Sunday 13 September 2009

words to send a shiver..

There's No I In Threesome (Interpol)


Through the storms and the light
baby, you stood by my side
and life is wine
but there are days in this life
when you see the teeth marks of time
two lovers divide

sound meets sound, babe
the echoes they surround
and all that we need is one thing
now what is there to allow?
babe, it's time we give something new a try
oh, alone we may fight
so, just let us be free

and baby tonight
I see your lips are on fire
and life is wine
now the windows are open the moon is so bright
there's no one can tell us what love brings for you and I

sound meets sound, babe
the echoes they surround
and all that we need is one thing
now what is there to allow
babe, it's time we give something new a try
oh, alone we may fight
so just let us be free, tonight

Through the storms and the light
baby you stood by my side
and life is wine
you feel the sweet breath of time
it's whispering its truth not mine
there's no I in threesome

and I am all for it
babe, it's time we give something new a try
oh, alone we may fight
and feathers bend like trees in the moonlight
babe, it's time we give something new a try
oh, alone we may fight
so just let us be free tonight.

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Saturday 12 September 2009

a more preferred escapism..

I have rediscovered a desire to read, to consume eagerly and relentlessly those little black, purposely formed letters printed in books, leaflets, essays and even when, in a somewhat modern turn, illuminated by some manner of back light. I have concluded a number of factors that have contributed to this welcome state, most significantly not only being in a position to be quite literally undertake a literary tome of any size, stature, substance or genre, becoming free from certain academic confines instigated by an undergraduate degree. Secondly, the literary musings of one Amory Blaine, having already graced past entries, do nothing but on the one hand inspire and on the other become aware of ones belletristic ignorance. Finally, embarking upon a short break in the Lake District with my family, who have all now themselves become entranced by the magic of words, allowed me to devote myself entirely to exploring new avenues.
During the past few weeks, therefore, I have completed (albeit with regards Byatt's 'Possession' am currently undertaking) significantly different texts but are united by the fact each author is female. I must admit that the majority of literature I read heralds from male authors, through no conscious alienation of women I assure you, and therefore reading the below selection of books holds special consequence for me. 
Angela Carter, 'The Magic Toyshop', Heinemann, 1967
Jean Rhys, 'Wide Sargasso Sea', Deutsch, 1966

Ursula Le Guin, 'A Wizard of Earthsea', Parnassus Press, 1968
A. S. Byatt, 'Possession', Chatto & Windus, 1990

Monday 7 September 2009

perverse.

It was quite perverse,
one may consider,
that closet you kept me in.
Impossible to be fully contained,
or effectively shut out,
but still under lock and key.
Illuminated through cracks,
allowances for whispers,
slithers of light,
opportunity to stumble, even to fall.
You tried your best, I'll grant you that,
to scatter the pieces,
stop the draught,
rape my sensitivity, abuse my weakness.

Do it again.
Catch the twenty-four hour show,
may seem old now, out of style, but still striking in black and white,
a thriller, edge of your seat,
twisted curiosity, I can't look away,
not wanting to miss a moment.
I absorb every minute. I know everything.
I only feign humility,
fascinated, excited by disgust,
but
steadfast in anger,
my heart turns to dust.