Cds are arriving every day at the office. Some are really awfull, others are interesting in their “genre”, and a  few really keep our attention with Mike, the rock critique of La boîte à sorties. He discoverd for me beautiful Starboard Silent side. Sophie Hunger is my new favourite (swiss)german songwriter. And my friend Eric gave me the biggest musical schock by playing Captain beefheart’s “Trout mask replica” after cooking some delicious dinner. Of course Dachau Blues kept my attention, but not only. More straight forward Ashtray heart is wonderful. I have so much with which I should catch up, between Puccini and the 1990′.

And Friday, I’ve been taken to the cité de la musique to listent to Yaël Naim. I have something against her : 1) on stage she has no charisma and I did not like her performance two years ago in Bourges. 2) It’s been two years now, that french people -who didn’t know my first name existed before -ask me if I am called Yaël “Like the singer”. Sometimes late at night, people even ask me if I AM HER, very disturbing! Anyways, I was tempted to listen to her tribute to Joni Mitchell at Jazz à la Villette. But she started right away with “case of you”, which had no soul -old or new- but made me cry  a case of pain.

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I am sick, very sick and overwhelmed (Thesis + damn website + a class of political science to teach this fall and therefore to prepare, I learned on thursday)  and unproductive. Panic attacks prevent me from sleeping and sometimes I feel so tired that I can barely walk, so thinking is out of the question. And if I start to think, it makes the anxiety even worse. I finally caught a cold in this weak position, vodka did not heal me, just brought headache, at a party after the concert on friday. So I decided to have a resting saturday, meaning no work. Soooo resting : 10 am meeting with a friend, 11 am : Body combat, 12h: Sauna, 13 : shopping, 13:30 lunch + family, 14: grandma, antibiotics, 15h20: meeting with a friend who is a talented composer and wants me to think of the jewish text of an oratorio about the three monotheisms, 16h a bad french movie about adultery, a case of Philip Glas18h : books & CD at Gibert, a rip off, 19h: meeting with another composer, we ended our tete à tete for a nice chat with our neighbours, my new specialty, pretty easy in Paris where everyone knows everyone, antibiotics 20:30 dinner at a friend’s : christians, right wing people, jews, and gays mingling, very politically incorrect. 2:30 home, 2:45 antibiotics, insomnia, 2:50 two articles written (I also read a book in the day, buses !), 4:00 not even exhausted, I find an sos message, a friend is feeling bad, I call, 5:00 I hung up, no more voice, I’ve got a bad bad cold (is it the flue?),  I look at the ceiling sneeze and finally sleep. Today was my father’s 76th brithday, lots of blush and I almost looked human by 12:30. We went to the trendy Murano for brunch and it was nice, but nothing is worth the Ritz, says the spoiled girl…. My father is soooooo wonderful.And it is so nice to be  with the fam. They are all happy and full of projects and life. It made my deay, then I went into a long and painful daze…Time to sleep befor I turn into a pumkin, or a zombie…

Une tâche éhontée s’entiche
D’un fauteuil en tendresse damassée
Le désert porte postiche :
Un deuil aux tons verts dépecés
***

J’aimerais compter les feuilles
Les fêtes et les défaites à tes côtés
Prêter patte rose aux écureuils
Pour oublier la fine crêpe : r-é-a-l-i-t-é.
***

Corail des jours tressés
Le train déraille le long du seuil
Où l’orgueil représaille le passé
Est-ce assez pour un recueil ?
***

Vieillir, c’est apprendre à éviter
Les visages effacés des fantômes
Qui nous ont vraiment escortés
Et heurtés sans montrer l’hématome
***

Brûlée, je saigne des atomes
Bleus et mauves, et retroussés
Fausse couche d’homme
Aux revers de marbre affaissé
***

A notes sèches et encres écossées,
L’élégance chante la femme de cendres
Cassandre qui a vu la peine se tendre
Et n’a pas su la repousser
***

Lunettes au ventre et dogme au palais
Je m’en vais pour mieux attendre
En bouvreuil j’ai bu la pomme
En biche toujours, je raie mon retrait
***

Mais, Péléas sans scaphandre
Je ne peux cacher mes regrets
– Bleus, et mauves, et cendres-
Dans l’hiver trop tendre du mois du mai.