Boucles d'or et la lionne libre

it just got personal

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👻😢

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Explain.

If instincts are the animal, passion is the human. And laziness must be the alien.

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What blooms from success is disappointment. The value of failure is love. Patience is the score of passion. Guilt is one's guardian. But for as long as reloading is no remedy, stress is my greatest sin.

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Vacillation

V

Although the summer sunlight gild Cloudy leafage of the sky, Or wintry moonlight sink the field In storm-scattered intricacy, I cannot look thereon, Responsibility so weighs me down.

Things said or done long years ago, Or things I did not do or say But thought that I might say or do, Weigh me down, and not a day But something is recalled, My conscience or my vanity appalled.

William Butler Yeats The Winding Stair and Other Poems, 1933

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Or might it do for us what it did for the sailing ancients

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Will be the velvet to my lace?

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A sacrifice to the moon, is when the wild is keeping still.

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Hark.

No one is barking up a bitch

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Break free from cultural-imperialism and you are left smiling at Sol, even when she is hiding.

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Enchanted by the choruses in Christoph Wilibald Gluck's Alceste. It's what I hear inside my head throughout the day. My favourite, and the one my mind heads for the most, is the one following this aria, at 3:48.

Gluck's 300th was close to fly by off the radar to most opera houses this coming 2nd July, but after some help from media commentators, thankfully they realised the mistake and decided on serving us the full platter in 2015 instead. Some saved their faces by including his operas in the 2014/15 season at least, but those not putting him on until 15/16 deserve the pillory indeed! Until then, we have the recordings...

Concerning Alceste, I'm particularly grateful for remastering, as I prefer the rare old Italian libretto version to the French, it simply feels a little more Greek – mostly in the sense that I don't understand it! but yes, French is not my chosen language for myths. Some fairytales can do, but often it sounds just too Salazar Slytherin (Parselmouth) for the good magic to consume our senses the way it should.

I would sincerely recommend taking the tercentenary this year as an opportunity to dive in to the many compositions by Gluck. He's well known for reforming the style of opera, influencing the next generations. For being a key shaper of classical music, he easily get overlooked. His extensive catalogue of work deserves to see the light of day more often.

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Wake up with honours

Ignited by what left the elders burnt out. Spewing fire like dragons, growling like wolfs. This caravan is not a circus. This nomad not one to beg. Hunters of sunlight might glisten, but thank gradient consul, not to the order of shade.

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"Dal lieto soggiorno funesti pensieri fuggite, volate.

Al trono d'intorno ridenti piaceri venite, tornate." – from "Alceste", libretto by Ranieri de' Calzabigi (1767)

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Free... she said. Flying above the sun. Free... Wings close to the fire. Free... Rebel at one o'clock, Sir. Throw that beggar some shade.

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I attract the damaged. It is damaging me. Wretch. Wretch. Wretch.

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So.. Il Était une Forêt... made it to the mainstream. Now ready to stream in full on Spotify. Thankfully they changed the cover art to white/winter/negative colouring! eh... I wonder if this is a physical re-edition as well? Did I drop the ball somewhere?? Or is it just to prove the online version is not as trve as the somewhat more old school? Needless to say it's one of my favourite albums, I never tire of it. One of those that seem unique no matter how you twist and turn it. Can't believe it has reached its lucky number 7th year, and I still treasure it like it was a discovery I made yesterday. At least I'm willing to share the goods at this point, because no release have given me this much since. Here's to its domination, may it stay as mesmerising as ever, and ignite some passion in the cold, corrupted souls out there.

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When the last hope of trampled France had failed Like a brief dream of unremaining glory, From visions of despair I rose, and scaled The peak of an aëreal promontory, Whose caverned base with the vexed surge was hoary; And saw the golden dawn break forth, and waken Each cloud, and every wave: – but transitory The calm: for sudden, the firm earth was shaken, As if by the last wreck its frame were overtaken.

from the first canto of "The Revolt of Islam" by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1818)