Beautiful day without you (ah) : Chronicle 25

 

Silent_Selfportrait_by_yuria.jpg

 

People buy books to prepare their travel.

There are books to prepare your travel into Arts. As a bookseller, I order and present piles of them. Not for the experts, who already have their own maps, for beginners.

I love this series of books. 1001 paintings you have to see in your life (“you must see before you die”, you say in America). You probably don’t “have to”, though! They do it for architecture, pop music, classical music or movies. Or beers, or whiskies.

They are mapbooks, they present windows and paths. What will you explore FROM there?

5186qGbmEuL._SX258_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg

There’s something to look at in the idea of laughing. Laughing is good, right? But when you think about it, there are many unpleasant ones. Coarse. Vulgar. Mean. Sarcastic. False. Crazy. Sniggers. And well, you die of laughing…

You have some laughs in you, who are sleeping.

 

I took this picture in 2004 in the park next to…

 

k030.jpg

Röyksopp’s lyrics :

Living on my guard (guarded)
Wind is on my neck (fateless)
Sun is on my face (have courage)
Beautiful day without you (ah)

I wonder about someone who have to say “Beautiful day without you”. Is it a lie? A way to be mean? A tearful saying, like “Ah, hell, of course not, how could it be?”. A Coué incantation (I say it I say it I say it, it’ll maybe become true)?

It’s a great song, though. This science of weaving!

 

I have a theory.

Have in your house something you dislike. If you hate whisky, have a bottle. Sauerkraut (c’est de la choucroute !) is too bitter tasting? Have a box in your closet. Chinese tea maybe?

My theory is that when you life is sad, boring and bitter, don’t fill you up with sugar. It makes you fat, and it does NOT work.

Have something bitter. Make a link. Quietly, discreetly create an harmony, a balance between your state and your stomach. It will create a match, your bitterness will sit on its ass, shupping off into a “OK Well, Fuck”.

Chinese tea is awful. Smoked. Gunpowder feeling. Terrible. Try it.

 

juliemmc.jpg

 

More and more people replace crosswords by sudoku (where are the sparkles?). Kids are now evaluated with numbers (but how do you say about instability or shyness, then?). Jünger says that when numbers come, Gods retreat. A beautiful metaphor?

 

jocr.jpg

 

Why are disappointed people interesting?

  • A disenchanted was enchanted, before, right? How come?
  • He wants to warn others. Or not. Why?
  • Failure leads to choices, lead to more failure (most of the time?).
  • How do you ride back on your horse?
  • What does he have to understand? To accept?
  • Did he expect too much?
  • Insisting. Waiting. Letting go.
  • Before disillusion, he’s a happy imbecile. What do you say to him?
  • “This time, it will work”.

 

 

What is this moment : “To become aware of” ?

 

Thanks for reading!

9hz

tzgc.jpg

Life is fucking short. Let’s dance.

 

tt0002proust.jpg

Advertisements

Losing My Religion, Every Breath you Take

Consider this
The slip that brought me
To my knees

 

I wrote here, a few days ago, something about Every Breath you Take, from Police :

  • The strange lyrics of Police‘s Every Breath you Take, the story of a stalker after a break up. “Sting later said he was disconcerted by how many people think the song is more positive than it is. He insists it is about the obsession with a lost lover, and the jealousy and surveillance that follow.” – and not a gentle love song.

Tonight I just watched a documentary about Pixies, R.E.M. and Nirvana. I saw the clip of Losing my Religion, then discovered this on Wikipedia :

  • The phrase “losing my religion” is an expression from the southern region of the United States that means losing one’s temper or civility, or “being at the end of one’s rope.” Stipe told The New York Times the song was about romantic expression. He told Q that “Losing My Religion” is about “someone who pines for someone else. It’s unrequited love, what have you.” Stipe compared the song’s theme to “Every Breath You Take” by The Police, saying, “It’s just a classic obsession pop song. I’ve always felt the best kinds of songs are the ones where anybody can listen to it, put themselves in it and say, ‘Yeah, that’s me.'”

 

Well, I suppose everybody remembers these two songs. In France, I admit both were hits, though we didn’t care that much about the lyrics. Though we felt that R.E.M.’s song and clip was, indeed, about a powerless obsession. The mandolin…

 

Yep, it’s a tool for my blog, a dial for creatives. Stipes says it perfectly :

I’ve always felt the best kinds of songs are the ones where anybody can listen to it, put themselves in it and say, ‘Yeah, that’s me.’

It’s true I admire poets, photographers and musicians who are able to talk about subtle things “between words”. Words are simplifyiers, and it’s sometimes boring. They put life, and moving shades into immobile boxes.

We talk here about another thing. When words are “so” flat, grey, imprecise, that anyone will find what one wants. Haziness as a talent. The audience jumps into it. We apply it to our story…

Sting told the story of a stalker, but lovers love it, they play the song at weddings! Stipes sings about past pining, but never explains what it is about in the song. It’s like a tropism, a flake of feeling. One person is “losing religion” – and we all understand the frustration.

It’s like the “But I could be wrong” image. You don’t know the author, and why we see that picture, what does this mean. You raise an eyebrow in wonder. And YES, you could be wrong, dear!

 

Awweeee. Have a nice day…

 

R.E.M.-Losing-My-Religion.jpg

Life is bigger
It’s bigger
And you, you are not me
The lengths that I will go to
The distance in your eyes
Oh no, I’ve said too much
I set it up

That’s me in the corner
That’s me in the spotlight
Losing my religion
Trying to keep up with you
And I don’t know if I can do it
Oh no I’ve said too much
I haven’t said enough

I thought that I heard you laughing
I thought that I heard you sing
I think I thought I saw you try

Every whisper
Of every waking hour
I’m choosing my confessions
Trying to keep an eye on you
Like a hurt lost and blinded fool
Oh no, I’ve said too much
I set it up

Consider this
The hint of the century
Consider this
The slip that brought me
To my knees failed
What if all these fantasies
Come flailing around
Now I’ve said too much

I thought that I heard you laughing
I thought that I heard you sing
I think I thought I saw you try

But that was just a dream
That was just a dream

That’s me in the corner
That’s me in the spotlight
Losing my religion
Trying to keep up with you
And I don’t know if I can do it
Oh no I’ve said too much
I haven’t said enough

I thought that I heard you laughing
I thought that I heard you sing
I think I thought I saw you try

But that was just a dream, try, cry, why, try
That was just a dream, just a dream, just a dream
Dream

18-every-breath-you-take_tn.jpg

23595712_145716706053426_7672844407267131392_n.jpg

 

Managing Layers, Empathy Ways & Adaptation Paths

Wandering into this…

I work in a store. I have to deal with : managers, colleagues, customers. If you’re a principal in a school, you deal with : teachers & special educators, students, parents (a gardener deals with flowers – a client from time to time. Some days, I’d like to be this guy)…

I talked with a speech therapist one day, and we agreed on this : when you work with a lot of humans, you acquire an instinct, a very fast ability to adapt and adjust your communication ways to the others, your interlocutors.

Thus I really feel I have the head up display like in the Terminator red screen : when the robot meets someone, he’s computing, sorting, labelling what he sees, in real time. Tut criip tut tuuut!…

redrobinterminator.jpg

If today, at work, you meet someone you already know (a kid, a colleague, a chief), you’re fast inside because you have your labels ready, a bunch of stickers, it is. Then your sensors refines and adapts : what’s the mood here and is there something new to know? All this while your talking about the weather – right?

The purpose is not to terminate the person, but to adapt. It leads to a question about empathy : you empath, do you think or do you feel? Both? Of course both!

I posted an article about INTJ or INFJ in a forum, asking if the T (thinking) and F (feeling) are not, in fact, a braid, and I got attacked there by people who REALLY like their boxes and said I “did not understand”. Like in USSR in the old time, I probably needed to be re-educated.

So we work with groups (students/teachers/parents), we connect with individuals, we juggle with labels and realness, reality, we tango between instincts and analysis. Computing big data inside!

One day we are skilled enough to laugh when we learn that there are books about mentalism or “gestures analysis”. “Methods”. As if when someone crosses his legs to feel comfortable was a “sign of closure”! OMG.

Of course there’s a need of books! A few hundreds could be a beginning. Anthropology, Philosophy, Psychology…

And years of life.

Then, when you talk with your lover, you know he/she has an idea in her mind, a worry, a concern, anything. There, it’s not analysis, it’s instinct. And you effing WATCH your partner, from the inside, not as a pilot (you don’t decide this), you just notice anything : her eyes, a way of breathing, a microseconding hesitation in a phrase. You say : “What’s happening, dear?”. She’ll maybe answer :

– Aweee… How do you know?

OK. INFJ. Maybe…

 

Thanks for reading! Comment if you feel like you want to add something…

Have a nice day!

 

1300794471138960641_1204809845.jpg

Instagram : _bodylanguage_

 

 

 

 

The strange bliss of instant reconnection with old soulmates

I have 5 or 6 friends with whom I have rare great bursts of emails.

An ex. A penpal. Or a friend. Some of them I’ve never met – only online. For one of them, I’ve even never seen her face, not a picture, not once. We call it “The meeting of spirits”, la rencontre des esprits…

You can stop writing for YEARS, and when you talk again it’s like it stopped the day before. You know, that kind of friend. Soulmates. It can be weaved with past love, but not necessarily. This strange friendship is a treasure, a connection, a link, a bond.

That makes me think, tonight. This kind of bond is delightful, because you both KNOW. You don’t have to say, to explain. It’s just there. You understand each other : “I know you”.

No news for years, and then an email, an answer, and often a burst : five or six emails. Long letters. One skype conversation in 15 years. One phone call in a year. Immediately it climbs to a secret good place you both know. We don’t have to explain. It ours. As if a myriad of appendages were connecting to each other at fast pace.

The link can be reactivated in a second. In many ways. It can be “I need you”. It can be “I have something to tell you”. It can be “I have a problem”. It can be “What’s up dear?”. It can be “Long time no see”. It can be “You seem to need some help”. Or “I miss you”. It depends! But it’s there. Whatever happens.

My soulmates. L. O. PdP. SL. JA. L. BE. ED.

Hey! I know you’re here. You know I’m here. Thank you!

Thanks for reading!

 

1376289668483793580_40270600.jpg

 

“Love at first sight” wisdoms…

For “Love at first sight“, we French say “Un coup de foudre” (a lightning strike), a clear metaphor? Bzam!! Like it?

We’ve all been there, I suppose : you walk your life seriously, and in a second you are suddenly, completely amazed by a face, a smile, someone. Look at you, now!…

If a love story ensues, well, you know… it doesn’t work “that” often. And many grown adults are very cautious with this love-at-first-sight thing. “Beware!”, says the 40 to the 20…

In a way, that’s pretty logical. Love at first sight means – and implies – you fell in love with… graphic proportions. You fell in love with some eyes, a mouth, a face… right?

And, well, graphic proportions are NOT a person.

OK. Yes. Right. But…

First of all, you can’t do nothing against a loveatfirstsightcrush. Just shut up and notice how stupid you become, haha.

So…

There’s a place where you’re a grown adult. You’ve been hurt by failures and break ups, blah blah blah, and you tend to think :

“As it ought to be, love at first sight is bullshite, therefore I should choose my lover with a good dose of reason”.

A person you appreciate “reasonably“, right?

Good!

But you grow more up. You gain experience. You’ve known many more people. Your brain is, like, trained to guess who is a person you meet. Watch her/him walk, talk, smile…

Voilà.

My theory here is : I am pretty sure that “Love at first sight”, when you’re 40 or 50, is more… accurate. You don’t fall in love in a second because of a smile, a winking eye, a silver voice. You DO, but because you guessfelt – much more : the rest of the person, the way (s)he talks, the way (s)he walks, stands up, questions you, looks at you. Energy.

And yes, you’re a sapiosexual, right? Thus…

Whatever.

You silly poor little brother, sister, you can’t resist (you will never be able to resist) to this “BAM!” feeling. Your whole personality seems to be ready to fall on your ass because of. That’s how we’re built, probably. There’s maybe an agent in our mind, doing this, keeping an eye out for…

Crush. Let go. Try to be smart, though. Hold on your wheel. Be happy. And if you’re not, you know, you have these “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” quotes, etc…

After all, maybe a good part of REASON is now incrusted, embedded into your loveatfirstsightness? It would be a strange effective braid, right?

Maybe you’ve found your sidekick, I mean your REAL one. You’re good now! Marry her! Him! C’est la vie !

 

Thanks for reading! Have a nice day!

 

Marie.jpg

 

 

You’re great / You’re not great anymore : has your talent evaporated?

Break-ups are interesting – for this little dial.

When your lover is your lover, he (or she) admires what you do. And who you are, obviously.

You’re a great poet, a “great photographer”, a great musician, a great lecturer. “You’re great my love!”. “I love your work to much!”.

That’s cool, that’s common, that’s very invigorating : you have talent!

But after the break-up you’re not. You’re not “anymore”.

Blehhh!

You’re not that good anymore. You’re not a good photographer. You music is boring. You poems, lame. Shame on you, now! It seems that exes are exes.

Well, so what? Where’s the truth, Brady?

Your mind wonders. Your brain thinks. Your engine engines :

  • Maybe you “suddenly” are not good anymore really. You lost it!
  • Maybe he/she changed his/her mind.
  • Maybe he/she was fake from the beginning : you’ve never been good! Bim!
  • Maybe you stayed talented, gifted, but he/she won’t admit it. Pride.
  • Maybe you’re good, but he/she’s not interested now.
  • Maybe he/she found better. It’s relativism. You’re good but less good than.
  • Maybe he/she HAS to stay silent. Because.

 

What do you think? What happened?

Thanks for reading!

 

from Instagram: http://ift.tt/2gL8YjG

Abandonment is a wound you’ll never heal up of

Wound you’ll never heal up of

heal up of? Really? We French have problems with these suffixes, you know? We don’t have these. So… I hope you understand my wobblenglish!

I have a friend – she’s 10 years older than me.

She told me one day she had to see a therapist. Because after a break-up, she was… destroyed inside, devastated for months, for years!

She needed FOUR years of therapy to understand this :

There is NO WAY you can be healed of this “abandonment syndrome”.

Then she told me that when she was confronted with this horrible pain, she just learned to recognize it, and like “talking to the pain” :

“Welcome, you silly devil! Do your stuff, will you? Hurt me. Tear me up. Watch me cry. It’s your job. I don’t care”.

Of course, she cared, in an “as if” pridy mood, like a cow-boy in Arizona “watching the sea”… but she’s aware, now. Maybe it’s the secret : to be aware of her own disastrous pain…

Mind specialists are very found of these theories, as you know. They say you’re devastated “because it resonates with your childhood”, right? Abandonic people, as they say. “You’ll make it, you see”. Acceptance of the pain…

Well. OK. But isn’t it too easy?

Maybe my friend was wounded to the deepest and destroyed inside, not “because she felt like abandoned-by-her-mother as a baby”, but maybe because it’s just terrible to be left by a person you loved, that gave you this feeling of being special, of being alive, and who then changed his mind. Because it’s awful to be rejected like that. Because it’s very strange to see your own brain drowning in “this” loneliness when you lose your sidekick, your soulmate, the man you wanted to marry, the guy who danced with your mind. Because it’s weird to see your life broken, thrown to the ground like dustshit, then being treated with contempt…

Well, etc, right? Everybody’s been there. You don’t count (mean?) anymore. You can park. You can record the big desert you have in you now. You can agree will all theories who say you don’t “need” someone else to be happy. Yeah yeah yeah! You’re just hurt, and alone. Talk to your pain :

“Welcome, you silly devil! Do your stuff, will you? Hurt me. Tear me up. Watch me cry. It’s your job. I don’t care”.

Close your eyes. You’ll never, ever heal. Grab these simple theories (or not). But acceptance is the way. “Shattered by experience and memory”…

 

Thanks for reading!

 

1482083130398745407_4066914012.jpg