A beautiful quote

As an adolescent I aspired to lasting fame, I craved factual certainty, and I thirsted for a meaningful vision of human life - so I became a scientist. This is like becoming an archbishop so you can meet girls. M. Cartmill

Superbe post de Sophil

Ca se passe ici: http://sophie.typepad.com/sophildeleau/2007/06/la_chute.html

Excited

Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born. Anais Nin

Teenage kicks

I've been blogging somewhere else for a couple of weeks now, trying out a subject position that is not fully mine, to see if I had anything to say. I'd grown tired of leaving that aspect of my reflection to people I either positively dislike or idealise beyond reason. There wasn't much middle ground, and I wanted to find my voice.

It turns out that I had lots of things to say. It was (and it is) quite a trip: I'm loving the adolescent rawness that it brings up. I did not know that I could still navigate seventeen-year-old idealism which such seemless ease. It's like being in "Almost Famous" and encountering a new exiting scene, full of the type of people you only dreamed about until now.

I remember being seventeen, how I longed for a scene. How I never found it. I only found individuals and small groups who became the people I love. Just reading Livvy again this morning ties me back to the things I like about this blog (although I'm so drunk on the teenage kicks that I'm finding it hard to pinpoint exactly what it is). There is something I love about Goddess Carnet, and I don't want to loose that.



The Elton John Lyrics are a big part of the film, and a big part of the last three weeks, in an odd kind of way. How I love adolescence, I'll never tire of it!

Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band
Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man
Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand
And now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand

Jesus freaks, out in the street
Handing tickets out for God
Turning back, she just laughs
The boulevard is not that bad

Piano man he makes his stand
In the auditorium
Looking on she sings the songs
The words she knows, the tune she hums

But oh how it feels so real
Lying here with no one near
Only you and you can't hear me
When I say softly, slowly

Hold me closer tiny dancer
Count the headlights on the highway
Lay me down in sheets of linen
you had a busy day today

Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band
Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man
Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand
And now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand

What's in my cocktail?

I'm thinking of applying for a great job based both in Birmingham (university) and in Italy (fieldwork). It would be two years of researching the history and current evolution of the social movements who opposed Berlusconi. Now that's got a serious radical edge! And fieldwork in Rome? Yes please!

It ties in wonderfully with my current research as well. The only thing I'm worried about: will I like Birmingham? What kind of stuff will I fill my life with once there? At the moment my life is filled with a f*cking thesis, and that's about it. I don't really want to reiterate that mistake if I move away from Deville.

Bitten by the fanclub bug

I don't like it, I really don't like this at all, this has got to stop, but I'm swimming in teenage enthusiasm about the blog I talked about on my post about the "mainstream" last week. I've been bitten by the fanclub bug. I've even offered to send them some cash because I think they're doing great stuff and I would like to be part of it. I'm over-keen and find it hard to hold my horses.

On some level I'm ambivalent because they seem like a bunch of notorious Jesus-freaks, and I'm a French secularist who usually dislikes the mega-annoying CoE bigots that we've got around here. I even joined the aptly named CUNTS: Christian Union NO THANKS!

But I must say that I totally fall head over heels for sensitive folks who love people in an intelligent, reflexive, bountiful way. The only comfort I've got for my current fanclubitis is that the whole web seems to rave about it too. It's been voted theological blog of the month on the third month on which the contest was going, with all the big bookish profs agreeing that this was an excellent choice.

Still, must hold my horses. The French Abbe Pierre used to really dislike it when people worshiped his personality, he thought that it was a way in which people escaped their own responsibilities to be like him. I thought I was beyond this silly enthusiasm. I'm gonna link to one great post just one more time and then I quit. I can do it!

(remove the star): http://poserorpro*phet.livejournal.com/87963.html

Don't relate to rock?

Just had one conversation with a flatmate. There's a girl who fancies him, and he's not interested. He was asking two of us how he should convey this to her, even though it's been going on for months and she knows. I mean she even knows that he's got a new girlfriend. She won't stop texting him, wanting to draw him in.

If it was me, I would wish to be told in no uncertain terms that it's not going to happen. I think that the state Marina is in should not be perpetuated. I think unrequitted love borders on the pathological and that she should move on and learn not to not fall for men who don't love her. I think that someone who feels like Radiohead's "Creep" for a long period of time would benefit from counceling. I mean honestly, friends don't let friends feel like this. My flatmate thinks I'm beyond hope and that I will never have a rock sensibility. What do you think?

Through a clarinet

It's hard to describe the sheer physicality of a clarinet, your finite breath (and for all you know it could be your last as you pour it into the music), the feeling on you lower lip, the vibrating wood, the slight resistance of the metal, the tiny little sounds of the mechanics which only the player hears, the deep round soulful sound, the smell of its very old wood. The place where it comes from (Prague), the places where it's been since. The hesitant playing which somehow expresses the state of your soul better than words or silence could. I don't know many greater pleasures. And sometimes at night, when my neighbours are resting, I long for the morrow to play again, I long to pour my lungs' last drop of air into a clarinet.



Maria, I've just met a girl named Maria
and suddenly the name will never be the same to me
Maria! I've just kissed a girl named Maria
And suddenly I've found how wonderful a sound can be
Maria, say it loud and there's music playing
Say it soft and it's almost like praying
Maria, I never stop saying: "Maria!"



(Picture credit: East London Clarinet Choir)

Committed to the mainstream

People who think like me are radical hippies. They live in some christian communities in the downtown areas of big cities. Their community houses double as a drop ins for whoever needs them. I really don't know what their daily life feels like, something along the lines of the million dollar hotel maybe?

People who think like me are pretty full on: they studied some theology since undergrad, now they're doing a thesis on capitalim and christianity, they live and breathe their stuff. They advocate radical reforms. They married someone who thinks like them. They're also bordering on the burnout. It's fairly scary.

I know I couldn't stand their brainwashed vibe for more than a couple of days. I could not handle their dogooding and I would really hate their lack of concious ambivalence. Sugar and spice personalities creep me out, and I'd be watching Quills and The Beach every other night to recover my anger, my sadness, my fear and my humanity. I could not stand (what I imagine to be) a fairly sketchy house, vegan cooking and holier than thou attitude, though I may be badly prejudiced. I'm committed to the maintream. The mainstream is my community, and I believe in regular people.

But hell, their blog is good! There are some wondrous gems of fairly good thinking in it, and I can't help but wanting to compulsively pour over the archives and take notes. They're so beautiful. And somehow, consumed in that way, imported back to the maintream, translated back in nonconfessional lingo, it makes sense. I'll be a vegan radical hippy at Glastonbury and an understated humanist for the rest of the year.

(I'm not linking because I might be traced back, and I like the privacy of this blog. If you're interested look for p*ose*rorp*roph*et on google, without the stars. This guy's sensibility really rocks)

Brrrrrr: got given a cheap gift!

Kiara will know who I'm talking about, and I'm really peeved off: we went to a party one Saturday and I brought an orchid and mosel wine. When C came to lunch the following Monday she brought lidl chocolate and one 3-for-£2.25 box of exotic fruit drink. I know I should not care, and C -who lives far away- probably did not go shopping between Saturday night and Monday lunchtime, but this has really gotten me to think about the practice of making presents: it can be so warm and charming when it shows that we value each other, and almost hurting when they are so obviously cheap and thoughtless. It' s ridiculous, but at that time I longed for the company of one of my gay flatmates who dresses like prince Charles and is always unbeliveably "proper", so we spent the rest of the afternoon trading our Miss Manners credentials while drinking good tea. I probably need to adjust some attitude at some point too: unpretentiousness can be charming too.

For the record, in case I forget: presents are always top of their range, preferably something of a luxury that the person would not buy for themselves, and preferably a consumable unless you know their taste well. But I won't forget that, will I? I knew this when I was ten.

Weak tie

I’m not doing too well these days. I feel like a “weak tie”: people I introduce get on really well and leave me out of their stuff. People I’ve not yet introduced but who are desperate to have a reason to know each other are overjoyed if I provide the opportunity while they are somewhat less overjoyed if I just suggest coffee. Guys who know I had a crush on them invite me to their wedding because we’re such close friends. I debunk students in a minute by explaining the notion of Foucauldian discourse and providing the emotional labour to let them gain confidence in their own ability and they go away creating Facebook fan clubs for the unapproachable (male) profs. I’m so non-threatening it’s scary. I’m also socially generous and I share my contacts and information easily. But I’ve had enough of this ecological niche.

Jo March

Jo March lives on my floor. She was educated by principled (catholic philosophical vegetarian) parents in a remote part of the country. She is amazingly well read, well behaved and plays several intruments. She speaks greek and latin and has read all the church fathers plus most of the philosophical classics. She has the most inspiring conversation, the broadest smile and the best cooking.

We've just spent the evening playing wind intruments (with me on the clarinet and "Jo" on the bason), talking about politics with a visiting professor of theology from Duke who also happens to live in college and rehearsing Becca's wedding song. There was five or six of us. It was such a great evening. I'm realising that I need more of this to fill my heart's home. I've secretly always longed for the March's attic brand of fun. This is as close as it gets.

For the record

You have never pushed me to greater things, you have never mentioned my name to anyone you know or spoken about my research, you have never asked if I wanted to come to dinner with a visiting speaker, you have never taken me along to a conference, you have not even replied to e-mails in which I suggested things you might be interested in, you have never introduced me to anyone, you have looked worried when I was engaged in conversation with some scholars, you have spent days without acknowledging my presences at the London conference or without smiling back at me when I looked at you, you have never even given me the impression that I could amount to something in academia, you have never put me forward for anything like the stuff Marie is doing, like helping to edit a book, or write a report for government. You have never invited me round to yours like you have with other postgrads. You have felt comfortable talking total bullsh*t in front of me, thinking that I wouldn’t notice that you did not know what you were talking about, because I was so ignorant, and assuming I hadn’t read the books (which unlike you, I had).

In short, you don’t value me and you don’t respect me. I can’t help but think about Bourdieu, who thought that school did not iron out initial differences, it served a device for legitimating them. All this sh*t is insidiously undermining my confidence. Because I’m not the teacher’s pet I think there is something wrong with me or my ability. You never took me under your wing like you did with quite a few other students whom you idealize because they write about stuff that you don’t understand. I guess that my only option is to make clear that I don’t respect you either.

l'eau minerale gazeuse

Cheres lectrices,

Savez vous quelle est votre eau minerale gazeuse preferee? Peut etre pas et c'est un tort. Parce que le bon usage de la consommation exige que vous ayez des gouts precis et que vous evaluiyez la marchandise. Sauf qu'il ne s'agit pas de marchandise justement, mais de savoir de quelle personne vous pourriez envie: de trouver les autres attirants.

Bref, tout ca pour dire (et je suis passablement emechee) que c'est facile pour n'importe quelle femme de seduire qui elle veut, pour peu qu'elle reste en contact avec ses desirs: plutot ci ou plutot ca, cette eau gazeuse ou celle la? L' ambiance de ce gars ou de celui la? Avec mes 1 m 50, zero make up et en jeans t-shirt, je les fais se battre pour moi. Une femme qui desire, c'est irresistible.

Feeling like July 1914

I've developped an obsession for pre-and post WWI politics. The period 1870-1936 is just fascinating... In my everyday, it's just a passing mood, and it's a couple of paragraphs of my thesis. As often, passing moods are associated with songs, or images. The song Jaures by Jacques Brel, and a small statue of St Joseph.

There were so many of St Josephs in Lille. They're pretty sweet mostly: the one small statue I got is so lovely that when I got it in an underadvertised flee market in some far away district of Lille, people were stopping me to buy it off me, or at least ask where I got it.

I got it because it's beautiful, because it's cool to have representations of men with their kids, and also because I know that it's a symbol of catholic propaganda to keep the workers off socialism. They even colonised the first of may with the feast of "St Joseph the worker".

Oui notre monsieur, oui notre bon maitre...

Ils étaient usés à quinze ans
Ils finissaient en débutant
Les douze mois s'appelaient décembre

Quelle vie ont eu nos grand-parents
Entre l'absinthe et les grand-messes
Ils étaient vieux avant que d'être
Quinze heures par jour le corps en laisse
Laissent au visage un teint de cendres
Oui notre Monsieur, oui notre bon Maître
Pourquoi ont-ils tué Jaurès ?
Pourquoi ont-ils tué Jaurès ?

On ne peut pas dire qu'ils furent esclaves
De là à dire qu'ils ont vécu
Lorsque l'on part aussi vaincu
C'est dur de sortir de l'enclave
Et pourtant l'espoir fleurissait
Dans les rêves qui montaient aux cieux
Des quelques ceux qui refusaient
De ramper jusqu'à la vieillesse
Oui notre bon Maître, oui notre Monsieur
Pourquoi ont-ils tué Jaurès ?
Pourquoi ont-ils tué Jaurès ?

Si par malheur ils survivaient
C'était pour partir à la guerre
C'était pour finir à la guerreA
ux ordres de quelque sabreur
Qui exigeait du bout des lèvres
Qu'ils aillent offrir au champ d'horreur
Leurs vingt ans qui n'avaient pu naître
Et ils mouraient à pleine peur
Tout miséreux oui notre bon Maître
Couverts de prèles oui notre Monsieur

Demandez-vous belle jeunesse
Le temps de l'ombre d'un souvenir
Le temps de souffle d'un soupir
Pourquoi ont-ils tué Jaurès ?
Pourquoi ont-ils tué Jaurès ?

Paroles: Jacques Brel

Au debut c'etait pas possible... vous n'aviez jamais vu quelqu'un d'aussi peu sociabilise: un vrai monstre de negativite et de critique amere, son surnom c'etait "Swamp Monster", c'est dire.

A son egard il ya avait trois camps: une grosse majorite de gens polis qui ne l'appreciaient pas du tout et se forcaient visiblement quand ils la croisaient, un ou deux qui lui rentraient dedans pour faire evoluer les choses, et quelques bonnes ames judeo-chretiennes qui passaient un max de temps a l'ecouter, tout en emagasinant pas mal de "ressentiment".

Je faisais partie du premier lot... pas tres glorieux mais bon. Deux ans plus tard, le premier lot est reste le meme. Les deux rentre-dedans sont partis, les judeo-chretiens (JC) sont burnt out et ne peuvent plus la voir.

Pour ma part, je trouve qu'il y a une vraie evolution. Quoi qu'on en dise, les JC on bien degrossi, et je trouve Abie tout a fait frequentable ces jours-ci. On peut passer a la vitesse superieure, lui trouver du charme, aimer passer du temps avec elle, la voir s'epanouir et rire. C'est sur elle est pas jolie, elle a des dents pourries, elle s'habille mal, elle ne sent pas toujours super bon, mais elle est tres intelligente et elle a plein de centres d'interet. Je chope au vol le premier tuc qui me plait, et paf, je me contente d'apprecier. Parfois je lui envoie une ou deux de mes goddess "vibes" (just-think-about-sex). Elle en revient pas.

Je me souviens d'une injonction film "dangerous beauty", un de mes films preferes: "don't be squeamish" et aussi de la scene pendant laquelle l'heroine Veronica n'est pas du tout degoutee par les pieds gangrenes d'un de ses pretendants. La scene est magnifiquement bien jouee: tu vois la peur passer dans les yeux du mec: "elle me trouvera moche, repugnant" et sa surprise muette quand ce n'est pas le cas. N'est pas courtisane qui veut...

Alors je flirte impunement. Je decouvre aux premieres loges son ame legere et ses sourires. C'est beau et c'est pour ma pomme. Comme je vis avec un moine, un cure et cinq ou six grenouilles de CoE, je trouve que l'honneur des mecreantes est a defendre... Parfois j'imagine une sorte de match, et, bordel, c'est pas demain la veille que je me ferais battre par un cureton au jeu de bien traiter son prochain.

Over the moon...

Dear Ms Dany,

Please find details of your current orders listed belowRef: 15873XXX - 3 tickets for Glastonbury 2007 at Worthy Farm on Sunday 24th June 2007

Best Regards,See Tickets.

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bragging is good

Ca m’avait plus ou moins passé. Je m’accomodais d’un petit crush sans suite. Le truc de gamine, pas tres productif, pas vraiment destructif non plus. Le genre de crush dont je pense qu’il fondra comme la neige au soleil quand ma vie amoureuse sera plus interessante.

Et puis, Kat rentre du fieldtrip. Elle me raconte que BH n’a parle que de moi pendant toute la semaine. Que mon nom revenait tout le temps, et toujours associe a des louanges de tous poils. Je serais intelligente, sensible, drole…

Peut etre que Kat en rajoute un peu pour me faire plaisir. Peut etre qu’a certains moments Kat et BH n’avaient vraiment rien a se dire et n’avaient que moi en commun. Peut etre que BH communique via Kat pour me booster l’ego un peu. Mais ca me fait plaisir de savoir que je suis presente a son esprit, que je fais un peu partie de son paysage, que j’etais pas betement la, a l’apprecier unilateralement dans mon coin.

Le petit instant de detresse

Petit instant de detresse. Tu te demandes si je t'admirerais encore si je savais qui tu etais au fond. L'orateur vient de parler d'un truc qui te touche. Tu sais que je sais. Tu scrutes mon attitude. Ta main est posee sur la chaise entre nous.

Moi, heroique, j'essaye d'etre zen. Je sais que c'est le moment d'etre zen et non-judgemental, mais j'ai quand meme un peu peur de rater mon coup.

Je sais pas trop comment le gerer, ce petit moment ou le masque tombe presque. Je devine l'incessant travail de representation, qui l'espace d'un instant flanche un peu. Je devine la peur et l'isolation. Je sais que je ne peux pas faire grand chose.

Pilote automatique

Ce matin la femme de menage de mon college trouve mes roses super belles. C'est vrai qu'elles etaient belles, robustes sur leur tige, joliment ecloses, un beau rose poudre. Sans reflechir je les lui donne, de toute facon je pars a Berlin cette nuit et je vais pas les emmener. Elle est super contente. Barbara se prend pour Therese de Lisieux, tres fiere de faire son "humble" boulot tres bien. And she "loves" roses.

Seminaire ce matin, organise par le prof que je peux pas voir. Mais je me pointe a tous les seminaires par loyaute pour le department. Ce matin je suis la seule. Le prof en profite pour faire son "pote" avec moi, tout sourire devant le guest speaker. Seulement, si je peux pas le voir, y'a une raison: c'est qu'il a distribue les teaching responsibilities completement au pif cette annee et que j'ai perdu au change. Quand on lui a ecrit pour dire que c'etait n'importe quoi, qu'il avait donne des responsabilites enormes a des Masters et des cours a la con a des troisieme annees, il a repondu qu'il pouvait pas faire plaisir a tout le monde. Et moi piegee, je suis sympa avec cette enflure et je sauve sa face devant le guest speaker.

Parfois j'en ai marre de mon pilote automatique de fille bien. J'ai envie d'etre plus bitchy. Je sais pas par ou commencer.

La toile est de Renoir, mais je connais pas le titre.

No way! I got the graveyard shift, the "last note" on the Cambridge workshop. That, and I've been paired up with big professor from big department and hyperactive lecturer from Oxford.

That's it: me and those two guys providing highly intellectual entertainment for those fortunate enough to attend the second afternoon session of the economic sociology research workshop on April 4th. Wish you were there.

Hey, no problem I say: me + sexual fantasies + glucose = the world's most uplifting graveyard shift. And one thing is sure: my abstracts do rock!

Liquid Friendships

Oh God, I can't be bothered. I don't really want to go to the double concert of Mozart's requiem followed by Faure's requiem (I'm not making this up btw, this is the REAL programme). But my new friend John B invited me, he's singing in it. I wonder if he really wants me to come, if it is a move to build "things we have in common and can reminisce about" - we all need some of that- or if it was a casual invite.


Isn't this a wonderful age and time, nurturing our future "facebook" friendships? John B and I will quite possibly never meet again after this academic year is over. Still, I like him and I'll have to gladly inhabit my interesting century of globalisation and liquid love, it's the only one I've got. A song springs to mind, for auld lang syne....

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup of kindness yet,
For auld lang syne!

And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,
And surely I'll be mine,
And we'll tak a cup o kindness yet,
For auld lang syne!

We twa hae run about the braes,
And pou'd the gowans fine,
But we've wander'd monie a weary fit,
Sin auld lang syne.

We twa hae paidl'd in the burn
Frae morning sun till dine,
But seas between us braid hae roar'd
Sin auld lang syne.

And there's a hand my trusty fiere,
And gie's a hand o thine,
And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught,
For auld lang syne

When I fall in love

When I fall in love
it will be forever
Or Ill never fall in love


In a restless world like this is
Love is ended before its begun
And too many moonlight kisses
Seem to cool in the warmth of the sun


When I give my heart
it will be completely
Or Ill never give my heart
And the moment I can feel that you feel that way too
Is when I fall in love with you.


Words and music by Edward Heyman and Victor Young

La stupide bouteille de Vittel

Elle a rien de special, elle n'est meme pas trop abimee. Par contre l'etiquette est partie toute seule. Si j'ai decide de garder la stupide bouteille de Vittel jusqu'au jour ou je rends ma these, c'est surtout pour me convaincre que c'est tres bientot, et que cet objet insignifiant sera encore la quand j'ammenerai toute fiere ma these reliee au bureau de la fac.

Quatre ou cinq petits mois, ca passe vite. Plein de choses n'auront pas bouge. Je n'aurai meme pas encore fini mes boites de tomates d'ici la. Alors, en remballant tout ca, je ferai don de mes boites tomates au "placard commun" je bazarderai ma bouteille de Vittel et m'en fut dans la nuit vers d'autres aventures.

A chaque minute suffit sa peine...

Il est deja 34? Non 23. Encore onze minutes, ne pense a rien, continue, on arrangera ca plus tard, ca va marcher tu vas voir.

Il est deja 34. Oui 35. Ca y est tu peux "fuir", faire autre chose pendant une heure. Decider que c'est le moment de ranger ta chambre.

Il est deja 28? Non 14. C'est pas mal, tu vois que ca prends forme! Encore une ou deux demi heures ininterrompues et t'auras fini ton abstract pour le departmental seminar de Cambridge auquel tu as ete invitee. You know the saying: feel the fear and do it anyway.

A messy post about music

J'ai enleve ce post qui etait vraiment trop desordonne.

"Vibe" management

Does anybody know how to manage the vibe at the pub? Just been to a boring seminar, was practically begged to come to the pub (which turned out to be the guest speaker, me, and another hypoglycemic woman, everybody else disappearing somewhere else). We were all starving, but waiting for a fourth guy who was teaching at that time to join us later.

I'm ususally pretty good at vibe management. I've got a really good trick which is: "just think about sex". But I just could not lift that one. I've decided that bieng able to lift the mood of any gathering needs to be part of my irresistible charisma. Maybe I should add "glucose tablets" to my sexy thoughts programme.

I found another blog that I like!

I stopped blogging for a couple of months, mainly because I was getting bored with writing on things academic, life as a postgrad etc. I even got rid of the budding professor links, which left me with three ones to read all the time: Kiara, Christie and Livvy. Well girls, I found a fourth (and very very good) blog, to make in into the links: http://www.jorydesjardins.com/. I hope you enjoy it.

Vik, Carole, vous voulez bien m'appeler?

Je me suis fait larguer. Je sais ca arrive a tout le monde. J'ai meme pas tellement les boules. Enfin si un peu. Il m'a meme pas dit pourquoi. Du coup je psychotte. Enfin c'est pas grave. On s'etait disputte qu'une fois. Parce qu'il attendait une reciprocite trop conne: j'ai fait le cafe hier, aujourd'hui c'est toi.

Bref, il m'aimait pas. Il m'a larguee deux jours apres son putain de concours. Je sais pas si c'est parce qu'il ne voulait pas de "crise" avant. Ou si c'etait plus confortable d'avoir une copine pendant ce temps la. Bref, juste hier, j'ecoutais "I want to dance" de Whitney Houston, et c'etait pas lui que j'imaginais. C'etait personne, c'etait "somebody".

Bref, vous voulez bien vous acheter un micro pour msn? (Je peux meme vous en envoyer un qui etait gratuit avec ma cam si vous voulez).



Clocks strikes upon the hour,
And the sun begins to fade.
Still enough time to figure out,
How to chase my blues away.
I've done alright up 'til now,
It's the light of day that shows me how,
And when the night falls, loneliness calls.

Oh! I wanna dance with somebody.
I wanna feel the heat with somebody.
Yeah! I wanna dance with somebody,
With somebody who loves me. (x2)

I've been in love and lost my senses,
Spinning through the town.
Sooner or later the fever ends,
And I wind up feeling down.
I need a man who'll take a chance,
On a love that burns hot enough to last.
So when the night falls,
My lonely heart calls.

Somebody who... Somebody who... somebody who loves me...
Somebody who... Somebody who... to hold me in his arms...

I need a man who'll take a chance,
On a love that burns hot enough to last.
So when the night falls,
My lonely heart calls.

Ooh ooh! Dance! Come on baby... (laughs)
Dance! Wooo! Yeh! Dance! You dance like this... (laughs)
Woah! (dance!)

Don't you wanna dance? (dance!) with me baby.
Don't you wanna dance? (dance!) with me boy.
Don't you wanna dance? (dance!) with me baby.
With somebody who loves me.

Don't you wanna dance?
Say you wanna dance.
Don't you wanna dance? (dance!)

Don't you wanna dance?
Say you wanna dance.
Don't you wanna dance? (dance!)

Don't you wanna dance?
Say you wanna dance. (uh huh)(dance!)
With somebody who loves me.
Ooh (dance!)
Ooh-oh (dance!)
Ooh (dance!)
...with me baby...

The london review of Breakfasts

Check it out...

Love is overrated. It's all about philia.

Ca fait quelques jours que je me dis qu'entre "agape" et "philia", y'a pas photo, je prefere "philia". C'est comme l'affection d'un chat, aussi irreflechie qu'elle est evidente, et durable.

J'aime votre tolerance, j'aime votre humour, j'aime votre courage, j'aime votre esprit, j'aime votre indulgence, j'aime votre maniere d'etre au monde, j'aime parler avec vous, j'aime manger avec vous, j'aime lire quand on est dans la meme piece, j'aime dormir pas trop loin, j'aime le monde quand vous y etes.

Laisse tomber les grands principes fumeux, je t'aime comme un chat.

Image: Tableau d'Adolphe Bouguereau

Une vielle note d' Anne-Cecile Robert

" Le mépris, inconscient ou non, vis-à-vis des électeurs est devenu à droite comme à gauche une sorte de leitmotiv d'une classe dirigeante en mal de légitimité. Ce mépris se décline sur plusieurs registres, un peu à la manière de la " tirade des nez " de Cyrano de Bergerac.

Hautain : " Les électeurs n'ont pas compris notre politique. " Autrement dit, ils sont idiots de ne pas avoir perçu les bienfaits des privatisations, de l'Europe monétaire ou du démantèlement de la Sécurité sociale.

Faussement modeste : " Nous avons mal "communiqué". " Conclusion : nos choix étaient bons pour eux, mais nous n'avons pas su les leur expliquer. Le fait que les électeurs n'aient pas vécu cette politique comme une amélioration de leurs conditions de vie se trouve réduit à un simple problème rhétorique.

Erudit : " Le monde est devenu complexe. " Conclusion : laissons la décision à ceux que cette complexité ne gêne pas, c'est-à-dire les marchés ou les experts qui, in fine, savent mieux ce qui est bon pour tous.

Philosophe : " De toute façon, le peuple, ça n'existe pas. " Il est " introuvable ", a pu écrire Pierre Rosanvallon (3). S'il n'y a pas de peuple, la question du suffrage universel redevient une question ouverte, et d'autres formes de légitimation de la décision publique sont possibles : expertise ou sondages, par exemple.

Dévalorisées, les élections ne deviendraient plus qu'une formalité destinée à apposer le paraphe de la démocratie sur des choix effectués a priori. "

Extraits d'un texte trouve ici.
Credit Photo: Trekearth

Definitely maybe

(Pour)
Parce que c'est de loin la plus jolie fac du Royaume
Parce que j'aime bien la West End
Parce que ca serait cool de prendre des cafes avec Mimile
Parce que de toutes les villes de Grande Bretagne, c'est une de mes preferees
Parce qu'il y a des putains de paysages tout autour
Parce que le job m'interesse
Parce que c'est pas pour la vie, mais ca me laisse le temps de construire un profil academique sur trois ans
Parce que c'est LE gars qu'il me faut comme patron si je reste dans ma specialite
Parce qu'il va adorer ma candidature
Parce que c'est pas idiot de consolider mon "research agenda" avant d'envoyer mon dossier au CNU
Parce qu'il a des navettes pour Glastonbury et plein de concerts entre temps


(Contre)
Parce que mon reve, c'est moitie Londres, moitie Lille
Parce que le reste de l'Europe me manque
Parce que non, ils vont pas me bouffer toute crue les etudiants de LSE
Parce que je commence a avoir envie de construire sur la duree

location location location

"Some wish to live within the sound of Church or Chapel bell; I want to run a Rescue Shop within a yard of hell." - C.T. Studd.

Marre de l'intime.

En decembre, j'ecoutais pas mal de Jack Johnson. J'aimais bien son cote "surfer" pas complique, hyper cool, hyper cosy, let's eat banana pancakes.

Et puis j'en ai eu ras le bol de l'ambiance cocooning. Ca manque de rock'n roll, ca manque de spleen, ca manque de curiosite, c'est triste comme une soiree a regarder n'importe quoi a la tele.

Un bel article sur le the...

http://www.peripheries.net/article233.html
(credit photo: Trekearth)

mon coin du monde...

Intentional blogging

J'ai plus peur. Je me rends compte que j'ai perdu en maturite. Redevenir etudiante a 25 ans, dans un bled endormi, alors qu'avant je bossais dans un monde d'adultes. Je me demande si c'etait pas un peu du theatre tout ca. Si j'ai pas surjoue le cote "terorisee", parce que tout le monde dans ma promo faisait ca, et que ca valorisait les gens qui m'entouraient. Ceux, un brin plus experimentes, qui faisaient ca depuis des annees. Ceux dont c'est le metier de m'apprendre des trucs.

Y'avais bien quelques voix qui disaient: tout ce que tu desires si ardement, comme si il y avait un risque de ne pas l'avoir, tu vas l'avoir, c'est pratiquement automatique, alors arrette ton cinema, ne surjoue pas une angoisse qui n'est pas la tienne. Arretter mon cinema, ne pas surjouer la surprise, avec le meton qui en tombe, quand je choppe un a un oral du DESS. C'est pas de la modestie, c'est de la fausse candeur. Personne n'est dupe, sauf peut etre moi meme.

La photo, c'est l'etang de Walden, trouve probablement sur Trekearth. En lisant Thoreau dans une jolie tradution, je trouvais que l'endroit decrit degageait une certaine brillance, et une grande poesie. J'imaginais un endroit merveilleux, different, heterotopique. En fait, Walden c'est une flaque brunatre, meme pas aussi jolie que les gravieres Alsaciennes. Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. C'est ca finalement mon projet. Virer l'idealisme. Ne pas vouloir plus. Trouver la beaute la ou elle est.