Archive for December, 2011

Cap ou pas cap?

Posted in Personal on December 30, 2011 by voicewithinsilence

Sophie was back in the game! Pure, raw, explosive pleasure! Better than drugs, better than smack! Better than a dope-coke-crack-fix-shit-shoot-sniff-ganja-marijuana-blotter-acid-ecstasy! Better than sex, head, 69, orgies, masturbation, tantrism, Kama Sutra or Thai doggy-style! Better than banana milkshakes! Better than George Lucas’s trilogy, the muppets and 2001! Better than Emma Peel, Marilyn, Lara Croft and Cindy Crawford’s beauty mark! Better than the B-side to Abbey Road, Jimmy Hendrix and the first man on the moon! Space Mountain, Santa Claus, Bill Gates’ fortune, the Dalai Lama, Lazarus raised from the dead! Schwarzenegger’s testosterone shots, Pam Anderson’s lips! Woodstock, raves… Better than Sade, Rimbaud, Morrison and Castaneda! Better than freedom, better than life! 

Another month of the year.

Posted in Personal on December 27, 2011 by voicewithinsilence

December is just another month of the year when the number of your dreams grow, the number of your fears get doubled, the routine hasn’t even the slightest wish to lighten herself a little (just a little bit is all we ask); but what is more important is that the number of the ones you love does not change. What changes, is the weather.

Yellow Halo.

Posted in Music with tags on December 27, 2011 by voicewithinsilence

One day
One year
The seasons come
The moon still here
Dawn breaks endlessly
Wake up tell me
What are you dreaming

Yoav

Posted in Music, Personal with tags on December 26, 2011 by voicewithinsilence

 

Everything comes and go.oxygen.Lives.People.Only music stays within you.Even when you die.And I would love to have Yoav’s music inside my every pore.

This is my life.

Posted in Personal with tags on December 21, 2011 by voicewithinsilence

What is common on December nights, (especially nights), is the retrospective point of view we order our mind to think.We take another look back.We analyse. We excuse  and give reasons to forgive ourselves.We give a chance to thank once again, to the unknown mother of life, for being alive.To forgive and to thank.We count the mistakes that have probably changed us or convinced us that we act wrong. We accepted, for another year, what life offered us. The harmony between cruelty and gentleness of fate and routine.We followed the route bravely and in fear, but we never stepped back.We might have stopped and cursed whatever evil got in our way.We gave life to monotony, to the unexpected, to smiles and tears of beloved and strangers.We acted kindly and polite to experience. We challenged. We glimpsed and caught eyes staring back, we drifted away, we had our feet on the ground, we constantly touched the future and let it slip back away warning it to be kind. Tomorrow became today and today became yesterday. Rhythmically .Undoubtedly . We loved our family, we loved our friends, we smiled at children, we reminisced , we cried, we laughed, we felt, we got scared, we got brave, we hoped, we cursed, we disappointed , we gave joy.We lived. For another year, we survived. Firstly ourselves, and then the others.Now it is time once again to promise that we will change what made us feel bad and hopeless this passing year. We all know we will hardly keep those promises.But that is our life.This is my life. All the lies I present to myself, all the promises I couldn’t keep, all the mistakes and lack of control and shyness and fear I put myself through, make me, make my life. I promise I will live and love all the same and even more greatly.That I can keep.

All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on.
Henry Ellis.

This is me 
This is my life 
And I don’t give a damn for lost emotions 
I’ve such a lot of love I’ve got to give 
Let me live 

 

Up in the sky.

Posted in Personal with tags , on December 14, 2011 by voicewithinsilence
Up in the sky, there is a village
And the people there are blue, I believe it's true
Up in the sky, people are happy
They love to sing and there is no need for a king
Up in the sky, nothing is insane
Like a rocket driven plane you can fly above the rain
Up in the sky, you just feel fine
There is no running out of time and you never cross a line
I never want to die
I wanna live in the sky
 

Up in the sky, you can fly
You will make it if you try
In the sky you are far away

Up in the sky you can sing
And you can do everything
And no matter what they say it's true
I'm going to the blue

Up in the sky, there's no religion
There are no cars and no phones and you can't not be controlled
Up in the sky, you just feel fine
There is no money making crime but a lot of good wine
Up in the sky, you can fly
You will make it if you try
In the sky you are far away

Up in the sky you can sing
And you can do everything
And no matter what they say it's true
I'm going to the blue

The Highwayman – A poem to be enjoyed and a song to be felt.

Posted in Personal on December 12, 2011 by voicewithinsilence

The wind was a torrent of darkness
among the ghastly trees
The moon was a ghostly galleon
tossed upon the cloudy seas
The road was a ribbon of moonlight
over the purple moor 
When the highwayman came riding,
riding,riding
The highwayman came riding
up to the old inn door.

He´d a french cocked hat at his forehead
a bunch of lace at his chin
A coat of claret velvet
and breeches of brown doe-skin
They fitted with nary a wrinkle 
his boots were up to the thigh
and he rode with a jeweled twinkle 
his pistol butts a-twinkle
his rapier hilt a-twinkle
under the jeweled sky.

And over cobbles he clattered 
and clashed in the dark inn-yard
and he tapped with his whip on the shutters
but all was locked and barred
He whistled a tune to the window
and who should be waiting there
but the landlord´s black-eyed daughter 
Bess,the landlord´s daughter
plaiting a dark red love knot
into her long black hair.

“One kiss my bonny sweetheart,
I´m after a prize tonight
but I should be back with the yellow gold 
before the morning light
Yet if they press me sharply
and harry me through the day
Then look for me by the moonlight
watch for me by the moonlight
I´ll come to thee by the moonlight
though hell should bar the way.”

He rose up right in the stirrups
he scarce could reach her hand
but she loosened her hair in the casement
his face burned like a brand
As a black cascade of purfume 
came tumbling over his breast
and he kissed it´s waves in the moonlight
oh,sweet waves in the moonlight
He tugged at his rein in the moonlight
and galloped away to the west.

He did not come at the dawning 
He did not come at noon
And out of the tawny sunset
before the rise of the moon
When the road was a gypsy´s ribbon
looping the purple moor
A redcoat troop came marching
marching,marching
King George´s men came marching
up to the old inn door.

They said no word to the landlord
they drank his ale instead
but they gagged his daughter and bound her 
to the foot of her narrow bed
Two of them knelt at the casement 
with muskets at their side
There was death at every window
hell at one dark window
for Bess could see through the casement 
the road that he would ride.

They had tied her up to attention
with many a sniggering jest
They had bound a musket beside her
with the barrel beneath her breast
“Now keep good watch”and they kissed her
she heard the dead man say
“Look for me by the moonlight
Watch for me by the moonlight
I´ll come to thee by the moonlight
though hell should bar the way.”

She twisted her hands behind her
but all the knots held good!
But she writhed her hands ´til her fingers
were wet with sweat or blood
They stretched and strained in the darkness
and the hours crawled by like years
till now on the stroke of midnight
cold on the stroke of midnight
the tip of her finger touched it 
the trigger at least was hers.

Tot-a-lot,tot-a-lot had they heard it?
The horse´s hooves rang clear
Tot-a-lot,tot-a-lot in the distance
were they deaf they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight
over the brow of the hill 
The highwayman came riding,
riding,riding
The redcoats looked to their priming
she stood up straight and still.

Tot-a-lot in the frosty silence
Tot-a-lot in the echoing night
Nearer he came and nearer
her face was like a light
Her eyes grew wide for a moment
she drew a last deep breath
Then her finger moved in the moonlight
her musket shattered the moonlight
shattered her breast in the moonlight
and warned him with her death.

He turned,he spurred to the west
He did not know she stood
bowed with her head o´er musket
drenched with her own red blood
Not till the dawn he heard it
his face grew grey to hear 
How Bess the landlord´s daughter 
the landlord´s black-eyed daughter 
had watched for her love in the moonlight
and died in the darkness there.

And back he spurred like a madman
shrieking a curse to the sky!
With the white road smoking behind him
and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were the spurs in the golden noon 
wine-red was his velvet coat
When they shot him down in the highway
down like a dog on the highway
and he lay in his blood in the highway 
with a bunch of lace at his throat.

Still on a winter´s night they say
when the wind is in the trees
When the moon is a ghostly galleon
tossed upon the cloudy seas
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight
over the purple moor
a highwayman comes riding,
riding,riding
a highwayman comes riding
up to the old inn door.

Alfred Noyes