More Than Ever (Por Emilio Pérez Miguel)

More Than Ever

The tide has set in the mirror of me in you

And I can't see in me what I can't see in you

But I need you more than ever

Not a fibre of my sense could agree with you

But my extinguished heartbeats long to be with you

For I need you more than ever

For I need you more than ever

I step in front of ailments that fly straight to you

And yet my deeds fail to communicate to you

How I need you more than ever

There's little to add to what I went through for you

You can't even picture the blood I drew for you

And I need you more than ever

And I need you more than ever

With devil-may-care abandon I bless in you

All the things that begin to retrogress in you

For I need you more than ever

I hold shades of emptiness as I reach for you

And there's no commandment I wouldn't breach for you

For I need you more than ever

For I need you more than ever

Emotions are secluded, like the fire in you

What was never engendered will expire in you

As I need you more than ever

And though my memory will always crack for you

There's no possibility I'll come back for you

Though I'll need you more than ever

Though I'll need you more than ever

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Random thoughts XII: Comparison

"So, is it possible to live without comparison of any kind, never translating yourself in terms of comparison with another or with some idea or with some hero or with some example? Because when you are comparing, when you are measuring yourself with 'what should be' or 'what has been,' you are not seeing what is."
The Collected Works of J. Krishnamurti,Vol.17 p.182

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Random thoughts XI: The Night Guy and Morning Guy

"I never get enough sleep. I stay up late at night, cause I'm Night Guy. Night Guy wants to stay up late. 'What about getting up after five hours sleep?', oh that's Morning Guy's problem. That's not my problem, I'm Night Guy. I stay up as late as I want. So you get up in the morning, you're alarm, you're exhausted, groggy, oooh you hate that Night Guy! See, Night Guy always screws Morning Guy. There's nothing Morning Guy can do. The only thing Morning Guy can do is try and oversleep often enough so that Day Guy looses his job and Night Guy has no money to go out anymore"

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Random thoughts IX: Christmas

The Christmas tree certainly seems to inspire a love/hate relationship. All that time is spent selecting it and decorating it, and then a week after it's just thrown somewhere, you see it by the side of the road, it looks like a mob hit. A car slows down, a door opens and this tree just rolls out. People snap out of that Christmas spirit like it was a drunken stupor, they just wake up one morning and go, "Oh my god, there's a tree inside the house! Just throw it anywhere! (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oaEbt3jR63s

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Random thoughts VIII: Writing

'Words - so innocent and powerless as they are, as standing in a dictionary, how potent for good and evil they become in the hands of one who knows how to combine them.' Nathaniel Hawthorne


'Loafing is the most productive part of a writer's life.'  James Norman Hall


'Sleep on your writing; take a walk over it; scrutinize it of a morning; review it of an afternoon; digest it after a meal; let it sleep in your drawer a twelvemonth; never venture a whisper about it to your friend, if he be an author especially.'  A. Bronson Alcott


'I'm not a very good writer, but I'm an excellent rewriter.' James Michener


'It is impossible to discourage the real writers - they don't give a damn what you say, they're going to write.' Sinclair Lewis

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Random thoughts VI

For those who fight for their dreams...

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Random thoughts V

'See, it’s never as bad as you imagine'

GEORGE: I’m outta there. I did it! It’s over.

JERRY: You did it? What happened?

GEORGE: I told her. In the kitchen – which was risky ‘cause it’s near all the knives. I started with the word “Listen.”

JERRY: Uh-huh...

GEORGE: I said, “Listen Marlene,” and then the next thing I know, I’m in the middle of it. And there’s this voice inside of me going, “You’re doing it! You’re doing it!” And then she started to cry, and I weakened a bit. I almost relented, but the voice, Jerry, the voice said, “Keep going, keep going. You’re almost out!” It’s like I was making a prison break, you know, and I’m heading for the wall, and I trip and I twist my ankle, and they throw the light on you, you know. So, somehow I get though the crying and I keep running. Then the cursing started. She’s firing at me from the guard tower. “Son of a bang! Son of a boom!” I get to the top of the wall – the front door. I opened it up, I’m one foot away, I took one last look around the penitentiary, and I jumped!

JERRY: See, it’s never as bad as you imagine.

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Random thoughts IV

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Random thoughts III

“According to most studies, people's number one fear is public speaking. Number two is death. Death is number two. Does that sound right? This means to the average person, if you go to a funeral, you're better off in the casket than doing the eulogy.” Seinfeld

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Random thoughts II

'Just because she likes the same bizzaro crap you do doesn't mean she's your soul mate' 

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Random thoughts I

'Oh, what's the point? When I like them, they don't like me, when they like me, I don't like them. Why can't I act with the ones I like the same way I do with the ones I don't like?'

 George and Jerry, discussing women, in "The Old Man"

George: Oh, what’s the point? When I like them, they don’t like me, when they like me, I don’t like them. Why can’t I act with the ones I like the same way I do with the ones I don’t like?
Jerry: Well, you’ve only got another fifty years or so to go before it’ll all be over…
George: Maybe I need someone who doesn’t speak English.
Jerry: Yeah, how about a mute?
George: A mute would be good.
Jerry: Ah, where you gonna meet a mute?
George: This is what my life has come to… Trying to meet a mute.

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Introspection as a spiritual examination

Once upon a time, Plato said that "…why should we not calmly and patiently review our own thoughts, and thoroughly examine and see what these appearances in us really are" (Theaetetus, 155). This is introspection. It is the self-observation of our inner thoughts, desires and sensations. A different way to examine one's own thoughts, feelings and even our soul. Living in a rush doesn't help us, and sometimes, it's good to stop and try to analyse what we had done and what we'll do in the future. Not only does it allow us to check our thoughts and plans but also to be responsible for them. In this way, introspection plays a key role in this and many other arguments relating to the mind-body problem. 

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Songs inspired by poems or books (Part III)

Killing an Arab

The song "was a short poetic attempt at condensing my impression of the key moments in L'Étranger (The Stranger) by Albert Camus" according to Robert Smith (Cure Newsnumber 11, October 1991). The lyrics describe a shooting on a beach, in which the Arab of the title is killed by the song's narrator; in Camus' story the protagonist, Meursault, shoots an Arab on a beach. Overwhelmed by his surroundings, Meursault is then condemned for the honesty about his feelings. He is considered an outsider (or 'stranger') because "he refuses to lie" and "doesn't play the game". It was such a controversial song that in the US, The Cure's first compilation of singles, Standing on a Beach (1986), was packaged with a sticker advising against racist usage of the song. Smith and Elektra also requested that radio stations discontinue airing the song. It saw controversy again during the Persian Gulf War and following September 11th. "Killing an Arab" was the only single from the Three Imaginary Boys era not to be included on that album's 2004 remaster although it remains available on the album Boys Don't Cry and Standing on a Beach. In 2005, the lyrics were changed from "Killing an Arab" to "Killing Another".

Standing on the beach
With a gun in my hand
Staring at the sea
Staring at the sand
Staring down the barrel
At the arab on the ground
I can see his open mouth
But I hear no sound

I'm alive
I'm dead
I'm the stranger
Killing an arab

I can turn
And walk away
Or I can fire the gun
Staring at the sky
Staring at the sun
Whichever I chose
It amounts to the same
Absolutely nothing

I feel the steel butt jump
Smooth in my hand
Staring at the sea
Staring at the sand
Staring at myself
Reflected in the eyes
Of the dead man on the beach
The dead man on the beach

The stranger

The Stranger or The Outsider (L’Étranger) is a novel by Albert Camus published in 1942. Its theme and outlook are often cited as examples of existentialism, though Camus did not consider himself an existentialist; in fact, its content explores various philosophical schools of thought, including (most prominently and specifically) absurdism, as well as determinism, nihilism,naturalism, and stoicism.

The title character is Meursault, an Algerian ("a citizen of France domiciled in North Africa, a man of the Mediterranean, an homme du midi yet one who hardly partakes of the traditional Mediterranean culture") who seemingly irrationally kills an Arab man whom he recognises in French Algiers. The story is divided into two parts: Meursault's first-person narrative view before and after the murder, respectively.

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Songs inspired by poems or books (Part II)

This time: a connection between 'The eyes of the poor'(Baudealaire) and 'How beautiful you are' (The Cure)

How beautiful you are

You want to know why I hate you?
Well I'll try and explain...
You remember that day in Paris
When we wandered through the rain
And promised to each other
That we'd always think the same
And dreamed that dream
To be two souls as one
And stopped just as the sun set
And waited for the night
Outside a glittering building
Of glittering glass and burning light...

And in the road before us
Stood a weary greyish man
Who held a child upon his back
A small boy by the hand
The three of them were dressed in rags
And thinner than the air
And all six eyes stared fixedly on me and you

The father's eyes said "Beautiful!
How beautiful you are!"
The boy's eyes said
"How beautiful!
She shimmers like a star!"
The childs eyes uttered nothing
But a mute and utter joy
And filled my heart with shame for us
At the way we are

I turned to look at you
To read my thoughts upon your face
And gazed so deep into your eyes
So beautiful and strange
Until you spoke
And showed me understanding is a dream
"I hate these people staring
Make them go away from me!"

The fathers eyes said "Beautiful!
How beautiful you are!"
The boys eyes said
"How beautiful! She glitters like a star!"
The child's eyes uttered nothing
But a flat? and utter joy
And stilled my heart with sadness
For the way we are
For the way we are
For the way we are

And this is why I hate you
And how I understand
That no-one ever knows or loves another

Or loves another

The eyes of the poor (C. Baudelaire)

"ah! you want to know why i hate you today. it will probably be less easy for you to understand than for me to explain it to you; you are, i think, the most perfect example of feminine impenetrability that can possibly be found.

"we had spent a long day together, and it had seemed to me short. we had promised one another that we would think the same thoughts and that our two souls should become one soul; a dream which is not original, after all, except that, dreamed by all men, it has been realised by none.

"in the evening you were a little tired, and you sat down outside a new cafe at the corner of a new boulevard, still littered with plaster and already displaying its unfinished splendours. the cafe glittered. (about 10 lines further detail the gaslights and the people around)...."a paradise for gluttons. "exactly opposite to us, in the roadway, stood a man of about forty years of age with a weary face and a greyish beard, holding a little boy by one hand and carrying on the other arm a little fellow too weak to walk. he was taking the nursemaid's place, and had brought his children out for a walk in the evening. all were in rags. the three faces were extrordinarily serious, and the 6 eyes stared fixedly at the new cafe with an equal admiration, differentiated in each according to age.

"the fatther's eyes said: "how beautiful it is! how beautiful it is! one would think that all the gold of the poor world had found its way to these walls" the boy's eyes said: how beautiful it is! how beautiful it is! but that is a house which only people who are not like us can enter". as for the little one's eyes, they were too fascinated to express anything but stupid and utter joy.

"song-writers say that pleasure ennobles the soul and softens the heart. the song was right that evening, so far as i was concerned. not only was i touched by this family of eyes, but i felt rather ashamed of our glasses and decanters so much too much for our thirst. i turned to look at you, dear love, that i might read my own thought in you; i gazed deep into your eyes, so beautiful and so strangely sweet, your green eyes that are the home of caprice and under the sovreignty of the Moon; and you said to me: "those people are insupportable to me with their staring saucer-eyes! couldn't you tell the head waiter to send them away?

"so hard it is to understand one another, dearest, and so incommunicable is thought, even between people who are in love!"

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Songs inspired by poems or books

Sometimes songs are inspired by poems. I think this is the case of 'Treasure' (By: Rob Smith) which was inspired by the poem 'Remember'(By:Christina Rossetti (1830-1894))

Christina Rossetti

Remember(Christina Rossetti):

Remember me when I am gone away,

Gone far away into the silent land;

When you can no more hold me by the hand,

Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.

Remember me when no more day by day

You tell me of our future that you plann'd:

Only remember me; you understand

It will be late to counsel then or pray.

Yet if you should forget me for a while

And afterwards remember, do not grieve:

For if the darkness and corruption leave

A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,

Better by far you should forget and smile

Than that you should remember and be sad.

Treasure (The Cure)

Robert Smith

"She whispers
"please remember me
when I am gone from here"
she whispers
"please remember me
but not with tears...
Remember I was always true
remember that I always tried
remember I loved only you
remember me and smile...
For it's better to forget
than to remember me
and cry"

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Everyday is like Sunday

A Sunday post...rather blue. No more to say.

Trudging slowly over wet sand
Back to the bench where your clothes were stolen
This is the coastal town
That they forgot to close down
Armageddon - come Armageddon!
Come, Armageddon! Come!

Everyday is like Sunday
Everyday is silent and grey

Hide on the promenade
Etch a postcard :
"How I Dearly Wish I Was Not Here"
In the seaside town
...that they forgot to bomb
Come, Come, Come - nuclear bomb

Everyday is like Sunday
Everyday is silent and grey
Trudging back over pebbles and sand
And a strange dust lands on your hands
(And on your face...)
(On your face ...)
(On your face ...)
(On your face ...)

Everyday is like Sunday
"Win Yourself A Cheap Tray"
Share some greased tea with me
Everyday is silent and grey

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One Art by Elizabeth Bishop

Yesterday I read a story in Language II in which was quoted this poem. I searched for it and I found it. I want to share it with you because I think we all have gone through different situations in which we lost something. Not only material things but also beloved people. Hope you get the message. Enjoy it! One Art
by Elizabeth Bishop
The art of losing isn't hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster. Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn't hard to master. Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster. I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. The art of losing isn't hard to master. I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster. --Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident the art of losing's not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

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After the rain II...

And I really believed that this time was forever,

And I thought you’d give me your reasons why,

And I thought there would be a last kiss,

And I thought you were the perfect way to blur my loneliness,

And I thought you’d be the one…

And I remember how close we used to be together

but I forgot that you never said you would stay forever,

a trick of my mind, I guess…

It seems time was ephemeral and so was your love for me...

the ugly truth was finally lurking in the shadows.

Now, meaningless songs about love are in the air…

and I don’t care…


or at least, I'm pretending that...

Written by Claudio Gómez

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