everyone stands up for”.
The place was full of travelers from all over the UK. I wonder if they think Chumbawamba “wankers”, like they do Coldplay and Canadian TV.
“Did ya find a flat?” I asked Cal one night, starting to talk like a Scot.
“I did, it’s very nice, central, in a good part of town. But I don’t know…”
“What’s the problem?”
“The owner.”
“How so?”
“She’s scary. Five feet tall, an old hag with bad makeup like a witch.”
“Ya worried she’ll come after you lad?”
“I’m worried she’ll chop me into pieces in my sleep.”
“I did, it’s very nice, central, in a good part of town. But I don’t know…”
“What’s the problem?”
“The owner.”
“How so?”
“She’s scary. Five feet tall, an old hag with bad makeup like a witch.”
“Ya worried she’ll come after you lad?”
“I’m worried she’ll chop me into pieces in my sleep.”
On the last night we all stood at the pub and sang karaoke to a song that is now as foggy a London morning. On the way back to the hostel, some people vanished. Half of those that made it back didn’t make it to their rooms, and ended up going to rooms they themselves did not pay for. Cal made it back eventually, but I did not get to hear his story before leaving.
And so it goes. After every high comes a low, and this is one of them. It wasn’t always like this.
The satellite radio’s playing Empty Walls by Serj Tankian… maybe decorating the Christmas tree will push back the feeling of drifting out into an ocean where no one can hear you.
Posted in Life at December 3rd, 2009. No Comments.
Twitter
