A Hopeful and Cheery Child

By Merry birthday

A Christmas Song

Last Christmas, I gave you my toy
But the very next day, you fell into it
This year, to save me from tears
I'll give it to Annabel Lee

I'm dreaming of a cold Christmas
Just like the ones I used to know
Where the children glisten and mice listen
To hear cars in the snow

You were Happy
You were merry
Monarch of England
When the band finished playing
They howled out for more
The crowd were swinging
All the mice they were singing
You asked me to drink
And then we did smoke

But then last Christmas, I gave you my toy
And the very next day, you fell into it
This year, to save me from tears
I'll give it to Annabel Lee instead

You're gloomy
You're sick
Happy Christmas to you
I pray God it's your last

Rockin' around the Christmas your mamma
At the Christmas party hop,
Rockin' around the Christmas your mamma,
Let the Christmas spirit ring,
Later I'll have some chocolate
And me and Annabel Lee will smoke

I don't want a lot for Christmas
There is just one thing I need
I don't care about books
I just want Annabel Lee for my own
More than you could ever know
Make my wish come true oh
All I want for Christmas is Annabel Lee

Oh, Annabel Lee yeah, oh Annabel Lee yeah
Annabel Lee the child is a hopeful, cheery soul
Annabel Lee the child is a fairy tale they say

Annabel Lee baby, I want you and really that is all
I'll wait up for you, dear
Annabel Lee baby, won't you smoke with me tonight?

So here it is, cold Christmas
Everybody's here to drink
Look to the future now
It's only just begun

Simply having a cold Christmastime
Simply having a cold Christmastime

Lolita

 ❤“Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta. She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita. Did she have a precursor? She did, indeed she did. In point of fact, there might have been no Lolita at all had I not loved, one summer, an initial girl-child. In a princedom by the sea. Oh when? About as many years before Lolita was born as my age was that summer. You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns.”

― Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita

💓Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita, Chapter 25

  Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita, Chapter 25

Wanted, wanted: Dolores Haze.
Hair: brown. Lips: scarlet.
Age: five thousand three hundred days.
Profession: none, or "starlet"

Where are you hiding, Dolores Haze?
Why are you hiding, darling?
(I Talk in a daze, I walk in a maze
I cannot get out, said the starling).

Where are you riding, Dolores Haze?
What make is the magic carpet?
Is a Cream Cougar the present craze?
And where are you parked, my car pet?

Who is your hero, Dolores Haze?
Still one of those blue-capped star-men?
Oh the balmy days and the palmy bays,
And the cars, and the bars, my Carmen!

Oh Dolores, that juke-box hurts!
Are you still dancin', darlin'?
(Both in worn levis, both in torn T-shirts,
And I, in my corner, snarlin').

Happy, happy is gnarled McFate
Touring the States with a child wife,
Plowing his Molly in every State
Among the protected wild life.

My Dolly, my folly! Her eyes were vair,
And never closed when I kissed her.
Know an old perfume called Soliel Vert?
Are you from Paris, mister?

L'autre soir un air froid d'opera m'alita;
Son fele -- bien fol est qui s'y fie!
Il neige, le decor s'ecroule, Lolita!
Lolita, qu'ai-je fait de ta vie?

Dying, dying, Lolita Haze,
Of hate and remorse, I'm dying.
And again my hairy fist I raise,
And again I hear you crying.

Officer, officer, there they go--
In the rain, where that lighted store is!
And her socks are white, and I love her so,
And her name is Haze, Dolores.

Officer, officer, there they are--
Dolores Haze and her lover!
Whip out your gun and follow that car.
Now tumble out and take cover.

Wanted, wanted: Dolores Haze.
Her dream-gray gaze never flinches.
Ninety pounds is all she weighs
With a height of sixty inches.

My car is limping, Dolores Haze,
And the last long lap is the hardest,
And I shall be dumped where the weed decays,
And the rest is rust and stardust