THE LAST CHANSON
Unfortunately, she's off to rehab and not the cornfield...
UNE ALLÉE DU LUXEMBOURG
Gérard de Nerval trans. James Kirkup (haiku)
Elle a passé, la jeune fille
Vive et preste comme un oiseau:
A la main une fleur qui brille,
A la bouche un refrain nouveau.
C'est peut-être la seule au monde
Dont le coeur au mien répondrait,
Qui venant dans ma nuit profonde
D'un seul regard l'éclaircirait!
Mais non, ma jeunesse est finie...
Adieu, doux rayon qui m'as lui,
Parfum, jeune fille, harmonie...
Le bonheur passait, il a fui!
She passed by - young girl lively and light as a bird,
holding in her hand a brilliant flower and on her lips a new song.
Perhaps she's the one person in the world whose heart would respond to mine -
who in my deep night with a single glance might be able to lighten
my darkness! ... But no ...my youth is finished...Farewell, gentle light, that cast
its glow upon me - sweet fragrance - young girl,harmony - and happiness passed by - it has fled!
How much for Britney's pubic mop? A fiver? The latest celebrity non-question. Perhaps if I had her (pubic mop) in a little tin, sniffing it every night before bed. Where once Britney's vaginal juices flowed plentifully (and perhaps other juices best left unmentioned). But I couldn't afford it. Shakespeare's moustache, Beethoven's wig, Wagner's codpiece? By all guestimates Britney must be a fabulously gifted artist, not a purveyor of simplistic pop tunes. 1 million $. loads of money, a very daft but fabulously wealthy American, a demented rock starlet. Not rocket science. Britney walks into her bedroom, opens her closet. A pile of her shit falls on her little angelic head. Now the shit is encased in gold, sold for $ on Wall Street. In the past artists were trained, they worked hard to perfect their art. They didn't expect sudden handouts. They got desperate, were ignored. Committed suicide in cornfields peppered with crows. Next week Britney's stunt will be forgotten. The next awful cry for help, for attention will be her sudden suicide. Demented, with a knife, she shears off her skin, internal organs. Down to a pile of bones (all sold off for chunks of gold), a pile of Britney's minging pee and shit, minging kidneys, heart. Britney's minging skull sings one last pop chanson, burbling on interminably, then stutters, stops.
(Michael has just told me that Wagner was a cross dresser. Why???)
UNE ALLÉE DU LUXEMBOURG
Gérard de Nerval trans. James Kirkup (haiku)
Elle a passé, la jeune fille
Vive et preste comme un oiseau:
A la main une fleur qui brille,
A la bouche un refrain nouveau.
C'est peut-être la seule au monde
Dont le coeur au mien répondrait,
Qui venant dans ma nuit profonde
D'un seul regard l'éclaircirait!
Mais non, ma jeunesse est finie...
Adieu, doux rayon qui m'as lui,
Parfum, jeune fille, harmonie...
Le bonheur passait, il a fui!
She passed by - young girl lively and light as a bird,
holding in her hand a brilliant flower and on her lips a new song.
Perhaps she's the one person in the world whose heart would respond to mine -
who in my deep night with a single glance might be able to lighten
my darkness! ... But no ...my youth is finished...Farewell, gentle light, that cast
its glow upon me - sweet fragrance - young girl,harmony - and happiness passed by - it has fled!
How much for Britney's pubic mop? A fiver? The latest celebrity non-question. Perhaps if I had her (pubic mop) in a little tin, sniffing it every night before bed. Where once Britney's vaginal juices flowed plentifully (and perhaps other juices best left unmentioned). But I couldn't afford it. Shakespeare's moustache, Beethoven's wig, Wagner's codpiece? By all guestimates Britney must be a fabulously gifted artist, not a purveyor of simplistic pop tunes. 1 million $. loads of money, a very daft but fabulously wealthy American, a demented rock starlet. Not rocket science. Britney walks into her bedroom, opens her closet. A pile of her shit falls on her little angelic head. Now the shit is encased in gold, sold for $ on Wall Street. In the past artists were trained, they worked hard to perfect their art. They didn't expect sudden handouts. They got desperate, were ignored. Committed suicide in cornfields peppered with crows. Next week Britney's stunt will be forgotten. The next awful cry for help, for attention will be her sudden suicide. Demented, with a knife, she shears off her skin, internal organs. Down to a pile of bones (all sold off for chunks of gold), a pile of Britney's minging pee and shit, minging kidneys, heart. Britney's minging skull sings one last pop chanson, burbling on interminably, then stutters, stops.
(Michael has just told me that Wagner was a cross dresser. Why???)
posted by Paul Murphy at
October 11, 2007
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