Que diras-tu ce soir, pauvre âme solitaire

It is not as if I hadn’t seen it coming. It had approached me with a uniformly continuous pace, wearing its concolourous sheer dress adumbrating what was expecting me. It shouldn’t therefore have surprised me that, once again, it stepped in when I was distracted, as if I had been sidetracking and it had wanted me to come back to its road. Deep love walks unshod. I wonder if it knows about this sentence which almost has become an irrefutable theorem. But then again, it is hard to imagine it being interested in poetry.

So I sat about on the seat behind where it had found a quiet moment to think about how it was going to attack me, eyeing its disturbing reflection on the glass and looking at its two distinguishing marks, a little surreptitiously however, as it already made me feel unintimate and I desperately tried not to raise its suspicion – after all it might have resolved to attack earlier, which certainly would only have antedated the inevitable, but my sole goal at that moment was to postpone the terror, even if the horror was almost maddening.

All attempts to temporise were however futile, it silently bided until I had to stand up and leave only to rise with a gaze that was all but interpretable right in front of me. My heart decided it could forgo beating while my soul signed an abdication to my body, only so I could realise in a last breath that it was walking off. For a wonder a yawning void filled me, as if the only sense which had been in my life had been this single thing which I had been frantically trying to escape for all those years.

Could it really be that this ever-chaperoning reason of restraining my innermost self were the solitary feeling I could sense and of which I therefore was in an unconscious need insomuch that now that it has gone my subconsciousness is wailing?

Nationalfeierdag, déi 2.

An der lëtzebuerger Blogosphär gouf déi leschten Deeg an e puer diversen Artiklen d’Thema Nationalfeierdag a Patriotismus behandelt, beim b352 gouf et dann elo eng Reaktioun dodrobber. Well mäi Post geschter zum Nationalfeierdag pur Provokatioun war, well ech dat Thema dann awer elo och eemol serieux behandelen.

D’Geschicht vu Nationalfeierdag misst mettlerweil geklärt sin, allerdéngs schéngen sech d’Geeschter zum Senn vun desem Fest ze spalten. Ass et Patriotismus wann een säin Herrscherhaus op engem Dag feiert dee méi dem Wieder ze verdanken ass ewéi soss eppes? Hu mir hei am Land soss keen Evenement dat mer kéinnten feiren wéi einfach op Jangendag dee mettlerweil misst Hengendag heeschen, mee mir kennen de Kalenner jo net extra emänneren, e Stroossefest mat Freedefeier z’organiséiren? Do wier zum Beispill den 9. Juni well op deen Dag am Joër 1815 de Wiener Kongress eriwwer war a mir domatter offiziell een eegenen Staat goufen.

Brauche mir Nationalfeierdag dann iwwerhaapt? Jo. Et ass deen eenzegen Dag am ganzen Joër, wou eppes an der Staat lass ass an een sech net no 18 Auer firkennt wéi an enger Geeschterstaat aus engem bellegen Horrorfilm. Ech gin zou, ech fillen mech net als Lëtzebuerger mee als Mensch, wéi ech och schon an engem Kommentar beim Joël am Blog kloër gestallt hat. “Mäi” Land gett et net. Villäicht läit dat awer och dodrunner, dass déi lëtzebuergesch Gesellschaft menger Meenung no ze blann hier Nodeeler unhëllt an iwwerhaapt ech nemmen selten dat Gefill hun, Lëtzebuerger wieren e frendlecht an hellefsbereet Vollék. Sin ech do net selwer mat dru Schold, dass eist Land net frendlech ass? Villäicht, mee ech maachen mäi Bescht fir no baussen en gudden Androck ze hannerloossen, an et mécht mer och näischt aus, e puer asiatesch Touristen duerch déi hallew Staat ze guidéiren well se onbedengt wellen d’Méchelskierch gesin. Och en briteschen Tourist hun de Gilles an ech schon eemol owes duerch d’Caféen guidéiert, bis en dann dunn endlech een fonnt hat, deen em zougesot hat (nodeems mer em erklärt haten, dass de “red light district” awer definitiv ze wäit ewech wier fir en dohinner ze bréngen). Gudd, dat ass villäicht alles net am Sënn vum ATB, mee emmerhin muss een och tëscht blödsinnegen Ideen an reellem Liewen ennerscheeden kennen.

Ass den 22./23. Juni ee rengt lëtzebuergescht Fest? Villäicht gett deen Owend wierklech dat Gefill vun enger Zesummenghöregkeet gefestegt, mee deenen meeschten Jonken ass et geschter wahrscheinlech haaptsächlech em de gratis Béier aus dem Battin Woon an em all dat anert Gesöffs gaangen. Obwuel ech näischt mat Nationalfeierdag als solchen um Hut hun, gin ech zou, dass et awer en flott Gefill war, an ee Bus voller Leit ze klammen, déi all dat selwecht Ziel haten: Spaass. Ongewinnt dest Joër war fir mech, dass ech Nationalfeierdag bis op eng Persoun mat Leit gefeiert hun, déi ech firdrunner allenfalls mam Numm kannt hun. Villäicht war et dat Gefill vun Zesummengehöregkeet, dass mer eis allerguer direkt esou gudd verstaanen hun, mee wahrscheinlech net, well dobäi waren och zwee Leit aus der Belsch, déi sech eemol Lëtzebuerg ukucken kommen wollten, an domatter also guer net vum “Virus” lëtzebuergescht Zesummengehöregkeetsgefill erfaasst goufen.

Hellef, ech feiren dee lëtzebuerger Feierdag schlechthin mat Auslänner! Dat wier geféierlechen Patriotismus. Sou war et awer net, ganz am Géigendeel hat keen vun eis en Probleem domatter tëscht lëtzebuergesch an franséisch hin an hier ze wiesslen an déi Leit mat feiren ze loossen.

Iwwerhaapt awer war dest Joër Nationalfeierdag erem aussgewéinlech (erem, well d’lescht Joër den 22. Juni virun allem den Dag war, ier ech op Lloret geflunn sin), well ech firdéischte Kéier d’Relève vun der Garde kucken war, wat elo net wierklech impressionant war. An ech krut d’Virbereedungen op der Neier Bréck mat, an wat déi do fir Kabelen ronderem leen ouni den Iwwerbléck ze verléiren ass enorrm impressionant, och wann d’Freedefeier, mat Haaptattraktioun Péitrussedall am Schwiefelwaasserstoff, zu engem groussen Deel an virun allem déi iwwerdriwwen New Age ugehauchte Musék éischter enttäuschend waren.

Um Enn vum Owend spéiden Ufank vum Moien war et dunn schued, dass et eriwwer war, mee emmerhin war d’Staat fir en puer Stonnen esou, ewéi se emmer kéinnt sin: voller Liewen. A, ganz éierlech, dee Moment war et mir ganz egal op lo do een Grand-Duc gefeiert gett oder soss eppes.

Muer ass Nationalfeierdag

Grond genuch eemol dat wichtegst hei am Land ze feiren. An desem Senn:
Vive Simon Pils! Vive Diekirch! Vive Poll-Fabaire!

Sou, an elo an d’Staat beim Fakelzuch déi englesch Nationalhymn sangen. “God save our gracious queen, long live our noble queen..” Nee, dat ass keng blöd Fantasie, dat ass batter Realitéit. Alles schon mol duerchegzunn. An déi domm Schnësser vun den eeleren Leit ronderem sin einfach härlech.

Losing heart could be a song

After another long fight
In one of those nights
Dazing and Dazzling went to sleep
When little Joy began to weep
She had heard their screaming
And sadly she wasn’t dreaming

Dazzling sang her a song
But Dazing moved along
Passed Joy’s room
It almost felt like a boon

A nightly walk through the house
Of which they were ousted
He remembered the old days
His mind was in a haze
Oh those were the days
When all they did was laze
Money is not always there
But vanishing like air

Dazzling sang a song
Joy clapped along
But Dazing mainlined
And flatlined

After another long year
When loved ones disappear
Dazzling went to sleep
When little Joy began to weep
She felt alone
Daddy will never come home

me

now that I wrote my essay (re)defining the self-concept in e. lovelace’s the dragon can’t dance and b. mukherjee’s jasmine, for the post-colonial literatures course, i thought why not try and define myself. :)

thierry

is
lazy; dreamer; geek; anarchist; poet; writer; open-minded; idealist; pessimist; tired; hungry; sad; zestful; self-ironic; sarcastic; loyal; podcaster; student; designer; photographer; film editor; weird at times; nonsmoker; fascinated by quantum mechanics and astrophysics; alumni of three different high schools; picky with certain things; bossy once in a blue moon; workaholic; nostalgic; often tight-lipped; occasionally nicknamed “the loopy”; devoted mac user; honoured you’re actually reading this

needs
friends; silence; parties; pubs; aloneness; music; poetry; laptop; television; books; quiet talks; cheerful talks; barbecues; movies; lonely walks; enough space; to write; email and im; internet; to figure out his life; a vacation far away; things he’ll never get

wants
a loft; to learn how to play the piano; michael bublé to give another concert in luxembourg; diggnation to come to the mainland; a better government in his country; the downfall of the church; to travel the world; to live in vancouver/canada; to spend a couple of days in paris again; to relive the past nine years; starbucks and burger king in luxembourg; to buy useless stuff in trier; to meet alex albrecht, kevin rose and dan huard; too much

likes
going out; savouring a single chocolate for hours; daydreaming; sweets; chinese and mexican food; orange juice; milk; bunches of grapes; taking pictures; being deep in thought; pancakes; sushi; spaghetti ice cream; to taste new specialties; jamie oliver’s food; spicy food; good beer; rain falling on the roof at night; autumn; winter; strolling; nights; the scott mills show; batida de coco; writing emails; strawberries; hanging out at his favourite pub; busrides; listening; helping; long philosophical discussions; art galleries; midnight; being cryptic

dislikes
intolerance; homophobes; hypocrisy; church; racism; pseudo-friends; capitalism; president bush; the government in his country; feeling desperate; ignorants unwilling to learn; spring; summer; scorching sun; pollen; getting up in the morning; hanging on the phone; violence; exams; disrespect; dubbing; discotheques; sundays; christmas; unpretentious pop music and pseudo-punk (e.g. avril lavigne)

listens to
rock; hard rock; progressive rock; metal rock; metal; orchestral metal; alternative; alternative rock; alternative pop; punk; punk rock; ska punk; crust punk; acid punk; emocore; new wave; synth rock; conceptual; slow rock; instrumental rock; gaelic rock; mbp; classical; classical pop; avant-garde; jazz; trash’n’roll; solo piano; indie rock; post-rock; minimalist; swing; art rock; accoustic; house; trance; dance; downtempo; industrial; ambient; country; easy listening; grunge; néoréalisme français; slash

thinks
there are things missing in this list that don’t want to come into his mind

Quietus

A hazel wind is dreading past this bleak landscape
Whisperings are streaming through the air
         If only I could follow your lost track
         Now that I understand
A wailing purple is superimposing itself on all colours
Thoughts are heterodyned by lamentations of a dead
         You who decided to have her soul take
         Its lonely, ultimate breath

Every day is a constant choking
         Every night is an unbearable panting for breath

An ignoramus who never walks the talk is sermonising
Some deaf followers are acclaiming his homily
         All is said and nothing can be done
         God does not love someone like you
Rain cleansing the burning wound of sorrow thoroughly
Peals of thunder drowning out the all occupying crying
         A soul who decided to have her body take
         Its lonely, ultimate breath

Every day is a constant fearing
         Every night is a senseless naive praying that He does