All I can do is be me,
whoever that is.
Bob Dylan
« Écrire, c'est aussi ne pas parler. C'est se taire. C'est hurler sans bruit. » - Marguerite Duras
Two years he walks the earth. No phone, no pool, no pets, no cigarettes. Ultimate freedom. An extremist. An aesthetic voyager whose home is the road. Escaped from Atlanta. Thou shalt not return, 'cause "the West is the best." And now after two rambling years comes the final and greatest adventure. The climactic battle to kill the false being within and victoriously conclude the spiritual pilgrimage. Ten days and nights of freight trains and hitchhiking bring him to the Great White North. No longer to be poisoned by civilization he flees, and walks alone upon the land to become lost in the wild.
Alexander Supertramp,
May 1992.
In our darkest hour
In my deepest despair
Will you still care?
Will you be there?
In my trials and my tribulations
Through our doubts
and frustrations
In my violence
In my turbulence
Through my fear
and my confessions
In my anguish and my pain
Through my joy and my sorrow
In the promise of
another tomorrow
I'll never let you part
For you're always in my heart.
Forever, Michael
« Il est effrayant de penser que cette chose qu'on a en soi, le jugement, n'est pas la justice. Le jugement, c'est le relatif. La justice, c'est l'absolu. Réfléchissez à la différence entre un juge et juste. » Victor Hugo
How many roads must a man walk down before you call him a man? Yes, 'n' how many seas must a white dove sail before she sleeps in the sand? Yes, 'n' how many times must the cannon balls fly before they're forever banned? The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind, the answer is blowin' in the wind. How many years can a mountain exist before it's washed to the sea? Yes, 'n' how many years can some people exist before they're allowed to be free? Yes, 'n' how many times can a man turn his head, pretending he just doesn't see? The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind, the answer is blowin' in the wind. How many times must a man look up before he can see the sky? Yes, 'n' how many ears must one man have before he can hear people cry? Yes, 'n' how many deaths will it take till he knows that too many people have died? The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind, the answer is blowin' in the wind.
Blowin In The Wind
© Bob Dylan
Looking out the door I see the rain fall upon the funeral mourners, parading in a wake of sad relations as their shoes fill up with water [...] But tonight youre on my mind so you never know... When Im broken down and hungry for your love, with no way to feed it.Where are you tonight ? Child you know how much I need it... Too young to hold on and too old to just break free and run... Sometimes a man gets carried away, when he feels like he should be having his fun, and much too blind to see the damage he's done. Sometimes a man must awake to find that really, he has no one... So I'll wait for you... and I'll burn. Will I ever see your sweet return ? Oh will I ever learn... Oh lover, you shouldve come over cause it's not too late. Lonely is the room, the bed is made, the open window lets the rain in. Burning in the corner is the only one who dreams he had you with him. My body turns and yearns for a sleep that will never come... It's never over, my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder, It's never over, all my riches for her smiles when I slept so soft against her, It's never over, all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter, It's never over, she's the tear that hangs inside my soul forever. Well maybe Im just too young to keep good love from going wrong. Oh... lover, you shouldve come over, cause it's not too late.
© Jeff Buckley, Lover You
Should've Come Over
« On reconnaît le bonheur au bruit qu'il fait quand il s'en va. » Pierre Desproges
Oh well I don't mind,
you don't mind
Cause I don't shine
if you don't shine
Before you go...
Tell me what you find
when you read my mind ?
© The Killers,
Read My Mind
« Je n'ai pas grand-chose à dire sur cette chanson sinon que les réponses sont dans le souffle du vent. Elles ne sont pas dans les livres, les films, la télé ou les discussions politiques. Mec, les gens branchés prétendent me dire où se trouve la vérité, mais je n'y crois pas. Je dis toujours qu'elle est dans le souffle du vent et que, comme une feuille de papier jetée en l'air, elle retombera un jour... Mais le problème en fait, c'est que personne n'attrape la réponse au moment où elle redescend du ciel, si bien qu'il n'y a pas grand-monde qui aille y voir et savoir...
Et alors, elle reprend son envol à nouveau. »
Bob Dylan pour Sing Out!,
À propos de l'écriture de Blowin' In The Wind
The guilty undertaker sighs, the lonesome organ grinder cries, the silver saxophones say I should refuse you. The cracked bells and washed-out horns blow into my face with scorn ; But it's not that way, I wasn't born to lose you. I want you, I want you, I want you so bad, Honey, I want you. The drunken politician leaps upon the street where mothers weep and the saviors who are fast asleep, They wait for you. And I wait for them to interrupt me drinkin' from my broken cup and ask me to open up the gate for you. Now all my fathers, they've gone down true love they've been without it. But all their daughters put me down 'cause I don't think about it. Well, I return to the Queen of Spades and talk with my chambermaid. She knows that I'm not afraid to look at her. She is good to me and there's nothing she doesn't see. She knows where I'd like to be, but it doesn't matter. Now your dancing child with his Chinese suit, he spoke to me; I took his flute. No, I wasn't very cute to him, Was I? But I did it, though, because he lied, because he took you for a ride, And because; time was on his side And because I . . .I want you, I want you,I want you so bad, Honey, I want you.
© Bob Dylan, I Want You
C'est pas qu'on s'sente différent, ou bien qu'on juge la vie, mais qu'est-ce qu'on s'sent loin des gens, quand on survole la ville sur son tapis. Et rire des gueules de déterrés au fond du métro Parisien ; mais nous c'est Pas Pareil, on est crevé quand on s'lève le matin. [...] C'est pas qu'on s'sente différent, quoique, des fois, un peu si. On comprend pas bien les gens, alors on s'exclut de la partie [...] ...À l'idée qu'on se fait du monde et de ses aléas ; on est toujours le con de quelqu'un, mais mon voisin le sait pas...
© Tryo, Pas Pareil
M.J 1958 - 2009
Legends never die...
What about sunrise, what about rain ? What about all the things that you said we were to gain ? What about killing fields, is there a time ? What about all the things that you said was yours and mine... Did you ever stop to notice all the blood we've shed before ? Did you ever stop to notice the crying Earth, the weeping shores? What have we done to the world, look what we've done ! What about all the peace that you pledge your only son... What about flowering fields, is there a time ? What about all the dreams that you said was yours and mine... Did you ever stop to notice all the children dead from war ? Did you ever stop to notice the crying Earth, the weeping shores? I used to dream, I used to glance beyond the stars. Now I don't know where we are, although I know we've drifted far... Hey, what about yesterday, what about the seas ? The heavens are falling down, I can't even breathe... What about the bleeding Earth, can't we feel its wounds ? What about nature's worth, It's our planet's womb. What about animals ? We've turned kingdoms to dust. What about elephants ? Have we lost their trust ? What about crying whales ? We're ravaging the seas ! What about forest trails? Burnt despite our pleas ? What about the holy land, torn apart by creed ? What about the common man, can't we set him free ? What about children dying ? Can't you hear them cry ? Where did we go wrong ? Someone tell me why... What about babies, what about the days, what about all their joy, what about the man, what about the crying man, what about Abraham, what about death again, do we give a damn... What about us.
© Michael Jackson,
Earth Song
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