Saturday, December 27, 2008


Life in Technicolor - Coldplay- Versions I and II with lyrics- from their album Viva la Vida

There's a wild wind blowing,
Down the corner of my street
Every night there the headlights are glowing

There's a cold war coming,
On the radio I heard
Baby it's a violent world

Oh love don't let me go
Won't you take me where the streetlights glow
I could hear it coming
I could hear the sirens sound
Now my feet won't touch the ground

Time came a-creepin'
Oh and time's a loaded gun
Every road is a ray of light
It goes o-o-on
Time only can lead you on
Still it's such a beautiful night

Oh love don't let me go
Won't you take me where the streetlights glow
I could hear it coming
Like a serenade of sound
Now my feet won't touch the ground

Gravity release me,
And dont ever hold me down
Now my feet won't touch the ground.


Colonel Brandon said...

Ms. Dianne,

As I mention'd on my first post of 30th November, my declar'd intention was to "regularly evaluate the so-called ‘core-beliefs’ of religions to try to establish their true origins, if possible, in an effort to 'separate the wheat from the chaff'."

From the beginning, I wish'd to find the truth of what people believe & why they do so. In this, I will not adjust or popularize my thoughts on paper so as to play to the approval of the masses nor do I e'er intend to.

Thus, tho' I have great affinity for the beautiful singing of the most fine Ms. Enya, I cannot say the same unfortunately for that most popular & wealthy bard, Mr. Martin; one who in the past has sung with his many fellow wealthy celebrities about the need to inform the poverty-stricken sufferers in Africa 'that it is Christmas time' without showing any feelings or sentiments of irony.

Many years ago, whilst under the bridges of London & a traveller of the pavement at the time, I would observe the annual visit of the Christmas 'do-gooders', those who felt the sudden compunction at one time of the year, to come down with pies & beakers of warm tea to also 'let them know it is Christmas time'.

Come the second week of January, & with the bitter winter cold killing one drunk crouch'd in some doorway after another, those carol-singers were surprisingly not to be seen, having done their good work & return'd once again to their warm homes to which they belong'd.

A bard who sings about exclusion & never having the approval of others but has never liv'd himself begging on the streets of London knows nothing little on that of which he seems to declare knowledge of.

Also, one who informs his listeners, concerning the existence of God: "I'm always trying to work out what 'He' or 'She' is," he said. "I don't know if it's Allah or Jesus or Mohammed or Zeus. But I'd go for Zeus", is, in my humble opinion, a buffoon, & in whose company I would waste precious little time, despite any pious & generous gestures shown to the contrary in betwixt his hugely popular concerts to the masses.

My discourse is over. I have done Miss Mary Bennett proud, I am sure. Proof of this is the very fact that the visitors to my journal dropp'd from 157 of Saturday last, to that of 2 today.

I will go to the beach now & count stones, much as used to on the banks of the Thames, many years ago.

I pray that you are in good spirits, Ms. Dianne. I think of you from time to time & wish that I could offer some consoling sentiment. P'haps, you ought leave your domicile for but a moment & venture outdoors to touch the earth about your Manor. To touch the shrubs with your fingers. To feel the textures with your eyes clos'd. I declare that I myself have done so & it helps me much during the frequent bouts of loneliness I suffer.

I Remain Yours,
Colonel Brandon.
Nature Diary

dianne said...

Dear Colonel Brandon

Thank you kind sir for your words.
I am most appreciative of your praise in my choice of music and singing of the most beautiful Ms Enya.
I find myself in a strange and somewhat melancholy mood this day, no I am not in good spirits at all, quite the contrary. One could ascribe this to loneliness or a missive I received this very morning which I must reveal was not well received.
The only explanation I can offer for the inclusion of Mr Martin in my journal is for a touch of brightness, something to lift my mood. I must admit I do enjoy some of his music and make no apologies for his presence here. As for his personal life I know very little,I do not read his concert reviews nor the gazettes on those matters; I did not realise he was a buffoon, so I must claim ignorance in this matter.
I did call by to digest some more of your observations on religious beliefs but I have been overwhelmed with my Christmas charity work and did not have the time to leave a comment.I was very interested to read about your walk to Beacon Hill, the bird feeder and your welcome surprise on noticing your newly sprouted crocus and a favourite of mine, hens. You see I do call by but do not always leave a reply. You see some of us do care and not just at Christmas time, the feeble and poor require ongoing charity throughout the year.
I'm sorry that you have only had two visitors to your journal, I shall return soon.
The heat here this morning was unbearable but thankfully we have had a storm with much rain and a cooling breeze.
As I sit here next to the window in my study, writing to you there is a gentle and cool breeze stirring, it carries with it the fragrance of rain and many flowers. Tomorrow if the weather permits I will do as you suggest, I shall venture out into my garden and touch the foliage with my bare hands, feel the texture with closed eyes and take in the sweet aroma from the oils they emit. I gain much pleasure from nature and a walk through meadow and trees should lift my spirits. Thank you dear Sir for your thoughts of my self and consoling sentiment.

Now I shall bid you Good Night Sir in the hope of a much improved day tomorrow.

I remain, yours sincerely
Ms Dianne
Somersby Manor

Colonel Brandon said...

Ms. Dianne,

Pray, do exactly as you have said & you shall be the happier for it. Distress yourself not, young maiden, o'er love, o'er man, o'er anxiety, o'er anything. It is you who is always forgotten, I am sure, as you go to help others with your left hand not knowing what your right is doing. But let me assure you, that the one whose eye sees the innermost depth of crocus petals, records all in his journal. Bide your time, Ms. Dianne, clench your hands, & bear this loneliness, for it will pass, & on the morrow, a new day, when one will have the chance once more to recollect the small leaves back onto the table, that blew away as the door was open'd.

I am, &c.
Colonel Brandon.

dianne said...

Thank you dear Colonel Brandon, for your thoughtfulness and depth of understanding. I would write a much more detailed response to your kindness but at present I dont have the strength. ♥