The life I've always wanted
I guess I'll never have
I'll be working for somebody else
Until I'm in my grave
I'll be dreaming of a life of ease
And mountains Oh mountains o' things
To have a big expensive car
Drag my furs on the ground
And have a maid that I can tell
To bring me anything
Everyone will look at me with envy and with greed
I'll revel in their attention
And mountains Oh mountains o' things
Sweet lazy life
Champagne and caviar
I hope you'll come and find me
Cause you know who we are
Those who deserve the best in life
And know what money's worth
And those whose sole misfortune
Was having mountains o' nothing at birth
Oh they tell me
There's still time to save my soul
They tell me
Renounce all
Renounce all those material things you gained by
Exploiting other human beings
Consume more than you need
This is the dream
Make you pauper
Or make you queen
I won't die lonely
I'll have it all prearranged
A grave that's deep and wide enough
For me and all my mountains o' things
Oh they tell me
There's still time to save my soul
They tell me
Renounce all
Renounce all those material things you gained by
Exploiting other human beings
Mostly I feel lonely
Good good people are
Good people are only
My stepping stones
It's gonna take all my mountains o' things
To surround me
Keep all my enemies away
Keep my sadness and loneliness at bay
The life I've always wanted
I guess I'll never have
I'll be working for somebody else
Until I'm in my grave
I'll be dreaming of a life of ease
And mountains Oh mountains o' things
I'll be dreaming, dreaming... Dreaming...
tracy chapman
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
A mitad del camino de la vida...
Thus began Dante one of the best books I've ever read.
Something happens when we get to that cloudy area called the middle.
As my birthday approaches, I realize I'm nearly there.
And as so many before me, I reached a crisis.
So I got a toy. How typical.
This isn't the actual one, but mine looks just the same.
I didn't want to be anybody's aunt.
Something happens when we get to that cloudy area called the middle.
As my birthday approaches, I realize I'm nearly there.
And as so many before me, I reached a crisis.
So I got a toy. How typical.
This isn't the actual one, but mine looks just the same.
I didn't want to be anybody's aunt.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Volver
Has it really been since August?
I didn't realize I was this busy, but I must be, to have so heartlessly forgotten to come by and say hello. Perhaps I've finally run out of stories. Perhaps--at last--I'm speechless.
Or maybe it's all true: I am driven only by whim and lust and all the excitement's gone. Left to my own devices, am I taciturn, somnolent, and trite?
Where hath that spark now gone that once lighted my way to fresher, wilder grounds? Where is the crisp, cool smell of morning? The night has taken hold of my heart and even against the dark sky, darker clouds obscure what little light the stars might give. And already having leaned toward darker tastes, the shroud of anonimity brought by moonless autumn nights lets me walk down desolate streets in the valley, smoking and humming tonelessly tunes only I any longer recognize of all those whom I have known who still live. The dead! They took my songs.
Or maybe it is this well down which I went looking for wishes--only to find slimy toads.
These are the days we go through--when we really feel the "human condition" for which only humans would feel sorrow. Most other creatures seem just happy to be alive. And much like clouds and rainbows, these days pass--into nights that lead to newer days.
And all our days have lighted fools...
I should be a fool! Happy, friendly, outgoing, dancing till my legs can't hold me. I should chat it up with perfect strangers on the bus I now never take because it is beneath me. What putrid drivel! Were I but man enough to know I cannot be an island entirely to myself, I would be far wiser and less strong--and I would make a fool of myself everyday for a bit. No need to cry all the tears of the day in two minutes on your bed--they happily come as they are needed. No need for stiff upper lips that feel so frigid, lifeless and unloving when other lips should come looking for a kiss. Ne'er would I be afraid to hold another hand outstretched to grasp mine own only to keep mine clean.
No.
I should be like a child, who sees with true enthusiasm as genuinely new every moment that his eyes can manage to stave off that fiend: sleep--and not hiding in the cave I call a skull in the darkness of my dreams. I should run barefoot on hot sand, suffering the pain only because I can almost already feel the cool, salty water as it jumps and crashes and dances and flies just on the other side. I should be free of me! A stranger in a strange land seeking just to steal a quick, furtive smile from a shy lad or lass as I whistle past, my smile the beacon that shall guide their own unto the world.
I should be green like the grass; white like the puffy cottonballs the wind shapes into all kinds of things like I used to do to my father's shaving cream; blue, blue! I should be blue like the air all in between... strong, and gentle; cool, and intimate; and there, always there, never gone.
THAT, I should be: permanent. I should be constant.
Or I may simply be a single drop of rain.
I didn't realize I was this busy, but I must be, to have so heartlessly forgotten to come by and say hello. Perhaps I've finally run out of stories. Perhaps--at last--I'm speechless.
Or maybe it's all true: I am driven only by whim and lust and all the excitement's gone. Left to my own devices, am I taciturn, somnolent, and trite?
Where hath that spark now gone that once lighted my way to fresher, wilder grounds? Where is the crisp, cool smell of morning? The night has taken hold of my heart and even against the dark sky, darker clouds obscure what little light the stars might give. And already having leaned toward darker tastes, the shroud of anonimity brought by moonless autumn nights lets me walk down desolate streets in the valley, smoking and humming tonelessly tunes only I any longer recognize of all those whom I have known who still live. The dead! They took my songs.
Or maybe it is this well down which I went looking for wishes--only to find slimy toads.
These are the days we go through--when we really feel the "human condition" for which only humans would feel sorrow. Most other creatures seem just happy to be alive. And much like clouds and rainbows, these days pass--into nights that lead to newer days.
And all our days have lighted fools...
I should be a fool! Happy, friendly, outgoing, dancing till my legs can't hold me. I should chat it up with perfect strangers on the bus I now never take because it is beneath me. What putrid drivel! Were I but man enough to know I cannot be an island entirely to myself, I would be far wiser and less strong--and I would make a fool of myself everyday for a bit. No need to cry all the tears of the day in two minutes on your bed--they happily come as they are needed. No need for stiff upper lips that feel so frigid, lifeless and unloving when other lips should come looking for a kiss. Ne'er would I be afraid to hold another hand outstretched to grasp mine own only to keep mine clean.
No.
I should be like a child, who sees with true enthusiasm as genuinely new every moment that his eyes can manage to stave off that fiend: sleep--and not hiding in the cave I call a skull in the darkness of my dreams. I should run barefoot on hot sand, suffering the pain only because I can almost already feel the cool, salty water as it jumps and crashes and dances and flies just on the other side. I should be free of me! A stranger in a strange land seeking just to steal a quick, furtive smile from a shy lad or lass as I whistle past, my smile the beacon that shall guide their own unto the world.
I should be green like the grass; white like the puffy cottonballs the wind shapes into all kinds of things like I used to do to my father's shaving cream; blue, blue! I should be blue like the air all in between... strong, and gentle; cool, and intimate; and there, always there, never gone.
THAT, I should be: permanent. I should be constant.
Or I may simply be a single drop of rain.
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