Nous sommes tous de lopins et d'une contexture si informe et diverse,que chaque piece, chaque momant, faict son jeu. Et se trouve autant de difference de nous à autruy.
- Michel de Montaigne, 'Essais'

hommage à Louise

blue negen

blau acht

bleu sept

blue six

blue cinco

blue 4

blue three

blue second layer

blue first state

Blue, songs are like tattoos
You know I've been to sea before
Crown and anchor me
Or let me sail away
Hey blue, here is a song for you
Ink on a pin
Underneath the skin
An empty space to fill in
Well there's so many sinking now
You've got to keep thinking
You can make it through these waves
Acid, booze, and ass
Needles, guns, and grass
Lots of laughs, lots of laughs
Everybody's saying that hells the hippest way to go
Well I don't think so
But I'm gonna take a look around it though
Blue, I love you

Blue, here is a shell for you
Inside you'll hear a sigh
A foggy lullaby
There is your song from me

-Joni Mitchell

twilight zone

The rain is all over, it's only stopped for an hour
And I stop you, and I stop you
When you go too far
And you stop me when I go too far
And it tried to freak me
But I should have known
It's not the twilight zone no, it's not the twilight zone
Yes it's just a party phone, pure honeycomb, honeycomb, honeycomb

You tried to take me in a slow poke draw
Like the cowboy wished
And you got just what you saw
Well, you got what you saw
Didn't you get, didn't you get, didn't you get
So, don't let it freak you
When, when it gets down to the bone
You know it's not the twilight zone, it's not the twilight zone
It's just a party phone, and honeycomb, honeycomb
It's not, it's not the twilight zone
It's just a party phone
Honeycomb, honeycomb, honeycomb, honeycomb

[Spoken:]
It's not, it's not the twilight zone
It's just a party phone

And honeycomb, ya!
You know it's not the twilight zone
It's, it's just a party phone
Honeycomb, honeycomb, honeycomb, honeycomb

You know what it is
Just a party phone, party, phone
Honeycomb, honeycomb, honeycomb, honeycomb
Hmm, hmm, hmm
Honeycomb, honeycomb
Honeycomb

Van Morrison

California

Sitting in a park in Paris, France
Reading the news and it sure looks bad
They won't give peace a chance
That was just a dream some of us had
Still a lot of lands to see
But I wouldn't want to stay here
It's too old and cold and settled in it's ways here
Oh, but California
California I'm coming home
I'm going to see the folks I dig
I'll even kiss a Sunset pig
California I'm coming home

I met a redneck on a Grecian isle
Who did the goat dance very well
He gave me back my smile
But he kept my camera to sell
Oh the rogue, the red red rogue
He cooked good omelettes and stews
And I might have stayed on with him there
But my heart cried out for you, California
Oh California I'm coming home
Oh make me feel good rock'n roll band
I'm your biggest fan
California, I'm coming home

Oh it gets so lonely
When you're walking
And the streets are full of strangers
All the news of home you read
Just gives you the blues
Just gives you the blues

So I bought me a ticket
I caught a plane to Spain
Went to a party down a red dirt road
There were lots of pretty people there
Reading Rolling Stone, reading Vogue
They said, "How long can you hang around?"
I said "a week, maybe two,
Just until my skin turns brown
Then I'm going home to California"
California I'm coming home
Oh will you take me as I am
Strung out on another man
California I'm coming home

Oh it gets so lonely
When you're walking
And the streets are full of strangers
All the news of home you read
More about the war
And the bloody changes
Oh will you take me as l am?
Will you take me as l am?
Will you?

- Joni Mitchell

Fairplay

Fair play to you
Killarney's lakes are so blue
And the architecture I'm taking in with my mind
So fine...

Tell me of Poe
Oscar Wilde and Thoreau
Let your midnight and your daytime turn into love of life
It's a very fine line
But you've got the mind child
To carry on
When it's just about to be
Carried on...

And there's only one meadow's way to go
And you say "Geronimo"
There's only one meadow's way to go
And you say "Geronimo"

A paperback book
As we walk down the street
Fill my mind with tales of mystery, mystery...
And imagination

Forever fair
And I'm touching your hair
I wish we could be dreamers
In this dream, ohhh
Let it dream

And there's only one meadow's way to go
And you say "Geronimo"
And there's only one meadow's way to go
And you say "Geronimo"

Fair play to you
Killarney's lakes are so blue
High-ho silver, tit for tat
And I love you for that
High-ho silver, tit for tat
And I love you for that, love you for that, love you for that
High-ho silver, tit for tat, tit for tat
And I love you for that
High-ho silver, tit for tat, hah!
Yeah, yeah
And I love you for that

And theres only one meadow's way to go
And I, and I say "Geronimo"
And there's only one meadow's way to go
And we say "Geronimo"
Geronimo
And there's only one meadow's way to go
And we say Geronimo
And there's only one meadow's way to go
And we say Geronimo

from "Veedon Fleece' - Van Morrison

'...in the offing the sea and sky were welded together without a joint...'
-Joseph Conrad 'Heart of Darkness'

terra incognita

There are vast realms of consciousness still undreamed of
vast ranges of experience, like the humming of unseen harps,
we know nothing of, within us.

Oh when man has escaped from the barbed-wire entanglement
of his own ideas and his own mechanical devices
there is a marvellous rich world of contact and sheer fluid beauty
and fearless face-to-face awareness of now-naked life
and me, and you, and other men and women
and grapes, and ghouls, and ghosts and green moonlight
and ruddy-orange limbs stirring the limbo
of the unknown air, and eyes so soft
softer than the space between the stars.
And all things, and nothing, and being and not-being
alternately palpitate,
when at last we escape the barbed-wire enclosure
of Know-Thyself, knowing we can never know,
we can but touch, and wonder, and ponder, and make our effort
and dangle in a last fastidious fine delight
as the fuchsia does, dangling her reckless drop
of purple after so much putting forth
and slow mounting marvel of a little tree.

- D H Lawrence

'...-in-the-world'

in the white room

pink palms