Pain Below Left Shoulder Blade

' Speak Memory ', in Vladimir Nabokov

"Speak Memory" is perhaps not the most faithful autobiography that I read, but this is by far the most beautiful. Obviously, the author of "Lolita" plays with the conventions, and we should expect anything but a classic, short, what we hoped would normally find in a tale of memories.

Nabokov depicts in vivid detail his youth, since the circumstances of his birth until the construction of his adult life with his wife and son. Through this flood of memories, the purpose of Vlad, whose writing is always so conducive to melancholy, is to establish the genesis that led him to become a writer.

The importance of childhood is omnipresent. If you had, like me, the emotional shock required reading "Ada or Ardor", you will understand that the childhood of Vlad falls Ardis, a Russian fantasy, idyllic outskirts of St Petersburg . And Nabokov, like Van, Ada and Lucette, is one of those wonderful children born under the sign of the Don. We then find moments of grace buried under the combination of fluid and clever metaphors: the little Vlad discovering that combines the words for colors, the delicacy little girl who characterized her mother (beautiful when she feigned admiration when the children open their Christmas gifts), the author's growing passion for butterflies, his first love in Biarritz ...

In Nabokov, everything is change, desire, and figures of speech are distinguished by the remarkable tone is casual and eloquent. Everything is sublimated, and although it is sometimes difficult to follow the wanderings of the author confines of her memory, I loved the ironic or difficult it is on his family: father about to fight Pushkin in a duel with the many tutors sailing between three languages (English, Russian, French) ...

What is especially admirable is how the work is extended to the Children in the second half, rushing the reader to the lives of immigrants after the March Revolution and s to complete such a sketch on the studies of Nabokov and his family life. A bit like in "Ada", in fact, childhood is timeless, this Anti-Terra, which is none other than our perceived world through feelings and dreams.

The book, dedicated to his muse and wife Vera, looks like a present in which the author indulges. I especially appreciate the tone confidential it adopts in this work in which he addresses the second person singular, not created for the player but for his dear and loving herself.

As usual, he plays hide and seek with the reader, and this one really never knows distinguish fact from fiction but maybe deep down, that is, the actual mechanism of memory and the re-creation of memories ...

Clf2polar Or Nonpolar

' My Old, Familiar Friend ' Brendan Benson


It is one of those albums that does not really enjoying that at the fifth or sixth listen. Not those for which you have a favorite right now, but rather those that we learn to enjoy such a dish spicy flavorings that conceals unknown. I especially appreciate this sentiment: we listen to the CD loop, then all of a sudden freeze frame and say "but minute butterfly, these songs are really great, they make me vibrate.

is the case with "My Old, Familiar Friend" by Brendan Benson. For those who do not know, Brendan is the post that accompanies Jack White on guitar on the Raconteurs. I discovered this artist at about the time the Raconteurs were beginning to make themselves known when a friend gave me "The Alternative to Love" for my birthday. This album made me almost the same effect, I'd appreciate gradually and then suddenly one day I started to listen carefully to the lyrics of "What I'm Looking For" to me had all returned.

On its fourth album, Mr. Benson opened the ball very hard, in a symphony of guitars and snare drums, as on the beginning of "The Alternative to Love" with "Spit It Out". "A Whole Lot Better" therefore gives the tone: wild flights and lyrics are bittersweet taste of the day.

Then they escaped to the melodies tinged pop-rock violins, all wrapped in an ever catchy. In this sense, "Eyes on the Horizon" takes us on a cruise rather restless, and "Garbage Day" is a beautiful nugget and the beginning of this album. "Take You Home" is the consecration. For the lucky people who saw Brendan last February at the Nouveau Casino, I can assure you that on stage, the song that marked the end of the concert was simply sublime.

ago in Brendan oscillation between the real strength of his electric songs ("Poised and Ready," "Do not Want to Talk About It") and nostalgic melodies found on "You Make a Fool Out of Me" and sometimes these two trends are met: "Misery". In fact, the whole album is fluid, the order of songs carefully chosen, and it concludes with the tumultuous "Borrow", followed by two hidden tracks, "New Words of Wisdom", disturbing emotions, and " I'll Never Tell "perhaps the darkest song on the album. No song

violent and fiery as can be found in the Raconteurs, or to force songs dripping piano and voice quavering.

I think what makes the harmonic force Brendan is a subtle mix of keyboards and guitars. And be aware that He made it all as a great: drums, guitar, bass, lyrics ...

The criticism I have read keep saying it does "nothing revolutionary" that it's actually quite banal pop, but I do not agree. Brendan ago in a je ne sais quoi that makes it presses on the nerve where it hurts or where you sketch a smile, you realize one thing: Mr. Benson is right. Yes, "just" is, I think the word that best describes his music. He is right in the nuance and subtlety. When you listen to "What I'm Looking For", you say: "here is quite that it expresses exactly how I feel, right now, for the moment. "

And then we must say he has a knack for lyrics that glorify seem ridiculous in the mouth of the singer of brit pop lambda.

As the title suggests, "My Old, Familiar Friend" is like a friend who takes us by hand to listen to us explain some things in life, so a feeling of closeness Brendan came over me when I listen.

This album, even better than the previous one that I find a good already, mark, I think, a kind of turning point in musical Brendan.

So, Mr. Benson, I wanted to thank you for the intensity of emotion listening to this CD, so comprehensive and fair in its composition.

Truly Yours, etc. ...

Where To Buy Manish Malhotra Sarees

Fashion, frills and rags


Yes, I grant you, they tell me it's very strange for a first article. Not really in line with my ideals and passions (although if you think about it, it shows my side pain in the ass), but who cares, I like messy.

With the beautiful days arrive, Spring Collections invading stores and growing consumer, I can not help but hold forth on a subject that intrigues me a lot: Fashion.

The fashion may well be an art form, claimed by many designers and creators, it is nevertheless a strange art, located in a remote area, between the Luxe the visual arts and mind mass.

The purpose would be primarily aesthetic, but not that. There is in fashion, practices, clothing, customs that leave me deeply perplexed.

Look, just yesterday I saw a multitude of ailments girls wander the Marais with jeans a bit wide, very tucked up, the huge mocasssins who make you duck feet, with the aim of let see absolutely ankles. Suffice to say that the effect is that of gams to Bozo the Clown, all they lack more than a big red nose and a pale makeup (and frankly I would not, I'm terrified of clowns, but that is another matter ...).

Besides the clean side of this social practice, which seems to finally be in line to become the ultimate effect of style "fashion" this summer, let I say it frankly hideous. Some will say that my opinion is subjective, but I'm trying to see the beauty in the ankles in the air as Bozo, not really, I can not.

Oh, do not believe that I despise the way, quite the contrary. Like any girl who meets up normally, I'm crazy about shopping. But there exists in this world of clothes I do not understand.

Do not think that I'm not trying: sometimes I even put myself in the shoes of my fellow 4th District to see "how it feels" when you live as if we were a movie star.

bag worn on the corner of the elbow, for example. You know, this way they have to keep with the forearm bent forward and hands dangling casually or the palm facing the sky. Well, I tried. And you can tell me it's hyper fashion and everything you want, but it's been super evil. Maybe that's because-in my bag, there is a lot of things such as my Ipaude classic drawing pencils, my keys the size of an orange photographed GMOs, a book, my wallet rather prominent, the notebook, but honestly ... What kind of girl hangs out with the bare minimum, keys, map Imaginary Mobile and rigor Ipaude nano?

Another article, which apparently does not die, straight out of the 80s (ah, that too, he will talk again, tricky issue ... ) is the leggings. I think especially to my cousin on that point that I know share my position (my cousin, of course, not the point). How many hours have we spent castigating the leggings, the shapeless thing that makes all the sauces, as if a girl had nothing else in its accessories as this pathetic piece of fabric sticking to the bottom .. . And the shorts over the tights in winter too, let's talk! But who has seen less and class less aesthetic?

If I lie well, because I think these customs are the antithesis of class and chic. To see these young girls to walk down the street, ballerinas feet pointed at the bags, foils in hand, and skinny jeans are too tight for her, Audrey Hepburn would be turning in his grave!

Because the shameful problem that overwhelms me is: I love fashion. A bit like an annoying friend that appreciates and you hate both by dint of having seen too much, it fascinates me as it m'insupporte.

I love watching actresses in long gowns Glamour She or , love to see a parade of Dior or Christian Lacroix, and their power to create interest. I even thought about becoming a stylist in a while.

In the shops, I find that rare gem, a little THE dud out of the ordinary.

And with fashion, we sometimes become friends, not without some shame, I started to love the converse when I spit on it, wearing jeans tighter than I thought before hideous ... Fashion has sometimes defeated, and when it arrived, she threw smirks and chuckled.

So who knows, maybe someday I wear leggings or shoes with pointed toes, but now the rebel spirit of rock n roll and anti-convention me yells

is not tomorrow the day before!

My Goldfish As Stone In Its Mouth

Please allow me to Introduce Myself ...

... Unlike the sweet words hummed by our kicker Briton Mr Jagger, I am not an individual male.

This short catch phrase, intended to attract the attention of the reader, as we have learned so well in preparation, has for purpose other than to spice up an introduction oh so conventional.

Freeze. A few lines from the beginning the end (or beginning of the end, cross as appropriate), I'm stuck by the Stones on the one hand, and what in France we commonly call the preparatory classes, the university system in parallel.

either. And yet the play button is on , no turning back. Analyze, decode, seek.

Why a blog?

Not without dismissing the irredeemably narcissistic aspect of the story, I must admit with some shame that the age of fifteen years of my blog I miss. Certainly, I think read articles I would gently laugh today-thank you God, it is removed-but, you know, the need to express themselves is still quite enjoyable.

And then, without either take me for a writer on the future and to forget what I'm trying desperately novel to complete, the art of combining words, these charming tokens that resonate so peculiar to our ears, enchants me.

No literary pretensions, therefore, just a desire to tap idly on the keyboard to create a small work in progress.

What is it?

In a lot of things actually. Of life, what moves me, delights me, irritates me, annoys me, makes me laugh ... best picks, the rants, eye for eye, tooth for tooth.

Hence the title of the blog without any claim to want to decipher this river called life, which is anything but long and quiet, but rather a manual to map the corners of this something that is completely shambolic my mind and my passions. Remember, if you have never seen or read Peter Pan , mothers who, at bedtime, explores the minds of his children to delete the items it should come out but to find some nuggets, some snippets of dreams or conversations ... Well that's about it.

"Life in Rock 'promotes a concept dear to my heart: to spend his days and act in a certain philosophy, seize the moment, like poetry of Robert Herrick: Gather ye

rose-buds while ye May

Old time is "still a-flying

Purpose cette même That pink smilies today

To-morrow Will Be Dying

It will therefore be referred humor, events, anecdotal, but especially the arts: literature, music, cinema, painting, because without them the instructions described above would be very sad.

How does it work?

silly question, but no easy answer to give. Lucinda (yes, Lucinda, or MeggySue Tink is depending on the person I have in front) will be understood, it mézigue. Well this is rather simple, Lucinda on when you press "Play". I say read because for once, I prefer the French name which works by analogy with the activity tiring for the eyes but stimulating to the imagination. I quite like

the idea that you can read me like a DeVeDe.

Good, "braid jokes", to quote a friend. I've said enough, the best material inputs are not necessarily the longest. I only wish you

And All That Jazz