You should feel honoured and thankful that someone from somewhere else has actually chosen to live in your country.
The best people from any country are those who travel and live elsewhere, taking time to understand different cultures, customs and languages, not those who stay in the place they are born, trying to preserve what they so wrongfully believe belongs to them.
Denying people from other places who speak different languages entry into ‘your’ society is the most foolish preoccupation you could have. We should always act for the better. How is denying a person’s refuge making a positive difference to the world?
This flawed mentality stems from fear, no doubt. The fear that a group of people from elsewhere will have some negative impact on ‘your’ society.
In fact, any strong and equal society should be able to let in an unlimited amount of people from elsewhere and adapt and adjust positively to such changes. Ah change! That might also be where the problem lies.
This is mine and I want to keep it that way.
Well, I’m sorry, but you don’t own the earth, town, city or piece of land where you just so happen to have been born. It’s arbitrary. It doesn’t owe you anything and it does not belong to you or anyone else.
The Way You Look Tonight, a song by Billie Holiday on Spotify.
Derniers moments de paradis,
"Take me", rogue sea, "Take me".
Your love never survived the heat of my heart, my violent heart
Here is Winter Boots. It consists mainly of tunes that have been recommended to me this past month. I also over indulged in Emiliana Torrini by including two tracks from her new record - which is delightful.
A brief 22 and growing, only breaking in my winter boots this week as temperatures drop to -16 degrees :-o
J’ai eu le courage de regarder en arriere
Les cadavres de mes jours.
Que lentement passent les heures
Comme passe un enterrement
Tu pleureras l’heure ou tu pleures
Qui passera trop vitement
Comme passe toutes les heures.
Et toi mon coeur pourquoi bats-tu?
Comme un guetteur melancolique
J’observe la nuit et la mort
Vienne la nuit sonne l’heure
Les jours s’en vont je demeure
—La collectioneuse, C.G.