I looked everywhere. I brought piles of novels, I looked behind the library, I looked at all the drawers and papers pile up in it already, I angrily emptied tons of boxes. My tea cooled miserably. I could not move on. It was imperative that I find the little blue disc pocket, the compilation of QED Inrocks 2002/2003, the first session.
Winter 2002, I wear mostly jeans and white wine tucked. I do not know yet G., although it seems that we have seen I love you, I love you by Alain Resnais in the same room on a Saturday night.
Winter 2002, I do not cook often on two small plates of electric mini-studio in the Rue Nantes. Pasta with tuna, fried rice (Chinese sausage + onion salad + spinach), sometimes a chicken leg roasted in a microwave oven capricious, often mashed sardines on buttered bread or a sliced banana in a bowl of cereal. Fairly regularly, nothing but a hard boiled egg, as were the time back then.
Winter 2002, I still attend all courses in the faculty of medicine. It will not really.
Winter 2002, I spent some time with Saint-Melaine Naomi, a girl who studied medicine with me when she is not an air hostess. She showed me a picture of her in uniform with the ridiculous little hat. I had not recognized, because of the makeup. Otherwise, the summer she likes to quietly go canoeing on the waters of Brittany. She slippers Austrian boiled wool and an excellent English accent. She loves my ratatouille and my pasta with tomato. Is an avid reader of Paul Auster and David Lodge. We're going to the movies all the time, which means sometimes to see anything. I make records but do not listen too hard, her roommate often has headaches. As the year of the first album by Vincent Delerm, of course it is right intensively. She loves Shakespearean monologue.
That year, there are also Disappearance, Out of season , Wimbledon Stadium, Millennium Mambo , The Royal Tenenbaums and Drunk on Women and Painting .
Winter 2002, I do not want my parents to go home for Christmas, I'd steal the planned gift for my father (a collection of new Chinese), my mother buy me a teapot (yet).
Winter 2002, Inrocks * launching a contest. Twenty-one songs selected from among thousands submitted to the editor, who then asked readers to decide their vote for third spot in the designation of who will be offered a maximum five titles in a label. On my mini-chain, I listen with concentration twenty-one songs. I remember Innocent blind by Three Guys Never in (track 21), and start again End by Syd Matters (track 9) and similar All by Florent Marchetti (track 4). For the latter, more than the song in question (which includes a female choir quite unbearable), it is mainly the small text accompanying his photo had touched me very simple. He says he is doing quite well especially the spaghetti with seafood
It happens that last Saturday, I applaud the same Florent Marchet in a small concert hall in Rennes for his latest album, absolutely in season since ' He called Courchevel. The set is quite sad, say it looks pretty good in this space then, the feelings between two waters, the melancholy that we do not really want to separate. The effect is reinforced by the lack of interaction with the public itself positively glacial.
At the end of the concert, some fans gather around the bar. I discuss the rest of the night (where we eat?) ** With G. and my sister who works for / with Florent Marchet (that's still crazy when I think back to the article of spaghetti with seafood). It then emerges, wearing a white shirt with a nice ascot. I'm a little embarrassed, nothing special say, not really a fan, too shy to make a joke out of spaghetti ... Nothing to add really. But I'm still a little agitated when he kisses to greet me, because I think back to winter 2002, when I heard his voice for the first time.
You understand why I really wanted to find the small comp (this year, there was also Peter von Poehl!). It was in the office of G., near some comics. I also emerged the number of Inrocks partner and I laminated with a heavy heart. I felt the time had passed, although I still wear some white wine. In last pages, I forgot that as it is an issue entirely written by readers, a certain Giacomo had written a poem entitled twenty, hundred, thousand times Delerm . A poem in itself not terrible but I liked it anyway because I felt between the lines, that Giacomo Delerm loved as much as me, soaked to the core of his world, his words (and then the picture illustrated the article was pretty cool).
* I do not read too much Inrocks, I do not like their new formula, highly touted and vulgar. I prefer to flip through old issues and I remain fascinated to the length of some interviews, dense and rich (eg meeting with Neil Hannon in Florence's number 53). The problem is that each new number received in the mailbox (I am a subscriber since the gift with the subscription was a Diana F +, which now features a bedroom Development snapshot, not leave me more), there is an article I like: Interview with Jason Schwartzman, photo Catherine Deneuve / Delphine Seyrig, text by Christophe Honore on his early years Rennes
... When I was a teenager, I dreamed that one of my emails either published under the heading Ping-Pong , which has unfortunately never happened. ** Question
purely defensive and occupational since that night, G. and I had two tickets purchased at the last minute to a boy who had a parka-wig for Transmusicales. The dinner was absolutely incidental and is summarized in consistency with the evening, at a maxi-kebab sauce harissa-white-free fries.
had not counted until midnight, m'extrayant a concert hall to keep intact eardrums for my old days, when I was hanging in the main hall with a cup of mint tea to hand (the place was beautiful, with giant luminous jellyfish suspended from the ceiling black, but cameras were forbidden, body search in support), I discover in the vast hall "restaurant" multiple small stalls terribly attractive: homemade pizza, sandwiches, Mexican and Lebanese fritters, fritters and turnovers filled, pancake-sausage (biologique!), hot dogs, chocolate crepes (house!) I look forward
G. join me to choose (his eardrums are stronger than mine).
*** At the end of the concert, there was also Olivier Adam, who was waiting Florent Marchet, obviously a friend. It was strange because he Olivier is a new Adam that I love. So, I wanted to go to the pages of his other novels on Monday night. And to highlight one of them, he cites Dominique A.
Make me return to the world
The touch without gloves
Although he collapsed to feel
Although it no longer believes as before
Let me find my shadow
Lost in the shadows to me The memory is the next
After reading these few lines, and heard the voice of Dominic A. resurgence of the past, amid the aisles of the bookstore where people were busy hypocritically to find gifts Christmas, I had a little cry. Many things are parties to pieces this year, I would have to busy myself with the repair.
Winter 2002, I wear mostly jeans and white wine tucked. I do not know yet G., although it seems that we have seen I love you, I love you by Alain Resnais in the same room on a Saturday night.
Winter 2002, I do not cook often on two small plates of electric mini-studio in the Rue Nantes. Pasta with tuna, fried rice (Chinese sausage + onion salad + spinach), sometimes a chicken leg roasted in a microwave oven capricious, often mashed sardines on buttered bread or a sliced banana in a bowl of cereal. Fairly regularly, nothing but a hard boiled egg, as were the time back then.
Winter 2002, I still attend all courses in the faculty of medicine. It will not really.
Winter 2002, I spent some time with Saint-Melaine Naomi, a girl who studied medicine with me when she is not an air hostess. She showed me a picture of her in uniform with the ridiculous little hat. I had not recognized, because of the makeup. Otherwise, the summer she likes to quietly go canoeing on the waters of Brittany. She slippers Austrian boiled wool and an excellent English accent. She loves my ratatouille and my pasta with tomato. Is an avid reader of Paul Auster and David Lodge. We're going to the movies all the time, which means sometimes to see anything. I make records but do not listen too hard, her roommate often has headaches. As the year of the first album by Vincent Delerm, of course it is right intensively. She loves Shakespearean monologue.
That year, there are also Disappearance, Out of season , Wimbledon Stadium, Millennium Mambo , The Royal Tenenbaums and Drunk on Women and Painting .
Winter 2002, I do not want my parents to go home for Christmas, I'd steal the planned gift for my father (a collection of new Chinese), my mother buy me a teapot (yet).
Winter 2002, Inrocks * launching a contest. Twenty-one songs selected from among thousands submitted to the editor, who then asked readers to decide their vote for third spot in the designation of who will be offered a maximum five titles in a label. On my mini-chain, I listen with concentration twenty-one songs. I remember Innocent blind by Three Guys Never in (track 21), and start again End by Syd Matters (track 9) and similar All by Florent Marchetti (track 4). For the latter, more than the song in question (which includes a female choir quite unbearable), it is mainly the small text accompanying his photo had touched me very simple. He says he is doing quite well especially the spaghetti with seafood
It happens that last Saturday, I applaud the same Florent Marchet in a small concert hall in Rennes for his latest album, absolutely in season since ' He called Courchevel. The set is quite sad, say it looks pretty good in this space then, the feelings between two waters, the melancholy that we do not really want to separate. The effect is reinforced by the lack of interaction with the public itself positively glacial.
At the end of the concert, some fans gather around the bar. I discuss the rest of the night (where we eat?) ** With G. and my sister who works for / with Florent Marchet (that's still crazy when I think back to the article of spaghetti with seafood). It then emerges, wearing a white shirt with a nice ascot. I'm a little embarrassed, nothing special say, not really a fan, too shy to make a joke out of spaghetti ... Nothing to add really. But I'm still a little agitated when he kisses to greet me, because I think back to winter 2002, when I heard his voice for the first time.
You understand why I really wanted to find the small comp (this year, there was also Peter von Poehl!). It was in the office of G., near some comics. I also emerged the number of Inrocks partner and I laminated with a heavy heart. I felt the time had passed, although I still wear some white wine. In last pages, I forgot that as it is an issue entirely written by readers, a certain Giacomo had written a poem entitled twenty, hundred, thousand times Delerm . A poem in itself not terrible but I liked it anyway because I felt between the lines, that Giacomo Delerm loved as much as me, soaked to the core of his world, his words (and then the picture illustrated the article was pretty cool).
* I do not read too much Inrocks, I do not like their new formula, highly touted and vulgar. I prefer to flip through old issues and I remain fascinated to the length of some interviews, dense and rich (eg meeting with Neil Hannon in Florence's number 53). The problem is that each new number received in the mailbox (I am a subscriber since the gift with the subscription was a Diana F +, which now features a bedroom Development snapshot, not leave me more), there is an article I like: Interview with Jason Schwartzman, photo Catherine Deneuve / Delphine Seyrig, text by Christophe Honore on his early years Rennes
... When I was a teenager, I dreamed that one of my emails either published under the heading Ping-Pong , which has unfortunately never happened. ** Question
purely defensive and occupational since that night, G. and I had two tickets purchased at the last minute to a boy who had a parka-wig for Transmusicales. The dinner was absolutely incidental and is summarized in consistency with the evening, at a maxi-kebab sauce harissa-white-free fries.
had not counted until midnight, m'extrayant a concert hall to keep intact eardrums for my old days, when I was hanging in the main hall with a cup of mint tea to hand (the place was beautiful, with giant luminous jellyfish suspended from the ceiling black, but cameras were forbidden, body search in support), I discover in the vast hall "restaurant" multiple small stalls terribly attractive: homemade pizza, sandwiches, Mexican and Lebanese fritters, fritters and turnovers filled, pancake-sausage (biologique!), hot dogs, chocolate crepes (house!) I look forward
G. join me to choose (his eardrums are stronger than mine).
*** At the end of the concert, there was also Olivier Adam, who was waiting Florent Marchet, obviously a friend. It was strange because he Olivier is a new Adam that I love. So, I wanted to go to the pages of his other novels on Monday night. And to highlight one of them, he cites Dominique A.
Make me return to the world
The touch without gloves
Although he collapsed to feel
Although it no longer believes as before
Let me find my shadow
Lost in the shadows to me The memory is the next
After reading these few lines, and heard the voice of Dominic A. resurgence of the past, amid the aisles of the bookstore where people were busy hypocritically to find gifts Christmas, I had a little cry. Many things are parties to pieces this year, I would have to busy myself with the repair.
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