balderdash nonsense

…tails from the urban litter box

quotable quote November 22, 2009

Filed under: favorite kitty quotes — Balderdash Nonsense by Random Girl @ 1:33 pm
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John Lennon

"There are two basic motivating forces: fear and love. When we are afraid, we pull back from life. When we are in love, we open to all that life has to offer with passion, excitement, and acceptance. We need to learn to love ourselves first, in all our glory and our imperfections. If we cannot love ourselves, we cannot fully open to our ability to love others or our potential to create. Evolution and all hopes for a better world rest in the fearlessness and open-hearted vision of people who embrace life."
John Lennon

 

One Bag Only October 26, 2009

Filed under: my cat's eye — Balderdash Nonsense by Random Girl @ 3:14 am
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i break your rule…

but I want to grab you

be that girl that can say

the right thing

that can make us right

but I can’t fix you and

and I gotta stop being that girl

that tries to fix everyone

else that’s broken

when I can’t fix myself

 

and you can’t handle my overstuffed luggage

i never could pack light

deep down I know it’s just an excuse

which is why I picked the fight

and forced your hand

to stop the push-pull

for us to end

what never was

better than unpacking your bags in vacancy

losing your luggage in uncertainty

 

and I know your right

my luggage is heavy

even for me

i have no business

involved

in more

until

one bag only

is more than a rule

 

…but I miss my friend

 

The Joys of Being French October 10, 2009

 

The First Million Years or So

600 Years of Unwanted Guests

Middle Ages and the Turn of Provence

Wars of Religion and Hocus Pocus Popes

Oppression, Resistance, Quel Renaissance!

Debating The Age of Bad Taste ou Epoch Classique?

Post-War brings Socialist Mitterand and the Revival of Occitan

The Joys of Being French, Oui or N’est Pas?

 

C’est La Vie in The South of France

Santon Fairs in the Var et Renoir at Les Collettes

Columns, Columns, Columns and a Bridge

Troubadours Cansos, Love Story, La Californie of Europe

Hug the road winding the Cote d’Azur

Bordeaux, Beaujolais, frescoes in Peille

Sailing to Promenade du Soleil

 

Down the Rhone: Orange to Beaucaire

Malabar’s bulging biceps swell

Jagged Alpilles, rocky plains of the Crau, marshlands of the Camargue

For the Rhone is a Saturdays Child

On to Nimes, the Gard and Montpellier

Le Vin’s de Herault and Agde founded by the ancient Greeks

Narbonne, the Corbieres and the Aude, Castles and Cathedrals abound

Last but not least, there’s the Catalans of Roussillon

 

Getting There

By Air, By Coach, By Car, By Train

By Boat, By Bus, By Bicycling

The Song of Summer, Cicadas tune

Siesta under pine trees and game of boules

Tender is the Night with starry skies

Bouillabaisse, Aioli, Thirteen desserts

Estocaficada and onion tart

 

Before Laying a Bet, will it be

Holiday Destination or Life on the Riviera?

Like the Fitzgerald’s and Hemingway’s

You will not be the first to stay

Avec votre coeur dans la méditerranéenne.

 

Red Light Life September 18, 2009

     You once saw this chick with wild, fiery-red curls sitting at the stop light of Magnolia and Pine. You marveled at her hair and her shiny, silver 1963 Stingray, not sure which you liked more. Perhaps it was the feeling it gave you. She had the top pulled back and "Boys of Summer" cranked, pumping out of the cabriolet, as she puffed out a series of tight smoke circles in the air with her Marlboro Red. You knew it was a Marlboro Red because the white and red pack, wrapped in cellophane, sat on the dash, staring at you. You were tempted to lean out the window and grub for one, forgetting you quit smoking ten years ago when you were young and dumb and free and dating old what’s-his-face. Yeah free. You remember that feeling. She felt like the silver-bullet train of freedom to you, in those two minutes and thirty-two seconds at the corner of Magnolia and Pine. You re-lived life before marriage and mortgages, before diapers and daycare, before disillusionment and divorce. The light turned green, that girl in the ‘63 Stingray with the crazy red curls popped the clutch and stole across the intersection, leaving you in her wake with your memories. You released your foot off the brake of your SUV, littered with lost Barbie shoes and yesterday’s half-eaten PBJ, and once again contemplated leaving. Sighing, you knew you can never escape yourself. Instead, you stuck your hand between the seats, fished out that half-eaten PBJ, and thought who needs freedom anyway.