Mylene Farmer: Que Mon Coeur Lâche

We haven’t had a good Youtube in quite some time (days), nor a good Mylene Farmer youtube in even longer, so here’s a nice little AIDs allegorical one (which should, incidentally, put me back on the top of the Allegory tag page) called Que Mon Coeur Lâche, and which dates from the days in which she was young and pretty and had unfortunate haircuts, ie 1992, as you will see:

And, incidentally, if this doesn’t get me back on the Michael Jackson Haterfan Juggernaut, nothing will.


Bien trop brutal


La dance des corps

L’amour à mort

Amour poison


La peur s’abat

Sur nos ébats

Toi entre nous


Tu t’insinues

Dans nos amours

C’est pas facile

Le plaisir


Ton corps glacé

Quel mauvais ange

Se dérange

Pour crucifier

Mes libertés

Moi pauvre diable

J’ai si mal

Vertige d’amour,

amour blessé

Que mon coeur lâche

Mes rêves

d’amours excentriques

N’ont plus leur strass

Mon stress

d’amour est si triste

Que mon coeur lâche

Mais fais-moi mal

Abuse des liens et des lys

Les temps sont lâches

L’amour a mal

Les temps sont amour plastique

Estelle, Rennes, France


Translation by Paradox

[Some parts of ‘Que mon coeur lache’ are missing in the english version ‘My soul is slashed’, so …]
Too much brutal
the mixing
the dance of bodies
the death of love

poisonous love
the fear beats down
on our frolic

You between us
you seep into
our intercourse

It’s not easy
the pleasure
to tame your iced body

My heart gives up
my dreams of kinky love
do not have paste anymore
my stress about love
is so sad
My heart gives up
please harm me
misuse of bonds and lilies
times are loose
love is in pain
times are plastic love

what nasty angel
came up to crucify my liberties
Me, poor devil
It hurts so much
love fever, hurt love

Don’t stop till you get enough!

Michael Jackson was the king of pap

Michael Jackson, the late

Don’t you love those complete strangers who reach out of the blue to send you hate mail and then follow it up with more hate mail saying they are SO DONE talking to you and then, when you don’t reply, send you even more hate mail about how they are LIKE TOTALLY NOT TALKING TO YOU NOPE NOT TO YOU NOT EVER AGAIN THEY ARE SO DONE WITH THAT. And then they send you one more to make sure you got the message, and then they block you.

What is it about Michael Jackson, exactly, that attracts a vast over-representation of the touchy and hyperbolic to his fandom? And don’t try to tell me about his many non-touchy, non-hyperbolic fans; I am talking about the vast army of gibbering, defensive nutters that orbit him like the rings of Saturn. If I could, I’d prescribe them a double dosage of Buddha Mind, but they’d probably wig out from the sudden mental detox.

Apparently something on Blogtalk Radio is set to tear  me, personally, a new asshole on Friday the 16th. Apparently I’m part of some media conspiracy (I can only say that the pay is terrible) to destroy MJ. Honestly, Jackson himself doesn’t interest me; it’s always been the fans. Why? Because they are the extreme cases of fandom, and if you want to learn about the Celebrity-Industrial Complex, you have to look at the fans. They are what it’s about, and the wingnutty ones are particularly fascinating, the way any pathology is fascinating.

The PR campaign didn’t have quite the effect intended: instead of causing a flood of comments to any of my blogs, it has resulted in a grand total of two nasty Facebook message strings, both from Australians. I guess there’s not much to do in Australia this time of year.

Tegan Ellis Facebook hate mail

Tegan Ellis is SO not talking to me. Over and over.

If you can’t read that, click here to open a bigger version.

Lindy Bartter is also not talking to me

Lindy Bartter is also not talking to me, but in worse English

Tegan lists her interests as Animals, Friendship, Equality, Compassion, Peace, Honesty, Intellectual Conversations, Rainbows, Horse Riding, and her favorite band is…


The fans, they write themselves!

the jokes they write themselves

the jokes they write themselves, sometimes to Facebook

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Operation Global Media Domination: The Michael Jackson Situation

Wacko Jacko Heart AttackoI can’t say I didn’t know what I was getting into. I was getting into something like a cross between a rabid wolverine in a disco and the battle of Ypres. That I got out alive surprises everyone, including the Michael Jackson fan who repeatedly threatened me with a visitation from the undead Zombie Michael Jackson. Why?

Here’s why:

Yes, he made some terrific songs. He could dance up a storm. He was a fantastic entertainer, one of the greatest. And overcame a background of terrible abuse to become his own man and direct his own course.

But the truth is, he gave children as young as eight or nine alcohol without their knowledge, slept with little boys, and bought off or threatened the parents into silence. Something about this makes me uncomfortable describing his death as a loss.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that in the universe of fandom there are no fans as wacko as Jacko’s (which reminds me of Guido’s brilliant headline announcing the death: Wacko Jacko Heart Attacko) not even Apple fanboys or Twihards. So it wasn’t unexpected.

But it was ugly.

First of all, I’d like to thank the over 100 people who hate my guts and yet posted my article to their Facebook walls. You will always have the enduring gratitude of Operation Global Media Domination. And to the 27 or so who tweeted the link, again, you have my sincere appreciation. Plus the 30 or so new Twitter followers that resulted.

This is sort of what Obi Wan meant when he said “If you strike me down I shall become more powerful than you could possibly imagine,” which is particularly appropriate in this case, as I rather doubt any of them have much imagination. And the 34 commenters; you have a special place in my heart. Where I can keep an eye on you.

And then there’s what it looked like on Twitter. I suggest you click on the link and read from the bottom up, as that’s the time-line:

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Michael Jackson still dead: update at 11

Michael Jackson for Prostate Health Week

Michael Jackson, polarizing cultural icon, musician, actor, dancer, and child molester, has been dead exactly one year. Despite the worldwide health-focused publicity at the time of the tragic event, some people are only now waking up to “Michael Jacksonism” and realizing what critical health issues they should have addressed long ago.

Like condoms for kindergarteners.

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Michael Jackson Stopped, Got Enough

Michael Jackson, the late

Michael Jackson, the self-crowned King of Pop, is dead at the age of 50. Born an adorable, talented black boy, he died (apparently of heart failure, insert own bitter joke here) a bizarre creature somewhere between the aliens from Communion and Zombie Janice Dickinson, with a soupcon of pederasty for (as the kids say) flava. Alternately short of Money or Invincible, Black or White, Smooth Criminal or The Man, he remained a protean figure of scandal-scented mystery to his last days.

It’s just Human Nature to pursue a Pretty Young Thing, although his Monkey Business recreational tastes and pursuits brought him to the attention of the law on a regular basis. When finally confronted with the rap, he Beat It, claiming he and the boys were Just Good Friends who would Come Together in friendship. Known over the decades as a libel lawyer’s best patron (What More Can He Give?) when he felt Threatened, the eccentric musician had seemed in recent years to have turned around his notoriously aberrant behavior, although more cynical minds (like mine) figured that instead of pursuing free-range children, he’d just decided to grow his own: Blanket, Prince Michael, and Paris. Ah, the Lost Children.

I hope that, once his no-doubt vainglorious tomb is complete and he installed within it, Banksy can come up with something suitably memorable, although it’s hard to top that portrait. HIStory will judge him. Until that time, we have this, by DryHumourSteve:

His bones will given to the relatives of Joseph Carey Merrick

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