Monday, July 29, 2013

Above us, only sky

So, after literally not sleeping a wink during the night, I arose this morning to get to work for my regular 6-2 shift. Feeling exhausted and unsure how I would even get through the day, I drove off in the false night to do my best. Get to work, look at my schedule and realize that it was shifted on me, during my sick leave. I didn't work Mondays, and when I did work, it was from 8-4, traffic hours. Feeling like this pretty much was just one of those bad days where everything went wrong, I drove home to the sun slowly rising. Got into town, and decided to act on an impulse.

I have this spot, where after sleepless nights where I feel fucked up or psychotic, suicidal or depressed, I decide to collect my soul and pray. No, its not in a church, or anywhere near any religious spots. But I call this my secret spot, even though its open and used by the public. Its just no one shows up as early as I do. Its where I go after a dark night to remind me that there is still beauty in the world worth living to see. That the world is not all shit, despite what weve done to it. That there are places still where God's natural handiwork is still allowed to thrive and heal us, like it was meant to.

Lilypads and reed grass. You could clearly hear the bullfrog's clarion but the little buggers were well hidden.


Add caption

Add caption

Morning dew was still quite present.

Secret little meadow.

Just before sunrise.

And then the light.

Wildflowers everywhere.

Wild apple tree, most probably crab apple, although the apples seemed a bit too large.

Morning glory, aptly named.

Road to nowhere and everywhere. Road to peace?

Le feuillage de nos arbres changent deja de couleur!

This little guy had an amazing clarion call.

Above us only skies.

Wake up sleepy head!

Tip of my toes

And this little guy sounded like a dying cat.

Although completely inedible, these berries are so beautiful.

Looks like ripening grapes.

Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Death of my little garden

My landlord sprayed the apartment building against ants and spiders, without telling us. So my herbs and tomato plants were drenched. Apart from spraying being the stupidest, most short-sighted thing to do, it completely destroyed my edibles. You could see the change in the herbs within 24 hours. After having a talk with the pesticide company, they've told me that although it is not technically lethal, it would not be wise to consume the product. No shit. Talked to the landlady, it was set up by her brother and she didn't know about it, but maybe I should have planted flowers instead of edibles, that way there wouldn't have been a problem. It took all the self-restraint I had not to throw a brick through her window with a packet of seeds. So RIP my little beautiful garden, you nourished me and mine and brought me joy and peace.

Tuesday, July 2, 2013

Ville Fantome

Le curé du village m´a fait un drôle d´aveu
Y a pus de flamme dans ses yeux
Les fidèles sont rendus trop vieux
Le curé sait pus trop si il croit en Dieu

La belle du village ne croit plus en l´amour
Tous ses prétendants voulaient qu´a s´ déshabille
Son cœur volage est rendu trop lourd
La belle veut mourir vieille fille

Le curé doute, l´église se vide
La belle commence à faire des rides

Le fou du village a pus le goût de rêver
Il hurle à la lune à toutes les nuits
On va être obligé de l´interner
Le fou n´a plus sa place ici

Le maire du village a perdu sa fierté
Il a vendu nos lacs, il a vendu nos champs
À des investisseurs étrangers
Le maire est rendu à l´argent

Le curé doute, personne à messe
La belle veut pus jouer aux fesses
Le fou qui hurle sa détresse
Le maire est prêt à toutes les bassesses

Attention, la tempête gronde
On achève d´écrire le premier tome
Ouvrez vos yeux, tout le monde!
On est en train d´ bâtir une ville fantôme
Une ville fantôme! Une ville fantôme!

Le doyen du village ne peut plus raconter
On l´a mis en prison dans un foyer
Une muselière sur notre passé
Le patriarche se laisse doucement crever

Une ville fantôme!

La maîtresse du village endure pus les enfants
Ils sont dissipés pis ils comprennent rien
Pis vu que les enfants sont pus comme avant
Bin, la maîtresse prescrit du Ritalin

Une ville fantôme!

Le curé doute, l´église se vide
La belle commence à faire des rides
Le curé doute, personne à messe
La belle veut pus jouer aux fesses

Le fou qui hurle sa détresse
Le maire est prêt à toutes les bassesses
Le patriarche qu´on oublie
La maîtresse engourdit les p´tits

La tempête gronde, faites attention!
On nous promet des jobs et pis des bonbons
Mais le problème est beaucoup plus profond
La défaite est devenue tradition!