What the what?!

http://www.complex.com/pop-culture/2012/10/the-liz-lemon-soundboard
Liz Lemon soundboard. Press the buttons and your favorite spirit guide speaks.
Over and out.
 

Super productive Sunday afternoons.

Er, don't mind the cheesy old picture, and never you mind that there's not even a hint of guitar in this.
xxx

October skies & Belgique.

Belgium's great.
Also...free concert right outside our hotel? Mmm, okay. Obvs.

More moody poetry, mmmkaythanks. Like or hate it, let me know, yeah? Been in a bit of a poetry mood apparently.
xxx



I don't know how one would attempt
to describe it
other than broken-hearted wee
eeeeee
ping
but I will try.
She was like that brilliant
plume of white
factory smoke
across October skies
a cloud
against clouds.
Watching her wee/eeep gave you
that same desperate
senseless
lump
but in your belly
more than your throat innit?
Her twisty mouth like covering yourself
in fresh grass
in a field sumwhere
and staying there.
And kicked dogs are mentioned
quite often: "she looks
like [sic]."
But I am more
brought to mind
of the hopelessness
of the old people in that awful brick building
we just passed
or the surreal nastiness of the hanged dog
in that fancy-new-raw-whatsit
Heathcliff thing
er film
where it is ALWAYS
October skies.
So that's why I can't help.
you do understand.
of course of course of but of course you do.
Because a kicked puppy
I can clutch to my ample bosom
and give a bone and maybe a snuggle
but a hanged one I can only pity
and throw up
and bury.
 

Make That Three

Omaha Beach and the American Cemetery today.

This is like, er, straight from ma heart and all, so if you like it, yeah, words to that effect would be awesome, and if you don't, that's cool, it's okay, there are no claims to being great here, but...er, gentle, constructive criticism? Thanks mate.

Visiting the D-Day beaches and the American & German cemeteries though...seriously a transcendent experience.




I only know one person
- two - who have died.
I cried more
over Moe
who was 17
and my cat
than I did for my grandma
and great-granny
combined.
Make that three
but he lives -
lived - in the desert
and I rarely saw him
and so it's not real
is my understanding.
So 3000 graves is a bit much, yeah?
for an 18-year-old
who only knows
- make that 3 -
people who've
"passed on".

My great-granny
looked strange
when she was dead
I remember the room felt pink
like cloying, really warm
and she looked ridiculous.
And she was crabby
so I'm sure she agreed
and she'd have scolded
that mortician
roundly
Scolded him roundly.

I don't much like
to think about death
when I do it gets into my tea,
the taste of
the thought of
the inevitable-it-will-happen-without-exception-to-all-every-single-you-love-ness
of death.
So these white stones
and red lawn-mowers
make me tired and a little angry
- which I'm not used to -
but really sad
(and?)
I've gone from
- make that three -
I hardly grieved
or don't believe
to a father and son I didn't know
but am sitting on this freezing bench
kind of crying over.

And I was like Baby Baby Baby Oh!

People are all about Paris in the spring (unless they’re Woody Allen, then it’s all about Paris, in the 20s, in the rain. Which is fine by me.) But Paris in autumn is where it’s at. Coming out of the metro into air that’s fresher than it probably ever is in Paris, you just wish you could devour the city with your eyes. My friend Elise from South London pointed out that “Paris just seems like it knows it’s beautiful, and tries a bit too hard.” And there’s absolute truth in that. But there’s the rub – Paris knows it’s beautiful.   Er, because it’s beautiful.

It’s funny that as I write this I’m not in Paris anymore – it’s off to Chartres for a few.  But I’m coming back in December with my best mate and I’m stoked. It’s going to be nippy noodles for sure, but all nice and moody and grey and gorgeous.  (& mmm, Christmas.)

Paris, it’s been good times, and it’s early days yet. You are, how do the French not say it, le bomb. As the few creepers that stalk your streets whisper in my ear, so I will declare you: “la bebe”.  And I was like baby baby baby oh! Paris…it’s been said more than enough. Like, hey, girl, you’re a classy city, but your ego’s liable to get too big for your own good if one more person tells you they love you. But I just can’t help it. Something about your river and your people and hey hey hey, your bread.

Hey, Paris?

Je t’aime.

 Love, Tabby

 

Robyn Robyn Robyn.

Best.
 

God bless Monoprix.

Writing from McDonalds on my iPod because our "borrowed" wifi at the hotel has gone mental on us. So expect this to be short. Basically...Paris is so amazing. I took today really easy because yesterday was v exhausting - and we were at the Louvre til nine thirty! And it's INCREDIBLE- but so surreal, and I almost died over the Davids and Delacroixs (and Mona is every bit as beguiling as people say - it just took seeing her in the flesh to really fall in love with her.) But exhausting for sure. Last night I was so knackered it was only a question of finding any flat surface at all to sleep on, so I figured it would do me well to relax today. Read: bath, crossword, magazine, & baguette & pain chocolat aux amandes by the little island\trail in the middle of the Seine by our hotel.
C'est la vie...la fab fab fab vie.
Write more later?
Peut-etre.
Lovin this gorgey-porgey place though.
xxx and all that jazz,
Tabby

Also God bless Monoprix. Green & navy bowtie blouse, red leather (which I didn't know...and now I feel much more justified in their price) old lady loafers that are just the coolest. Also Monoprix has a sweet graphic designer working for them, it's official. Clearly the rest of the interwebs thinks so too, check out this picture: