Just heard that a "bonsai friend" has a terminal illness.
Heavy: what can you say to someone who's living his last days?...
Incidentally, I warched a doc yesterday night about people who had a (near-)death experience.
I still think that all religions suck. Dogma? Ech...
One of the songs i've thought of for my burial, imagine the mourners trying to keep the rhythm (which is very simple, very easy):
The camard, who never forgave me
To have sown flowers in the holes of her nose,
Is pursuing me with a foolish zeal.
So, surrounded by burials,
I thought it necessary to update my will,
To pay me a codicil.
Tempering, in the blue ink of the Gulf of Lion,
Quench, quench your feather, O my old tabellion,
And, of your most beautiful writing,
Note what should happen to my body,
When my soul and he will not agree anymore
Only on one point: the break.
When my soul has taken flight on the horizon
To those of Gavroche and Mimi Pinson,
Those of titis, grisettes,
That towards the native soil my body is brought back
In a sleeping "Paris-Mediterranean",
Terminus in Sète station.
My family vault, alas! is not brand new
In general, he is full like an egg,
And, by the time someone gets out,
It may be late and I can not
Tell these brave people, "Push yourself a little! "
Place to young people somehow.
Right by the sea, close to the blue waves,
Dig, if possible, a small, fluffy hole
A good little niche,
With my childhood friends, the dolphins,
Along this beach where the sand is so thin,
On the beach of the Corniche.
It's a beach where, even at his furious moments,
Neptune never takes herself too seriously,
Where when a ship is wrecked,
The captain shouts, "I am the master on board!
Save who can! Wine and pastis first!
Each his bottle and courage! "
And that is where, at the age of fifteen,
At the age when having fun alone is not enough anymore,
I knew the premium amourette.
With a mermaid, a woman-fish,
I received from love the first lesson,
Swallowed the first ridge.
Deference to Paul Valery,
Me, the humble troubadour, on him I go on,
The good master forgives me,
And that at least, if his verses are better than mine,
My cemetery is more marine than his,
And no offense to the natives.
This sandwiched tomb, between the sky and the water,
Will not give a sad shadow to the board,
But an indefinable charm.
Bathers will use it as a screen
To change outfit, and small children
Will say: "Owl a sand castle! "
Is it too much to ask ...! On my little piece,
Plant, I beg you, a kind of pine,
Parasol pine, preferably
Who will protect against sunstroke
Good friends come out on my concession
Loving bows.
Sometimes coming from Spain and sometimes from Italy,
All loaded with perfumes, pretty music,
The mistral and the tramontane
On my last sleep will shed the echoes,
From villanelle one day, one day to fandango,
Tarantella, Sardana ...
And when, taking my mound as a pillow,
A mermaid will come gently to sleep
With less than nothing,
I ask forgiveness in advance to Jesus
If the shadow of my cross lies on it a little
For a posthumous little happiness.
Poor kings, pharaohs! Poor Napoleon!
Poor grand disappeared lying in the Pantheon!
Poor ashes of consequence!
You will envy a little the eternal summer,
Who's riding the paddleboat dreaming,
Who passes his death on vacation ...
You will envy a little the eternal summer,
Who's riding the paddleboat dreaming,
Who spends his death on vacation
