green wings

green wings

vineri, 26 noiembrie 2010

Is All That Turkey and Stuffing a Celebration of Genocide?



By Laura Elliff, Vice President, Native American Student Association



Thanksgiving is a holiday where families gather to share stories, football games are watched on television and a big feast is served. It is also the time of the month when people talk about Native Americans. But does one ever wonder why we celebrate this national holiday? Why does everyone give thanks?
History is never simple. The standard history of Thanksgiving tells us that the “Pilgrims and Indians” feasted for three days, right? Most Americans believe that there was some magnificent bountiful harvest. In the Thanksgiving story, are the “Indians” even acknowledged by a tribe? No, because everyone assumes “Indians” are the same. So, who were these Indians in 1621?
In 1620, Pilgrims arrived on the Mayflower naming the land Plymouth Rock. One fact that is always hidden is that the village was already named Patuxet and the Wampanoag Indians lived there for thousands of years. To many Americans, Plymouth Rock is a symbol. Sad but true many people assume, “It is the rock on which our nation began.” In 1621, Pilgrims did have a feast but it was not repeated years thereafter. So, it wasn’t the beginning of a Thanksgiving tradition nor did Pilgrims call it a Thanksgiving feast. Pilgrims perceived Indians in relation to the Devil and the only reason why they were invited to that feast was for the purpose of negotiating a treaty that would secure the lands for the Pilgrims. The reason why we have so many myths about Thanksgiving is that it is an invented tradition. It is based more on fiction than fact.


So, what truth ought to be taught? In 1637, the official Thanksgiving holiday we know today came into existence. (Some people argue it formally came into existence during the Civil War, in 1863, when President Lincoln proclaimed it, which also was the same year he had 38 Sioux hung on Christmas Eve.) William Newell, a Penobscot Indian and former chair of the anthropology department of the University of Connecticut, claims that the first Thanksgiving was not “a festive gathering of Indians and Pilgrims, but rather a celebration of the massacre of 700 Pequot men, women and children.” In 1637, the Pequot tribe of Connecticut gathered for the annual Green Corn Dance ceremony. Mercenaries of the English and Dutch attacked and surrounded the village; burning down everything and shooting whomever try to escape. The next day, Newell notes, the Governor of Massachusetts Bay Colony declared: “A day of Thanksgiving, thanking God that they had eliminated over 700 men, women and children.” It was signed into law that, “This day forth shall be a day of celebration and thanksgiving for subduing the Pequots.” Most Americans believe Thanksgiving was this wonderful dinner and harvest celebration. The truth is the “Thanksgiving dinner” was invented both to instill a false pride in Americans and to cover up the massacre.
Was Thanksgiving really a massacre of 700 “Indians”? The present Thanksgiving may be a mixture of the 1621 three-day feast and the “Thanksgiving” proclaimed after the 1637 Pequot massacre. So next time you see the annual “Pilgrim and Indian display” in a shopping window or history about other massacres of Native Americans, think of the hurt and disrespect Native Americans feel. Thanksgiving is observed as a day of sorrow rather than a celebration. This year at Thanksgiving dinner, ponder why you are giving thanks.
William Bradford, in his famous History of the Plymouth Plantation, celebrated the Pequot massacre:
“Those that scraped the fire were slaine with the sword; some hewed to peeces, others rune throw with their rapiers, so as they were quickly dispatchte, and very few escapted. It was conceived they thus destroyed about 400 at this time. It was a fearful sight to see them thus frying in the fyer, and the streams of blood quenching the same, and horrible was the stincke and sente there of, but the victory seemed a sweete sacrifice, and they gave the prayers thereof to God, who had wrought so wonderfully for them, thus to inclose their enemise in their hands, and give them so speedy a victory over so proud and insulting an enimie.”
The Pequot massacre came after the colonists, angry at the murder of an English trader suspected by the Pequots of kidnapping children, sought revenge. rather than fighting the dangerous Pequot warriors, John Mason and John Underhill led a group of colonists and Native allies to the Indian fort in Mystic, and killed the old men, women, and children who were there. Those who escaped were later hunted down. The Pequot tribe numbered 8,000 when the Pilgrims arrived, but disease had brought their numbers down to 1,500 by 1637. The Pequot “War” killed all but a handful of remaining members of the tribe.
Proud of their accomplishments, Underhill wrote a book (above) depicted the burning of the village, and even made an illustration (below) showing how they surrounded the village to kill all within it.
- John K. Wilson



marți, 16 noiembrie 2010

Progresam si uitam sa fim fericiti - pentru ca unora le place nefericirea


In ultima vreme incerc sa iau lucrurile mai usurel. sa traiesc mai mult pentru mine si pentru cei apropiati mie. pamantul nu se va opri daca eu nu voi mai face cutare lucru sau cutare lucru. am ajus la 23 de ani sa ma simt atat de obosita si de sictirita incat sunt surprinsa ca mai traiesc. ma rog, asta pana acum ceva vreme. vreau sa ma opresc din robotism, sa il las pe ultimul plan, si sa investesc mai mult in mine, individual. aka, sa citesc, sa alerg, sa fac sport, sa zambesc, sa dansez... sa ma detasez de mizeria creata de altii in jurul meu, de toata drama asta emotionala artificiala. a se intelege clar diferenta dintre nenorocirile reale ce se intampla in jur, fata de care nu am sa pot ramane in veci indiferenta, si cele pe care unii le creeaza, le amima, si de care se agata cu incapatanare.

fuga, stress, alergatura. pentru ce? agitatie, nebunie. si nu pentru mine. majoritatea nebuniei se limita la ceea ce "trebuia" sa fac eu pt cutare sau cutare, sau, ma rog ceea ce credeam eu ca "trebuie".

am trait intr-un balon de plastic in care eu eram dedicata 100% altora. problemele tuturor erau mai importante decat ale mele.

ei bine, lucrurile s-au schimbat. Odata cu varsta, odata cu experienta, odata cu clipele frumoase si cu cele neplacute prin care am fost nevoita sa trec, ma schimb si devin alta persoana.

devin mai rece.

cei care nu fac altceva decat sa se planga si sa astepte sa le pice de la altul sau din senin imi provoaca mila. imi provoaca sila ipocrizia. falsitatea. prostia.

se spune ca singura dovada ca nu ti-ai indeplinit scopul pe acest pamant este faptul ca traiesti. dar cati dintre noi stim ce inseamna a trai? ai senzatia ca ceea ce e frumos vine moca? pica? tot ce este frumos si real in viata aceasta vine dupa munca si dorinta. si cei care au cateva principii ramase stiu foarte bine ca treaba cu dupa fapta, si rasplata se aplica.

a sta cu curul jos si a te plange constant, dar de nu a avea curajul sa te ridici in picioare si sa faci ceva, denota fapul ca nu te cunosti nici macar 0.1%, nu vrei sa faci asta, si ca de fapt esti 100% fericit in nefericirea ta. te complaci si cerseti mila. atata timp cat pe lumea asta exista copii care ar da ORICE sa se poata afirma, sa poata studia, sa poata merge la scoala, dar nu pot din cauza saraciei, foametei, razboiului, bolilor, NU ai nici un feld e scuza in fata mea.

tipologia asta de "of of ce grea e viata cu curul afundat in fotoliu" imi creaza cel mai acut dispret.

ca si cei care sunt sugative. femei si barbati deopotriva. traiti pt materialism: toale, masini telefoane. dar nu sunteti instare sa munciti pt ele, sa realizati in viata si sa obtineti ceea ce va doriti.

am observat ca tendinta generala este de a fi fericit in nefericire si de a persevera in ea. Si va intreb: de ce? nu este lumea asta atat de mare? va tine cineva legati cu lanturile de pamantul de sub voi? este atat de greu sa vrei sa schimbi ceva legat de viata pe care o duci si EVENTUAL s-o si faci? este atat de simplu sa dai din gura si sa comentezi, cand de fapt tu NU faci nimic. astepti sa vina cineva sa te ia de manuta sa iti arate drumul? ei bine, nu o sa se intample. ai sa fii mereu un nefericit care traieste zilnic prin vise pe care nu le va urma niciodata.

ei bine, eu am curajul sa pasesc in afara patratelului meu. Eu visez colorat si mult, insa stiu ca va fi greu sa imi ating visul. visul meu se schimba mereu, putin cate putin, dar stiu ca sunt pe drumul cel bun. Stiu ca seara pun capul pe perna linistita, si stiu ca am curajul sa fiu altfel, sa fiu eu. sunt eu, port culori si nu mai fac concesii. dupa ani de zile in care m-am pus deoparte, acum n-o mai fac. pentru nimeni.

si am sa imi urmez visul, fara teama. si am sa lupt pentru ca nothing comes easy. and i wont settle for less.


Asa ca lasa dracului bullshitul. Nu te mai plange si fa ceva pentru tine. O viata ai. timpul trece. ca doar nu degeaba "youth is wasted on the young".

viseaza. zambeste. gandeste. ajuta. priveste. simte. progreseaza. paseste inainte.

luni, 15 noiembrie 2010

Tippi - the girl who knows what love is :)























































































































































































































































































































































Tippi is a French girl, born in 1990 in Africa and grew up in the wild. Her parents are wild life photographers. She returned to Paris at age 10. This is a collection of photos that tell stories of her and her friends.



































luni, 8 noiembrie 2010

Cum raspundem noi, romanii :))

"Prima parte
- Mă, salut, mi-ai făcut şi mie rost de ce te-am rugat?
- Băi, să vezi, n-am avut timp, am vorbit cu tipul care se ocupă şi mi-a zis ca mă sună înapoi, asta luni. Şi marţi l-am sunat eu, că nu mă sunase şi nu mi-a răspuns, i-am dat SMS să mă sune când termină. Şi după aia miercuri şi joi, ştii, am fost plecat din ţară, m-am întors azi la prânz
.- Deci, zi, mă, mi-ai făcut rost sau nu?
- Băi, nu mă lua şi tu aşa, ştii că de câte ori pot să te ajut te ajut, da' ce să fac dacă ăla e neserios, io-l ştiam serios, că am mai lucrat cu el, da' acuma na, cine ştie, o fi avut şi el treabă. Eu am făcut şi fac tot ce pot să te ajut, da' nu mă lua aşa, înţelegi?
- Frăţiorul meu, deci ai găsit sau n-ai găsit ce te-am rugat?
- OK, dacă vrei să discutăm aşa, adu-ţi aminte când te-am rugat şi eu o chestie, ştii că nu te rog prea des chestii şi ai zis că nu eşti în ţară şi practic a trebuit să mă descurc singur, noroc că ştiam pe altcineva care m-a ajutat. Şi acum vii să mă f...ţi în gură că nu ţi-am găsit nu ştiu ce? Tot tu vii să mă f...ţi în gură?
- Deci n-ai găsit?- NU, BĂ; NU; n-am găsit şi nici n-am să-ţi găsesc, nu-ţi mai găsesc nimic, că nu meriţi, ce prieten eşti tu, mă, ţi-ai luat-o în cap, am fost eu prea om cu tine şi tu nu meritai, bă, nimic.
- Deci nu.
- NU, BĂ, NU, ce, eşti surd?
- Slavă Domnului. Că am luat din altă parte. De asta te sunasem.

A doua parte

- Auzi, puiuţ, tu mă iubeşti?
- Ce întrebare e asta?- Te întreb şi eu. Mă iubeşti?
- Da de unde şi până unde mă întrebi acum dacă te iubesc? De ce nu m-ai întrebat toată luna, toată săptămâna şi mă întrebi acum? De ce nu m-ai întrebat azi dimineaţă?
- Deci mă iubeşti?
- Auzi, parcă rămăsese că nu ai nicio problemă că stau noaptea să joc World of Warcraft. Ţi-am explicat că e o chestie serioasă, că nu e chiar un joc, că mă ajută să mă concentrez şi să gândesc business. Ţi-am explicat sau nu ţi-am explicat? A rămas că nu stau mai târziu de ora 2, hai 2 jumate şi nu stau. Ieri am venit în pat la 2.15, da' tu n-ai de unde să ştii, că dormeai. Tu nu ştii decât să reproşezi.- Puiuţ, te mai întreb odată: mă iubeşti?- A, ştiu ce e, ai văzut că i-am dat add pe Facebook lu bruneta aia. Nici nu ştiu cine e! Am dat add pentru că nu vedeam cine e, ştii cum e pe Facebook, trebuie să te împrieteneşti cu omul ca să-i vezi adevărata faţă şi pozele şi cu cine e prieten şi cu ce se ocupă. Uneori şi sexul, că nu toţi îşi arată sexul! Nu pot să cred că eşti geloasă pentru aşa o prostie şi, chiar dacă eşti, nu te credeam în stare să faci scene de-astea pentru un nimic, UN NIMIC!
- Deci mă iubeşti sau nu?
- Auzi, da' ia să te întreb şi eu ceva: de ce iei mobilul cu tine la baie? de ce-l iei când te duci până la piaţă? Crezi că n-am văzut că te întorci cu el în mână şi că, imediat după ce-ai intrat în casă, primeşti un SMS? Crezi că-s prost şi nu văd? Văd, văd totul, dar am încredere în tine şi nu îţi fac scene de-astea de căcat. Suntem doi oameni maturi şi liberi şi putem face tot ce vrem. Nu ne obligă nimeni să fim împreună sau să dăm socoteală unul altuia! Sau cel puţin aşa era până acum. Şi asta-mi plăcea la tine, decenţa, bunul simţ, fe-mi-ni-ta-tea.
- Puiuţ, deci îmi zici sau nu-mi zici dacă mă iubeşti?
- Te iubesc, normal că te iubesc, dar ce importanţă are asta pentru tine? Pentru tine nu contează decât ce-ţi zice maică-ta şi cucuvelele alea de amice ale tale şi ce citeşti prin reviste de doi lei şi ce vezi pe la televizor, prin tot felul de show-uri de doi lei, asta contează pentru tine, nu dacă te iubesc.- Deci mă iubeşti?- Bine. N-ai decât să-ţi baţi joc de asta, să mă umileşti, să mă joci pe degete, că tu crezi că ţine. Da nu ţine, o, nu, nu ţine, păpuşă scumpă. A ţinut, sau a părut că ţine, pentru că m-am făcut eu că nu văd, pentru că ţi-am acordat circumstanţe atentuante, pentru că am sperat că de fapt nu eşti aşa cum era clar că eşti. Mă gândeam că poate, cu timpul, o să te schimbi, o să renunţi la toate meschinăriile astea ale tale, dar se pare că le ai în codul genetic şi nu te mai poate schimba nimic niciodată.
- Şi eu. "

Citeşte şi Cum vorbim noi, românii, respectiv Cum întrebăm noi, românii

miercuri, 3 noiembrie 2010

The Cask of Amontillado - by Edgar Allan Poe (1846)


THE thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge. You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that gave utterance to a threat. At length I would be avenged; this was a point definitely, settled --but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk. I must not only punish but punish with impunity. A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser. It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong.It must be understood that neither by word nor deed had I given Fortunato cause to doubt my good will. I continued, as was my wont, to smile in his face, and he did not perceive that my smile now was at the thought of his immolation.He had a weak point -- this Fortunato -- although in other regards he was a man to be respected and even feared. He prided himself on his connoisseurship in wine. Few Italians have the true virtuoso spirit. For the most part their enthusiasm is adopted to suit the time and opportunity, to practise imposture upon the British and Austrian millionaires. In painting and gemmary, Fortunato, like his countrymen, was a quack, but in the matter of old wines he was sincere. In this respect I did not differ from him materially; --I was skilful in the Italian vintages myself, and bought largely whenever I could.It was about dusk, one evening during the supreme madness of the carnival season, that I encountered my friend. He accosted me with excessive warmth, for he had been drinking much. The man wore motley. He had on a tight-fitting parti-striped dress, and his head was surmounted by the conical cap and bells. I was so pleased to see him that I thought I should never have done wringing his hand.I said to him --"My dear Fortunato, you are luckily met. How remarkably well you are looking to-day. But I have received a pipe of what passes for Amontillado, and I have my doubts.""How?" said he. "Amontillado, A pipe? Impossible! And in the middle of the carnival!""I have my doubts," I replied; "and I was silly enough to pay the full Amontillado price without consulting you in the matter. You were not to be found, and I was fearful of losing a bargain.""Amontillado!""I have my doubts.""Amontillado!""And I must satisfy them.""Amontillado!""As you are engaged, I am on my way to Luchresi. If any one has a critical turn it is he. He will tell me --""Luchresi cannot tell Amontillado from Sherry.""And yet some fools will have it that his taste is a match for your own."Come, let us go.""Whither?""To your vaults.""My friend, no; I will not impose upon your good nature. I perceive you have an engagement. Luchresi--""I have no engagement; --come.""My friend, no. It is not the engagement, but the severe cold with which I perceive you are afflicted. The vaults are insufferably damp. They are encrusted with nitre.""Let us go, nevertheless. The cold is merely nothing. Amontillado! You have been imposed upon. And as for Luchresi, he cannot distinguish Sherry from Amontillado."Thus speaking, Fortunato possessed himself of my arm; and putting on a mask of black silk and drawing a roquelaire closely about my person, I suffered him to hurry me to my palazzo.There were no attendants at home; they had absconded to make merry in honour of the time. I had told them that I should not return until the morning, and had given them explicit orders not to stir from the house. These orders were sufficient, I well knew, to insure their immediate disappearance, one and all, as soon as my back was turned.I took from their sconces two flambeaux, and giving one to Fortunato, bowed him through several suites of rooms to the archway that led into the vaults. I passed down a long and winding staircase, requesting him to be cautious as he followed. We came at length to the foot of the descent, and stood together upon the damp ground of the catacombs of the Montresors.The gait of my friend was unsteady, and the bells upon his cap jingled as he strode."The pipe," he said."It is farther on," said I; "but observe the white web-work which gleams from these cavern walls."He turned towards me, and looked into my eyes with two filmy orbs that distilled the rheum of intoxication."Nitre?" he asked, at length."Nitre," I replied. "How long have you had that cough?""Ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh!"My poor friend found it impossible to reply for many minutes."It is nothing," he said, at last."Come," I said, with decision, "we will go back; your health is precious. You are rich, respected, admired, beloved; you are happy, as once I was. You are a man to be missed. For me it is no matter. We will go back; you will be ill, and I cannot be responsible. Besides, there is Luchresi --""Enough," he said; "the cough's a mere nothing; it will not kill me. I shall not die of a cough.""True --true," I replied; "and, indeed, I had no intention of alarming you unnecessarily --but you should use all proper caution. A draught of this Medoc will defend us from the damps.Here I knocked off the neck of a bottle which I drew from a long row of its fellows that lay upon the mould."Drink," I said, presenting him the wine.He raised it to his lips with a leer. He paused and nodded to me familiarly, while his bells jingled."I drink," he said, "to the buried that repose around us.""And I to your long life."He again took my arm, and we proceeded."These vaults," he said, "are extensive.""The Montresors," I replied, "were a great and numerous family.""I forget your arms.""A huge human foot d'or, in a field azure; the foot crushes a serpent rampant whose fangs are imbedded in the heel.""And the motto?""Nemo me impune lacessit.""Good!" he said.The wine sparkled in his eyes and the bells jingled. My own fancy grew warm with the Medoc. We had passed through long walls of piled skeletons, with casks and puncheons intermingling, into the inmost recesses of the catacombs. I paused again, and this time I made bold to seize Fortunato by an arm above the elbow."The nitre!" I said; "see, it increases. It hangs like moss upon the vaults. We are below the river's bed. The drops of moisture trickle among the bones. Come, we will go back ere it is too late. Your cough --""It is nothing," he said; "let us go on. But first, another draught of the Medoc."I broke and reached him a flagon of De Grave. He emptied it at a breath. His eyes flashed with a fierce light. He laughed and threw the bottle upwards with a gesticulation I did not understand.I looked at him in surprise. He repeated the movement --a grotesque one."You do not comprehend?" he said."Not I," I replied."Then you are not of the brotherhood.""How?""You are not of the masons.""Yes, yes," I said; "yes, yes.""You? Impossible! A mason?""A mason," I replied."A sign," he said, "a sign.""It is this," I answered, producing from beneath the folds of my roquelaire a trowel."You jest," he exclaimed, recoiling a few paces. "But let us proceed to the Amontillado.""Be it so," I said, replacing the tool beneath the cloak and again offering him my arm. He leaned upon it heavily. We continued our route in search of the Amontillado. We passed through a range of low arches, descended, passed on, and descending again, arrived at a deep crypt, in which the foulness of the air caused our flambeaux rather to glow than flame.At the most remote end of the crypt there appeared another less spacious. Its walls had been lined with human remains, piled to the vault overhead, in the fashion of the great catacombs of Paris. Three sides of this interior crypt were still ornamented in this manner. From the fourth side the bones had been thrown down, and lay promiscuously upon the earth, forming at one point a mound of some size. Within the wall thus exposed by the displacing of the bones, we perceived a still interior crypt or recess, in depth about four feet, in width three, in height six or seven. It seemed to have been constructed for no especial use within itself, but formed merely the interval between two of the colossal supports of the roof of the catacombs, and was backed by one of their circumscribing walls of solid granite.It was in vain that Fortunato, uplifting his dull torch, endeavoured to pry into the depth of the recess. Its termination the feeble light did not enable us to see."Proceed," I said; "herein is the Amontillado. As for Luchresi --""He is an ignoramus," interrupted my friend, as he stepped unsteadily forward, while I followed immediately at his heels. In an instant he had reached the extremity of the niche, and finding his progress arrested by the rock, stood stupidly bewildered. A moment more and I had fettered him to the granite. In its surface were two iron staples, distant from each other about two feet, horizontally. From one of these depended a short chain, from the other a padlock. Throwing the links about his waist, it was but the work of a few seconds to secure it. He was too much astounded to resist. Withdrawing the key I stepped back from the recess."Pass your hand," I said, "over the wall; you cannot help feeling the nitre. Indeed, it is very damp. Once more let me implore you to return. No? Then I must positively leave you. But I must first render you all the little attentions in my power.""The Amontillado!" ejaculated my friend, not yet recovered from his astonishment."True," I replied; "the Amontillado."As I said these words I busied myself among the pile of bones of which I have before spoken. Throwing them aside, I soon uncovered a quantity of building stone and mortar. With these materials and with the aid of my trowel, I began vigorously to wall up the entrance of the niche.I had scarcely laid the first tier of the masonry when I discovered that the intoxication of Fortunato had in a great measure worn off. The earliest indication I had of this was a low moaning cry from the depth of the recess. It was not the cry of a drunken man. There was then a long and obstinate silence. I laid the second tier, and the third, and the fourth; and then I heard the furious vibrations of the chain. The noise lasted for several minutes, during which, that I might hearken to it with the more satisfaction, I ceased my labours and sat down upon the bones. When at last the clanking subsided, I resumed the trowel, and finished without interruption the fifth, the sixth, and the seventh tier. The wall was now nearly upon a level with my breast. I again paused, and holding the flambeaux over the mason-work, threw a few feeble rays upon the figure within.A succession of loud and shrill screams, bursting suddenly from the throat of the chained form, seemed to thrust me violently back. For a brief moment I hesitated, I trembled. Unsheathing my rapier, I began to grope with it about the recess; but the thought of an instant reassured me. I placed my hand upon the solid fabric of the catacombs, and felt satisfied. I reapproached the wall; I replied to the yells of him who clamoured. I re-echoed, I aided, I surpassed them in volume and in strength. I did this, and the clamourer grew still.It was now midnight, and my task was drawing to a close. I had completed the eighth, the ninth and the tenth tier. I had finished a portion of the last and the eleventh; there remained but a single stone to be fitted and plastered in. I struggled with its weight; I placed it partially in its destined position. But now there came from out the niche a low laugh that erected the hairs upon my head. It was succeeded by a sad voice, which I had difficulty in recognizing as that of the noble Fortunato. The voice said--"Ha! ha! ha! --he! he! he! --a very good joke, indeed --an excellent jest. We will have many a rich laugh about it at the palazzo --he! he! he! --over our wine --he! he! he!""The Amontillado!" I said."He! he! he! --he! he! he! --yes, the Amontillado. But is it not getting late? Will not they be awaiting us at the palazzo, the Lady Fortunato and the rest? Let us be gone.""Yes," I said, "let us be gone.""For the love of God, Montresor!""Yes," I said, "for the love of God!"But to these words I hearkened in vain for a reply. I grew impatient. I called aloud --"Fortunato!"No answer. I called again --"Fortunato!"No answer still. I thrust a torch through the remaining aperture and let it fall within. There came forth in return only a jingling of the bells. My heart grew sick; it was the dampness of the catacombs that made it so. I hastened to make an end of my labour. I forced the last stone into its position; I plastered it up. Against the new masonry I re-erected the old rampart of bones. For the half of a century no mortal has disturbed them. In pace requiescat!

marți, 2 noiembrie 2010

Je rêve....



Je rêve d’une terre sereine
Là où les gens balancent leurs peines
Je rêve sans fausses notes sans ratures
Je rêve au delà des blessures
Je rêve d’un monde qui s’élève
Au milieu des champs où l’on crève
Je rêve qu’on puisse changer le temps
Lancer contre le vent
Ca fait du temps quand on y pense
Qu’on aimerait tant avoir une chance
De changer des choses
Qu’on nous impose
Afin d’éviter qu’on explose
Ca fait du temps qu’on nous embrasse
Avec des maux/mots qui laissent des traces
Ca fait longtemps qu’on rêve d’un monde pour nous garder
Ca fait longtemps qu’on rêve d’un monde pour nous garder
Je rêve de gens qui se réveillent
Dans leur p’tit nid, qu’ils s’émerveillent
Je rêve de ville non pollué
Afin que l’air puisse circuler
Je rêve d’un ciel bien étoilé
Là où les cons sont nettoyés
Je rêve qu’on puisse changer le temps
Lancer contre le vent
Car ça fait du temps quand on y pense
Qu’on aimerait tant avoir une chance
De changer les choses
Qu’on nous impose
Afin d’éviter qu’on explose
Ca fait du temps qu’on nous embrasse
Avec des maux/mots qui laissent des traces
Ca fait longtemps qu’on rêve d’un monde pour nous garder
Ca fait longtemps qu’on rêve d’un monde pour nous garder
Ca fait longtemps qu’on rêve d’un monde pour nous sauver
Gregory Lemarchal