My soul's a Jazz lady dressed in a color of sad tonight

[serge gurkski]

to (among others):

Keith Jarrett: the Köln Concert from 07:00 onwards

http://youtu.be/2tVGGA6wRnY



Come dusk is when my mind walks out

from the ghetto I fence myself in,

my dark room of nightly delights,

I encounter her, my queen of all things blue

and we fight right from the start,

which makes me love her even more.



I put the hands of my heart to gather*

my hunting spirit following the footprints

of her. Into jungles of messed-ups and

downs and outs.


I want to sail away on a cotton candy cloud

- auf einer Puderzuckerwatte-Wolke -

to be free again to do what I want but

not what I did to you.



To brief you, as if it mattered still,

I can tell you this: No one can leave

a lover without hurting, but at least

one can part in style:


A dieu inexistant

(13:66)


Mon cœur me dit; nous sommes séparés désormais.

From now on, says my heart: we are apart.

Mon petit chou:

Il me faut t'abandonner.

My fine one:

I must walk away from you now,

because my heart tells me that

from now on we're apart.



As promised: my last words en Brasileiro:


Cais
(wharfage): the pier for exiling lovers
or lovers on exile.***


http://letras.mus.br/milton-nascimento/47403/


E um saveiro pronto pra partir
(it is a safe place to leave from)

Invento o cais

(Invent the pier for departure)

E sei a vez de me lançar

(And I know from whereto fly away)


and all of this to:

Holly Rene

------------------------------------------------------------------

*** my poetic license because that is what Milton Nascimento means.
* beware: Dada or Tristan Tzara had a unholy see and has a say in this. ;-)

[billy]

to (among others):

Keith Jarrett: the Köln Concert from 07:00 onwards

http://youtu.be/2tVGGA6wRnY



Come dusk is when my mind walks out

from the ghetto I fence myself in,

my dark room of nightly delights,

I encounter her, my queen of all things blue

and we fight right from the start,

which makes me love her even more.



I put the hands of my heart to gather* unexpectedly good and clever to boot

my hunting spirit following the footprints

of her. Into jungles of messed-ups and

downs and outs.


I want to sail away on a cotton candy cloud

- auf einer Puderzuckerwatte-Wolke -

to be free again to do what I want but

not what I did to you.



To brief you, as if it mattered still,

I can tell you this: No one can leave

a lover without hurting, but at least

one can part in style:


A dieu inexistant

(13:66)


Mon cœur me dit; nous sommes séparés désormais.

From now on, says me heart: we are apart.

Mon petit chou:

Il me faut t'abandonner.

My fine one:

I must walk away from you now,

because my heart tells me that

from now on we're apart.



As promised: my last words en Brasileiro: this makes it read very personal.


Cais
(wharfage): the pier for exiling lovers
or lovers on exile.***


http://letras.mus.br/milton-nascimento/47403/


E um saveiro pronto pra partir
(it is a safe lace to leave from)

Invento o cais

(Invent the pier for departure)

E sei a vez de me lançar

(And I know from whereto fly away)


and all of this to:

Holly Rene

------------------------------------------------------------------

*** my poetic license because that is what Milton Nascimento means.
* beware: Dada or Tristan Tzara had a see and has a say in this. ;-)

[serge gurkski]

"As promised: my last words en Brasileiro: this makes it read very personal."

Yes, correct. My solution is: 2 versions. One personal, one "official?(by which I mean: Tom's style, distanced from the text, which is in my opinion very hard to do.
I posted the personal version here, because I feel at home. Maybe I outwitted myself. Iwill here take "en Brasileiro" and as promised out because have to. Thank you for pointing that out to me.
I am so deep (but not postmodernist) into texts these days, that it is hard for me to keep them al seperate. (Bc they inflluence or infect each other..

But now a beer and a hymn to Ninkasi (Sumerian goddess of beer)

---

to (among others):

Keith Jarrett: the Köln Concert from 07:00 onwards

http://youtu.be/2tVGGA6wRnY



Come dusk is when my mind walks out

from the ghetto I fence myself in,

my dark room of nightly delights,

I encounter her, my queen of all things blue

and we fight right from the start,

which makes me love her even more.



I put the hands of my heart to gather* unexpectedly good and clever to boot << was a -can I say that - : serendipity? I just noticed whast you noticed after I had scribbled it down, but I like that you saw it (the doube entrendre)

my hunting spirit following the footprints

of her into jungles of messed-ups and

downs and outs.


I want to sail away on a cotton candy cloud

- auf einer Puderzuckerwatte-Wolke -

to be free again to do what I want but

not what I did to you.



To brief you, as if it mattered still,

I can tell you this: No one can leave

a lover without hurting, but at least

one can part in style:


A dieu inexistant

(13:66)


Mon cœur me dit; nous sommes séparés désormais.

From now on, says me heart: we are apart.

Mon petit chou:

Il me faut t'abandonner.

My fine one:

I must walk away from you now,

because my heart tells me that

from now on we're apart.



[As promised: my last words en Brasileiro: this makes it read very personal. <<< outtake.


Cais
(wharfage): the pier for exiling lovers
or lovers on exile.***


http://letras.mus.br/milton-nascimento/47403/


E um saveiro pronto pra partir
(it is a safe place to leave from)

Invento o cais

(Invent the pier for departure)

E sei a vez de me lançar

(And I know from whereto fly away)


[and all of this to:

Holly Rene] <<< outtake two (here)

------------------------------------------------------------------

*** my poetic license because that is what Milton Nascimento means.
* beware: Dada or Tristan Tzara had a see and has a say in this. ;-)

[rowens]

Wonder what T. Eliot would've done if he had weblinks when the waste land was getting made.

[billy]

he wouldn't have needed them

[serge gurkski]

I am close to Eliot but only bc the place (Starnberg )in waste land is only 45 minutes away from my ghetto.

Oh, and he was fucking* right: Indeed "April this year was the cruellest month, bc first the weather mocked Rowen, who thinks it is spring bc someone said so (which is somewhat cute, but I am not gay enough, so I am out)


This year we have a winter imitating spring. I put all the blame of course on (let's see) Margret Thatcher bc she finally died to and is defenseless, it is easy for me to hate her: I just imagiine myself as an Argentinian ram.
I think the Brits won that war. Is that not wunderbar?

So many heroes gave their most probably boring life for nothing but sheep.

Was not there a scifi (a dystopia rather) by Philipp sth Dick : Do androids dream of electric sheep?

-
I will go (typowise with Graham Thurgood here: "I shall be astonished if all my mistakes (or: faults) should prove minor. Always his first foot note, ,-)
You could say he is cautious.

but where were we anyway?

Whatever: cheers!

[rowens]

You have to have some sense of seasonal tradition when you go about your business. Or else you'll look silly, like Marilyn Manson.

Plus, even when it's dark and cold in the early spring months, my beard grows faster, and I seem to have a greater supply of semen to motivate me to leave the house.

So it's a worthwhile occasion, the springtime.

[serge gurkski]

Wonder what T. Eliot would've done if he had weblinks when the waste land was getting made.

He would have ignored it. He would not have had any use for hypertext.
He also would have hated Barthes and all these texts about texts no one seriously reads.

But he liked cats,and spoke French.

---

Eliot lied about the Lodon fog being yellow all the time.
I am quite sure, he wouldnot have been a good slam poet but then de mortuis etc. cheers

[milo]

not to get off-topic, but I would think that a poet that took advantage of every resource available at the time to enhance his craft would continue to do so. IOW, he most likely would have used the internet in poetry in ways that we cannot imagine.

[serge gurkski]

You have to have some sense of seasonal tradition when you go about your business. Or else you'll look silly, like Marilyn Manson.

Plus, even when it's dark and cold in the early spring months, my beard grows faster, and I seem to have a greater supply of semen to motivate me to leave the house.

So it's a worthwhile occasion, the springtime.

But Marylin Manson fucked Ditta von Teese: I d rather be wrong about the weather than my red rooster not in her pussy. sorry to be explicit.

testimonies are;

1. Ditta:

http://de.gdefon.com/download/Dita-Von-T.../1600x1200

2. my umbrella. I don't feel the need to dance with it, I am not as umbrellaphil as dead Fred Astaire.

---

I am listening to Larry Carlton on headphones and somewhere in the house is a dog, who sings to Carlton's guitar An albino
negro? like me?

---

I wonder if the dog
would sing to Vai's (pretty) bad horsie

http://youtu.be/B2daJrXzMeE, too.

lemme check that ,-)))

---

oh damn: ya
He hears the drummming-
he grumbles to that.

---

rowen: you re right about the face hair. same here.
but we had full moon this week. i can't blame on the weather ot the tide.
I blame it on lazy me: the rum costs the same regardless of me being shaved.

[rowens]

But Marylin Manson fucked Ditta von Teese: I d rather be wrong about the weather than my red rooster not in her pussy.

Taking on the attributes of a douche has always been one of the surest ways to get inside some Teesey lady's twat.

I've had to sacrifice many sure things of pleasure for the sake of being right. But mainly because it took all night before the girl could get any idea of what I was even being right about. Smart girls don't spend the night with fellas that can't afford shoes.

[serge gurkski]

bc marilyn is really smart and touchy-feely, it might be more appropriate to assume she rode him maybe.

[rowens]

People where I am have been obsessed with Marilyn Manson and especially Tool. I saw them both live; Manson was ok, but Tool bores me. And I don't even want to talk about Pantera. I don't even know if I can spell it.

When Marilyn Manson threw the microphone into the crowd at the end, security attacked the man that caught it.

[serge gurkski]

i do not care about Manson's music or his clowneries to impress who exactly. ,)
But i watched an interview and liked what he said.