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Serge & Jane - La Chanson De Slogan

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"I andlig mening får man aldrig svindel om man bara tänker på en enda sak, och jag tänker bara på dig; i kroppslig mening aldrig svindel, när man fäster ögat bara på ett enda föremål - jag ser bara dig. Håll dig fast! Om världen skulle förgås, om vår lätta vagn skulle försvinna under oss - vi skulle ändå sluta oss tätt om varandra, svävande i sfärisk harmoni."

- Kierkegaard

♫♪♫ - There's a light that never goes out

Colette med Toby


Jag smyger barfota genom hallen och hör dem prata om mig i köket. Något om utbildningar. Något om Tel Aviv. Något ohörbart. Något annat. Jag fortsätter ohörbart förbi och vrider sakta om nyckeln till det som skiljer mig från de andra.

All about Eve

 

INT. MARGO'S LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

 

It's many Martinis later. Most of the guests have gone. The

party has reached that static state - everyone's assumed more

or less permanent places.

 

Birdie passes, carrying a cup of coffee. CAMERA FOLLOWS her

to the piano where Margo sits on the bench beside the

pianist. He is just finishing "Liebestraum" and she stares

moodily into a Martini. Birdie halts beside her with the

coffee. Margo looks up. Birdie holds out the coffee. Margo

takes the onion out of the Martini, drops it into the coffee

and waves Birdie away. Birdie goes. "Liebestraum" comes to an

end. The pianist tries to ease into a more sophisticated

rhythm. Margo stops him.

 

MARGO

(quietly)

"Liebestraum."

 

PIANIST

I just played it.

 

MARGO

Play it again.

 

PIANIST

But that was the fourth straight

time.

 

MARGO

Then this will be five. I suppose

you think I'm too drunk to count.

 

PIANIST

No. You're just crazy about

"Liebestraum."

 

MARGO

"Liebestraum."

 

PIANIST

Look, Miss Channing... it's kind of

depressing. If you don't mind my

saying so, everybody's kind of

dying on the vine...

 

MARGO

My dear Horowitz. In the first

place, I'm paying you union scale.

Second, it's my piano. Third, if

everybody doesn't like kind of

dying on the vine, they can get off

the vine and go home.

"Liebestraum."

 

Unhappily, he plays "Liebestraum." Margo sips her Martini,

stares down into it again. Bill tiptoes up.

 

BILL

(whispers)

Many of your guests have been

wondering when they may be

permitted to view the body. Where

has it been laid out?

 

MARGO

(somberly)

It hasn't been laid out, we haven't

finished with the embalming. As a

matter of fact, you're looking at

it. The remains of Margo Channing.

Sitting up. It is my last wish to

be buried sitting up.

 

BILL

(trying to kid her out of

it)

Wouldn't you feel more natural

taking a bow?

 

MARGO

You know nothing about feelings,

natural or unnatural.

 

BILL

Then without feeling, your guests

were also wondering whether the

music couldn't be a shade more on

the - shall we say, happier side?

 

MARGO

If my guests do not like it here, I

suggest they accompany you to the

nursery where I'm sure you will all

feel more at home.


Hans inre öga hade sett mig komma.

 

 


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Adieu Tristesse

Bonjour Tristesse

Farewell Sadness

Hello Sadness

You are inscribed in the lines on the ceiling

You are inscribed in the eyes that I love

You are not poverty absolutely

Since the poorest of lips denounce you

Ah with a smile

Bonjour Tristesse

Love of kind bodies

Power of love

From which kindness rises

Like a bodiless monster

Unattached head

Sadness beautiful face.


- Paul Eluard

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Salut, c'est la mort

 

 

 

- Inser du att det är livsfarligt? frågar hon

Jag nickar.

 

- Värre än rysk roulette och popstjärneförälskelser. Det är din stackars själ som står på spel igen, förstår du det?

Jag gömmer ansiktet bakom en ridå av hårslingor och fingrar och viskar:

 

- Om fallet blir brutalt, plockar du upp mig då?

- Det vet du att jag gör.


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Undine


Your laughter is light, your caress deep,
Your cold kisses love the harm they do;
Your eyes-blue lotus waves
And the water lilies are less pure than your face..

You flee, a fluid parting,
Your hair falls in gentle tangles;
Your voice-a treacherous tide;
Your arms-supple reeds.

Long river reeds, their embrace
Enlaces, chokes, strangles savagely,
Deep in the waves, an agony
Extinguished in a night drift.


- Renée Vivien


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Last night I drove a car
not knowing how to drive
not owning a car
I drove and knocked down
people I loved
…went 120 through one town.
I stopped at Hedgeville
and slept in the back seat
…excited about my new life.

–Gregory Corso

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"To succeed is to fail, and failure is the only success worth aiming at. Every great and good life can but end in a Calvary."

- Grant Allen

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I’ve dreamed of you so much you’re losing your reality. Is there still time to reach that living body and kiss on that mouth the birth of the voice that’s dear to me? I’ve dreamed of you so much that my arms, used to crossing on my chest as I hug your shadow, couldn’t fold themselves around the shape of your body, maybe. And faced with the actual appearance of what’s haunted me and ruled me for days and years, I would probably turn into a shadow. O what a sentimental pair of scales. I’ve dreamed of you so much there’s probably no more time for me to wake up. I sleep standing up, my body exposed to all the appearances of life and love and you, the only thing that counts for me today. I’d probably reach for the first lips and face that came along, than your face and your lips. I’ve dreamed of you so much, walked so much, talked, slept with your phantom that maybe there’s nothing left for me to do but be a phantom among the phantoms and a hundred times more shadow than the shadow that strolls and will go on strolling cheerfully over the sundial of your life.


- Robert Desnos


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"I was never young. This idea of fun: cars, girls, saturday night, bottle of wine... to me, these things are morbid. I was always attracted to people with the same problems as me. It doesn't help when most of them are dead."

- Morrissey

xXxXXxXXxxXxx

”Allt är nu    det är alltid nu    det kommer aldrig en tid då jag inte kryper ihop och ser på andra som också kryper ihop   jag kryper alltid ihop.”

 

det är uppsatsperiod och jag lever som i exil på mitt rum. jag minns en annan version. jag minns hon som drack körsbärsvin för att stå ut med lektionerna i franska, hur hon grävde ner offergåvor i mammas rosenrabatter för att få en enda önskan att gå i uppfyllelse. jag minns hur hon smög ner för trappor om nätterna, kalla trappsteg mot naken hud. jag minns hur hon gick på tå trots att hon var ensam hemma, musiken, kandelabrarna och elfenbenstangenterna. jag minns hennes ritualer; hur hon alltid stängde dörren bakom sig och väntade på ett klick, hennes ordnade kaos och vilken bok hon alltid hade på nattdukdsbordet. jag minns utsikten, den skumma belysningen och den vackraste natten av dem alla.

 

nu är allt borta, till och med rosenbuskarna.


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