Saturday, March 29, 2008
Friday, March 28, 2008
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Paulina Morales: You're weak, Ivan.
Iván: Yes, sweetheart.
Paulina Morales: Don't agree with me.
Iván: But you're right.
Paulina Morales: Sometimes I like to be wrong.
in Mujeres al borde de un ataque de niervos,
Pedro Almodóvar
Iván: Yes, sweetheart.
Paulina Morales: Don't agree with me.
Iván: But you're right.
Paulina Morales: Sometimes I like to be wrong.
in Mujeres al borde de un ataque de niervos,
Pedro Almodóvar
Monday, March 24, 2008
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Friday, March 14, 2008
Pale September, I wore the time like a dress that year
The autumn days swung soft around me, like cotton on my skin
But as the embers of the summer lost their breath and disappeared
My heart went cold and only hollow rhythms resounded from within
But then he rose, brilliant as the moon in full
And sank in the burrows of my keep
And all my armour falling down, in a pile at my feet
And my winter giving way to warm, as I'm singing him to sleep
He goes along just as a water lily
Gentle on the surface of his thoughts his body floats
Unweighted down by passion or intensity
Yet unaware of the depth upon which he coasts
And he finds a home in me
For what misfortune sows, he knows my touch will reap
And all my armour failing down, in a pile at my feet
And my winter giving way to warm, as I'm singing him to sleep
All my armour falling down, in a pile at my feet
And my winter giving way to warm, as I'm singing him to sleep
Fiona Apple
The autumn days swung soft around me, like cotton on my skin
But as the embers of the summer lost their breath and disappeared
My heart went cold and only hollow rhythms resounded from within
But then he rose, brilliant as the moon in full
And sank in the burrows of my keep
And all my armour falling down, in a pile at my feet
And my winter giving way to warm, as I'm singing him to sleep
He goes along just as a water lily
Gentle on the surface of his thoughts his body floats
Unweighted down by passion or intensity
Yet unaware of the depth upon which he coasts
And he finds a home in me
For what misfortune sows, he knows my touch will reap
And all my armour failing down, in a pile at my feet
And my winter giving way to warm, as I'm singing him to sleep
All my armour falling down, in a pile at my feet
And my winter giving way to warm, as I'm singing him to sleep
Fiona Apple
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
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