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Fatigue fickle companion

For days, she takes away, cowering in a corner looking at me probably go. So I feel I can do everything, to have the upper hand over the mess surrounding domestic, to be stronger and faster than him. I put to use every moment, I scoured the sink while a child takes a shower, I empty the dishwasher while it's the turn of the second. I clean the utensils and stores the kitchen while I cook dinner, peel the carrots and let the son practicing his violin before going to pick up the clothes dry tancarville. Fatigue is far - it is there, but impalpable, she catches up once the kids to bed, but let me carry my boat in the meantime.

And then without warning the day after she terrace. It falls on me like a leaden, sticky, sticky, immobilizing. Each step is an effort to make each decision, however slight, is an insurmountable mountain. I even more energy to recall the instructions to the children - we do not run, wipe your hands, tidy your room, talking on a different tone. When I allow myself 30 minutes of break, saying it will get better after that, in reality things are not better at all, I look at my watch after the half hour and curse myself for having wasted so much time. Besides the half-hour turns often in a couple of hours well packed, which plowed furrows of my bad conscience even deeper.

When fatigue left me, I have a wonderful sense of lightness. When fatigue caught up with me, I feel heavy, useless, incompetent. She pointed out the cobwebs I have not destroyed in the corners, the fat that I have not cleaned the kitchen cabinets, broom that I have not spent under the table and the dirty clothes lying on the floor ... by making all these little things precipices where I'd rather not even throw me. Instead, I despair of being so easily overwhelmed, without trying anything else.

Tonight was a night like this. Sitting in the bus I was fighting against sleep. Arrive at school we have more than 30 minutes to emerge between the humor of the one disappointment of the other (and we do not ask me why), inertia Maternal and cosmonaut suits to collect. The return route stretched in length, peeling onions sitting in the hallway human falling turned into a struggle against an enemy soft gray, ubiquitous, suffocating. I managed to empty the bags, hang coats and put the rest to dry in a sort of fog, before collapsing.

fatigue goes, just fatigue. Tonight she was there, whimsical fifth family member. Tonight the prospect that one day it will happen very far away to live at 6 seems insurmountable.

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America

Let Us Be Lovers, we'll marry o fortunes together I've got some
real estate here in my bag
So We Bought A Pack of cigarettes and Mrs.. Wagner's pies
And We Walked off to look for America
[...]

Among the songs sung by Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel, "America " n is not the most popular or the one that had the greatest success, then it is most notable for the poetic, evocative power, and the melodic quality. One perceives in the words exchanged between passengers en route to New York, all the emotion, shame and anxiety of young lovers. Tentatively, they mimic the children they believe no longer, and hold their hands when their souls are looking for. Parties "discover" America, they meet their dual solitude and fragility of their hopes.
It emerges from this song ( inspired, apparently, the autobiography of Paul Simon ) an infinite tenderness for this stage of life where the hearts are their first steps, and a great nostalgia, fueled by precise evocations of a certain "American" (Mrs. Wagner's pies, Saginaw, Michigan, the highway to New York's buses "Greyhound" ...).


America

Let our two lovers and fortunes will be married in my bag I
real estate securities
We ach'té cigarettes
And some tarts
And went out to discover America

All riding in a bus in Pittsburgh, I said "Cathy
Michigan seems like a dream seen by
Four days to hitchhike from Saginaw I
it took me just to discover America"

To laughter, trip, jokingly

on the faces She said the man in black coat was a spy I said
" He hides a camera in his bow tie "

" Pass me a cigarette, I think there's one in the Mac "
" We smoked earlier last "I looked
the scenery, she read a magazine
In the moonlight the fields of sight

"I'm lost," I said to Cathy, who was sleeping beside me
"I'm gutted I'm in pain without knowing why"
On the road to New Jersey traffic counting
They are all here to discover America All
here to discover America

On the road to New Jersey, Cash Traffic
They are all here to discover America All
here to discover America

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WITHOUT YOU I'M NOTHING

- Jn 15: 5 I am the vine And you are the branches, whoever remains in me and I in him, that one

bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do anything.
The lyrics of the song "Without you I am nothing" watch the video in webcam.

· I bow before you, I abandon myself in your arms Lord, without you I am nothing.
· By what name do I call you? Oh, God, Almighty
· By what name do I call you? O my king Almighty

· My shelter, my savior, my shepherd, my rock, my fortress, my shield

· You are in me, I am in you, the Lamb of God, my protector

· You are in me, I am in you, the Lamb of God my deliverer

· Oh hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah

· A lucky star above me, thou Jesus is you Jesus, thou Jesus.

· I fear nothing because you are in me, a God who protects a liberating God

· You lavish comfort me when I'm without force

· When I'm tired, you give me the strength, the Lamb of God reigns forever.

· Oh hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah

· In your sanctuary, I think

· I am like a drunken man, as someone has tamed the wine

· Because of you, your holy words

· I fear nothing, I fear nothing, because you are in me, and I am in you

· Wherever I am Lord, you are there in my sleep, I wake up, you're here

· In the car, bus, subway, train with me always

· When I need solace, need affection, need love, you're here, Lord

· In hard times, the moment of despair, loneliness, you're always there

· Even when I am embroiled in a bad way, for your mind, you give me a chance and you forgive me again

· kingdom forever, forever Lord.

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No Other Name

Know Me By the Light of a fire shinin 'bright,
Know me by your bed where i' ve lain
Know me, and You Might,
If just for a night
You'll know me by No Other Name.
[...]

dark and mysterious song, Noel Paul Stookey of , beautifully sung by " Peter, Paul & Mary " on the theme of loneliness and anonymity of one who "has no name" that misery, no country other than wandering, no other destiny than abandonment.


No other name

Look me in the light of a home that shines
Look me in the bed where we slept
See me as I am
Just for one night only you will know
not my name

Other girls offer you a Tiara
Others offer valuable works
Others say "I love you" Others
my face

Other offer gold
(A) sleeping baby
I offer qu'affliction
You see me, you can guess,
In the lee of hills
You will not know my name

Others die for of currency
Others die for love
Others die as they were born
Other dying every day

Alone I die far from my home

Without answers to your questions
The stone on my head Do
tell a date
She will not know my name
She will not know my name

(Translation - Adaptation: Polyphrène)

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Sparrow

Who will love a little sparrow, Who's
Travelled far, and cries for rest?
"Not I," Said The oak tree.
"I will not share my branches With No sparrow's nest;
And my blanket of leaves Will not warm cold Her breast."

One might think that this is a traditional song, which would have through the centuries to reach us, on a melody that age would routed to perfection. It is actually a work Paul Simon, sung in duet with sublime Art Garfunkel . Of course, the theme of "cruel world" is classic, but this poem goes further, listing the flimsy pretexts of indifference to the suffering of others, and the cynicism of what some call "The Natural Law." The last verse is a quotation from the words of Genesis (3.19) , delivered at the ceremony of the branches: "You are dust and to dust you shall return." This is one of the consequences of original sin: man will "earn his bread the sweat of his brow, "the woman" give birth in pain ", etc.. All this to have "heard the voice of (the) woman." It does not quite measure to what extent this vision has permeated what we call our "culture" and our "values." The Christian religion is, moreover, not only to convey such ideas, which are based on so many prejudices and injustices.
The world would be better yet if we all work together to address the ills we face, whether natural ("natural disasters"!) Or created by man himself. This would also probably better if we listened more often women's voices:
example, that of Aung Sann Suu Kyi , which has finally been released!


The Sparrow

Who will love a little sparrow
Exhausted by his long journey?
"Not me" said the tall oak
"No bird's nest in my beautiful branches.
It will not heat up under my leaves "

Who will love a little sparrow And
speak to him nicely?
"Not me" said the swan.
Y think is just outrageous. The other swans
laugh at me, contemptuous "

And whoever will take pity And
feed starving sparrow?
"Not me" said the golden wheat
"I'd love to, but I never can.
My whole grain must be sown to germinate "

Who will love a little sparrow And
write his epitaph?
"It's me," said Earth
"For everything I've created comes back to me.
From dust you are made, dust thou shalt "

(Translation - Adaptation: Polyphrène)

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The Guests

One by one, The Guests arrive
The guests are coming-through
The open-hearted many
The broken-hearted few
And no one knows where the night is going
And no one knows why the wine is flowing
Oh love, I need you
I need you
I need you
I need you
Oh, I need you now

Bien que dominée par une forme d’onirisme mystique et eschatologique, cette chanson, est, selon Léonard Cohen lui-même, inspirée des écrits d’un poète persan du 13ème siècle . It expresses the feelings, buried deep in our soul, a longing, an aspiration that we can not discern the object. Sometimes - rarely - a door opens our minds for a moment and thought he noticed in a flood of light, the very purpose of this expectation. In the works of this poet, it is symbolized by a banquet that would bring souls to their master's table (or Creator?). The words employed by Leonard Cohen here allow mystical to see the "Last Judgement" by which "elected" will go and sit at the right hand of the master, echoing an evocation of the Last Supper. The others may stay in a more literal interpretation, holding that need love and proclaims that fusional hammered Leonard Cohen ( Love Oh, I need you ... ). All, however, recognize the brilliance of this strange feeling and transcendent, from time to time, pierces the heart.

Hosts

One by one, guests advance
Guests are entering
Many hearts confidence
Some victims
hearts And nobody knows where the night goes And nobody knows
why wine flows
Love, I want you I want you

I want you I want you

Oh, I want you, there

And those who dance between dance Those who weep
implore
"Come in, my hosts' a voice lance
"Do not stay outside"

And nobody knows ... And everyone will

, tottering around
confined
Secretly Saying "Reveal yourself, or
" Why hast thou forsaken ? "

And nobody knows ...

Then shine the torches
opens the back door
One by one, they cross
In all forms of passion

And nobody knows ...

And while they take their feast
walls melt suddenly
Guests are thrown one by one
Outside the garden

And no one knows ...

Those who dance come dance Those who mourn

implore those who are hopeless
Getting lost and losing still

And no one knows ...

One by one, guests advance
Guests are entering
Many hearts confidence
Some victims

hearts And nobody knows ...

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Patterns

The night sets softly
With The hush of falling leaves, Casting shivering shadows

On the House Through the Trees,
And the light from a street lamp Paints
pattern on my wall,
Like the pieces of a puzzle
Golden child's Uneven scrawl
[...]

Text troubling, almost disturbing, to Paul Simon , referring to the little control we can have on the course of our lives. It is not a simplistic or fatalistic the "destiny", but "ingredients" of who we are and the context in which we operate. Paul Simon compares the path we are following the labyrinth in which one puts the rats (for the study of learning, memory, and packaging). Our desires, our fears, our reactions are predictable and, if we happen to correct our behavior is, as the laboratory rat, by "negative conditioning", where the same error has several times faced the same penalty. Free choices and we know are possible, of course, when for example, in restaurants, we have to choose between dessert and cheese ... but that does not go much further. Oscar Wilde said "I can resist everything except temptation ..." and virtue is sometimes only after a confrontation between fear and desire, where the former prevails or the latter fades. Often, the number and complexity of influences more or less contradictory pressures on us can go for the unexpected expression of freedom when it is only a "deterministic chaos". Some have come to be the goal achieved a form of serenity by repealing desires. Yet these are the main driver of our actions - the best and worst. Pursue happiness is to accept the possibility of suffering. Give up one for fear of others is a way to withdraw from life. Running in the labyrinth is not really the solution. What to do? There is no solution - a miracle ... but when the rat reaches the maze is that his memory allowed him to recognize the ways he has already traveled, and to prefer others to run towards new errors - and a way out.



Patterns

When nightfall
Without sound like a dead leaf
Casts Shadow scrapie
Large trees on my door
The light of a lamppost
Draw a diagram to the white wall
Like a puzzle mystery
Or the scribbles of a child

top of a staircase
In my little tiny room
I lie on my bed, and
At the twilight
On the white wall fits
What my eyes follows: The scheme

my life And the puzzle that I am

I must, as soon as I was born
Until the day I die On
this scheme
walk As I'm breathing
As the maze the rat
My way is before me And

not change the schema at the death of rat

In the shadow thickens
The diagram I have follow
Rest and rightly so
For in the shadows I live
Like the color of my skin
Or the day of my death
My life is made of diagrams
What I do not control

(Translation - Adaptation: Polyphrène)

PS: I have encountered great difficulties in translating this song. "Roadmap" is not the best translation of "Pattern" but apart from the constraints of rhyme, I preferred to avoid other terms (such as "Patron") whose connotations are different. The point here is "Roadmap" as a series of predetermined paths, and often repetitive.

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My kids talk to me (44)

Sometimes I make small tests to see if the Turkey is ripe for jokes in the schoolyard. The other day it was Mr. and Mrs. Térieur, it was flop. Tonight I try my hand easier.

- Hey man, do you know the history and Pincemi Pincemoi?

- Uh, no.

- So Pincemi Pincemoi and are in a boat. Pincemi falls into the water. Who else?

- Uh.

- Who stays in the boat if Pincemi fell?

- Uh.

- ...

- Two!?



BienBienBien. Either it's too French, or the capacity for abstraction is not * quite * there.

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What I love children

is their sense of appropriateness.

Like this morning.

Ms. Marshal last night after the gym and shower and washing-of-hair-crisis-of-nerves (nothing very unusual) put his slippers and his dressing gown, got into her bed " I'll rest a bit before eating mom, "and we did more for the evening. I tried to go and wake up when we started at the table but to no avail.

So this morning, she emerges from her coma diiiiffiiiicilement ethyl * trembling and disoriented. The only thing it manages to articulate intelligible is "I think I'm sick," I go down So from his perch in the hope that I do not repainting the plastron, laying on the floor and directs it (it sways a lot) to the bathroom.

Above which she leans wisely. Wait. Coughs a little. Still waiting. It does not come. She turns and sits above story to empty the other side. And it's * obviously * at that time, with appropriateness of thunder, then, she redecorated the office.

I can not even blame him for not having gone to the bathroom to do his work.


* actually said was more likely coma diabetic type: in turn, it seems to be reaching the same syndrome as her brother, namely "the candy is not good for vomit." And so what do you want, we do things that nourishes healthy-zet-do home, when suddenly comes an orgy of junk that accompanies ** Halloween is not surprising.

** Is it worth pointing out that the damsel strives to find ways to steal sweets in "his" bag since Sunday night ...? The other day (while I had not) it is sought in vain, and we eventually found crouched under a chair (under the table so), his back, trying to swallow a hickey on the sly.