You get taint piss, too? God, I hate it.

Whoa momma! I like them apples! I'd buy that for a dollar! - 96dbFreak on chronic

Ha ha! That was funny, although "gueule" and "belle" don't exactly rhyme and the funky characters got all messy.

Oh Sylvian
J'aime penser que c'est à toi que Pulp a dédié
"Oh Sylvia"
Tes cheveux, si longs et doux
Tes mamelons, si mous et roux
Simon Napier-Bell te croyait belle
P'têt' que tu lui as servi d'amuse-gueule
Oh Sylvian
Nous savons tous qu'il te monta comme un Sybian.



Mon Espace

Yeah, that's why when I attempt French in PMs, I omit the accents. My browser seems not to handle them too well.

I will have to practice my French rhyming by watching a lot more Mika interviews, I am afraid, before I can avoid mistakes like the belle/guele one. Thanks for fixing the "lui" part though--"lui" has always mixed me up! I know, I know, direct object vs. indirect, but I keep forgetting until someone calls my attention to it.

But of course we all know (nous savons tous, merci encore) that the real point of this poem was the couplet:

Tes cheveux, si longs et doux
Tes mamelons, si mous et roux

and I am glad that did not require any corrections.

P.S. By the way, I left out the "que"s after "p'tet" and "penser" on purpose to make the meter smoother--are you not allowed to omit "que"s at all, even counting poetic license?

"why, instead of semen, couldn't men ejaculate strawberry jam or something?"
--jareth's tights
"I have had contact with a vagina."
--strangeDivine

Yes, I noticed that your French was flawless only in the lascivious part . Does that tell us something?

You can't remove the "que" after "penser" ; you may remove it after "p'têt", but then it would sound really strange, because you'd have to say "p'têt lui as-tu servi..." and "p'têt" is colloquial and "as-tu" sounds very formal. The correct formal sentence would be "Peut-être lui as-tu servi d'amuse-gueule ?" but then it becomes quite long.

Congratulations on your attempt anyway, it was quite decent for someone who's out of practice. I'm sure one day you'll manage amazing things with my tongue .

Mon Espace

J'enfile mon blouson, c'est un beau cuir Oakwood
Et je mets une chanson, qui s'appelle "It's no good" ;
J'aime bien m'apprêter, être frais, à la mode,
Et pouvoir écouter, sans arrêt, Depeche Mode.



Mon Espace

Yellow Black Boy buzzes fast,
Swoops beyond me, falling past,
Jerking to a hidden groove,
Swirling stinger, slowly moves.

Bouncing headways hits the glass,
Crawling, searching, moves at last,
Buzzing, take off, bounce again,
Lying, waiting, is it dead?

Yellow Black Boy on the floor,
Couldn't hold out anymore.
Flower honey, furry beast,
I hope you've found your sweet release.

You sit there in your comfort, you don't believe I'm real. But you cannot buy protection from the way that I feel!

J'aime les chansons de Bryan Ferry ;
Ses orchestrations sont des féeries
Et ses mélodies sont de vrais délices,
Surtout Grey Lagoons, aussi More than this.



Mon Espace

David Bowie
David Sylvian
Depeche Mode
Bryan Ferry

Mon Espace

Your piano work is very good, Frogs. My kind of style with that Satie vibe going on with "The Future". More people should go to your site.

My grasp of the French language is embarrasingly crappy, luckily I have a friend who was able to translate for me... very good. Anyway here's another one I came up with this morning.

Old Hugh's lament

Once into the tavern, there walked a lone youth,
With flute, harp and smile telling tales of false truths,
He sang songs of malice, of love, hope and trust
Of high deeds and low deeds and deeds of black lust.

Rising up from the table, came lonely old Hugh,
Wrinkled and crinkled with eyes gummed with glue,
But yearning arose in him to hear with old ears,
The tales of his youth and his faraway years.

“Hum me a tune of yesteryears days,
Of blind broken promises and old empty graves,
Of heroes and heroines, so swift and so strong,
For those are the tales for which I do long.”

And sing did the youth, with his voice high and true,
His hymn filled the soul and it silenced the room,
And men sat and gazed in wonder and awe,
Whilst old Hugh did weep and sink to the floor.

And from that day forward no more would Hugh speak,
For the wondrous song had left his life bleak,
And so my dear readers my warning is near,
That some songs are dangerous for those that would hear.


You sit there in your comfort, you don't believe I'm real. But you cannot buy protection from the way that I feel!