...and while I'm at it;
This is what the apsiring and obedient, young student Scaramouche produced during her grammar class today. (Not solely except for taking notes, though. And I did listen. A little.)
"A lasting imprint of relation" -
sweet, last notes on love and the Doctor. From a Rose-POV.
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et, heavily occupied with tingling Murray Gold-tunes and some dreadfully vivid crying scenes. But it becomes a good deal emotional poetry, though! C.f.: DW season 2/season 28 - episode 13; "The Beach Scene"...*SOB!*
Love is never having to say "I'm sorry" - Take a hint, Ten! ;)
Still, sacrifices must often be made
When striding in ancient men's footsteps
Defeating evil, together; it's no game
People might seem disappointed
Voices may rise in upset
But she was fortunate; what she reached out for
Was comfort she knew would be there
Travelling in spaces and meddling with time
Allusions, inquiries would flourish
A single toe placed outisde the wooden doors
And adventures absorbed her again
An oncoming storm soon approaching
Such safety no more to be found
Ironically yearning for danger
And never stop looking behind
Now, shadows on every corner
A reference in every song
Pictures resembling the faces
Clothes, looks and joy she can't wear
And she would have given up anything
To relive just a second, an hour
The happiest moments, of sweetness
Longing, like desperate, for a hug
And yet sometimes she wakes up, panting
A distant voice calling, from afar
Memories from a beach view before her
She'll miss and she'll cry, and she'll smile
**
And I do hope it got the rest of you to miss and cry and smile quite a bit as well! At least I did, that's for sure. Been doing that since...eh...last October, as it were.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
The end of a world and the end of an era
Dare I say this is, if not THE, then at least MY
QUINTESSENTIAL DOOMSDAY-POEM?
(And at the same time, let me just consent to the fact that it IS a bit funny - and spookey! - how Doctor Number Ten should be named David TENnant...!)
"The end of the world and through - to the other side"
[might be just a draft]
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et, #1 Who-fan and loyal supporter of D & R. C.f.: DW season 2/season 28 - episode 13; "The Wall Scene"... *Doomsday-angst all over again*
she held her hand against the wall
for the world had disappeared
taken back reality in a flash
yet she had stepped out of the void
she knew not if she felt the water
or the taste of iron in her mouth
but she sensed the warmth of another palm
yet it was only concrete that she touched
**
she thought she had an arm laid
around her shoulders, or a joke told
to fool away whatever she might miss
or was perplexed by a riddle
she thought she heard the trotting
from a couple of worn-out Converse shoes
or had a brown coat placed over her, while she slept
on the dock of an alien spacecraft
she thought she held that hand again
ran down some desolate Cardiff alley
saw the universe unfold, reborn anew
a narrator whispering explanations in her ear
she thought she was lifted up high
towards the roof of a traveller's machine
smile to smile, reunited, once again
a connection none could ever comprehend
she thought she'd heard a promise
but it was just a mutual hope
certain truths are hard to handle
chasing monsters on your own
she thought she knew the calm after a storm
a disaster just avoided, or a death just barely shunned
the whoosing of old, creaking engines
yet there'd be none to save her now
the words of most importance are not perforce
the ones we speak most strongly and most loudly
her home was not the one that she once left
but the one to which she now could not return
she thought they'd go down together, as always
in unison, as uniform, inseparable as he'd defined
she knew the mind, she knew the terms
the secrets she could bear, through love
and the love must hold her up now
keep her going, grant her strength
knowing she won't be abandoned
as journeys end, another will begin
for after laughter comes the sorrow
it's the wisdom we label age, and loss
and to continue, helped by no-one's
an ordeal that only memories can mend
magic, unlike any other, she always can recall
the knowledge and the power carried with her
yet in all their hearts a pain will also linger
it was herself, her own fate, she had not foreseen
**
so she hesitantly turned away, from the wall
to face the scenery that came into sight
she was taken aback by emptiness around
but she knew she'd sworn never to forget
and all in all, she's already realized
as recent becomes past and past shall fade
numerous stories she'll tell, wildly grinning
about the times when living was at its best
for though the parting might be final
there's still one to walk the walk of life with her
in-vision, in her mind, inside, forever
through all that they had owned and never missed
wouldn't have missed it for the world
QUINTESSENTIAL DOOMSDAY-POEM?
(And at the same time, let me just consent to the fact that it IS a bit funny - and spookey! - how Doctor Number Ten should be named David TENnant...!)
"The end of the world and through - to the other side"
[might be just a draft]
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et, #1 Who-fan and loyal supporter of D & R. C.f.: DW season 2/season 28 - episode 13; "The Wall Scene"... *Doomsday-angst all over again*
she held her hand against the wall
for the world had disappeared
taken back reality in a flash
yet she had stepped out of the void
she knew not if she felt the water
or the taste of iron in her mouth
but she sensed the warmth of another palm
yet it was only concrete that she touched
**
she thought she had an arm laid
around her shoulders, or a joke told
to fool away whatever she might miss
or was perplexed by a riddle
she thought she heard the trotting
from a couple of worn-out Converse shoes
or had a brown coat placed over her, while she slept
on the dock of an alien spacecraft
she thought she held that hand again
ran down some desolate Cardiff alley
saw the universe unfold, reborn anew
a narrator whispering explanations in her ear
she thought she was lifted up high
towards the roof of a traveller's machine
smile to smile, reunited, once again
a connection none could ever comprehend
she thought she'd heard a promise
but it was just a mutual hope
certain truths are hard to handle
chasing monsters on your own
she thought she knew the calm after a storm
a disaster just avoided, or a death just barely shunned
the whoosing of old, creaking engines
yet there'd be none to save her now
the words of most importance are not perforce
the ones we speak most strongly and most loudly
her home was not the one that she once left
but the one to which she now could not return
she thought they'd go down together, as always
in unison, as uniform, inseparable as he'd defined
she knew the mind, she knew the terms
the secrets she could bear, through love
and the love must hold her up now
keep her going, grant her strength
knowing she won't be abandoned
as journeys end, another will begin
for after laughter comes the sorrow
it's the wisdom we label age, and loss
and to continue, helped by no-one's
an ordeal that only memories can mend
magic, unlike any other, she always can recall
the knowledge and the power carried with her
yet in all their hearts a pain will also linger
it was herself, her own fate, she had not foreseen
**
so she hesitantly turned away, from the wall
to face the scenery that came into sight
she was taken aback by emptiness around
but she knew she'd sworn never to forget
and all in all, she's already realized
as recent becomes past and past shall fade
numerous stories she'll tell, wildly grinning
about the times when living was at its best
for though the parting might be final
there's still one to walk the walk of life with her
in-vision, in her mind, inside, forever
through all that they had owned and never missed
wouldn't have missed it for the world
Monday, January 29, 2007
Desperate Measures
En smålig desperat po(t)et søker et publikum. Så vi prøver på norsk. Her følger;
"Ønsker om nytt farvann"
Av Scaramouche, po(t)eten, Spellemannsprisen nesten. *Grøss*.
(På en annen side kunne jeg alltids donert bort statuetten til nytt dørhåndtak på Garage...!)
Noen må hjelpe en strandet småpike
hvis lykkebarometer svinger
Der hun tumler avsted og fullstendig på måfå
med avskårne vinger
På isen er alle skosåler glatte og i mørket
er ulvene usynlige som få
Bak skuret finnes der spøkelser som leker gjemsel,
men ingen trenger å stå
Gi piken et svevende kyss,
det vil gjøre henne mo og blussende rød
La tomrommet svirre rundt sin egen måne,
det er en berusende sjø
Ta fra henne disse lenkene, la henne gråte og le,
gjør det mulige mulig
Skogen er utrygg og gaten er øde,
men oppi det hele finnes meget finurlig
Når natten omsider gir valuta for søvnen
og med den kommer muligens smerten og sorgen
Men smilene lusker bak drømmelands skyer, hold fast
i en venns hånd mens det lir mot morgen
For jeg vet at vi alle er ensomme iblant
slik som blikk trekkes til seg på ferden
Men om øyne kan åpnes og ører kan lytte,
kan óg armer strekkes ut imot verden
"Ønsker om nytt farvann"
Av Scaramouche, po(t)eten, Spellemannsprisen nesten. *Grøss*.
(På en annen side kunne jeg alltids donert bort statuetten til nytt dørhåndtak på Garage...!)
Noen må hjelpe en strandet småpike
hvis lykkebarometer svinger
Der hun tumler avsted og fullstendig på måfå
med avskårne vinger
På isen er alle skosåler glatte og i mørket
er ulvene usynlige som få
Bak skuret finnes der spøkelser som leker gjemsel,
men ingen trenger å stå
Gi piken et svevende kyss,
det vil gjøre henne mo og blussende rød
La tomrommet svirre rundt sin egen måne,
det er en berusende sjø
Ta fra henne disse lenkene, la henne gråte og le,
gjør det mulige mulig
Skogen er utrygg og gaten er øde,
men oppi det hele finnes meget finurlig
Når natten omsider gir valuta for søvnen
og med den kommer muligens smerten og sorgen
Men smilene lusker bak drømmelands skyer, hold fast
i en venns hånd mens det lir mot morgen
For jeg vet at vi alle er ensomme iblant
slik som blikk trekkes til seg på ferden
Men om øyne kan åpnes og ører kan lytte,
kan óg armer strekkes ut imot verden
Sunday, January 28, 2007
A PETITION FOR CHANGE
...TO STOP VIOLENCE AGAINST WOMEN,
EVERYWHERE, ANYTIME, IN ANY FORM.
"to stop
and understand"
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et; political and proud of it.
I take my stand and I do it with my head held high.
on your special day
in your narrow box
with an audience to listen
an a thousand faces to judge
and be judged by
yes, well
if you had known
the roses on her cheeks
if you had felt
the sweetness of her lips
then
would having conquered her heart
seemed such an ordeal
to you?
if you had heard
the thrills of her laughter
if you had spotted
that twinkle in her lady eyes
then
would tearing her apart, piece by piece
seemed more impossible
to you?
if you had got
goosegumps from her fingernails
on your plump footsoles
if you had sensed
her fair skin against your rough
yet still a great deal manly
then
would the obstacles in your way, when placing that ring
upon her finger have been less prominent
to you?
if you had been warmed
by her smooth palms
against your stubbles
if you had been stroked
like a child, yet much a man,
despite her troubles
then
would yelling, screaming, swearing
have come not quite that easily
to you?
and
would walking out on her, night after night
have been less likely a choice to be made
by you?
would silencing the crying by force, 'cause
you couldn't bear the aftermath,
been harder
to you?
yes, well
if you had heard
the firmness of the goodbye
she never got to say
if you had born
the blame within her soul
she never rid herself of
if you had opened
the lids you always closed
and tried to mind
if you hadn't had it all
and let it got to waste,
if you had ever dared
then, finally;
when her whispers soon fade out
and the beauty falters, you're just
bending over another immobile figure
a still life in white, her bruises being
decorations that never gained you any prize
a sculpture you made, a craft of your own
reflecting now all the self-inflicted guilt
you'll claim you never saw,
would it have seemed
less of a probable solution
if it had all been known
to you?
**
"If anyone should wish to have me shut my silly mouth and get a life - well, then you can all go to Hell and I'm sure you'll feel very much at home there!" - Candice Troughton
EVERYWHERE, ANYTIME, IN ANY FORM.
"to stop
and understand"
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et; political and proud of it.
I take my stand and I do it with my head held high.
on your special day
in your narrow box
with an audience to listen
an a thousand faces to judge
and be judged by
yes, well
if you had known
the roses on her cheeks
if you had felt
the sweetness of her lips
then
would having conquered her heart
seemed such an ordeal
to you?
if you had heard
the thrills of her laughter
if you had spotted
that twinkle in her lady eyes
then
would tearing her apart, piece by piece
seemed more impossible
to you?
if you had got
goosegumps from her fingernails
on your plump footsoles
if you had sensed
her fair skin against your rough
yet still a great deal manly
then
would the obstacles in your way, when placing that ring
upon her finger have been less prominent
to you?
if you had been warmed
by her smooth palms
against your stubbles
if you had been stroked
like a child, yet much a man,
despite her troubles
then
would yelling, screaming, swearing
have come not quite that easily
to you?
and
would walking out on her, night after night
have been less likely a choice to be made
by you?
would silencing the crying by force, 'cause
you couldn't bear the aftermath,
been harder
to you?
yes, well
if you had heard
the firmness of the goodbye
she never got to say
if you had born
the blame within her soul
she never rid herself of
if you had opened
the lids you always closed
and tried to mind
if you hadn't had it all
and let it got to waste,
if you had ever dared
then, finally;
when her whispers soon fade out
and the beauty falters, you're just
bending over another immobile figure
a still life in white, her bruises being
decorations that never gained you any prize
a sculpture you made, a craft of your own
reflecting now all the self-inflicted guilt
you'll claim you never saw,
would it have seemed
less of a probable solution
if it had all been known
to you?
**
"If anyone should wish to have me shut my silly mouth and get a life - well, then you can all go to Hell and I'm sure you'll feel very much at home there!" - Candice Troughton
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Road to the Oscars - a premonition
My personal preferences, amongst those recently nominated:
(Disclaimer: I admit to not having seen ALL the motion pictures in question, in other words all those that are up for the big prize, but these are the ones I myself consider to be worthy of and strongly deserving an Academy Award and amongst the ones I have singled out, I have witnessed all live and in action.)
Best Motion Picture of the Year
The Departed (without an itsy-bisty-teeny-weeny-blink of a glimpse of a flicker of doubt. Best gangster-epic EVER!)
(Also up for consideration: Babel. But - more to follow!!)
Best Performance by an Actor in a Leading Role
Leonardo DiCaprio for Blood Diamond
(Because he wasn't nominated for "The Departed", which he should have been, and WHERE THE HELL IS JACK NICHOLSON???????)
OR
Peter O'Toole for Venus
(Because this is his 8TH (!) nomination and because he didn't get one for "Lawrence of Arabia")
Best Performance by an Actress in a Leading Role
Meryl Streep for The Devil Wears Prada
(Although we all know Helen Mirren is going to win...I am entitled to hope!)
Best Performance by an Actor in a Supporting Role
Mark Wahlberg for The Departed
(Imagine - finally a personal B-movie favourite actor of mine is up for the Big-O! WEEE!)
Best Performance by an Actress in a Supporting Role
Rinko Kikuchi for Babel
(Extraordinary nod to Asian movie-making!)
Best Achievement in Directing
(I NEED HELP! THIS IS A BLOODY IMPOSSIBLE CHOICE!)
Clint Eastwood for Letters from Iwo Jima
Stephen Frears for The Queen
Paul Greengrass for United 93
Alejandro González Iñárritu for Babel
Martin Scorsese for The Departed
If I had to choose, though, I would say Iñárritu for "Babel", because he handled such difficult themes and such different actors/environments in such an oustanding way - and because Clint and Marty have already won similar awards on a laaarge number of occasions. But...well...they could do with a few more, I guess. (And come to think of it, Marty has in never actually WON an Oscar, just been nominated.) BUT - WELL! - INSTEAD, TO MAKE IT BLOODY EASIER, LET ME NOMINATE CHRISTOPHER NOLAN FOR "THE PRESTIGE"!
Best Writing, Screenplay Written Directly for the Screen
The Queen: Peter Morgan OR Babel: Guillermo Arriaga
Best Writing, Screenplay Based on Material Previously Produced or Published
The Departed: William Monahan
IN SHORT: I HOPE "THE DEPARTED" FOLLOWS IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF A CERTAIN DOC AND SWEEPS THE SHOW!
And let's hope Pirates wins in the special effects categories and Black Dahlia gets one for cinematography and The Prestige gets one for (unfortunately insignificant) Art Direction.
(And furthermore. I know I have no power in the world when it comes to altering these nomantions, and thus I will spend little time debating and arguing over the wrong-doing that some of them constitute - mostly due to the injust omission of certain actors and movies. But I will make a small comment just because it is necessary; I would feel even more awful without having stated the following. For instance - and once again! - BOOOOOO to the jury for neglecting to nominate Johnny Depp as our Favourite Pirate. A small compensation that they dared nominate Marky Mark but I am still far from content. And what about The Prestige and Casino Royale??? OYH!)
(Disclaimer: I admit to not having seen ALL the motion pictures in question, in other words all those that are up for the big prize, but these are the ones I myself consider to be worthy of and strongly deserving an Academy Award and amongst the ones I have singled out, I have witnessed all live and in action.)
Best Motion Picture of the Year
The Departed (without an itsy-bisty-teeny-weeny-blink of a glimpse of a flicker of doubt. Best gangster-epic EVER!)
(Also up for consideration: Babel. But - more to follow!!)
Best Performance by an Actor in a Leading Role
Leonardo DiCaprio for Blood Diamond
(Because he wasn't nominated for "The Departed", which he should have been, and WHERE THE HELL IS JACK NICHOLSON???????)
OR
Peter O'Toole for Venus
(Because this is his 8TH (!) nomination and because he didn't get one for "Lawrence of Arabia")
Best Performance by an Actress in a Leading Role
Meryl Streep for The Devil Wears Prada
(Although we all know Helen Mirren is going to win...I am entitled to hope!)
Best Performance by an Actor in a Supporting Role
Mark Wahlberg for The Departed
(Imagine - finally a personal B-movie favourite actor of mine is up for the Big-O! WEEE!)
Best Performance by an Actress in a Supporting Role
Rinko Kikuchi for Babel
(Extraordinary nod to Asian movie-making!)
Best Achievement in Directing
(I NEED HELP! THIS IS A BLOODY IMPOSSIBLE CHOICE!)
Clint Eastwood for Letters from Iwo Jima
Stephen Frears for The Queen
Paul Greengrass for United 93
Alejandro González Iñárritu for Babel
Martin Scorsese for The Departed
If I had to choose, though, I would say Iñárritu for "Babel", because he handled such difficult themes and such different actors/environments in such an oustanding way - and because Clint and Marty have already won similar awards on a laaarge number of occasions. But...well...they could do with a few more, I guess. (And come to think of it, Marty has in never actually WON an Oscar, just been nominated.) BUT - WELL! - INSTEAD, TO MAKE IT BLOODY EASIER, LET ME NOMINATE CHRISTOPHER NOLAN FOR "THE PRESTIGE"!
Best Writing, Screenplay Written Directly for the Screen
The Queen: Peter Morgan OR Babel: Guillermo Arriaga
Best Writing, Screenplay Based on Material Previously Produced or Published
The Departed: William Monahan
IN SHORT: I HOPE "THE DEPARTED" FOLLOWS IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF A CERTAIN DOC AND SWEEPS THE SHOW!
And let's hope Pirates wins in the special effects categories and Black Dahlia gets one for cinematography and The Prestige gets one for (unfortunately insignificant) Art Direction.
(And furthermore. I know I have no power in the world when it comes to altering these nomantions, and thus I will spend little time debating and arguing over the wrong-doing that some of them constitute - mostly due to the injust omission of certain actors and movies. But I will make a small comment just because it is necessary; I would feel even more awful without having stated the following. For instance - and once again! - BOOOOOO to the jury for neglecting to nominate Johnny Depp as our Favourite Pirate. A small compensation that they dared nominate Marky Mark but I am still far from content. And what about The Prestige and Casino Royale??? OYH!)
Monday, January 22, 2007
Altfor sent og altfor sentimental
...strengt tatt er vel klokken bare ti på halv elleve, men jeg er åpenbart i trøtteste laget. Her er enda mer o, hjerte smerte fra frøkenen som ikke kan slutte å falle - hodestups, håpløst, ulykkelig og, vel, uungåelig. IGJEN.
"Change my heart" eller: "Cardiac Control" eller, eventuelt:
"If you can't give me love, then fuck off."
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et - too much Suzi and too little sleep.
If I could pick my destiny, pick anyone at all
Guess I'd be happier than now
Wouldn't need to sit and wait for him to call
Put on a Suzi Quatro record, sway across the room
Guess I'd be singing loudly then
Wouldn't need to worry; or fall to pieces far too soon
Paint pictures of open water and rejoice in the snow
Guess I'd be hopping merrily around
Wouldn't need to glare out of my window, like I'm doing now
If I could learn to never care and never wonder
Swear it never meant a thing
Wouldn't need to lie here hopelessly and ponder
Transmat beam me away and let me cease my pointless trotting,
I'm tired of always getting stronger
I cannot be a captive of a broken heart's yearning, sent off its course,
I'm not sacrificing my sleep any longer
Help me help myself and let you go
"Change my heart" eller: "Cardiac Control" eller, eventuelt:
"If you can't give me love, then fuck off."
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et - too much Suzi and too little sleep.
If I could pick my destiny, pick anyone at all
Guess I'd be happier than now
Wouldn't need to sit and wait for him to call
Put on a Suzi Quatro record, sway across the room
Guess I'd be singing loudly then
Wouldn't need to worry; or fall to pieces far too soon
Paint pictures of open water and rejoice in the snow
Guess I'd be hopping merrily around
Wouldn't need to glare out of my window, like I'm doing now
If I could learn to never care and never wonder
Swear it never meant a thing
Wouldn't need to lie here hopelessly and ponder
Transmat beam me away and let me cease my pointless trotting,
I'm tired of always getting stronger
I cannot be a captive of a broken heart's yearning, sent off its course,
I'm not sacrificing my sleep any longer
Help me help myself and let you go
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Prestige-fylt
Etter å ha sett "The Prestige" på kino i går, har jeg funnet grunnlag for å trekke følgende konklusjoner:
- Jeg elsker Hollywood.
- Jeg elsker det faktum at man kan hyre in kremen av kremen av kremen av Hollywood-skuespillere og danne et ensemble av en annen verden, fullstendig magisk, bokstavelig talt, og jeg elsker at noen kom på den geniale idéen og gjenbruke velfungerende team: Johansson + Jackman og Nolan + Bale + Caine. Cheers!!
- Scarlett Johansson er besnærende pen. Kan få sammenligningskvaler av mindre. (Her skulle det for øvrig fantes et godt, norsk ord for Agonizing Convictions of Inferiority. Men det eksisterer visst ikke.)
- Tryllekunstnere er tøffe!! Helt og absolutt übertøffe! Og det må jo være et gedigent yrke å ta sikte på, når det gjelder min fremtidige karriere. Om ikke annet, så være en Scarlett-kloning og jobbe som assistent/pen dame for Hugh Jackman. DET hadde vært noe det.
- Og apropos; jeg vil gjerne gifte meg med nevnte Hugh Jackman. (Hvis Gerry ikke vil ha meg og Chris synes jeg er for ung. LOL. Eller hvis stakkars Hugh tilfeldigvis ikke har lyst å forlate sin nåværende kone. - Da må jeg eventuelt begynne å bearbeide sønnen til Brian May. Eller noe.)
- Det er morsomt å dra på kino med venninner som synes Hugh Jackman (og Christian Bale) er minst like kjekke som det jeg synes selv, og som har minst like stor interesse for gode filmer som det jeg har selv, og som er minst like engasjert i diskusjoner omkring filmen etterpå. Nicey! :) Men å nevne i en bisetning alle de kommende filmene man har lyst å se i mens man egentlig skal se en helt annen film akkurat der og da, er dét noe å blir "mobbet" for??? Og det faktum at jeg vil gifte meg med Hugh Jackman, når ble det urealistisk? Og SÅ til de grader lattervekkende? Hmmm... (Jeg kan se det humoristiske i dette, jeg HAR selvironi. Litt i allefall. Hihihihihi.) *smilefjes*
- David Bowie ser rar ut med bart.
- David Bowie HØRES rar ut...men det hadde kanskje ikke så mye med barten å gjøre. (?) Forbausende god skuespiller, derimot, det må jeg si.
- Tenke-filmer gir litt vondt i hodet, men økt intelligens. Og evne til å resonnere abstrakt & infløkt i de filmatiske dimensjoner. (Jvfr. Pulp Fiction og Memento og The Matrix.) Woohoo.
- Hvis man skal lage en oppfølger til Batman Begins, med fullstendig samme cast & crew (dog forhåpentligvis uten Katie Holmes), kan Hugh og Scarlett få bli med da???
Trying out new stuff...
Scaramouche, meaning me, is currently trying to improve her blogging skills. And HTML-decoding. First off is an attempt to post YouTube videos. And my goodness, was this difficult! See; I have to admit, I'm not such a technical expert. Or nerd, in a complementing way. Though, I'm quite a fan of tech in general. But yes, I AM one of these YouTube-fanatics/maniacs who spends way too much time watching and re-watching favourite, filmed moments - preferrably from TV-series and shows that I love. Such as, well, the following...
I was watching the Golden Globe Galla on STAR a few hours ago, and then I was suddenly reminded of the National Television Awards, sometime before Christmas, when Doctor Who swept the various award categories and won ALL. (...that matters, anyway.) Best Actor, Best Actress, Best Show. Not only did the series triumph massively there and then; Doctro Who simply, and amazingly, reprised their success from last year - when it won exactly the same number of awards in the same categories! And regarding the category of Best Actor, David T. couldn't settle with an ordinary, "thanks to everyone"-commonfolk speech. Oh no. (And the thing is, I feel I can also relate to his reaction - in certain ways - cos I believe I would've done just the same!) SO: Lookee here!!
I was watching the Golden Globe Galla on STAR a few hours ago, and then I was suddenly reminded of the National Television Awards, sometime before Christmas, when Doctor Who swept the various award categories and won ALL. (...that matters, anyway.) Best Actor, Best Actress, Best Show. Not only did the series triumph massively there and then; Doctro Who simply, and amazingly, reprised their success from last year - when it won exactly the same number of awards in the same categories! And regarding the category of Best Actor, David T. couldn't settle with an ordinary, "thanks to everyone"-commonfolk speech. Oh no. (And the thing is, I feel I can also relate to his reaction - in certain ways - cos I believe I would've done just the same!) SO: Lookee here!!
Saturday, January 20, 2007
The Art of Dancing
Experimenting with various rhyme patterns, this is my attempt to write "sensible bullshit". That being said, making bullshit sound more sensible has always been my goal. Here goes, a bit more Jerry Lee-inspired, Madonna-influenced (!) stanzas of poetry - not song this time! - no melody yet, anyway! - and I do hope my readers like it.
"Dancing Skills" - Comparison between gentlemen
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et, and self-proclaimed Dancing Queen.
(Well, maybe not, but I do like Dancing and I am hopelessly devoted to Queen. So.)
I was unaware, as he approached, so don't go criticizing now
I know a shift's upsetting, but please baby, take it slow
I can't help being beautiful, in this my dancing dress
Apparently he thought so too, though he looked like a mess
Waltzed me onto the dancefloor, to an upbeat song
He seized such brutal hold of me, I found it best to move along
While I kept good appearances for show, he played a beast
His standard disappointing, and that's to say the least
Constant stomping on my toes and that's a habit
No real dancing partner ought be sticking to
So yeah, I might be dancing with another
But I'm always coming back to dance with you
"Dancing Skills" - Comparison between gentlemen
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et, and self-proclaimed Dancing Queen.
(Well, maybe not, but I do like Dancing and I am hopelessly devoted to Queen. So.)
I was unaware, as he approached, so don't go criticizing now
I know a shift's upsetting, but please baby, take it slow
I can't help being beautiful, in this my dancing dress
Apparently he thought so too, though he looked like a mess
Waltzed me onto the dancefloor, to an upbeat song
He seized such brutal hold of me, I found it best to move along
While I kept good appearances for show, he played a beast
His standard disappointing, and that's to say the least
Constant stomping on my toes and that's a habit
No real dancing partner ought be sticking to
So yeah, I might be dancing with another
But I'm always coming back to dance with you
Jerry Lee Lewis + Charles Dickens = ?
(For those of you who think that Scaramouche can only produce poetry, here's a little song!)
"In the shadow of a passing dame" - For Pip and Estella
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et,
inspired by Jerry Lee Lewis and Charles Dickens in an Exquisite Combination.
Bet you didn't see THAT fancy comin', now, didya? :)
VERSE 1
I was wondering where to place my feet
when you're gone
And I went a-thinking that I might consider
moving further on
Kept on creeping and I don't know what
to say anymore
Don't know how to neither speak nor
think, for sure
VERSE 2
I ventured out on a journey, a slow-motion
trip across the seas
Or maybe I didn't go that far, but my baby
never begged me to please
Come on home and rest by the fire she'd make
cos she'd make none
I knew that when I returned, my homestead'd
be empty and my baby gone
CHORUS
Yeah, you swung your coat around your shoulders
with a stuck-up nose
Reckon there ain't no other woman in this world
who could strike such a pose
Lifted your head up higher than birds do fly
and threw me a glance
Don't feel the need to add more comments
I sense that from your stance
VERSE 3
I have had many arms to hold, and smiles
to comfort any broken soul
I've had quite a few reasons to sing the blues,
yet it ain't ever been to scowl
I stepped into the doors of her mansion,
many a time
But she had little attention to spare for me,
lest to say much time
BRIDGE
No, she's such a terrific beauty, don't get me wrong
It's just that she's not only pretty, she's much too strong
And she'd kill any bold-face yongster with a single, cross syllable
Thus, I might adore her style but it don't make her more amiable
CHORUS
VERSE 4
And if someday her heart mighta changed
and she be lowered down
She'd approach me, on my level, and she'd
say "baby I'm alone"
There be forgiveness at the corner of my eyes
but I don't know if I'd say it, or what to say it for
Cause ever since she left me, speechless, stranded
my voice, to her, could utter words no more
CHORUS
CHORUS (LAST)
Yeah, she swung her coat around her shoulders
with a stuck-up nose
Reckon there won't be no other woman in the world
who can strike such a pose
Lifted her head up higher than the birds do fly
and threw me just a glance
No, I don't feel the need to add more comments
Think you sense that from my stance
And as for my initial inquiry...
Lewis + Dickens should, then, result in - rock'n'roll courting with a sad, fatal outcome?
"In the shadow of a passing dame" - For Pip and Estella
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et,
inspired by Jerry Lee Lewis and Charles Dickens in an Exquisite Combination.
Bet you didn't see THAT fancy comin', now, didya? :)
VERSE 1
I was wondering where to place my feet
when you're gone
And I went a-thinking that I might consider
moving further on
Kept on creeping and I don't know what
to say anymore
Don't know how to neither speak nor
think, for sure
VERSE 2
I ventured out on a journey, a slow-motion
trip across the seas
Or maybe I didn't go that far, but my baby
never begged me to please
Come on home and rest by the fire she'd make
cos she'd make none
I knew that when I returned, my homestead'd
be empty and my baby gone
CHORUS
Yeah, you swung your coat around your shoulders
with a stuck-up nose
Reckon there ain't no other woman in this world
who could strike such a pose
Lifted your head up higher than birds do fly
and threw me a glance
Don't feel the need to add more comments
I sense that from your stance
VERSE 3
I have had many arms to hold, and smiles
to comfort any broken soul
I've had quite a few reasons to sing the blues,
yet it ain't ever been to scowl
I stepped into the doors of her mansion,
many a time
But she had little attention to spare for me,
lest to say much time
BRIDGE
No, she's such a terrific beauty, don't get me wrong
It's just that she's not only pretty, she's much too strong
And she'd kill any bold-face yongster with a single, cross syllable
Thus, I might adore her style but it don't make her more amiable
CHORUS
VERSE 4
And if someday her heart mighta changed
and she be lowered down
She'd approach me, on my level, and she'd
say "baby I'm alone"
There be forgiveness at the corner of my eyes
but I don't know if I'd say it, or what to say it for
Cause ever since she left me, speechless, stranded
my voice, to her, could utter words no more
CHORUS
CHORUS (LAST)
Yeah, she swung her coat around her shoulders
with a stuck-up nose
Reckon there won't be no other woman in the world
who can strike such a pose
Lifted her head up higher than the birds do fly
and threw me just a glance
No, I don't feel the need to add more comments
Think you sense that from my stance
And as for my initial inquiry...
Lewis + Dickens should, then, result in - rock'n'roll courting with a sad, fatal outcome?
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Dickens and Le Doc
I am currently reading "Great Expectations" by Charles Dickens and as usual, there is a Doctor Who-quote to go along with that...! (Sort of distracts me, though, that's the only downside to being a...well... number one fan-atic?) Taken from the Chris Eccleston-season, this particular episode is one of my personal favourites and was written by Mark Gatiss. (Copyright, all rights served, etc.) It is a brilliant piece about The Doc's encounter with one infamous, British novelist and causing some genuine "Phantasmagoria"... Must admit, I also took the liberty of editing the excerpt a bit, removing annoying, minor-character dialogue and extra-exclamations. This, then, indicated with a "(...)".
THE DOCTOR: Charles Dickens! You're brilliant, you are! Completely 100% brilliant! I've read 'em all! Great Expectations, Oliver Twist and what's the other one, the one with the ghost? (...) The one with the trains... The Signal Man, that's it, terrifying! (...) The best short story ever written! You're a genius! (...) Honestly, Charles - can I call you Charles? I'm such a big fan. (...) Fan! Number One Fan, that's me.
DICKENS: How exactly are you a fan? In what way do you resemble a means of keeping oneself cool?
THE DOCTOR: No, it means 'Fanatic', devoted to. Mind you, I've gotta say, that American bit in Martin Chuzzlewit, what was that about?! Was that just padding or what? I mean, it's rubbish, that bit.
DICKENS: I thought you said you were my fan.
THE DOCTOR: Ah, well, if you can't take criticism... go on, do the death of Little Nell, it cracks me up!
THE DOCTOR: Charles Dickens! You're brilliant, you are! Completely 100% brilliant! I've read 'em all! Great Expectations, Oliver Twist and what's the other one, the one with the ghost? (...) The one with the trains... The Signal Man, that's it, terrifying! (...) The best short story ever written! You're a genius! (...) Honestly, Charles - can I call you Charles? I'm such a big fan. (...) Fan! Number One Fan, that's me.
DICKENS: How exactly are you a fan? In what way do you resemble a means of keeping oneself cool?
THE DOCTOR: No, it means 'Fanatic', devoted to. Mind you, I've gotta say, that American bit in Martin Chuzzlewit, what was that about?! Was that just padding or what? I mean, it's rubbish, that bit.
DICKENS: I thought you said you were my fan.
THE DOCTOR: Ah, well, if you can't take criticism... go on, do the death of Little Nell, it cracks me up!
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
A little piece of happiness!
[Med spesiell dedikasjon til min Imaginære Heltinne. Og forresten, du; sålenge jeg til de grader kreditteres, må du bare stjele og poste så mye du vil! Jeg tar det som et STORT kompliment! :)]
Lykke er...
...når fantastiske, gode venner publiserer ens egne bestillingsverk på bloggen sin - og i tillegg lar seg inspirere selv, også! Minnesamling med dikt og andre fine ting er da en usannsynlig bra idé, eller hva folkens? Tillater meg å stjele litt av den idéen til gjengjeld, jeg! Det beste jeg vet i hele verden, i allefall noe av det, hehe, er når folk lar seg berøre av det jeg produserer og skaper. Eller når hverdagen bare viser seg fra sine beste sider. Lykke er, synes jeg nemlig, når gamle damer på omsorgssenteret kommer bort og takker meg fordi jeg har spilt piano for dem, når bussen kommer rundt svingen idet jeg kommer ruslende opp bakken, når universitetskantinen har brownies til lunsj, når man finner penger man trodde man ikke hadde i en bukselumme, når H&M har DEN bestemte vesten på salg, når favorittvaskemaskinen er ledig akkurat når man trenger den, når Richard Clayderman kliner til med en übersolo på slutten av en ballade - og når nevnte gode venner altså innlemmer mine små vers i sine personlige kolleksjoner.
De små gleder. Gjør livet vesentlig mer verdt å leve.
Lykke er...
...når fantastiske, gode venner publiserer ens egne bestillingsverk på bloggen sin - og i tillegg lar seg inspirere selv, også! Minnesamling med dikt og andre fine ting er da en usannsynlig bra idé, eller hva folkens? Tillater meg å stjele litt av den idéen til gjengjeld, jeg! Det beste jeg vet i hele verden, i allefall noe av det, hehe, er når folk lar seg berøre av det jeg produserer og skaper. Eller når hverdagen bare viser seg fra sine beste sider. Lykke er, synes jeg nemlig, når gamle damer på omsorgssenteret kommer bort og takker meg fordi jeg har spilt piano for dem, når bussen kommer rundt svingen idet jeg kommer ruslende opp bakken, når universitetskantinen har brownies til lunsj, når man finner penger man trodde man ikke hadde i en bukselumme, når H&M har DEN bestemte vesten på salg, når favorittvaskemaskinen er ledig akkurat når man trenger den, når Richard Clayderman kliner til med en übersolo på slutten av en ballade - og når nevnte gode venner altså innlemmer mine små vers i sine personlige kolleksjoner.
De små gleder. Gjør livet vesentlig mer verdt å leve.
Back to basics!
Strange as ut may seem, I'm writing lots and lots of poetry about Love these days.
Hmmm...whatever might have caused that obsessive productivity!
"Gifted, now"
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et, now - and again
The world may turn, and offer years of beauty,
travels, secrets, mysteries abound
Yet still, the greatest treasure of them all
In your embrace, I finally had found
Hmmm...whatever might have caused that obsessive productivity!
"Gifted, now"
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et, now - and again
The world may turn, and offer years of beauty,
travels, secrets, mysteries abound
Yet still, the greatest treasure of them all
In your embrace, I finally had found
17th century feminism (!)
...aaaand furthermore:
Some quick quotation from a Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, and her immediate respons to Lord Lyttelton's "Advice to a Lady";
Be plain in Dress and sober in your Diet
In short My Dearee, kiss me, and be quiet.
English 123 has - in other words - already proven to be an interesting subject to study. Indeed!
Some quick quotation from a Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, and her immediate respons to Lord Lyttelton's "Advice to a Lady";
Be plain in Dress and sober in your Diet
In short My Dearee, kiss me, and be quiet.
English 123 has - in other words - already proven to be an interesting subject to study. Indeed!
John Donne and theories about funerals
One Bygonnie, Johnnie Donnie, Makes My Studies Worth Their Money
Imagine....
Being so important to another human being,
you are linked, as a unit, fuctioning as one;
inseparable as the feet are joint at the hips,
unforgettable as the mind cherish dreams,
and one's most precious, lingering memories
That's how I felt when I read John Donne's beautiful poem about saying farewell without loads of weeping; perhaps saying exactly what I myself have been trying to say for so long...
EDIT, 17th OF JANUARY: Like an epiphany, I suddenly realized today - whilst analysing this piece during my English seminar-class - how it also, and in the most oddly striking way, reminds me of the relationship between a certain Doctor and his beloved, Rose. Mostly due to our seminar-leader's descriptions of how Donne depicts the connected two worlds of abstract, spiritual sensations and earthal, concrete ones - of course. How love appears in two, inseparable forms; the imperturbable, eternal (thus spiritual) version, and the both contrasting and resulting, yet more physical version; the touch-and-instinct-based, bodily effect. I then immediately spotted the (mostly unspoken) complexity and continuity of these two soulmates' love affair, reflected in lines written centuries ago - by a man to whom a Time Lord's adventures means, as far as we are informed, nothing at all. But with The Doc and Rosie being travellers in time, space and indeed parallell universes - how scary, sorry intriguing, can this possibly be/become??? I mean, who (...) knows where they might have travelled besides the broadcast journeys, in which we, the viewers, have parttaken? :)
(Inspirational ideas are crazy things...)
Anywhoo...true love never dies and - here goes;
A VALEDICTION: FORBIDDING MOURNING.
By John Donne. And NOT me. Hehe.
As virtous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls, to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say,
"Now his breath goes," and some say, "No."
So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move ; '
Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.
Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears ;
Men reckon what it did, and meant ;
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.
Dull sublunary lovers' love
—Whose soul is sense—cannot admit
Of absence, 'cause it doth remove
The thing which elemented it.
But we by a love so much refined,
That ourselves know not what it is,
Inter-assurèd of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss.
Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to aery thinness beat.
If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two ;
Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th' other do.
And though it in the centre sit,
Yet, when the other far doth roam,
It leans, and hearkens after it,
And grows erect, as that comes home.
Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
Like th' other foot, obliquely run ;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun.
Imagine....
Being so important to another human being,
you are linked, as a unit, fuctioning as one;
inseparable as the feet are joint at the hips,
unforgettable as the mind cherish dreams,
and one's most precious, lingering memories
That's how I felt when I read John Donne's beautiful poem about saying farewell without loads of weeping; perhaps saying exactly what I myself have been trying to say for so long...
EDIT, 17th OF JANUARY: Like an epiphany, I suddenly realized today - whilst analysing this piece during my English seminar-class - how it also, and in the most oddly striking way, reminds me of the relationship between a certain Doctor and his beloved, Rose. Mostly due to our seminar-leader's descriptions of how Donne depicts the connected two worlds of abstract, spiritual sensations and earthal, concrete ones - of course. How love appears in two, inseparable forms; the imperturbable, eternal (thus spiritual) version, and the both contrasting and resulting, yet more physical version; the touch-and-instinct-based, bodily effect. I then immediately spotted the (mostly unspoken) complexity and continuity of these two soulmates' love affair, reflected in lines written centuries ago - by a man to whom a Time Lord's adventures means, as far as we are informed, nothing at all. But with The Doc and Rosie being travellers in time, space and indeed parallell universes - how scary, sorry intriguing, can this possibly be/become??? I mean, who (...) knows where they might have travelled besides the broadcast journeys, in which we, the viewers, have parttaken? :)
(Inspirational ideas are crazy things...)
Anywhoo...true love never dies and - here goes;
A VALEDICTION: FORBIDDING MOURNING.
By John Donne. And NOT me. Hehe.
As virtous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls, to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say,
"Now his breath goes," and some say, "No."
So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move ; '
Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.
Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears ;
Men reckon what it did, and meant ;
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.
Dull sublunary lovers' love
—Whose soul is sense—cannot admit
Of absence, 'cause it doth remove
The thing which elemented it.
But we by a love so much refined,
That ourselves know not what it is,
Inter-assurèd of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss.
Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to aery thinness beat.
If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two ;
Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th' other do.
And though it in the centre sit,
Yet, when the other far doth roam,
It leans, and hearkens after it,
And grows erect, as that comes home.
Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
Like th' other foot, obliquely run ;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun.
Monday, January 15, 2007
Concerning my job...
"Poetic intricacies"
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et
To capture the essence
of a word
Inside the tiniest parameter
like a bubble
See-through on the outside
bursting within
A sense of temptation and
more to be found
Like haddon shallows escaping
unnoticed
And lines of importance forgotten
when sorely needed
Bygone sources of inspiration
might seek to return
But the true meaning once lost
won't be acquired again
Those were, and remain
only some
Of all my poetic intricacies, but
I get by amongst them
How could I ever do, if I believed it not?
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et
To capture the essence
of a word
Inside the tiniest parameter
like a bubble
See-through on the outside
bursting within
A sense of temptation and
more to be found
Like haddon shallows escaping
unnoticed
And lines of importance forgotten
when sorely needed
Bygone sources of inspiration
might seek to return
But the true meaning once lost
won't be acquired again
Those were, and remain
only some
Of all my poetic intricacies, but
I get by amongst them
How could I ever do, if I believed it not?
Inventer à plaisir
"A matter of evidence"
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et, striving to maintain a certain distance to what she writes - and absolutely, completely, totally and utterly NOT succeeding in doing so! ;)
In a flash, my heart leaps out of its casket
Beating wildly, freely
Way ahead of my feet; as I pace, run, quiver
Breathing heavily, really
To hold one's hands down and keep still & quiet
Being totally, completely
And quite simply
Out of my mind and head over heels;
forgotten my senses, all logic, all reason
Out of this world and wholly unsettled;
I never prepared it, foresaw it, predicted
But why to deny,
and how to forget
That I am
Quite simply
In love
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et, striving to maintain a certain distance to what she writes - and absolutely, completely, totally and utterly NOT succeeding in doing so! ;)
In a flash, my heart leaps out of its casket
Beating wildly, freely
Way ahead of my feet; as I pace, run, quiver
Breathing heavily, really
To hold one's hands down and keep still & quiet
Being totally, completely
And quite simply
Out of my mind and head over heels;
forgotten my senses, all logic, all reason
Out of this world and wholly unsettled;
I never prepared it, foresaw it, predicted
But why to deny,
and how to forget
That I am
Quite simply
In love
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Money money money, isn't always funny
I recently wrote a little piece about the "ordeal of finances", and here comes more:
I also have a tendency to be a bit vague about money. Frankly, I don't really give a damn about it. I'm one of those liberated bohemian artist-souls, at least a wannabe-such, and my dislike for economics equals that for vacuum packed fish and coke. Consequently, it was never my strongest subject at school. And that's a big time understatement, but I don't want to rip open any of these old wounds right now, hehehe, anyway - I try to avoid any financial issues and problems and discussions. The exchange rate of dollars and reasons to provide poor people with favourable loans and how to save same, poor people from indebtedness? Please ask me how to save the world in any other way than the money-based one. To quote my favourite hero of the day;
"Oh, that's a thought, I'm gonna need money. I was always a bit vague about money. Where do you get money?", The Doctor (from "The girl in the Fireplace", ep. 2.4)
See? Even Le Doc manages to save entire universes without worrying how to pay the bloody rent, etc. That being said; in "The impossible Planet", he and Rose DO worry about having to get a mortgage, because the TARDIS has stranded somewhere and they can't get home, but that's - well - a rather uncommon and improbable situation. They're for instance sitting in a space-station longue, drinking alien soda, underneath a huge see-through roof, displaying a giant black hole, while chatting. An everyday incident in the WHO-niverse. And furthermore, the TARDIS returns and the entire mortgage-discussion develops more into a "working-on-our-very-unsettled-relationship-which-both-want-to-take-a-step-further"-discussion. Just the way we like it! :) Speaking of "rent", though, in a certain movie carrying that title, the whole money-trouble results in these young rebels creating a musical, fabulous songs and dances and involving themselves romantically, in addition to eventually gaining success and fame and increased happiness. So money isn't all that bad, I guess, placed into specific contexts.
The thing is, if you ask me, one does need to explore one's own preferences and base one's future career on personal wishes and choices, in order to be able to lead a happy life. I've always argued that man should follow his dreams, first and foremost and to a certain extent. Maybe that sounds naïve - but I can't help thinking there are few other options, if you seek inner peace. I mean, so many rich and powerful people lead pretty sad lives. "Stuff" and attitude aren't everything. I would rather enjoy an existence of less wealth and items and more "walk on, from day to day, see where it takes me"-lifestyle, than a controlled and fixed, job-based one with strict working hours and a fucked up boss and the possibility of a panorama apartement. I could hardly see myself as someone's boss, by the way, I'm too self-willed. Of self-centered. Haha! Point is, I don't need so much to get by. And my goal is to do what I like best and to succeed in doing so. No more, no less. To achieve what I want, what my heart tells me is right for me, and propose goals for myself which I will attempt to reach and fulfill. Hopefully enjoy every minute of my time here on earth and look forward to waking up the next morning, with or without a full bank account. Take pleasure in the small things. These are my dreams. My career prospects have, throughout my days, circled around the little word "creativity" - I like creating, contributing with something that is unique and - for better or worse - individual; my very own, my preciousss, something whose foundation and background design is not necessarily creditted so many and whose outcome, the final result, might not have to be shared with so many and exploited by any. It takes courage, to work alone. It takes a great effort and loads of energy, and it doesn't always pay off.
I know that within this scheme, money is somewhere involved - you bet I do! - I just fear I might have to let someone else take care of that for me, cause I have NO IDEA what to do with banknotes, except how to spend them. And unfortunately, they don't come in infinite amounts, just like they don't grow on trees. (I often wish they did!) Oh, but one's gotta hold on to those positive vibes and I'm sure I'll get through. With a little help from some friends, in some areas. Like Freddie Mercury; he never carried his own purse, he let others carry it for him. Moreover, come to think of it; even as a dead poor, completely unknown student of arts, he behaved and dressed like a king. A bohemian glam-king, that is. Stylish - down to every, minute detail. But when he got more cash, he didn't turn into an arrogant expert of conceit, he was a down-to-earth musician of a king. At least from what I've seen and heard. He had his whims and his moods, but he was a wonderful person, nevertheless. I think a few of us could learn a thing or two from Mr. Mercury there. Money doesn't automatically grow style - or decency. It doesn't ensure a nice personality or manners. Maybe that's why I struggle with it so much. And sometimes hate it. I've seen its effects on people; I've witnessed madness due to wealth, I've witnessed a loss of modesty and greed beyond belief. Yeah. That's why money - similarly to religion - is a scarecrow passenger on my train of thought. I loathe the means and measures with which people handle (both of) them; lest to say abuse them.
So. Back to the basics; as for myself, and as for the moment being, I'll simply keep on writing.
I also have a tendency to be a bit vague about money. Frankly, I don't really give a damn about it. I'm one of those liberated bohemian artist-souls, at least a wannabe-such, and my dislike for economics equals that for vacuum packed fish and coke. Consequently, it was never my strongest subject at school. And that's a big time understatement, but I don't want to rip open any of these old wounds right now, hehehe, anyway - I try to avoid any financial issues and problems and discussions. The exchange rate of dollars and reasons to provide poor people with favourable loans and how to save same, poor people from indebtedness? Please ask me how to save the world in any other way than the money-based one. To quote my favourite hero of the day;
"Oh, that's a thought, I'm gonna need money. I was always a bit vague about money. Where do you get money?", The Doctor (from "The girl in the Fireplace", ep. 2.4)
See? Even Le Doc manages to save entire universes without worrying how to pay the bloody rent, etc. That being said; in "The impossible Planet", he and Rose DO worry about having to get a mortgage, because the TARDIS has stranded somewhere and they can't get home, but that's - well - a rather uncommon and improbable situation. They're for instance sitting in a space-station longue, drinking alien soda, underneath a huge see-through roof, displaying a giant black hole, while chatting. An everyday incident in the WHO-niverse. And furthermore, the TARDIS returns and the entire mortgage-discussion develops more into a "working-on-our-very-unsettled-relationship-which-both-want-to-take-a-step-further"-discussion. Just the way we like it! :) Speaking of "rent", though, in a certain movie carrying that title, the whole money-trouble results in these young rebels creating a musical, fabulous songs and dances and involving themselves romantically, in addition to eventually gaining success and fame and increased happiness. So money isn't all that bad, I guess, placed into specific contexts.
The thing is, if you ask me, one does need to explore one's own preferences and base one's future career on personal wishes and choices, in order to be able to lead a happy life. I've always argued that man should follow his dreams, first and foremost and to a certain extent. Maybe that sounds naïve - but I can't help thinking there are few other options, if you seek inner peace. I mean, so many rich and powerful people lead pretty sad lives. "Stuff" and attitude aren't everything. I would rather enjoy an existence of less wealth and items and more "walk on, from day to day, see where it takes me"-lifestyle, than a controlled and fixed, job-based one with strict working hours and a fucked up boss and the possibility of a panorama apartement. I could hardly see myself as someone's boss, by the way, I'm too self-willed. Of self-centered. Haha! Point is, I don't need so much to get by. And my goal is to do what I like best and to succeed in doing so. No more, no less. To achieve what I want, what my heart tells me is right for me, and propose goals for myself which I will attempt to reach and fulfill. Hopefully enjoy every minute of my time here on earth and look forward to waking up the next morning, with or without a full bank account. Take pleasure in the small things. These are my dreams. My career prospects have, throughout my days, circled around the little word "creativity" - I like creating, contributing with something that is unique and - for better or worse - individual; my very own, my preciousss, something whose foundation and background design is not necessarily creditted so many and whose outcome, the final result, might not have to be shared with so many and exploited by any. It takes courage, to work alone. It takes a great effort and loads of energy, and it doesn't always pay off.
I know that within this scheme, money is somewhere involved - you bet I do! - I just fear I might have to let someone else take care of that for me, cause I have NO IDEA what to do with banknotes, except how to spend them. And unfortunately, they don't come in infinite amounts, just like they don't grow on trees. (I often wish they did!) Oh, but one's gotta hold on to those positive vibes and I'm sure I'll get through. With a little help from some friends, in some areas. Like Freddie Mercury; he never carried his own purse, he let others carry it for him. Moreover, come to think of it; even as a dead poor, completely unknown student of arts, he behaved and dressed like a king. A bohemian glam-king, that is. Stylish - down to every, minute detail. But when he got more cash, he didn't turn into an arrogant expert of conceit, he was a down-to-earth musician of a king. At least from what I've seen and heard. He had his whims and his moods, but he was a wonderful person, nevertheless. I think a few of us could learn a thing or two from Mr. Mercury there. Money doesn't automatically grow style - or decency. It doesn't ensure a nice personality or manners. Maybe that's why I struggle with it so much. And sometimes hate it. I've seen its effects on people; I've witnessed madness due to wealth, I've witnessed a loss of modesty and greed beyond belief. Yeah. That's why money - similarly to religion - is a scarecrow passenger on my train of thought. I loathe the means and measures with which people handle (both of) them; lest to say abuse them.
So. Back to the basics; as for myself, and as for the moment being, I'll simply keep on writing.
Friday, January 12, 2007
Bestillingsverk
Til min gode venninne Ann Siri, aka Imaginary Hero, på bestilling. Faktisk.
Heftig inspirert og begeistret (pun intended!) av den geniale filmen "Before sunrise", der Julie Delpy og Ethan Hawke rusler rundt i hjembyen til min kjære Rex og hans, for meg like kjære, eier Brandtner; altså Wien. De møter på en dikter-boms som tilbyr seg å skrive et dikt til dem, og - skal det senere vise seg - om dem. Faller, naturlig nok, i god smak. Og setter en ekstra spiss på deres nattlige vandring, om jeg kan si det slik. Dette får bli noe litt annet; et nostaligisk lite stykke poesi fra Scara's penn, til en gammel venn, hoho. Inspirert (også) av Brua - av alle mulige og umulige ting. Jaja. Vigga er en fin elv, osv. Håper det faller i smak!
(Muligens ikke helt ferdigstilt.)
"Backward glances" [working title]
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et, nå en seriøs, rutinert blogger OG fattig dikter-spire! Yey!
Some days we roamed about the park
Throwing stones into water, capturing
Kodak moments as the lungs filled with
laughter, clinging onto green grass and
a new sun that would blind us
Some days we strolled along the streets
Throwing glances at the passer-by's,
knowing we might never be seen again
And eating muffins was never more
enjoyable than with a grin, there
Some days we swam over to the moon
Throwing tantrums out of nowhere,
just for fun, again, and friendship
Being imaginary memories we could
savour when the times had passed
As happy times tend to do
Some days we'll sit down and forget,
or maybe even try rememeber,
longing back to what one won't let go
Cherish every second spent is not
the same as yearning for
All that man can never have
'Cause all that man could ever have
was for a second spent, not too much for me to ask
Being with someone, to whom
that might not be too much to give
(Og - håper det kan passe inn i minnesamlingen din! :) - som for øvrig syntes som en god og inspirerende idé!)
Heftig inspirert og begeistret (pun intended!) av den geniale filmen "Before sunrise", der Julie Delpy og Ethan Hawke rusler rundt i hjembyen til min kjære Rex og hans, for meg like kjære, eier Brandtner; altså Wien. De møter på en dikter-boms som tilbyr seg å skrive et dikt til dem, og - skal det senere vise seg - om dem. Faller, naturlig nok, i god smak. Og setter en ekstra spiss på deres nattlige vandring, om jeg kan si det slik. Dette får bli noe litt annet; et nostaligisk lite stykke poesi fra Scara's penn, til en gammel venn, hoho. Inspirert (også) av Brua - av alle mulige og umulige ting. Jaja. Vigga er en fin elv, osv. Håper det faller i smak!
(Muligens ikke helt ferdigstilt.)
"Backward glances" [working title]
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et, nå en seriøs, rutinert blogger OG fattig dikter-spire! Yey!
Some days we roamed about the park
Throwing stones into water, capturing
Kodak moments as the lungs filled with
laughter, clinging onto green grass and
a new sun that would blind us
Some days we strolled along the streets
Throwing glances at the passer-by's,
knowing we might never be seen again
And eating muffins was never more
enjoyable than with a grin, there
Some days we swam over to the moon
Throwing tantrums out of nowhere,
just for fun, again, and friendship
Being imaginary memories we could
savour when the times had passed
As happy times tend to do
Some days we'll sit down and forget,
or maybe even try rememeber,
longing back to what one won't let go
Cherish every second spent is not
the same as yearning for
All that man can never have
'Cause all that man could ever have
was for a second spent, not too much for me to ask
Being with someone, to whom
that might not be too much to give
(Og - håper det kan passe inn i minnesamlingen din! :) - som for øvrig syntes som en god og inspirerende idé!)
Lucky me
More early morning gossip!
According to Entertainment E!, Queen is in negotiations with Johnny Depp and others regarding a movie about Freddie Mercury, his life and career. Brian May has also previously mentioned it, so the chances are there might be at least some sense of truth in these rumours. Could just be the most interesting event of the year, barely surpassing the DVD-release of Casino Royale...! Hopefully with deleted scenes - involving Q!!! (...or maybe not.) I would like to see a documentary explaining how Gerry wasn't cast, though. LOL.
And, of course, we are continuously anticipating the release of Queen's and Kent's and Bryan Ferry's planned, new albums. Am I a lucky girl or what?! :)
According to Entertainment E!, Queen is in negotiations with Johnny Depp and others regarding a movie about Freddie Mercury, his life and career. Brian May has also previously mentioned it, so the chances are there might be at least some sense of truth in these rumours. Could just be the most interesting event of the year, barely surpassing the DVD-release of Casino Royale...! Hopefully with deleted scenes - involving Q!!! (...or maybe not.) I would like to see a documentary explaining how Gerry wasn't cast, though. LOL.
And, of course, we are continuously anticipating the release of Queen's and Kent's and Bryan Ferry's planned, new albums. Am I a lucky girl or what?! :)
Lohan, Chan & Babel ...and the ordeal of finances!
Young miss "La Lohan", first name Lindsay, was recently spotted wearing a "Queen Tour '80"- vintage T-shirt. Everyone keeps arguing how she's the worst role model ever, but after seeing photos of her dressed like that, I can't help thinking - at least she gets something right...! When it comes to taste in music-inspired clothing, more people should actually follow Lindsay's example. Apart from this little incident, I of course think she's a total mess; drug problems, weight-losses, Britney "No-panties" Spears-friendship and all - but hey! If she likes Queen, she really can't be that bad. (?)
But then again; if she just follows a trend of vintage clothing, which is perhaps more likely, and has absolutely no idea who Queen is, just thought the shirt was "kinda cool", then seriously...get a life, girlie.
Anyway! That was me starting the day reading online gossip. Which is truly an interesting way to emerge from sleepyness. A mindless activity that I, to be honest, quite frequently induldge in. In certain ways, it's like watching a Jackie Chan-movie; you feel your brain cells being slowly wiped out, and then realize you don't mind it one bit. Completely ignoring any and all side-effects, permanent injuries etc., as you enjoy the silly just-for-fun action too much to even care!
However, if you desire to regain lacking intelligence and get back on the thoughful-track, you might turn off Jackie's New Adventures and go watch "Babel", if it's still running in a theatre near you. The kind of movie that makes you thoroughly reconsider your choice of living and want to work for Red Cross in Africa. And it included some high-class, amazing acting performances and wonderful scenery too. Being a long-lasting piece of storytelling, it can probably prove a little dull to some viewers. Yet, if you have some patience and let yourself involve and sympathize with the main characters, you'll achieve a movie experience that is nothing short of mind-blowing. Heavy, touching, overwhelming and exhausting - to the very end - with Tokyo skyscrapers, Morocco locals, US immigration issues, childhood encounters with death and arrogant tourists as important features & themes. And also - personal favourites Rinko Kikuchi, Kôji Yakusho and Brad Pitt delightfully present. Well-deserved hype!
Finally, a word of advice: "Don't think about the money. Money will come to you. And if it doesn't, there's no reason why you can't go searching for it, but you can do it with a will, not a must. Life is too short to be wasted with worries concering things that are merely abstract and, in the end, insignificant to happiness. What matters is destiny, as it seems, here and now and forever. Not the means with which you might have purchased it years back. Life is a journey. No money can replace or disguise that fact. Life is a road to be travelled and a source of freedom to be explored. I won't be tied down ever again. Just won't."
But then again; if she just follows a trend of vintage clothing, which is perhaps more likely, and has absolutely no idea who Queen is, just thought the shirt was "kinda cool", then seriously...get a life, girlie.
Anyway! That was me starting the day reading online gossip. Which is truly an interesting way to emerge from sleepyness. A mindless activity that I, to be honest, quite frequently induldge in. In certain ways, it's like watching a Jackie Chan-movie; you feel your brain cells being slowly wiped out, and then realize you don't mind it one bit. Completely ignoring any and all side-effects, permanent injuries etc., as you enjoy the silly just-for-fun action too much to even care!
However, if you desire to regain lacking intelligence and get back on the thoughful-track, you might turn off Jackie's New Adventures and go watch "Babel", if it's still running in a theatre near you. The kind of movie that makes you thoroughly reconsider your choice of living and want to work for Red Cross in Africa. And it included some high-class, amazing acting performances and wonderful scenery too. Being a long-lasting piece of storytelling, it can probably prove a little dull to some viewers. Yet, if you have some patience and let yourself involve and sympathize with the main characters, you'll achieve a movie experience that is nothing short of mind-blowing. Heavy, touching, overwhelming and exhausting - to the very end - with Tokyo skyscrapers, Morocco locals, US immigration issues, childhood encounters with death and arrogant tourists as important features & themes. And also - personal favourites Rinko Kikuchi, Kôji Yakusho and Brad Pitt delightfully present. Well-deserved hype!
Finally, a word of advice: "Don't think about the money. Money will come to you. And if it doesn't, there's no reason why you can't go searching for it, but you can do it with a will, not a must. Life is too short to be wasted with worries concering things that are merely abstract and, in the end, insignificant to happiness. What matters is destiny, as it seems, here and now and forever. Not the means with which you might have purchased it years back. Life is a journey. No money can replace or disguise that fact. Life is a road to be travelled and a source of freedom to be explored. I won't be tied down ever again. Just won't."
Thursday, January 11, 2007
The letter D as a starting point
"What remains, remains, and what doesn't got spilt out; hence over"
By Scara, the scary po(t)et, who should probably go to bed now.
(Sorry, should probably have been in bed by now.)
Decanting fluids
Sinking deep
A deposit of
Dregs, just shit
Finger dipped
Therein, a drop
Shaken off, though
Don't keep no spares
Beelzebub has enough devils put aside for me as it is.
[Good night!]
By Scara, the scary po(t)et, who should probably go to bed now.
(Sorry, should probably have been in bed by now.)
Decanting fluids
Sinking deep
A deposit of
Dregs, just shit
Finger dipped
Therein, a drop
Shaken off, though
Don't keep no spares
Beelzebub has enough devils put aside for me as it is.
[Good night!]
Wake up an insomniac and she'll die
"Dreams delusional"
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et, no dope involved.
Don't know what to do
about these dreams
I keep having these dreams
and I can't forget them
Running in crazy circles,
keep repeating themselves
When you see faces, and
recognition hits you
Like a bolt from above,
your guts tells you to run
But your feet are stuck
your legs won't move
A constant full-speed loop,
no rabbitholes to exit out of
You're ten feet tall, and six inches,
but you might shrink into zero
In a split second, as the floor slants
and ain't no floor no more, it's a sea
Roaring seas, in my dreams,
I keep having these dreams
I was trying to get over my nightmares,
yet confusion hit me instead
And now I'm getting lost, where I myself
started off, and I'll be chasing my past
Forever and much longer
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et, no dope involved.
Don't know what to do
about these dreams
I keep having these dreams
and I can't forget them
Running in crazy circles,
keep repeating themselves
When you see faces, and
recognition hits you
Like a bolt from above,
your guts tells you to run
But your feet are stuck
your legs won't move
A constant full-speed loop,
no rabbitholes to exit out of
You're ten feet tall, and six inches,
but you might shrink into zero
In a split second, as the floor slants
and ain't no floor no more, it's a sea
Roaring seas, in my dreams,
I keep having these dreams
I was trying to get over my nightmares,
yet confusion hit me instead
And now I'm getting lost, where I myself
started off, and I'll be chasing my past
Forever and much longer
Moonstruck
"Shoot for the moon"
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et
HAPPINESS IS
A
PIECE OF CAKE
AND
OPPOSED TO LONELINESS
IT IS AT
LEAST ACHIEVABLE
AND
NOT UNAVOIDABLE
a pick of destiny and then you're sold
but as always, you shoot for the moon
and end up with an empty heart
struggling to find whatever good, bad, worse
(or for the better)
with which you could fill it up next time
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et
HAPPINESS IS
A
PIECE OF CAKE
AND
OPPOSED TO LONELINESS
IT IS AT
LEAST ACHIEVABLE
AND
NOT UNAVOIDABLE
a pick of destiny and then you're sold
but as always, you shoot for the moon
and end up with an empty heart
struggling to find whatever good, bad, worse
(or for the better)
with which you could fill it up next time
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Curiosity killed the cat, not me
(My fucking network-connection's been out of business for the past fucking week, meaning I haven't been fucking online in a fucking weeeeek, and it fucking scares me to observe my own fucking obsession with this internet-thing AND, indeed, that fucking word "fuck". Interesting. Anywhooo, I miss blogger. I miss blogging. Miss it like I miss Chris E. and his "Hello, alien-Piggy!"-smile and those cute ears. Gosh. But, and thus, here we go again!)
I watched the beautiful, but slightly crazy-psychedelic "Easy Rider" today...and I loved it, of course, it's just completely surreal and brilliant. One of those movies that will, hopefully, last forever. Along with other Fonda-family classics (hihi!) and my personal, fucking favourite (pun intended) Tarantino and his Hopper-collaborations and other strokes of genius. (Trivia Puzzle: Tarantino + Hopper + Walken + Scott = ?) I think there's something about their hunt for freedom and all the hippie-music and that "We failed"-line which just hits you, right there, cuts its way into your soul and stomach, even spearing straight through the core of your heart. Boooom; off you go, fallin' in love again. Well, at least I did. Reckon, if I ever settle down it'll be with some motorcycle dude who calls himself Captain America and has a best buddy who smokes pot and dresses like The Eagles' vocalist and laughs at everything, although it might not be even remotely funny. And we could walk into the sunset, being hardly more than vague shadows in the dark; wearing these really retro, awesome sunglasses and on-and-off, pathetic helmets and talk about Venus, the planet that is, and take pleasure in not knowing what tomorrow would bring. Team up with Jack Nicholson and visit dodgy bars and sleep rough and hit the highway before breakfast...
Did I mention I love movies, cos they make me dream? Guess I did, yeah. And I love America and American road-movies and exploring all the mysteries of that amazing bowl of mingling cultures, through the eyes of people like Wyatt and Billy. Someday I'm gonna go there and I'm gonna travel out, without any specific destination; just live and breathe and chase freedom for a while. If that doesn't get you in touch with your inner self and senses, I don't know what possibly could.
But, children, smoking pot and drinking scotch and riding a bicycle without a helmet is very dangerous. So, leave it to the grown-ups. And Peter Fonda may not be the best role model ever, but most kids today don't even know who the man is, so what's the big deal. I mean, they SHOULD know him, but I suppose something's missing about their film historic education. Parents, get a a grip? Suggestion; why not make films like "Easy Rider" part of the school curriculum and have the youngsters understand the sixties through the geniune, contemporary view on the era? That'd be a great idea, if you ask me. But, unfortunately, too few do.
I watched the beautiful, but slightly crazy-psychedelic "Easy Rider" today...and I loved it, of course, it's just completely surreal and brilliant. One of those movies that will, hopefully, last forever. Along with other Fonda-family classics (hihi!) and my personal, fucking favourite (pun intended) Tarantino and his Hopper-collaborations and other strokes of genius. (Trivia Puzzle: Tarantino + Hopper + Walken + Scott = ?) I think there's something about their hunt for freedom and all the hippie-music and that "We failed"-line which just hits you, right there, cuts its way into your soul and stomach, even spearing straight through the core of your heart. Boooom; off you go, fallin' in love again. Well, at least I did. Reckon, if I ever settle down it'll be with some motorcycle dude who calls himself Captain America and has a best buddy who smokes pot and dresses like The Eagles' vocalist and laughs at everything, although it might not be even remotely funny. And we could walk into the sunset, being hardly more than vague shadows in the dark; wearing these really retro, awesome sunglasses and on-and-off, pathetic helmets and talk about Venus, the planet that is, and take pleasure in not knowing what tomorrow would bring. Team up with Jack Nicholson and visit dodgy bars and sleep rough and hit the highway before breakfast...
Did I mention I love movies, cos they make me dream? Guess I did, yeah. And I love America and American road-movies and exploring all the mysteries of that amazing bowl of mingling cultures, through the eyes of people like Wyatt and Billy. Someday I'm gonna go there and I'm gonna travel out, without any specific destination; just live and breathe and chase freedom for a while. If that doesn't get you in touch with your inner self and senses, I don't know what possibly could.
But, children, smoking pot and drinking scotch and riding a bicycle without a helmet is very dangerous. So, leave it to the grown-ups. And Peter Fonda may not be the best role model ever, but most kids today don't even know who the man is, so what's the big deal. I mean, they SHOULD know him, but I suppose something's missing about their film historic education. Parents, get a a grip? Suggestion; why not make films like "Easy Rider" part of the school curriculum and have the youngsters understand the sixties through the geniune, contemporary view on the era? That'd be a great idea, if you ask me. But, unfortunately, too few do.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Surrealis Cinematographicus
Surrealistiske opplevelser anno 3 januar.
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire:
Doctor'n som SKURK.
Doctor'n, det vil altså si David Tennant, som Barty "Slikk-munn" (pun intended!) Crouch junior - filmens mest utspekulerte og, faktisk, lengst tilstedeværende überskurk - i tillegg medfølgende stigende Anakin Skywalker-tendenser. "Hellooooo faaaather...."
Det faktum at jeg gjenkjenner David Tennant selv om han har panneluggen langt ned i fjeset og sitter halvveis gjemt bak stolen til Ralph "You-Know-WHO-Vortevold-sorry-Voldemort" Fiennes og fremstår i en blålig utgave av svart-hvitt og ikke sier en dritt. Nuvel.
The Boondock Saints:
Willem Dafoe. I dameklær. (På et tidspunkt med greit innsyn i, vel, "det aller helligste". I allefall nesten. Og blond Roger Taylor-parykk. Noen som har sett videoen til I want to break free? Den er herlig!)
Billy Connolly. For alle dem som har sett "Mrs. Brown": .... hahahahahahahaha!!! Og dett var dett. Ellers er han en strålende skuespiller og gjør seg veldig godt i...bur. Men ja. Som sagt; hahaha. Og det er noe problematisk, for jeg kommer aldri til å kunne se en film med den mannen igjen, uten å tenke på DEN scenen. Hahahahaha!
Which reminds me of Gerry. Og når vi snakkes om kjekke menn:
At det kan være fysisk mulig å gjøre 2 stk. temmelig besatte og intenst religiøse leiemordere så utrolig likandes. Og elskelige. Og bedårende. Og fullstendig uimotståelige, spesielt når det gjelder hvor man som publikum skal plassere ens personlige preferanser og sympatier. For å gjøre en lang utredning litt kortere: Jeg ELSKER Macmanus-familien og jeg ville blitt med dem på deres personlige, lille rettferdighetstokt anytime! Tro meg!
Furthermore:
I live and breathe for the magic of moviemaking. Still and forever.
And - "I love our new job!"
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire:
Doctor'n som SKURK.
Doctor'n, det vil altså si David Tennant, som Barty "Slikk-munn" (pun intended!) Crouch junior - filmens mest utspekulerte og, faktisk, lengst tilstedeværende überskurk - i tillegg medfølgende stigende Anakin Skywalker-tendenser. "Hellooooo faaaather...."
Det faktum at jeg gjenkjenner David Tennant selv om han har panneluggen langt ned i fjeset og sitter halvveis gjemt bak stolen til Ralph "You-Know-WHO-Vortevold-sorry-Voldemort" Fiennes og fremstår i en blålig utgave av svart-hvitt og ikke sier en dritt. Nuvel.
The Boondock Saints:
Willem Dafoe. I dameklær. (På et tidspunkt med greit innsyn i, vel, "det aller helligste". I allefall nesten. Og blond Roger Taylor-parykk. Noen som har sett videoen til I want to break free? Den er herlig!)
Billy Connolly. For alle dem som har sett "Mrs. Brown": .... hahahahahahahaha!!! Og dett var dett. Ellers er han en strålende skuespiller og gjør seg veldig godt i...bur. Men ja. Som sagt; hahaha. Og det er noe problematisk, for jeg kommer aldri til å kunne se en film med den mannen igjen, uten å tenke på DEN scenen. Hahahahaha!
Which reminds me of Gerry. Og når vi snakkes om kjekke menn:
At det kan være fysisk mulig å gjøre 2 stk. temmelig besatte og intenst religiøse leiemordere så utrolig likandes. Og elskelige. Og bedårende. Og fullstendig uimotståelige, spesielt når det gjelder hvor man som publikum skal plassere ens personlige preferanser og sympatier. For å gjøre en lang utredning litt kortere: Jeg ELSKER Macmanus-familien og jeg ville blitt med dem på deres personlige, lille rettferdighetstokt anytime! Tro meg!
Furthermore:
I live and breathe for the magic of moviemaking. Still and forever.
And - "I love our new job!"
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Velkommen til et nytt år...
[Første posten i 2007!!!]
NYTT ÅR, NYE MULIGHETER!
Rart å tenke på at man nu har trådt inn i et nytt år, 12 nye måneder, og allverdens med spennende og skremmende og bent sagt superuforutsigbare hendelser & utfordringer i vente. Slikt jeg ser frem til, og gruer meg til, å ta fatt på. Når det gjelder nyttår så er jeg ikke verdens største tilhenger av nyttårsløfter, fordi jeg har en grunnleggende svakhet - evt. elementær mangel på disiplin, kall det hva du vil - når det gjelder å skulle gjennomføre og holde dem.
Vi har f.eks forsøkt den populære "kutte ned på sjokolade og koffein" (her kunne det også vært naturlig å legge til nikotin, men jeg røker ikke - praktisk nok & heldigvis!), noe som resulterte i regelrett tvangsspising av melkesjokolade første nyttårsdag, sammen med uante mengder svart kaffe. Og, videre, "aldri mer påføre seg selv kjærlighetssorg"; noe som fungerer dårlig i kombinasjon med min totale besettelse når det gjelder kjekke, mannlige og fullstendig uoppnåelige filmstjerner. OG (så videre og så videre) har vi jo den berømmelige "trene mer" - og jeg trener mer enn nok, etter min smak og lyst og ork og mer gidder jeg uansett ikke, sånn er det med den saken, point taken? - og den fantastiske "studere mer", jeg studerer mer enn nok som det er, og akkurat nå frister det mest å se en film, for i bunn og grunn: jo mer man stresser at man bør stresse mindre, jo mer apatisk og stresset blir man. Nemlig. Til slutt kan man legge til "spise meget sunnere, ha en bedre og mer fornuftig døgnrytme, drikke mindre alkohol, tenke før man snakker, revurdere humor og pengeforbruk og legge realistiske planer for fremtiden" - hvorav jeg har gitt opp samtlige punkter (og de dertil hørende, alternative livsførsler) for lenge siden, og på det området er jeg faktisk temmelig fornøyd. Regelrett tilfreds. SÅH!
Nei når det gjelder disse nyttårsløftene, la meg heller sitere Verdens Tøffeste Svenske Rockeband - Kent - fra deres album "Hagnesta Hill" og sangen "Cowboys":
hon vinkar genom ett fönster
hennes mun är som ett sår
så går hjärtat mitt sönder
det har varit ett ensamt år
jag ska aldrig ignorera dig igen
jag ska aldrig ignorera kärleken
mina nyårslöften
(Copyright Joachim Berg, text och musik - tack så mycket!)
Og hvis man bytter ut hon med han så kan det helt greit fungere som mine nyttårsløfter, likeså. Det hjelper meg muligens ikke til å unngå den overnevnte kjærlighetssorgen, men hva gjør vel egentlig det, og dessuten:
"I wear my heart on the outside, for everyone to see
and to tell you the truth, it's the only way I know,
to find real happiness, and to feel and to know,
thus, the only way I can be me."
NYTT ÅR, NYE MULIGHETER!
Rart å tenke på at man nu har trådt inn i et nytt år, 12 nye måneder, og allverdens med spennende og skremmende og bent sagt superuforutsigbare hendelser & utfordringer i vente. Slikt jeg ser frem til, og gruer meg til, å ta fatt på. Når det gjelder nyttår så er jeg ikke verdens største tilhenger av nyttårsløfter, fordi jeg har en grunnleggende svakhet - evt. elementær mangel på disiplin, kall det hva du vil - når det gjelder å skulle gjennomføre og holde dem.
Vi har f.eks forsøkt den populære "kutte ned på sjokolade og koffein" (her kunne det også vært naturlig å legge til nikotin, men jeg røker ikke - praktisk nok & heldigvis!), noe som resulterte i regelrett tvangsspising av melkesjokolade første nyttårsdag, sammen med uante mengder svart kaffe. Og, videre, "aldri mer påføre seg selv kjærlighetssorg"; noe som fungerer dårlig i kombinasjon med min totale besettelse når det gjelder kjekke, mannlige og fullstendig uoppnåelige filmstjerner. OG (så videre og så videre) har vi jo den berømmelige "trene mer" - og jeg trener mer enn nok, etter min smak og lyst og ork og mer gidder jeg uansett ikke, sånn er det med den saken, point taken? - og den fantastiske "studere mer", jeg studerer mer enn nok som det er, og akkurat nå frister det mest å se en film, for i bunn og grunn: jo mer man stresser at man bør stresse mindre, jo mer apatisk og stresset blir man. Nemlig. Til slutt kan man legge til "spise meget sunnere, ha en bedre og mer fornuftig døgnrytme, drikke mindre alkohol, tenke før man snakker, revurdere humor og pengeforbruk og legge realistiske planer for fremtiden" - hvorav jeg har gitt opp samtlige punkter (og de dertil hørende, alternative livsførsler) for lenge siden, og på det området er jeg faktisk temmelig fornøyd. Regelrett tilfreds. SÅH!
Nei når det gjelder disse nyttårsløftene, la meg heller sitere Verdens Tøffeste Svenske Rockeband - Kent - fra deres album "Hagnesta Hill" og sangen "Cowboys":
hon vinkar genom ett fönster
hennes mun är som ett sår
så går hjärtat mitt sönder
det har varit ett ensamt år
jag ska aldrig ignorera dig igen
jag ska aldrig ignorera kärleken
mina nyårslöften
(Copyright Joachim Berg, text och musik - tack så mycket!)
Og hvis man bytter ut hon med han så kan det helt greit fungere som mine nyttårsløfter, likeså. Det hjelper meg muligens ikke til å unngå den overnevnte kjærlighetssorgen, men hva gjør vel egentlig det, og dessuten:
"I wear my heart on the outside, for everyone to see
and to tell you the truth, it's the only way I know,
to find real happiness, and to feel and to know,
thus, the only way I can be me."
Friday, December 29, 2006
Compensating for Blogger's lack of virtual balloons and fireworks and such...
As promised and prepared and mentioned beforehand:
My gift - to you. Or, to myself. Or both.
Happy New Year, everyone! Be good, stay better, become the best!
And as for music in the coming twelve months of 2007:
My favourite band in all the world is called Queen.
And this is (one of, I should say) my favourite picture(s) of my favourite band in all the world, Queen.
From left to right: Freddie, John, Brian, Roger.
Promoshot for the album "News of the world".
In a word: Beautiful!
My gift - to you. Or, to myself. Or both.
Happy New Year, everyone! Be good, stay better, become the best!
And as for music in the coming twelve months of 2007:
My favourite band in all the world is called Queen.
And this is (one of, I should say) my favourite picture(s) of my favourite band in all the world, Queen.
From left to right: Freddie, John, Brian, Roger.
Promoshot for the album "News of the world".
In a word: Beautiful!
Heroes and villains and Queen
Quote Brian May;
"...well, it's always a bit dodgy meeting someone you have really adored from a distance..."
"Ahem*
(Reckon he'd know what it feels like, then!)
And, furthermore, these...well...recognisable words were spoken about a certain Catherine Tate - by whom all Doctor Who-fans were of course totally and happily surprised on Christmas day; when she featured in this year's infamous Christmas Special of the show, "The Runaway Bride". Which again, for the record, was absolutely brilliant. Loved the flashbacks, the Rose-references in general, the dancing, the very special ring-ceremony on the roof, the car-chase, the Empress of the Racnoss (spider-queenie!) and the Doctor-produced snow. Loved it!!! ...and this is, of course, totally and completely non-sensible for all those who haven't seen the episode yet, but still. As a fan, one must comment on such important events!
*Ahem*
(And if I had met Brian May... I hate to admit; I would have been unable to speak, move or do anything at all - for that matter - I would have stood there, then, like some utter idiot and gaped and stared and groped for words. But apparently - and fortunately! - he would have understood. Really. It IS dodgy, even just to think about it. That being said; I would enjoy to meet him, though! A lot!!! So Brian, if you're reading this, please feel free to invite me out for coffee one day!)
"...well, it's always a bit dodgy meeting someone you have really adored from a distance..."
"Ahem*
(Reckon he'd know what it feels like, then!)
And, furthermore, these...well...recognisable words were spoken about a certain Catherine Tate - by whom all Doctor Who-fans were of course totally and happily surprised on Christmas day; when she featured in this year's infamous Christmas Special of the show, "The Runaway Bride". Which again, for the record, was absolutely brilliant. Loved the flashbacks, the Rose-references in general, the dancing, the very special ring-ceremony on the roof, the car-chase, the Empress of the Racnoss (spider-queenie!) and the Doctor-produced snow. Loved it!!! ...and this is, of course, totally and completely non-sensible for all those who haven't seen the episode yet, but still. As a fan, one must comment on such important events!
*Ahem*
(And if I had met Brian May... I hate to admit; I would have been unable to speak, move or do anything at all - for that matter - I would have stood there, then, like some utter idiot and gaped and stared and groped for words. But apparently - and fortunately! - he would have understood. Really. It IS dodgy, even just to think about it. That being said; I would enjoy to meet him, though! A lot!!! So Brian, if you're reading this, please feel free to invite me out for coffee one day!)
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Julestemning (lille julaften!)
Har bakt pepperkakker, skal se obligatoriske episoder av Doctor Who (noe med Christmas etc...!), har mumset julemarsipan, åpnet angitte kalenderluker, gleder seg intenst til Grevinnen og Hovemesteren...OG NÅ, for å komme i enda mere stemning:
ÅTTE-PÅ-TOPP JULESANGER!!!
ÅTTE-PÅ-TOPP JULESANGER!!!
- THANK GOD IT'S CHRISTMAS & A WINTER'S TALE - QUEEN (selvsagt!)
- CHRISTMAS EVE - CELINE DION (med gitar-riff, tro det eller ei...!)
- ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS - diverse artister, men vi foretrekker LOVE ACTUALLY-VERSJONEN!
- HAPPY X-MAS (WAR IS OVER) - JOHN LENNON MED FRUE & FALSK BARNEKOR (kloke, fine og veldig...søte...sangen)
- WHEN YOU WISH UPON A STAR - DISNEY-VERSJONEN! (og vi snufser og vi hufser og det er ENDELIG jul!!!)
- WALKING IN THE AIR - ALED JONES (er det en julesang? tja. får jeg gåsehud? JA!)
- SONG FOR TEN - NEIL HANNON (as heard and seen - ehem - in a certain - ehem - Christmas Special...)
- Og ellers: NOE MED SISSEL (fordi hun er hele Norges julesangerinne, og uansett hva hun synger av julesanger kan det umulig være ille), musikken til "Tre Nøtter til Askepott" - og Disney-sanger generelt!
Da blir det en god og musikalsk jul!!! :)
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Song about a mom
...inspired by ABBA, of course!
"Absent mother song"
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et
does your mother know
when you're out playing
with the naughty kids and
you don't even come home
you don't come home no more
will your mother ever know
when you're laughing behind
your mother's crooked back
does your mother know, and
more importantly, does your
mother even care, I don't think
so, cos she's got a new husband
now
and you're not coming home
no puppy eyes to blame her with
your mother doesn't know and
if she knew, oh would she care
"Absent mother song"
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et
does your mother know
when you're out playing
with the naughty kids and
you don't even come home
you don't come home no more
will your mother ever know
when you're laughing behind
your mother's crooked back
does your mother know, and
more importantly, does your
mother even care, I don't think
so, cos she's got a new husband
now
and you're not coming home
no puppy eyes to blame her with
your mother doesn't know and
if she knew, oh would she care
chatting with an invisible doorframe
"persistent piss"
...and tired of it!
By Scaramouche, the slam po(t)et who keeps on dreamin'!
it's just a lot of talk
empty words
and sorry doesn't mean sorry
anymore
no excuses
just plain and sheer
shallowness
the only true thing about them
is the continuity
of their
nonsense
and my anger
poses as an
lasting factor
caused by someone
who asks me for
forgiveness
for causing my anger
and thus contributes
to it's ongoing
existense
I have a dream
and that dream is
peace
from those who think my
peace
is something absolutely
free
for them to
invade
soon they will be chatting with an invisible doorframe from which I have descended and retreated, only
...and tired of it!
By Scaramouche, the slam po(t)et who keeps on dreamin'!
it's just a lot of talk
empty words
and sorry doesn't mean sorry
anymore
no excuses
just plain and sheer
shallowness
the only true thing about them
is the continuity
of their
nonsense
and my anger
poses as an
lasting factor
caused by someone
who asks me for
forgiveness
for causing my anger
and thus contributes
to it's ongoing
existense
I have a dream
and that dream is
peace
from those who think my
peace
is something absolutely
free
for them to
invade
soon they will be chatting with an invisible doorframe from which I have descended and retreated, only
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Another little something before bedtime:
As we all know: being a Queen-fan, one must have access to almost every single photoshoot the fabulous four ever took part in. And they did a lot of them, to put it mildly. Anyway, it IS a fact that some of the sessions were damn good and some of them weren't...THAT good. Queen is, I believe, the only band capable of creating only completely superb or completely horrid photoshoots. Nothing in between, nothing mediocre. It's impressive! Take the "News of the World"-promo, for instance. Pure and absolute brilliance. And then this 70's-classic-circus-thingy from which there exist no useful images whatsoever. Even more impressive! So; however much I adore Queen, I do realize - and admit - that some pictures that were taken of them are barely viewable today. I mean, to the common eye. The...unconsecrated, or something remotely similar. For then again, these "lost" faces in a way makes me love mye cutie-Queenies even more. I've got clips from (almost) all their photoshoots and I can watch slideshows of them over and over and over again and it doesn't hurt my eyeballs the slightest bit and curse whomever thinks differently!!!
Helpless, that's what I am, BEYOND helpless. And I love it!
Anyways. Just though I'd mention this. Also, it substantiates the argument that Queen is a band you either love or hate, you can't stay indifferent. Not for long. And my love is an ever-lasting devotion which I hold very dear and will never depart from, as previously stated. With not a flicker of a shadow of a glimpse of doubt.
(Is this a kind of hinting forward to an upcoming post? Hmmm...likely. I do that a lot these days, now, don't I? Keeping you excited, is it? Yeah...? Yeah? YEAH?! Haha...oh well...Being secretive is an art of moderation. At giving away information.)
"If you're not on the edge of your seat, you'll be hiding behind it!"
Helpless, that's what I am, BEYOND helpless. And I love it!
Anyways. Just though I'd mention this. Also, it substantiates the argument that Queen is a band you either love or hate, you can't stay indifferent. Not for long. And my love is an ever-lasting devotion which I hold very dear and will never depart from, as previously stated. With not a flicker of a shadow of a glimpse of doubt.
(Is this a kind of hinting forward to an upcoming post? Hmmm...likely. I do that a lot these days, now, don't I? Keeping you excited, is it? Yeah...? Yeah? YEAH?! Haha...oh well...Being secretive is an art of moderation. At giving away information.)
"If you're not on the edge of your seat, you'll be hiding behind it!"
A little for everyone...regardless of lingo!
English:
And...more on people I wanna be like! Madonna...my goodness, how amazing is she! I just watched her concert in London, from the Confessions-tour, on TV - and I must say...well...nothing compares to the Big M! Singer, actress, dancer - and now, rock-GUITARIST!!! Guess she isn't a new Brian May just yet, but she was good... And if it was simply an act of playback, which I seriously doubt, she is REALLY clever at mimicry! What a show, and what a lightning, and what a crew, and what beautiful music, and what a gorgeous lady! In my next life, wherever and whenever that might be, I wanna be a regeneration (...) of Madonna. Definately!
Norsk:
Jeg HATER Tide-trafikk!!! Det skal ikke ta 25 fordømte minutter før det kommer en fordømt buss til det utvilsomme gjennomfartsstedet der jeg bor! Tide er herved omdøpt til uTide! Møkkamennesker! Og når bussen endelig kom var den stappfull...Og sjåføren brukte ørten nye minutter på å lukke dørene og få ut vekslepenger til utålmodige folk som skulle til by'n. Pluss at jeg nesten kom for sent på kino og det regnet. DRIT!! Altså: Jeg bor i en BY! Jeg betaler penger for å være miljøvennlig og benytte meg av kollektivtrafikktilbudet! Jeg vil ikke måtte beregne 30 min ekstra når jeg skal ut fordi Tide ikke vil samarbeide! Skjerpings!!! ...og det var dagens raseriutbrudd. Nå til:
Deutsch:
Ich habe "Die fabelhafte Welt der Amelie" auf Französisch mit Englishen Untertiteln gesehen, mit meiner Deutschen Freundin, die Norwegisch sprechen kann, aber trotzdem mit mir gern auf Englisch redet. (Puh.) Der Film war natürlich (und wie immer) sehr gut und alle beide haben sehr viel gelacht, ein bisschen geweint und noch mehr gelacht...Audrey Tautou, ich liebe dich! Und wenn ich jetzt auf Deutsch schreibe, und du nichts Deutsches sprechen kannst, verstehst du bestimmt ebenfalls...nichts...dennoch muss ich es sagen! Die Music, die Natur, die Schauspieler, die Farben, die Themen & Gespräche; alle sind ganz und zweifellos WUNDERBAR! Ach, wie ein guter Film dies ist...Macht mich glucklich - und froh!
Français:
Bienvenue, tout le monde! Je parle non Francais! Toutefois, j'aime bien jouer au piano...tel gross manqué! ...eh, tout ce qui! Et de toutes manières! MERDE!
Italiano:
Più vantaggioso...probalimente! Vorrei una croissant con cioccolato e uno birra! Per favore! Combinazione grande, va bene! Lalalala *sniff* Marlon Brando *sniff* lalalala Il Padrino, molto caro, mi amore lalalala! O sole mio, truddelidu!
(Why am I always doing that?!)
OK; I'll call it quits, for today. It's late anyway. And now, I'll leave it up to you guys to have a go at guessing what my native tongue REALLY is...pretty hard, right? Please - at least tell me it ain't too evident!
BUT, must add: Another adaptation of the rock musical from which I've collected my infamous nick just premiered in Zürich...with a German cast. Wow. It's spreading across the globe, and we should all celebrate! Weee! The contagious effect of GlobalSoft...ouuiii....and maybe we'll get a movie too, in a couple of years? I'll be more than happy to perform "my own character", if anyone proves kind enough to ask me!
FRIED CHICKEN!!! ALL THE WAY!!!
And...more on people I wanna be like! Madonna...my goodness, how amazing is she! I just watched her concert in London, from the Confessions-tour, on TV - and I must say...well...nothing compares to the Big M! Singer, actress, dancer - and now, rock-GUITARIST!!! Guess she isn't a new Brian May just yet, but she was good... And if it was simply an act of playback, which I seriously doubt, she is REALLY clever at mimicry! What a show, and what a lightning, and what a crew, and what beautiful music, and what a gorgeous lady! In my next life, wherever and whenever that might be, I wanna be a regeneration (...) of Madonna. Definately!
Norsk:
Jeg HATER Tide-trafikk!!! Det skal ikke ta 25 fordømte minutter før det kommer en fordømt buss til det utvilsomme gjennomfartsstedet der jeg bor! Tide er herved omdøpt til uTide! Møkkamennesker! Og når bussen endelig kom var den stappfull...Og sjåføren brukte ørten nye minutter på å lukke dørene og få ut vekslepenger til utålmodige folk som skulle til by'n. Pluss at jeg nesten kom for sent på kino og det regnet. DRIT!! Altså: Jeg bor i en BY! Jeg betaler penger for å være miljøvennlig og benytte meg av kollektivtrafikktilbudet! Jeg vil ikke måtte beregne 30 min ekstra når jeg skal ut fordi Tide ikke vil samarbeide! Skjerpings!!! ...og det var dagens raseriutbrudd. Nå til:
Deutsch:
Ich habe "Die fabelhafte Welt der Amelie" auf Französisch mit Englishen Untertiteln gesehen, mit meiner Deutschen Freundin, die Norwegisch sprechen kann, aber trotzdem mit mir gern auf Englisch redet. (Puh.) Der Film war natürlich (und wie immer) sehr gut und alle beide haben sehr viel gelacht, ein bisschen geweint und noch mehr gelacht...Audrey Tautou, ich liebe dich! Und wenn ich jetzt auf Deutsch schreibe, und du nichts Deutsches sprechen kannst, verstehst du bestimmt ebenfalls...nichts...dennoch muss ich es sagen! Die Music, die Natur, die Schauspieler, die Farben, die Themen & Gespräche; alle sind ganz und zweifellos WUNDERBAR! Ach, wie ein guter Film dies ist...Macht mich glucklich - und froh!
Français:
Bienvenue, tout le monde! Je parle non Francais! Toutefois, j'aime bien jouer au piano...tel gross manqué! ...eh, tout ce qui! Et de toutes manières! MERDE!
Italiano:
Più vantaggioso...probalimente! Vorrei una croissant con cioccolato e uno birra! Per favore! Combinazione grande, va bene! Lalalala *sniff* Marlon Brando *sniff* lalalala Il Padrino, molto caro, mi amore lalalala! O sole mio, truddelidu!
(Why am I always doing that?!)
OK; I'll call it quits, for today. It's late anyway. And now, I'll leave it up to you guys to have a go at guessing what my native tongue REALLY is...pretty hard, right? Please - at least tell me it ain't too evident!
BUT, must add: Another adaptation of the rock musical from which I've collected my infamous nick just premiered in Zürich...with a German cast. Wow. It's spreading across the globe, and we should all celebrate! Weee! The contagious effect of GlobalSoft...ouuiii....and maybe we'll get a movie too, in a couple of years? I'll be more than happy to perform "my own character", if anyone proves kind enough to ask me!
FRIED CHICKEN!!! ALL THE WAY!!!
Love, Madam Scaramouche!
BEST ACTING-PERFORMANCES EVER (according to Scara!)
TO BE EDITED...AND UPDATED...CONTINUOUSLY:
Det var med en viss indignasjon og stigende AGGRESJON at jeg ble sittende å lese på følgende liste over Premiere's vurdering av tidenes beste rolleprestasjoner på film... http://www.listology.com/content_show.cfm/content_id.23334/Movies
Mest fordi Premiere er slikt et prestisjetungt og VIKTIG magasin som siteres både her og der, f.eks. på Imdb, og fungerer som referanseguide for drøssevis med filmfolk...og casting-agenter og...ja, tenk på skuespillerne selv...på deres forbilder...på alle menneskers forbilder...og hva faen er det de tenker med?! Hvor er....ja....alle de andre??? Uansett, til saken: jeg ble såpass arg over denne listen at jeg bestemte meg for å sette opp min egen...! Rett og slett fordi jeg syntes det var en del som MANGLET!
*
Det var med en viss indignasjon og stigende AGGRESJON at jeg ble sittende å lese på følgende liste over Premiere's vurdering av tidenes beste rolleprestasjoner på film... http://www.listology.com/content_show.cfm/content_id.23334/Movies
Mest fordi Premiere er slikt et prestisjetungt og VIKTIG magasin som siteres både her og der, f.eks. på Imdb, og fungerer som referanseguide for drøssevis med filmfolk...og casting-agenter og...ja, tenk på skuespillerne selv...på deres forbilder...på alle menneskers forbilder...og hva faen er det de tenker med?! Hvor er....ja....alle de andre??? Uansett, til saken: jeg ble såpass arg over denne listen at jeg bestemte meg for å sette opp min egen...! Rett og slett fordi jeg syntes det var en del som MANGLET!
*
So, here's Scaramouche's own list of people she finds should have been included and should have reached a HIGHER rating on a list of best acting-performance-in-a-movie ever...I admit that they are all from favourite movies of mine, but seriously - there is a reason why they ARE favourites! (And I am also in the making of an all-time-favourite-moviescenes as well!!! Hang on in there - more to come!)
- Gerard Butler in Phantom of the Opera (Hello...! SHAME ON YOU!!!)
- Uma Thurman in Kill Bill 1&2 (WHERE was the OSCAR-commitee?)
- Marlon Brando in The Godfather (...he obviously should've made them an offer they couldn't refuse!)
- Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean (I mean, 79th place? What the heck???)
- Christopher Walken in The Deer Hunter (...and even worse: 88th place!!!???)
- Charles Bronson in Once Upon a Time in the West (Obviously)
- Steve McQueen in Bullitt (The look says it all!)
- Jean Reno in Leon (!!!!!!!)
- Natalie Portman in V for Vendetta
- Willem Dafoe in Platoon
- Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca
- Ewan McGregor in Moulin Rouge (Puppy eyes in person)
- John Travolta in A love song for Bobby Long
- Scarlett Johansson in Lost in Translation
- Nicole Kidman in The Hours
- Warren Beatty in Bonnie and Clyde
- Sandra Bullock in Murder by Numbers
- Pam Grier in Jackie Brown (Big mistake, Premiere! BIG TIME!)
- Meryl Streep in The Bridges of Madison County & Out of Africa (...come ON!)
- Clint Eastwood (generally, too much ABSENT!) in The Good, the Bad & The Ugly
- Omar Sharif in Doctor Zhivago
- Juliette Binoche in The English Patient
- Mark Hamill in the Star Wars Trilogy
- Kevin Costner in Dances With Wolves & The Bodyguard
- Audrey Tautou in Amelie (I AM APPALLED!!!)
- Anthony Hopkins in The Mask of Zorro
- Patricia Arquette in True Romance
- Jack Nicholson in The Departed (Might be excused, since this was after the list was made...but still included by ME!)
and I could go on like this...forever! Premiere Magazine, you SUCK! AAARGH!
Friday, December 15, 2006
"Everybody should see our Ten"
...cos he seems worthy of a fair chance, you know!
I mean, there are worse alternatives. And this doesn't look too ugly:
(copy-copy youtube)
Plus; I really try. I do. I try hard, and I am in a process of succeeding.
So I'm giving Mr. DT, also called TENnant, after-Chris, Teite-Tennant, or whatever, an opportunity to prove his capabilities. Prove what he's good for.
9 days to go.
10 days 'till we're gonna KNOW.
"Excitement" is an understatement!
I mean, there are worse alternatives. And this doesn't look too ugly:
(copy-copy youtube)
Plus; I really try. I do. I try hard, and I am in a process of succeeding.
So I'm giving Mr. DT, also called TENnant, after-Chris, Teite-Tennant, or whatever, an opportunity to prove his capabilities. Prove what he's good for.
9 days to go.
10 days 'till we're gonna KNOW.
"Excitement" is an understatement!
Seemingly...broken
"BREAK/UP (OVER)"
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et
afraid to break
glasses
and throw things
onto the floor
ruining them
and maybe
splintering glasses
like smashing pumpkins
all the shattered pieces
afraid to slip
off my feet
and fall, keep falling
down tunnels
full of sand
and dust and
breaking
apart
with heavy blows
afraid to lose hold
and lose
slippery
slipping
letting go
when you're given something, it's handed over, and you just can't keep it up right, just fails and it all stumbles over, so sad, you might ask why they keep giving the clumsy a chance, for you know they'll be getting angry, managing to foresee the worst, constantly, you're almost preparing your excuses in advance, nowadays
so afraid to break
rules
my own
especially those
about
breaking
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et
afraid to break
glasses
and throw things
onto the floor
ruining them
and maybe
splintering glasses
like smashing pumpkins
all the shattered pieces
afraid to slip
off my feet
and fall, keep falling
down tunnels
full of sand
and dust and
breaking
apart
with heavy blows
afraid to lose hold
and lose
slippery
slipping
letting go
when you're given something, it's handed over, and you just can't keep it up right, just fails and it all stumbles over, so sad, you might ask why they keep giving the clumsy a chance, for you know they'll be getting angry, managing to foresee the worst, constantly, you're almost preparing your excuses in advance, nowadays
so afraid to break
rules
my own
especially those
about
breaking
Monday, December 11, 2006
From watching American action dramas...
"Saviours"
By Scaranouche, the po(t)et, in a slightly political mood
At the end of a long, dark corridor
Lies a man, on the floor, hardly breathing
I wondered what he was thinking
Shadows running across his face
Every muscle tensed, a precipice before him
I wondered if he'll ever hurt again
Guards are running toward his door
Weapons heaved, grim faces, vigilant focus
I wondered what they were feeling
Twelve o'clock sharp, as they pick him up
And carry him to a hospital bed, then returned
I wondered if he'll ever believe again
By Scaranouche, the po(t)et, in a slightly political mood
At the end of a long, dark corridor
Lies a man, on the floor, hardly breathing
I wondered what he was thinking
Shadows running across his face
Every muscle tensed, a precipice before him
I wondered if he'll ever hurt again
Guards are running toward his door
Weapons heaved, grim faces, vigilant focus
I wondered what they were feeling
Twelve o'clock sharp, as they pick him up
And carry him to a hospital bed, then returned
I wondered if he'll ever believe again
A lesson about self-esteem
picture yourself;
being loved for
just who you are
how wonderful
and let yourself know;
there are people
who think of you
every single day
open your eyes to;
looks of admiration
and to own abilities
feel safe in your skin
I want to declare
hereby
how the time for disregarding compliments and praise
as plain clichés
has passed!
being loved for
just who you are
how wonderful
and let yourself know;
there are people
who think of you
every single day
open your eyes to;
looks of admiration
and to own abilities
feel safe in your skin
I want to declare
hereby
how the time for disregarding compliments and praise
as plain clichés
has passed!
In need of a REAL man. Sorry, men.
It's not easy.
I want a man like John Travolta in "Lonely Hearts", for instance, who is so intensely serious.
And - who is a real man.
Down to the bone and in every, minute detail an honest, complex and mysterious human being.
True to an own identity.
Also, I want a man like Robert Redford in "Out of Africa", who is thoroughly independent. And strong.
Another - real man.
When he smiles, it's not forced on. Sadness, joy, hatred, anger, happiness, fear. It all comes naturally.
When they laugh, one can laugh with them. Not always have to explain. When they step into the room, there is a sense of purpose. And when they leave - there is a similar, immediate loss. And want. When engaged in conversation, there will be no plain nonsense. No low-standard crap; actually, one never has to lower oneself to a humiliating level of silliness. At all. The dialogue flows without too many of those embarssing moments where you feel like you're talking to a great, ignorant rock - or like there's a brick wall staring blankly at you.
One might attempt at escape, and one might fail to reply. One might look down. But when looking back up again, there is always a pair of eyes to meet. And they watch you, deep into the soul, deep beyond. Beneath. Into the heart, and that's where they stay. They might agree, they might disagree. Bewildered, understanding, confused, caring. But these eyes never shun yours.
Additionally (and furthermore), there are strong arms to hold and be held by. However, there are no strong arms to prevent you from, etc, or to hold you down. I'm talking pretty in general here, and it's true that nobody's perfect. But there's something about the overall impression. The mark one leaves on the world or with people one meets. There's something about the attitude, that I find missing in so many possible candidates with whom I have found myself being acquainted. The certainty and the follwing ascertainment. Safety, perhaps. And still, the freedom of choice and direction. The importance of, and respect for, one's own will. Desire; in every way.
And then, love. Most of all, real love. Emphasizing on it, also through silence. Contemplating and confirming it, through a single gaze. And a mesmerizing second of linked hands and an energy being shared, thereby, to live from and to live on. An energy of true emotions.
I want a man I can adore, and despise, and still find interesting after a million years together. A man I will be desperate to meet again, when he's gone; but whom I can just as well be away from, without fearing to lose part of myself. A man I can learn to forgive, and - who can forgive me. To love this man so much, I could die for him and yearn to kill him. Simulatenously.
This goes for both of them.
This goes for all the men I love, and seek. All the men I long for.
And it's just so...too...hard to find.
Perhaps I demand far too much, perhaps it's just dreaming again.
I tend to dream a lot.
It's a living, and at the same time - it's to die from.
A fertilizing, yet destroying irony that can only be labelled -
yeah. You guessed it.
LOVE.
I want a man like John Travolta in "Lonely Hearts", for instance, who is so intensely serious.
And - who is a real man.
Down to the bone and in every, minute detail an honest, complex and mysterious human being.
True to an own identity.
Also, I want a man like Robert Redford in "Out of Africa", who is thoroughly independent. And strong.
Another - real man.
When he smiles, it's not forced on. Sadness, joy, hatred, anger, happiness, fear. It all comes naturally.
When they laugh, one can laugh with them. Not always have to explain. When they step into the room, there is a sense of purpose. And when they leave - there is a similar, immediate loss. And want. When engaged in conversation, there will be no plain nonsense. No low-standard crap; actually, one never has to lower oneself to a humiliating level of silliness. At all. The dialogue flows without too many of those embarssing moments where you feel like you're talking to a great, ignorant rock - or like there's a brick wall staring blankly at you.
One might attempt at escape, and one might fail to reply. One might look down. But when looking back up again, there is always a pair of eyes to meet. And they watch you, deep into the soul, deep beyond. Beneath. Into the heart, and that's where they stay. They might agree, they might disagree. Bewildered, understanding, confused, caring. But these eyes never shun yours.
Additionally (and furthermore), there are strong arms to hold and be held by. However, there are no strong arms to prevent you from, etc, or to hold you down. I'm talking pretty in general here, and it's true that nobody's perfect. But there's something about the overall impression. The mark one leaves on the world or with people one meets. There's something about the attitude, that I find missing in so many possible candidates with whom I have found myself being acquainted. The certainty and the follwing ascertainment. Safety, perhaps. And still, the freedom of choice and direction. The importance of, and respect for, one's own will. Desire; in every way.
And then, love. Most of all, real love. Emphasizing on it, also through silence. Contemplating and confirming it, through a single gaze. And a mesmerizing second of linked hands and an energy being shared, thereby, to live from and to live on. An energy of true emotions.
I want a man I can adore, and despise, and still find interesting after a million years together. A man I will be desperate to meet again, when he's gone; but whom I can just as well be away from, without fearing to lose part of myself. A man I can learn to forgive, and - who can forgive me. To love this man so much, I could die for him and yearn to kill him. Simulatenously.
This goes for both of them.
This goes for all the men I love, and seek. All the men I long for.
And it's just so...too...hard to find.
Perhaps I demand far too much, perhaps it's just dreaming again.
I tend to dream a lot.
It's a living, and at the same time - it's to die from.
A fertilizing, yet destroying irony that can only be labelled -
yeah. You guessed it.
LOVE.
Time spent
"Time spent - aka 60 minutes"
by Scaramouche, the po(t)et
one hour to spend
and to live
through it
one hour to watch
and to persist
through it
one hour to endure
and to seek
through it
by Scaramouche, the po(t)et
one hour to spend
and to live
through it
one hour to watch
and to persist
through it
one hour to endure
and to seek
through it
one hour to enjoy
to believe that you'll get
through it
just
through it
one hour, is all
and
soon gone
already passed,
(even) before you noticed
Friday, December 08, 2006
Even better!
Even when the world starts spinning and everything's starting to fade into a dark blur. Even when you're scratching your elbows in order to stay alert, and similarly shaking your head like a madman in order to stay focused. Even when you can barely keep your eyes half open, far less sit up straight. Even when your body thus shrieks for a pillow and a soft mattress and your head feels heavy like a sack of potatoes sinking into mud.
Even then. Just one more picture.
A picture of Queen - simply because I love Queen.
And even when I'm so bloody tired I could DIE, they still make me smile.
That's why.
Even then. Just one more picture.
A picture of Queen - simply because I love Queen.
And even when I'm so bloody tired I could DIE, they still make me smile.
That's why.
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Mosses for an old man
A story that came to me as I was on the bus the other day, watching people getting on and off, sitting next to this middle-aged guy who looked confused and hateful and depressed and seeking, even pleading, for a companion. At the same time. So, I wrote the following text, and in order to avoid any confusion; I've written it in General American. For the record, I mean. It'll probably be up for some editing, later on - regarding typo's and additions/extractions - but for the moment it goes like this:
"Mosses for an old man"
(with extra credits to Nathaniel Hawthorne for title inspiration)
"Can I sit here?"
One of those ordinary girls, again; the one who wears her jeans a little too tight and her jackets a little too short. Blonde hair, also. And - she had a pair of these light eyes that never give away anything. He tried to stare into them for a moment, to get a sort of idea and grasp what lurked behind, but then she flinched. Thus, he settled with a fair compromise.
"Yeah sure."
Of course she could sit. And, as an escape from possible boredom, he would get a chance to study her better. She flung her bony, teenage ass (which he had a hard time trying not to picture, in detail) onto the springless bus chair. Slightly torn, the cover matched the youngster's grungy dressing. Complete with a rugged attitude and all, at least no-one could blame her for not being thorough. Fucking whole-hearted. Speaking of which, he wondered whether it was his heart that kept him from expressing his feelings out loud. Whether he was turning soft for not commenting directly on the nuisance that the neighbor-seat inhabitant personified. These pranks; he used to go at them with a wry smile and a resigned annoyance, oh yes, always pointing his finger at their being useless. But nowadays he stayed quiet. Did not even grimace at his own face, mirrored in the panorama window next to him. Did not pout conspiratorially to the old lady passing their double-seat, heading for the doors as the bus slowed down. During the short pause at a stop near the Herrington High School, he instead caught an unnoticed glimpse of the girl's face – while still staring intensely into the window reflections. She was, on her hand, looking straight ahead. Into nothing. And in the old days, he would have murmured to the back of his right hand, in whose palm he placed his chin striking a pensive pose, how the nothingness of focus found for the eyes resembles the nothingness of focus found for the soul.
It took him ten seconds to realize what craziness his mind had, in fact, uttered. Then he swore. "The old days"? Hell, no! He was not nearly that old, not yet. And these concepts that constantly snuck into his thoughts were starting to fret him. Moreover, he was wrong. The facial features of this girl showed no ignorance at all, nor any "see-me-care"-arrogance. She appeared straightforwardly innocent. Simply...indifferent. And additionally; a tiny pinch of sadness. Not more than a hint. But it was there. A furrow near her left temple, a hint. She moved, shifted positions and bent her leg sideways over the other. Closed her eyes, and reminded him once more of all these kids, the type as such, and their tiredness. Always lacking the energy to go that extra mile and they never hesitated to confirm it. To state it and to prove it. She leant backward, and took a deep breath. He was not watching her through a blurred, dirty glass anymore. He looked straight at her, unyieldingly. And she turned to face him, with her small face and blonde locks. She even smiled.
“Nice hat.”
So this was how it started, his inner voice concluded, this was what it felt like to meet a stranger and to be surprised. He saw her lips move, and an urge to mimic them came over him. In order to gain some more time and consider the alternatives, however, he first gave her a quick nod. He shrugged his shoulders, making the fabric of his dark blue winter coat tighten just above the over arms. She smiled again before she turned away. What a silly game. Trying to maintain his concentration, he studied the pattern of the bus chair in front of him. Ugly, diamond-shaped figures in gaudy colors overlapped, covering the entire chair in a patchwork quilt of nausea. We could talk about the design, his inner voice continued, and whereupon he condemned it for its distracting effect, people always enjoy disregarding the surroundings when they can find nothing else to talk about. The girl twisted a strain of hair around her little finger, another matter of disturbance. Thus far, his head and body had remained clear and he found no reasons to suddenly lose control over any of them. Not at this point. Therefore, he answered the girl’s remark with a polite “thank you” and made sure his voice was very calm. Neither rejecting nor inviting, but quite plainly that of an old and distinguished gentleman who would prefer to spend his bus ride in silence. Still, it was of minor help. He realized with a certain discomfort that it was not up to him to declare any wish of being left alone. She hardly took notice of him now, yet he wanted her to. That was the main issue, the problem. The case. In the old days, which he refused to acknowledge, he would have left and avoided any further contact. Be it verbal or physical. No more accidental brushes of his hand across her jacket, no more knocking of knees. How old was she, eighteen? Maximum twenty; and on a completely different stage in life, anyhow. As for himself, he was younger than he seemed – of course – and he did not have to wear that ridiculous hat. Though, she had described it as nice, but it was probably all part of these teenage phrases. She was one of those kids and she had grown up using their lingo. Their style. She was part of a world he hated, but was it thereby necessarily implied that he had to hate her? He decided he must ascertain his subconscious, along with all its worries.
“Where are you going?”
The only way possible and, similarly, the worst one. To her credit, she handled it exquisitely. She told him the truth. Or, if it was not the truth, at least she gave him an honest-sounding reply. She explained how she was going to town to meet with some friends; they were going out for some pizza or burgers. That was what she said, word-for-word. And it all came across so casually, her life so uncomplicated; he was almost brought to tears. Simultaneously, he was overwhelmed with massive frustration, when considering how surreal the situation had become. You do not talk to strangers on the bus. There is no room for conversation in a place like that, save – perhaps – insignificant everyday nonsense, concerning the weather or whatever. Or both. This was an agreement he had lived with and lived by, since way back, but now there was a shake in the foundations on which he had built all his convictions. She had just asked him where he was going, and he had no idea. Not of any directions where he could possibly be heading, and not of what he could possibly say to her. Hell, no. Hardly able to bear the increasing conflict, between the two of them and between his own selves, he shook his head and sighed. He waited for a moment, hoping she would disappear, vanish into thin air, dissolve into atoms, or simply get off. When neither happened, he resumed his hesitation and tried to disguise it as natural slowness. Anyone accepts an old man’s flaws, essentially because he is old and thus excused. But she was not ready to give up on him yet. Before she arose and lifted up her bag and indicated that she was leaving him, for good, she took a deep breath, one last time. Her voice was solemn, as she spoke, and her eyes shone like crystals. With an appearance that struck him as altogether serious, she declared;
“I think there’s always something left to discover, but you don’t always have to seek so hard.”
And indeed, he knew.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Quote of the day...from a wise guy named Brian!
"I live in my head too much"
yes, Brian May said that, or is referred to as having said that, reportedly stated or whatever, and I can't help but recognizing that feeling, and feeling that same way perhaps a little too often, and I guess it just defines who I am, as a person; furthermore, if it makes me just a bit - an inch - similar to my Greatest Hero of All Time, then it can't be any better, now, can it? :)
Monday, December 04, 2006
"Face to face"
The "I'll start writing and see where it takes me"-project, part...infinite.
Possibly, and probably, up for some editing later on. But for the moment, and the time being, here goes:
The woman sat down in front of him, sporting the body language of an unloaded garbage container. He reckoned it was mostly due to her being ordered to sit her bloody ass down on a quite unsteady spindleback chair, close to the ugly, long side wall of the narrow and almost claustrophobic interrogation room. The only way she could demonstrate her contempt: behaving like an unwilling, little bitch. No less than he had expected, and his preparedness pleased him. She would not manage to completely put him off this time. Hopefully.
The target for today’s massive questioning was wearing a grey hood, ten sizes too big, and some truly unfitting, black jeans. He never seemed to understand how a woman with such a nice, slim figure could dress so carelessly. It was as though she deliberately made an effort to look clumsy and even unattractive, despite her lean features. Perhaps it was just a matter of self-defence. Posing as cool and untouchable or something like that; anyway, he could not fathom the slightest bit of it. And she did not really succeed, either, for that matter. Her looks were describable as nothing short of beautiful. Plus, the sloppiness had little effect on the unceasing sparkling of her brown eyes in the dim light of the shadeless light bulb, just above her mass of brown hair. Also intensely shining, the curls fell loosely around the symmetrical, slender face. In combination with her blood-red, full lips and immaculate skin, this resulted in the angel-like appearance she had become immensely famous for; in the minds of numerous (lest to say all) police officers over the later years. When referred to during their archetypical and serious cop-to-cop-conversations, she always came out as "the angel". A significantly merciless one, though; an angel of death, in order to waste another cliché. Regardless of the cruel context, and regardless of how the cruelty increased, the policemen spoke of her in a manner close to awe. Reluctant to define it as actual respect, because they all hated her too much, he still found the resemblance to it being pretty close. And of course, she never ceased to amaze him. In fact, he had yet to meet a more – whatever implication the word might lead to – fascinating killer. Her personality captivated him, and her background history was horrid enough to flabbergast any cold copper-fuck; which again was the label she had chosen when addressing them during interview situations. Her hardcore-lingo equalled that of any colleague he was acquainted with. Similarly, her variety of “past experiences” and thereby long-developed “abilities” to handle copper-fucks like him, for instance, were more than disturbing.
The angel could handle them and she could handle them well. Based on their mutually despising each other, any solution to the conflict between the two parties had so far been impossible to find. But after all those weeks and months of exhausting work, long hours on the night shift and buckets of coffee, he had told his seething anger and brooding frustration that it was about time he gave her one, last chance. He deserved a little co-operation now. And when he stepped into the interrogation room earlier that morning, he had – in consequence of this decisiveness and the pathetic, high hopes – yearned to watch that perfect face of hers turn pale. Desperately longing for some success, to finally penetrate her shield of insufferable non-response; he was prepared to destroy her. At least figuratively speaking. He would crush her, beat her, defeat her.
Oh yes; that was what he kept telling himself. But however promising his intensions and tireless preparations had seemed to him, prior to the meeting itself, he ended up heavily disappointed. Once more, he came to find himself met with silence, and silence only. A repetition of their previous moments together; down to the last, fucking detail. There was no help in her persistent equivocation; she had never given them any assistance. Too bright, too clever and too…unsettling. Such were his guesses. But neither his own actions nor her methods were really explainable to him. He observed her hostile movements; her aggressive lighting of the cigarette which a young delegate offered her, the steady thumping of her boot soles against the linoleum floor. Her ever-so-closed face. Her entire attitude was indeed reserved, to an extreme extent, and he realized getting close to the truth remained an act of absolute improbability. What’s underneath will stay underneath, as his friend Jonah had put it. For the moment, he was simply too tired. And - although he was aware it would prove difficult, he intended to call it quits with a minimum of dignity left. Hence he lifted his pen, pointed it at her with a somewhat shaky finger, and looked down at his desk while he spoke. “That will be all for today.” She lifted an eyebrow. She lifted an eyebrow and kept looking at him, while he was continuously staring at the edge of the dirty table. Her non-existing shyness, her strength, her total, disrespectful arrogance out-manoeuvred him.
The only response! Two hours of his precious time; two hours of uncomfortable, seizing-her-up stress, and all she offered him was a bloody lift of an eyebrow! “Get out”, he whispered, his voice stinging with the awareness of their unfinished business. She did not blink. “Or”, he continued relentlessly, “I swear, I’m gonna kill you.” And then he understood what he had just said, and he condemned his own stupidity, his thoughtlessness. So unbelievably unprofessional! No wonder she gave him that icy laughter. A puff of breath, more like it; a clearing of the throat, or even a croak. But no; it was not really any such. There was nothing accidental about her actions, he knew too well, and this was plain laughing. She was mocking him and unfortunately, she was quite right in doing so. Unable to stand her celebration of inevitable victory, he therefore repeated his order. Get out. And she did; she rose from the unsteady, old chair and gave him another, vague grin. The corners of her mouth hardly moving, yet it was so evident to him, he could have cried. “Bye-bye, Anderson”, she told him. “See you soon, then.”
And he knew the angel was right. Her precision was irreproachable and she was inexorably...hauntingly...right.
As always.
Possibly, and probably, up for some editing later on. But for the moment, and the time being, here goes:
The woman sat down in front of him, sporting the body language of an unloaded garbage container. He reckoned it was mostly due to her being ordered to sit her bloody ass down on a quite unsteady spindleback chair, close to the ugly, long side wall of the narrow and almost claustrophobic interrogation room. The only way she could demonstrate her contempt: behaving like an unwilling, little bitch. No less than he had expected, and his preparedness pleased him. She would not manage to completely put him off this time. Hopefully.
The target for today’s massive questioning was wearing a grey hood, ten sizes too big, and some truly unfitting, black jeans. He never seemed to understand how a woman with such a nice, slim figure could dress so carelessly. It was as though she deliberately made an effort to look clumsy and even unattractive, despite her lean features. Perhaps it was just a matter of self-defence. Posing as cool and untouchable or something like that; anyway, he could not fathom the slightest bit of it. And she did not really succeed, either, for that matter. Her looks were describable as nothing short of beautiful. Plus, the sloppiness had little effect on the unceasing sparkling of her brown eyes in the dim light of the shadeless light bulb, just above her mass of brown hair. Also intensely shining, the curls fell loosely around the symmetrical, slender face. In combination with her blood-red, full lips and immaculate skin, this resulted in the angel-like appearance she had become immensely famous for; in the minds of numerous (lest to say all) police officers over the later years. When referred to during their archetypical and serious cop-to-cop-conversations, she always came out as "the angel". A significantly merciless one, though; an angel of death, in order to waste another cliché. Regardless of the cruel context, and regardless of how the cruelty increased, the policemen spoke of her in a manner close to awe. Reluctant to define it as actual respect, because they all hated her too much, he still found the resemblance to it being pretty close. And of course, she never ceased to amaze him. In fact, he had yet to meet a more – whatever implication the word might lead to – fascinating killer. Her personality captivated him, and her background history was horrid enough to flabbergast any cold copper-fuck; which again was the label she had chosen when addressing them during interview situations. Her hardcore-lingo equalled that of any colleague he was acquainted with. Similarly, her variety of “past experiences” and thereby long-developed “abilities” to handle copper-fucks like him, for instance, were more than disturbing.
The angel could handle them and she could handle them well. Based on their mutually despising each other, any solution to the conflict between the two parties had so far been impossible to find. But after all those weeks and months of exhausting work, long hours on the night shift and buckets of coffee, he had told his seething anger and brooding frustration that it was about time he gave her one, last chance. He deserved a little co-operation now. And when he stepped into the interrogation room earlier that morning, he had – in consequence of this decisiveness and the pathetic, high hopes – yearned to watch that perfect face of hers turn pale. Desperately longing for some success, to finally penetrate her shield of insufferable non-response; he was prepared to destroy her. At least figuratively speaking. He would crush her, beat her, defeat her.
Oh yes; that was what he kept telling himself. But however promising his intensions and tireless preparations had seemed to him, prior to the meeting itself, he ended up heavily disappointed. Once more, he came to find himself met with silence, and silence only. A repetition of their previous moments together; down to the last, fucking detail. There was no help in her persistent equivocation; she had never given them any assistance. Too bright, too clever and too…unsettling. Such were his guesses. But neither his own actions nor her methods were really explainable to him. He observed her hostile movements; her aggressive lighting of the cigarette which a young delegate offered her, the steady thumping of her boot soles against the linoleum floor. Her ever-so-closed face. Her entire attitude was indeed reserved, to an extreme extent, and he realized getting close to the truth remained an act of absolute improbability. What’s underneath will stay underneath, as his friend Jonah had put it. For the moment, he was simply too tired. And - although he was aware it would prove difficult, he intended to call it quits with a minimum of dignity left. Hence he lifted his pen, pointed it at her with a somewhat shaky finger, and looked down at his desk while he spoke. “That will be all for today.” She lifted an eyebrow. She lifted an eyebrow and kept looking at him, while he was continuously staring at the edge of the dirty table. Her non-existing shyness, her strength, her total, disrespectful arrogance out-manoeuvred him.
The only response! Two hours of his precious time; two hours of uncomfortable, seizing-her-up stress, and all she offered him was a bloody lift of an eyebrow! “Get out”, he whispered, his voice stinging with the awareness of their unfinished business. She did not blink. “Or”, he continued relentlessly, “I swear, I’m gonna kill you.” And then he understood what he had just said, and he condemned his own stupidity, his thoughtlessness. So unbelievably unprofessional! No wonder she gave him that icy laughter. A puff of breath, more like it; a clearing of the throat, or even a croak. But no; it was not really any such. There was nothing accidental about her actions, he knew too well, and this was plain laughing. She was mocking him and unfortunately, she was quite right in doing so. Unable to stand her celebration of inevitable victory, he therefore repeated his order. Get out. And she did; she rose from the unsteady, old chair and gave him another, vague grin. The corners of her mouth hardly moving, yet it was so evident to him, he could have cried. “Bye-bye, Anderson”, she told him. “See you soon, then.”
And he knew the angel was right. Her precision was irreproachable and she was inexorably...hauntingly...right.
As always.
Breaking up is hard to do
Too much Elton John as well, now, but at least I get inspired...!
So: for all you...lovebirds out there.
"Cutting edge & growing pains"
by Scaranouche the po(t)et
a walk in the park
a talk in the dark
corners around and
wonders abound and
I feel like sending you off now
Just flick a switch and you'd be gone
But so, when silliness interferes
You're back to where you started again
a chain for your mind
a brain for your kind
sound come across and
bound come the loss &
I think I'd better hang up on the phone now
Realizing how second chances are no good at this point
When we've passed the terms of understanding
And we still hit our heads against the wall repeatedly
So: for all you...lovebirds out there.
"Cutting edge & growing pains"
by Scaranouche the po(t)et
a walk in the park
a talk in the dark
corners around and
wonders abound and
I feel like sending you off now
Just flick a switch and you'd be gone
But so, when silliness interferes
You're back to where you started again
a chain for your mind
a brain for your kind
sound come across and
bound come the loss &
I think I'd better hang up on the phone now
Realizing how second chances are no good at this point
When we've passed the terms of understanding
And we still hit our heads against the wall repeatedly
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Sonic stuff & and a kind-of-calendar
This is my attempt of creating yet another "proper blog".
Also, my attempt of a - well, a version of a - christmas calendar.
Yeah right. Nice try, anyway!
Momentary mood:
Sleepy-head. Wakey wakey eggs and bakey. And buried alive with cowboy boots and some kung fu-tricks. Ok, enough about that.
Quote of the day:
"Who looks at a screwdriver and thinks; hmmm, nice, but could be a little more sonic?!"- Capt. Jack Harkness. Friend of the Doctor and head of Torchwood and a terrible charmer. What a hunk! LOL!
Music of the day:
Elton John - Greatest Hits - lalalalala someone saved my life tonight lalala *piano tune-in* mhmhmhm...and don't go breaking my heart! NO! Lalala...
Nick of the day:
As NOT seen anywhere. Just popped up in my head, honestly. "Hostess of the heartbreaker's hotel". Kinda cool. Oh, must have been listening too much to Suzie Quatro. Who is my hero, by the way. ONE of my heroes. And she's definately the toughest, slyest, smartest chick of rock'n'roll! No-one compares to Suzie!
Movie of the day:
"The Queen" - at the local theatre, fine seats and a good experience all over...Since everyone else is praising Helen Mirren, and quite right too, I'll give some credit to another actor as well. Michael Sheen, as Tony Blair, sheer brilliance from beginning to end, and he isn't ugly...! I missed Brian May, though, litterally speaking and on the roof! Haha!
Fact of the day:
There is hardly any way you can watch a current british movie or TV series without - at some point - encountering David Tennant. Seriously, the man is EVERYWHERE! Someone's probably damn happy about that, too. See, me - I'm not *too* fond of him. He succeeded Christopher Eccleston, which is never a fortunate thing, and which I won't ever forgive him for, and that sort of left him with little chance in the first place. But he IS a great actor, I must admit. And I warmed up to him throughout series 2, since he did do a wonderful job. But nothing compares to Chris either...sadly!
Book of the day:
Having finished my exams, I'm not reading school-related, factual literature anymore, but I have yet to start Cecelia Ahern's "P.S. I love you". I still look forward to reading - a lot - I just haven't found the time. YET, that is.
Food of the day:
I dig chocolate. Dig and dig in. But also, I have to say, roastbeef. Lovely. And cakes. My God, I love cakes. It's an addiction. Not a healthy one, but from time to time, pleasure by far overcomes and outruns health. And I am tempted to believe THAT is, in itself, essentially *healthy*!
Most encountered word of the day:
"Sex". Funny thing. Apart from frequently meeting the face of this certain, suit-wearing guy with glasses and a strange smile, I have a tendency to discover the word "sex" in the strangest of places. Not like I'm obsessed with it, OR particularly interested in searching around for it, I just...find it; in different situations, different contexts, sometimes totally out of place. I'm stalked by "sex", how funny does *that* sound?!
Oh, well. I just can't do this, now, can I? Haha!! :) But it's kind of a fun experience, though. Maybe I'll try again later! AND - it's a very original christmas calendar, isn't it? Adding the copyright then, just in case...! COPYRIGHT SCARAMOUCHE, ALL RIGHTS SERVED!!!
NOW: as for the appropriate ending/finale/whatever...here goes!
"Luvya, everyone, weeeheee, I'm like sooo internet-freak and super-uptodate and really hot and trendy, yeah? I should really start videoblogging on youtube soon, too, because I have this *need*, see, to express my feelings and stuff. To really communicate and spread a message to the world, to tell people about me and my life, and my friends, and depict my life, sort of, just show people what I'm doing in the evenings, yeah, because I have like sooo much important to talk about and tell to people and I believe that everyone's like soooo unique and that's the important message we, as bloggers, can emphasize and make the people of this planet understand, and I'm soooo into deep shit now, hihihihihi, and maybe I'll stop wearing panties when I go out on the town, like Britney and Paris, and see what THAT leads to, yeah? They're like soooo trendsetters, though, really - I mean, sooo cool chicks, though, and I luuuuv the sassy bitchy loook, see?"
PARENTAL ADVISORY: BAD ROLEMODELS. INDEED.
Also, my attempt of a - well, a version of a - christmas calendar.
Yeah right. Nice try, anyway!
Momentary mood:
Sleepy-head. Wakey wakey eggs and bakey. And buried alive with cowboy boots and some kung fu-tricks. Ok, enough about that.
Quote of the day:
"Who looks at a screwdriver and thinks; hmmm, nice, but could be a little more sonic?!"- Capt. Jack Harkness. Friend of the Doctor and head of Torchwood and a terrible charmer. What a hunk! LOL!
Music of the day:
Elton John - Greatest Hits - lalalalala someone saved my life tonight lalala *piano tune-in* mhmhmhm...and don't go breaking my heart! NO! Lalala...
Nick of the day:
As NOT seen anywhere. Just popped up in my head, honestly. "Hostess of the heartbreaker's hotel". Kinda cool. Oh, must have been listening too much to Suzie Quatro. Who is my hero, by the way. ONE of my heroes. And she's definately the toughest, slyest, smartest chick of rock'n'roll! No-one compares to Suzie!
Movie of the day:
"The Queen" - at the local theatre, fine seats and a good experience all over...Since everyone else is praising Helen Mirren, and quite right too, I'll give some credit to another actor as well. Michael Sheen, as Tony Blair, sheer brilliance from beginning to end, and he isn't ugly...! I missed Brian May, though, litterally speaking and on the roof! Haha!
Fact of the day:
There is hardly any way you can watch a current british movie or TV series without - at some point - encountering David Tennant. Seriously, the man is EVERYWHERE! Someone's probably damn happy about that, too. See, me - I'm not *too* fond of him. He succeeded Christopher Eccleston, which is never a fortunate thing, and which I won't ever forgive him for, and that sort of left him with little chance in the first place. But he IS a great actor, I must admit. And I warmed up to him throughout series 2, since he did do a wonderful job. But nothing compares to Chris either...sadly!
Book of the day:
Having finished my exams, I'm not reading school-related, factual literature anymore, but I have yet to start Cecelia Ahern's "P.S. I love you". I still look forward to reading - a lot - I just haven't found the time. YET, that is.
Food of the day:
I dig chocolate. Dig and dig in. But also, I have to say, roastbeef. Lovely. And cakes. My God, I love cakes. It's an addiction. Not a healthy one, but from time to time, pleasure by far overcomes and outruns health. And I am tempted to believe THAT is, in itself, essentially *healthy*!
Most encountered word of the day:
"Sex". Funny thing. Apart from frequently meeting the face of this certain, suit-wearing guy with glasses and a strange smile, I have a tendency to discover the word "sex" in the strangest of places. Not like I'm obsessed with it, OR particularly interested in searching around for it, I just...find it; in different situations, different contexts, sometimes totally out of place. I'm stalked by "sex", how funny does *that* sound?!
Oh, well. I just can't do this, now, can I? Haha!! :) But it's kind of a fun experience, though. Maybe I'll try again later! AND - it's a very original christmas calendar, isn't it? Adding the copyright then, just in case...! COPYRIGHT SCARAMOUCHE, ALL RIGHTS SERVED!!!
NOW: as for the appropriate ending/finale/whatever...here goes!
"Luvya, everyone, weeeheee, I'm like sooo internet-freak and super-uptodate and really hot and trendy, yeah? I should really start videoblogging on youtube soon, too, because I have this *need*, see, to express my feelings and stuff. To really communicate and spread a message to the world, to tell people about me and my life, and my friends, and depict my life, sort of, just show people what I'm doing in the evenings, yeah, because I have like sooo much important to talk about and tell to people and I believe that everyone's like soooo unique and that's the important message we, as bloggers, can emphasize and make the people of this planet understand, and I'm soooo into deep shit now, hihihihihi, and maybe I'll stop wearing panties when I go out on the town, like Britney and Paris, and see what THAT leads to, yeah? They're like soooo trendsetters, though, really - I mean, sooo cool chicks, though, and I luuuuv the sassy bitchy loook, see?"
PARENTAL ADVISORY: BAD ROLEMODELS. INDEED.
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