Hier soir, j'étais voir les tambours du Yamato avec Claire et Marion.
Il me semble que c'est ça, être humain : continuer à taper de toutes ses forces sur des tambours, quoi qu'il arrive, avec défiance, avec opiniâtreté -- parce qu'il faut bien vivre.
Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we've hid our faery vats,
Full of berrys
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand.
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
Away with us he's going,
The solemn-eyed -
He'll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest
For he comes the human child
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand
From a world more full of weeping than he can understand
The Stolen Child
William B. Yeats
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Parce que secrètement, je crois aux fées (enfin, plus très secrètement, maintenant), et que c'est comme ça que je les vois agir.
after the quake
Haruki Murakami
Ed. Vintage
"I want to write stories that are different from the ones I've written so far, Junpei thought: I want to write about people who dream and wait for the night to end, who long for the light so they can hold the ones they love. But right now I have to stay here and keep watch over this woman and this girl. I will never let anyone -- not anyone -- try to put them into that crazy box -- not even if the sky should fall or the earth crack open with a roar".
Je ne me rappelais plus que j'avais ce livre dans ma bibliothèque. J'en ai lu la dernière phrase, et je me suis dit que j'allais la mettre là -- pour tous ceux qui attendent que la nuit finisse.
Un petit bout de mon coeur s'inquiète et tremble pour ce pays qui m'accompagne même quand je n'y suis pas.
La rue St. Honoré en fin de Fashion Week et pile à l'heure du défilé Viktor & Rolf (enfin je crois), c'est franchement terrifiant.
(En ce qui me concerne, c'était juste l'itinéraire le plus rapide entre WH Smith et Junku)
