My love for this song has once again be rekindled. It takes me right back to Paris and Penny and Lainne's fateful night at La Cigalle where we met the beautiful-Elvis-Costello-playing-Sebastien, as well as Mr Blake himself. How this video, featuring the lovely Rebecca Hall, has evaded my attentions until today is beyond me, but I'll say this much - I fucking love it.
Showing posts with label beauty. Show all posts
Showing posts with label beauty. Show all posts
Sunday, 5 February 2012
Friday, 13 January 2012
Sunday, 4 December 2011
She made me love
It's actually painful to hear, it's that gorgeously bitter-sweetly beautiful. "she made me love..."
Thursday, 1 December 2011
Wednesday, 30 November 2011
You'll be holding all the tickets and I'll be paying all the fines
Who's gonna love you?
Who's gonna fall far behind?
Who's gonna fall far behind?
So, when it comes to songs such as the above, it is quite tragically painfully difficult to remember, three to four years on, quite how much they meant to you. Once all your friends, your falacies and your foes start raving about itm and the facebook status' that used to be obscure soon become predictable...
Once theings as lovely and pure and raw and as wonderfully wordily, lyrically and luxuriously lovely as this end up trending on twitter and being tattooed on indie/emo girl's fat thighs, they lose that certain je ne sais quoi...
But, then again, Skinny Love, even now, means the world to me, and more.
Friday, 18 November 2011
Put your trust in me, you're not gonna die alone
Well prove to me,
I'm not gonna die alone.
Put your arm round my collar bone
Open the door.
Don't lie to me
If you're puttin' the dog to sleep.
That pet you just couldn't keep
And couldn't afford.
Well prove to me,
I'm not gonna die alone.
Unstitch that shit I've sewn,
To close up the hole that tore through my skin.
Well my trust in you
Is a dog with a broken leg,
Tendons to torn to fix,
And you let me back in
You said
I can't prove to you
You're not gonna die alone,
But trust me to take you home
and clean up that blood all over your paws.
You can't keep running out.
Kicking yourself off the bed,
Kicking yourself in the head,
Because, you're kiciking me too.
Put your trust in me,
I'm not gonna die alone.
Put your trust in me,
I'm not gonna die alone.
I don't think so.
Put your trust in me,
I'm not gonna die alone.
Put your trust in me,
I'm not gonna die alone,
I don't think so.
Monday, 17 October 2011
Sunday, 16 October 2011
There's nothing like sunlight to dry your tired eyes
Before Tigers. CFCF remix, of course.
p.s. i love the chinky boy, what a heart breaker ;)
What Boy Trouble said to me, part two
We are essentially two moths flying around the same flame.
Well baby, if that's the case, flutter your heart against mine. Burn this up into fresh, sweet, satisfied smoke rings. Make the air beautiful, whether this love remains transient, or grows into the eternal threads fate weaves between our desires and sweet kisses. Your tender flight, baby I've lost you from sight. Don't singe my wings for nothing. Singe my soul for love, and love alone.
Well baby, if that's the case, flutter your heart against mine. Burn this up into fresh, sweet, satisfied smoke rings. Make the air beautiful, whether this love remains transient, or grows into the eternal threads fate weaves between our desires and sweet kisses. Your tender flight, baby I've lost you from sight. Don't singe my wings for nothing. Singe my soul for love, and love alone.
Words
There are too many words, there are too few words.
There is nothing to say, yet somehow, there is everything. It must be said.
It must be said that there are never enough words to express, to communicate, to explain, to spellouttoyou the efforts, the injuries, the injustices, the worries, the fears, the scars, the pains and the woes of my love for you.
There shall never be a love like it, never a love like this that should consume my heart to the degree of a burst bubble. Like the bubbles in the playground or paddling pool when we shared the age of six or seven years alive and breathing; our, or rather your, love was transient, expendable, all used up the moment it was expressed and shared around for all to see. Once the bubble burst I was worthless, and you were worth the world and more. And, get this, not only worth the world and more and more to me, but to her. That worthless witch who cradled your soul in her crooked arms, stomped on my own with her sequined shoes. That creature who festered, who burned, who consumed and who stole. Whether she had been a person, a being, a mist or a demon, I shall forever remember, recall, re-enact and retell the role she played in my bitter, burning downfall.
Whether the part she played were through the voices in my head, that spun me in every direction but the truth about you. Whether the part she played was in your eyes, your heart, your head, your hands and between your sheets, thieving you away into a world I was barred from for all eternity. Whether the part she played was solely that of the inflicted injustice of a chair flung fast at an un-flinching cheekbone. Whether the part she played was the bloodied pools settling upon the pavement, the snotspitblood that curdled down my throat, the bittersweet tears at the realisation of evil, the dizzying effects of vodkaorangeallfuckingnightlongonafartooemptystomach, combined with the pain of your love and the lies of your lovers.
I will always remember, recall, retell. Your actions, your afflictions, your selfishness and your evils moulded me into the being I currently represent. I am proud of what you did, and the life I have led. I am proud of the scars, of the tears, the fears and the memories.
Despite all that blood, sweat, pain and tears, I shall never regret loving you, for this love is too pure to disappear, to fester, to falter. I shall reside behind your eyes, underneath your blackened heart, like the soot that rests beneath the blocks of coal that represent all that you do not stand for.
You're a bad one, but I will always love you.
There is nothing to say, yet somehow, there is everything. It must be said.
It must be said that there are never enough words to express, to communicate, to explain, to spellouttoyou the efforts, the injuries, the injustices, the worries, the fears, the scars, the pains and the woes of my love for you.
There shall never be a love like it, never a love like this that should consume my heart to the degree of a burst bubble. Like the bubbles in the playground or paddling pool when we shared the age of six or seven years alive and breathing; our, or rather your, love was transient, expendable, all used up the moment it was expressed and shared around for all to see. Once the bubble burst I was worthless, and you were worth the world and more. And, get this, not only worth the world and more and more to me, but to her. That worthless witch who cradled your soul in her crooked arms, stomped on my own with her sequined shoes. That creature who festered, who burned, who consumed and who stole. Whether she had been a person, a being, a mist or a demon, I shall forever remember, recall, re-enact and retell the role she played in my bitter, burning downfall.
Whether the part she played were through the voices in my head, that spun me in every direction but the truth about you. Whether the part she played was in your eyes, your heart, your head, your hands and between your sheets, thieving you away into a world I was barred from for all eternity. Whether the part she played was solely that of the inflicted injustice of a chair flung fast at an un-flinching cheekbone. Whether the part she played was the bloodied pools settling upon the pavement, the snotspitblood that curdled down my throat, the bittersweet tears at the realisation of evil, the dizzying effects of vodkaorangeallfuckingnightlongonafartooemptystomach, combined with the pain of your love and the lies of your lovers.
I will always remember, recall, retell. Your actions, your afflictions, your selfishness and your evils moulded me into the being I currently represent. I am proud of what you did, and the life I have led. I am proud of the scars, of the tears, the fears and the memories.
Despite all that blood, sweat, pain and tears, I shall never regret loving you, for this love is too pure to disappear, to fester, to falter. I shall reside behind your eyes, underneath your blackened heart, like the soot that rests beneath the blocks of coal that represent all that you do not stand for.
You're a bad one, but I will always love you.
Awesome as she, in all her glory
Does the fact that my swift and ever swifter demise and its effects fit so perfectly into your clammy, cold little fist like that of a toddler, squeezing their first and last hamster/gerbil/mouse/rat to death mean that I shouldn't love you as I do?
I fall into the abyss of meaninglessness. Signifying, symbolising and communicating less and less to the world, overshadowed, overcome, overruled by your ever pervading power of narcissism and nonsense. Does it mean that I am worthless? Surely not?
Though, if you of all the beings upon this blessed earth shall not have me, instead, choosing to discard the purity of my love, my devotion, my depth, who else might be rendered worthy of the honour?
For it is an honour to love and be loved, is it not? Do not the vows of marriage, the promise to have, to hold, for all eternity, signify the importance, the integrity, the royal injustice of the word Love?
Shall I forever be a discarded car wreck, reliant on drug addled friends, drug addled foes, and the throwaway lovers found in festering in the corners of public houses and filthy establishments surrounding the cities of the United Kingdom's forgotten men?
Shall I forever be deemed notquitegoodenough for the likes of yourself? With your selfishness? Your overpowering spitefulness? Your soul, that consumes the love and peace of others, leaving behind only the remnants of the path of destruction your fleeting passions led you to, and left alone after using up all that was good within them?
You know what, baby boy? You did that to me. You squeezed, you drank, you stole and you surmised me. You knew what I was worth and you took my fortune, claiming it for yourself and your beige bastardised brigade of the benign, the banal. Your cheekbones meant the world to me, masked with the mist of cheap banana-scented hairspray. Consumed by the exoticism of your bone structure, your bullshit stories, your tales of mishaps and images of Northern drudgery. You knew what I was worth and you took it all for yourself and your inherently beautiful and rewarding future.
But again, baby boy, you know what? You future is marred by the pain that your actions inflicted upon the likes of myself and other well-meaning beings of passion and grace. You stole, you lied, you cheated your way in and out of my life, choosing instead the blandness of her. Her ashy complexion, her toneless voice, her predictable comments and mirroring ways. You chose the bread and butter in life, keeping to yourself the wondrous delights you'd excavated from nights of passion with the likes of myself. While I am now worthless, in your eyes and mine, I am at least lit, basked in the glow of something you shall never possess. Truth. Honesty. Reality. Love. Honour. Beauty.
Your face may speak to me more words that were ever written in every tongue in every book on every page. Your eyes may forever communicate to me the innermost thoughts and feelings you possess and choose to share and articulate to the worthless being you moulded into me. But, sweet darling first true love, lover of mine forever and never, giver of scars, of tears, of oozing sores - you shall never be mine for you, your world, your heart and your words shall never be worthy of this glory.
I, awesome as she, in all her glory, shall never again be touched by your gaze, your love, your voice and your efforts to manipulate the light that emanates from my very existence. It was never yours to have, to hold, for all eternity, and it never shall be, sweet lover with the slitted eyes.
I fall into the abyss of meaninglessness. Signifying, symbolising and communicating less and less to the world, overshadowed, overcome, overruled by your ever pervading power of narcissism and nonsense. Does it mean that I am worthless? Surely not?
Though, if you of all the beings upon this blessed earth shall not have me, instead, choosing to discard the purity of my love, my devotion, my depth, who else might be rendered worthy of the honour?
For it is an honour to love and be loved, is it not? Do not the vows of marriage, the promise to have, to hold, for all eternity, signify the importance, the integrity, the royal injustice of the word Love?
Shall I forever be a discarded car wreck, reliant on drug addled friends, drug addled foes, and the throwaway lovers found in festering in the corners of public houses and filthy establishments surrounding the cities of the United Kingdom's forgotten men?
Shall I forever be deemed notquitegoodenough for the likes of yourself? With your selfishness? Your overpowering spitefulness? Your soul, that consumes the love and peace of others, leaving behind only the remnants of the path of destruction your fleeting passions led you to, and left alone after using up all that was good within them?
You know what, baby boy? You did that to me. You squeezed, you drank, you stole and you surmised me. You knew what I was worth and you took my fortune, claiming it for yourself and your beige bastardised brigade of the benign, the banal. Your cheekbones meant the world to me, masked with the mist of cheap banana-scented hairspray. Consumed by the exoticism of your bone structure, your bullshit stories, your tales of mishaps and images of Northern drudgery. You knew what I was worth and you took it all for yourself and your inherently beautiful and rewarding future.
But again, baby boy, you know what? You future is marred by the pain that your actions inflicted upon the likes of myself and other well-meaning beings of passion and grace. You stole, you lied, you cheated your way in and out of my life, choosing instead the blandness of her. Her ashy complexion, her toneless voice, her predictable comments and mirroring ways. You chose the bread and butter in life, keeping to yourself the wondrous delights you'd excavated from nights of passion with the likes of myself. While I am now worthless, in your eyes and mine, I am at least lit, basked in the glow of something you shall never possess. Truth. Honesty. Reality. Love. Honour. Beauty.
Your face may speak to me more words that were ever written in every tongue in every book on every page. Your eyes may forever communicate to me the innermost thoughts and feelings you possess and choose to share and articulate to the worthless being you moulded into me. But, sweet darling first true love, lover of mine forever and never, giver of scars, of tears, of oozing sores - you shall never be mine for you, your world, your heart and your words shall never be worthy of this glory.
I, awesome as she, in all her glory, shall never again be touched by your gaze, your love, your voice and your efforts to manipulate the light that emanates from my very existence. It was never yours to have, to hold, for all eternity, and it never shall be, sweet lover with the slitted eyes.
Saturday, 15 October 2011
Advice
The beautiful Mancunian has advised me to clear my head by talking a walk with my wine bottle. Wine walking de-shambles things.
Toor right, baby girl. Too right.
Toor right, baby girl. Too right.
Riddle me this, part one
Why does your confidence dissolve so swiftly into a broody cess-pit of fear, confusion and corruption when the presence of my voice is admitted through the arched doorway of your elphin ears?
Why does your smile fizzle to a haunted gaze that looks past my eyes to the depths of the death my soul longs for?
Why does your heart eat itself up each night as you drift through the slumbering shadows given to you as a gift from sweet temptress, Valium herself?
Why does your top lip flutter at the mention of my soft, sweet skin?
Why does your mind seek to rapidly excavate the crevices, creases, wrinkles, swirls and ditches of my own private, buried thoughts?
Why does your life revolve around the unexpected and unwelcome resolution to hold your heart away from love, yearning only for pain, fear and blackening rust?
Why does over mean nothing when you kiss me, again, again?
Why do you your eyes search out mine in the dark, through the mist, your gaze rises to the surface of my dreams and inflicts an honest, cold pain that brings a chill to the depth of the sockets my eyes rest within?
Why does my grin receive such chastisement from your own when I smile at the subtle attempt at an ironic comment or critique of the world that continues to exist, though we remain still and silent in our own private room of hell's inner chambers?
Why does my skin, my pores, my entire surface, shudder at the passing thought of losing you from my life?
Why do my feet wander ever further towards the surface of your demise?
Why does my mouth resist the ever-mounting temptation to bite the lips of someone other than yours?
Why do my thoughts reach ever-closer to the precipice, the hanging cliff of your dreams and submerged reality?
Why does the concept of being ever yours for always in time render me so fearful, so helpless and terrified?
Why does your skin warm mine so freely, sending me into the overgrown forests of myself to gather the flowers of your affection?
Why does your voice whisper, nay, sing of meadows that only our dreams may cultivate?
Why does your hair whistle as I clutch at it with trembling finger tips, the rustle being the only sound that realises your existence in conjunction with my own?
Why does your laughter corrupt my heart so easily, reaching the box of morals buried deep within my bones, your effortless giggle unlocking the door to my soul, a door that has never been and will never again be opened by another?
Why does your suggestive glance reduce my knees to a melted pool of lust at the bottom of the stairs, a bloodied and giddy mess of flesh, bones and sexual desires?
Why does the night time release such charisma in your voice, such engagement, such energy that my attempts to resist your seduction are fleeting, foolish, forgotten?
Why does the moon shine on the frank, whitened skin of your transparent and luminous chest, revealing the veins of poison that run beneath your flesh?
Why does your pain come between my happiness and my own, deep and frightened suffering?
Why does the idea of sacrifice come so naturally when your sweet, hot kiss is at stake?
Why do you consume my world, my being, my essence, my taste, my fragrance so rapidly, forcing my body to convulse in delighted, pleasurable poison?
Why do your words, snuck effortlessly past your sly, sharp tongue, transform my dreams into your own, causing our paths to collide violently, with the catastrophic results of a bitter romance residing only within the shadowy remnants of our desires?
Why does your need to control, consume, please, taste and suffocate me render me helpess, as a virgin walking innocently through the Woods of the Wolves?
Why does your soul tempt my feet from the silvered path of worn down pebbles and into the dark and dangerous shadows, inducing uncontrollable ecstasy within my veins?
Why does your blood run through your words, your kiss, your violent heart beat, into mine so freely, as if we were born to be one?
Why is your pain louder than my own within my heart, sould and fleeting mind?
Why do you control me so, cruel master? Why do I only feel blackness when I sit, looking through the darkness towards the light that only your hands can pull me towards?
Why does it hurt so, to hear the whispered utterance of your name, when it's all I desire to hear for the rest of my life?
Why will you never freely mutter the whispered words, I love thee, into my ears without the consuming sense of guilt at owning your heart rushing into my open chest, the wounds irreparably present between my shattered and gruesome ribs?
Why does my soul ache for yours in a way that rips my flesh from my soul, my words from my throat, my eyes from the light, my heart from your own?
Why?
Now, sweet troublesome lover, Riddle me this...
Why does your smile fizzle to a haunted gaze that looks past my eyes to the depths of the death my soul longs for?
Why does your heart eat itself up each night as you drift through the slumbering shadows given to you as a gift from sweet temptress, Valium herself?
Why does your top lip flutter at the mention of my soft, sweet skin?
Why does your mind seek to rapidly excavate the crevices, creases, wrinkles, swirls and ditches of my own private, buried thoughts?
Why does your life revolve around the unexpected and unwelcome resolution to hold your heart away from love, yearning only for pain, fear and blackening rust?
Why does over mean nothing when you kiss me, again, again?
Why do you your eyes search out mine in the dark, through the mist, your gaze rises to the surface of my dreams and inflicts an honest, cold pain that brings a chill to the depth of the sockets my eyes rest within?
Why does my grin receive such chastisement from your own when I smile at the subtle attempt at an ironic comment or critique of the world that continues to exist, though we remain still and silent in our own private room of hell's inner chambers?
Why does my skin, my pores, my entire surface, shudder at the passing thought of losing you from my life?
Why do my feet wander ever further towards the surface of your demise?
Why does my mouth resist the ever-mounting temptation to bite the lips of someone other than yours?
Why do my thoughts reach ever-closer to the precipice, the hanging cliff of your dreams and submerged reality?
Why does the concept of being ever yours for always in time render me so fearful, so helpless and terrified?
Why does your skin warm mine so freely, sending me into the overgrown forests of myself to gather the flowers of your affection?
Why does your voice whisper, nay, sing of meadows that only our dreams may cultivate?
Why does your hair whistle as I clutch at it with trembling finger tips, the rustle being the only sound that realises your existence in conjunction with my own?
Why does your laughter corrupt my heart so easily, reaching the box of morals buried deep within my bones, your effortless giggle unlocking the door to my soul, a door that has never been and will never again be opened by another?
Why does your suggestive glance reduce my knees to a melted pool of lust at the bottom of the stairs, a bloodied and giddy mess of flesh, bones and sexual desires?
Why does the night time release such charisma in your voice, such engagement, such energy that my attempts to resist your seduction are fleeting, foolish, forgotten?
Why does the moon shine on the frank, whitened skin of your transparent and luminous chest, revealing the veins of poison that run beneath your flesh?
Why does your pain come between my happiness and my own, deep and frightened suffering?
Why does the idea of sacrifice come so naturally when your sweet, hot kiss is at stake?
Why do you consume my world, my being, my essence, my taste, my fragrance so rapidly, forcing my body to convulse in delighted, pleasurable poison?
Why do your words, snuck effortlessly past your sly, sharp tongue, transform my dreams into your own, causing our paths to collide violently, with the catastrophic results of a bitter romance residing only within the shadowy remnants of our desires?
Why does your need to control, consume, please, taste and suffocate me render me helpess, as a virgin walking innocently through the Woods of the Wolves?
Why does your soul tempt my feet from the silvered path of worn down pebbles and into the dark and dangerous shadows, inducing uncontrollable ecstasy within my veins?
Why does your blood run through your words, your kiss, your violent heart beat, into mine so freely, as if we were born to be one?
Why is your pain louder than my own within my heart, sould and fleeting mind?
Why do you control me so, cruel master? Why do I only feel blackness when I sit, looking through the darkness towards the light that only your hands can pull me towards?
Why does it hurt so, to hear the whispered utterance of your name, when it's all I desire to hear for the rest of my life?
Why will you never freely mutter the whispered words, I love thee, into my ears without the consuming sense of guilt at owning your heart rushing into my open chest, the wounds irreparably present between my shattered and gruesome ribs?
Why does my soul ache for yours in a way that rips my flesh from my soul, my words from my throat, my eyes from the light, my heart from your own?
Why?
Now, sweet troublesome lover, Riddle me this...
Friday, 14 October 2011
Killkill.Thrillthrill.
Do you know, I am going to leave you?
Do you know, I am going to leave you?
I'm in love with a dying man, I'm in love with a dying man.
I'm in love, lying in the sand.
I'm in love with a dying man, I'm in love with a dying man.
I have done everything I can.
Tell me about bangin' his girl. Do I know where he's gone to meet you?
Love you I do. Stay, I won't.
The stars straight from your eyes.
I'm in love with a dying man, I'm in love with a dying man.
I'm in love lying in the sand.
I'm in love with a dying man. I'm in love with a dying man.
I have done everything I can.
One Two. Make it fun.
I don't trust any one.
One Two. Make it fun
Don't trust anyone.
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