Friday, June 30, 2006
Getting to the bottom of things is annoying. It’s hard. The bottom is far, its dark, its cold. And it’s hard. You don’t want to lie there. It’s not comfortable. In fact you want to avoid the bottom as much as you can. For example, you can stay on the tip of your feet, and have you’re head as far away as possible from the bottom.
The problem is your feet. They are still touching the bottom, so it’s actually not that far, even if you manage to get your head over the line.
I wanted you to feel that bottom, because you’re dragging me on it, just so that you can step on me and get away from it.
I wanted it, and so I am de-conspiring you with these thoughts that are firing from my brain like hot knifes.
I wanted.
I am not so sure I want to anymore.
A weird song, I have never heard before, but that I have actually heard a thousand times before started without me wanting it to, and it made me change my mind.
Maybe you can step on me and get over the edge and far away from the bottom. Then I’ll get away from the bottom too, and we’ll both be ok.
J’ai la chair de poule depuis quelques heures déjà, et des larmes dans les yeux. Mon pied m’a fait mal ce soir a un endroit auquel il m’avais pas fait mal depuis des années. La même douleur et le même endroit que lorsque je grandissais a un rythme accélère; je ne sais pas ce que ceci veut dire. C’est peut être un signe de quelques chose, ou de quelque frustration. Ou c’est peut être simplement que j’ai trop couru dans les derniers jours.
C’est étrange, mais a presque 27 ans je cours toujours, je cours encore souvent pour me rendre quelque part plus rapidement. Je n’ai jamais assez de temps pour tout ce que je veux faire, mais surtout, je pousse toujours tout jusqu’au limites physiques possibles. J’ai besoin de 10 minutes pour arriver a temps, mais je peux rester 5 minutes de plus avec toi et quand même arriver a temps en 5 minutes au lieu de 10.
Je ne crois pas qu’il a beaucoup de gens de mon âge qui courent pour arriver au travail a temps chaque matin.
Et ça faisait bien longtemps que je n’avais pas écrit en français. Ça fait beaucoup de bien.
I also listened to another song first, when I sat at the computer, before I actually started writing this. All these things that I have done, by The Killers. It starts off like this:
When there's nowhere else to run
Is there room for one more son
One more son
If you can hold on
If you can hold on, hold on
I always thought that he was singing “one more song”, which is much better than “one more son”, well at least much better in my head.
The story behind this song is unbelievable; once, a long time ago, I put it so well in an email, that I don’t ever want to write it down again. I will always remember the circumstance under which I discovered this song, and what I wrote about these circumstances.
What is unbelievable about this song too, is that once, a long time ago, back in Hurst, Texas, I used to play it on this same computer, every single morning, as I started work, with these lines being almost the first thing I hear of the day:
When there's nowhere else to run
Is there room for one more son
One more son
If you can hold on
If you can hold on, hold on
It helped me so much.
The problem is your feet. They are still touching the bottom, so it’s actually not that far, even if you manage to get your head over the line.
I wanted you to feel that bottom, because you’re dragging me on it, just so that you can step on me and get away from it.
I wanted it, and so I am de-conspiring you with these thoughts that are firing from my brain like hot knifes.
I wanted.
I am not so sure I want to anymore.
A weird song, I have never heard before, but that I have actually heard a thousand times before started without me wanting it to, and it made me change my mind.
Maybe you can step on me and get over the edge and far away from the bottom. Then I’ll get away from the bottom too, and we’ll both be ok.
J’ai la chair de poule depuis quelques heures déjà, et des larmes dans les yeux. Mon pied m’a fait mal ce soir a un endroit auquel il m’avais pas fait mal depuis des années. La même douleur et le même endroit que lorsque je grandissais a un rythme accélère; je ne sais pas ce que ceci veut dire. C’est peut être un signe de quelques chose, ou de quelque frustration. Ou c’est peut être simplement que j’ai trop couru dans les derniers jours.
C’est étrange, mais a presque 27 ans je cours toujours, je cours encore souvent pour me rendre quelque part plus rapidement. Je n’ai jamais assez de temps pour tout ce que je veux faire, mais surtout, je pousse toujours tout jusqu’au limites physiques possibles. J’ai besoin de 10 minutes pour arriver a temps, mais je peux rester 5 minutes de plus avec toi et quand même arriver a temps en 5 minutes au lieu de 10.
Je ne crois pas qu’il a beaucoup de gens de mon âge qui courent pour arriver au travail a temps chaque matin.
Et ça faisait bien longtemps que je n’avais pas écrit en français. Ça fait beaucoup de bien.
I also listened to another song first, when I sat at the computer, before I actually started writing this. All these things that I have done, by The Killers. It starts off like this:
When there's nowhere else to run
Is there room for one more son
One more son
If you can hold on
If you can hold on, hold on
I always thought that he was singing “one more song”, which is much better than “one more son”, well at least much better in my head.
The story behind this song is unbelievable; once, a long time ago, I put it so well in an email, that I don’t ever want to write it down again. I will always remember the circumstance under which I discovered this song, and what I wrote about these circumstances.
What is unbelievable about this song too, is that once, a long time ago, back in Hurst, Texas, I used to play it on this same computer, every single morning, as I started work, with these lines being almost the first thing I hear of the day:
When there's nowhere else to run
Is there room for one more son
One more son
If you can hold on
If you can hold on, hold on
It helped me so much.
