Right now, I just love my studies. First and foremost because, as most people know about me, I LOVE Andrew Lloyd Webber and his musical "Cats", and when I heard we were reading T.S. Eliot, I did have some small hopes that we would read the one poem he wrote which actually became a foundation and main source of inspiration for this musical, namely "Preludes". And guess what? My homework for next week, is nothing less than - you guessed it! - and thus, here follows;
T. S. Eliot: Preludes (1917)
I
The winter evening settles down
With smell of steaks in passageways.
Six o'clock.
The burnt-out ends of smoky days.
And now a gusty shower wraps
The grimy scraps
Of withered leaves about your feet
And newspapers from vacant lots;
The showers beat
On broken blinds and chimneypots,
And at the corner of the street
A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps.
And then the lighting of the lamps.
II
The morning comes to consciousness
Of faint stale smells of beer
From the sawdust-trampled street
With all its muddy feet that press
To early coffee-stands.
With the other masquerades
That times resumes,
One thinks of all the hands
That are raising dingy shades
In a thousand furnished rooms.
III
You tossed a blanket from the bed
You lay upon your back, and waited;
You dozed, and watched the night revealing
The thousand sordid images
Of which your soul was constituted;
They flickered against the ceiling.
And when all the world came back
And the light crept up between the shutters
And you heard the sparrows in the gutters,
You had such a vision of the street
As the street hardly understands;
Sitting along the bed's edge, where
You curled the papers from your hair,
Or clasped the yellow soles of feet
In the palms of both soiled hands.
IV
His soul stretched tight across the skies
That fade behind a city block,
Or trampled by insistent feet
At four and five and six o'clock;
And short square fingers stuffing pipes,
And evening newspapers, and eyes
Assured of certain certainties,
The conscience of a blackened street
Impatient to assume the world.
I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.
Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;
The worlds revolve like ancient women
Gathering fuel in vacant lots.
**
T.S. Eliot is a source of inspiration and knowledge for myself as well, and one shouldn't discount the possibility that I might write some poetry based on his publishings later on...in the near, very near, future...keep posted, and you'll know! ;) And go A.L.W!!!
___________
Other news; The (10th) Doctor, meaning David Tennant, is doing charity stuff for Comic Relief, My Doctor, Number Nine - Mr Chris Eccleston is doing great stuff in general, especially on "Heroes" - which I hope will reach Norwegian TV channels in an immediate future (that too) and also in "Perfect Parents", with Sarah Parish; who again stars in "Recovery" with - that's right - number ten, David Tennant! BBC is a merry what-goes-around (comes around), pun intended, where everything seems to evolve in sircles and hell, I don't mind! Speaking of which, the song "What goes around (comes around)", as you should know, has a video out now featuring Scarlett The Beautiful and it is completely wonderful and possibly the best Justin Timberlake song ever, In My Humble Opinion, and also - well - Scarlett looks great. If I ever started fancying girls, etc etc, but of course I won't, unless she is etc etc. Same old story.
Furthermore: Hugh Grant, of all people, was - I suddenly learnt, and realized - up for the part as The Doctor, at the time of planning Series One, or at least he claims that he was. (According to ultra-tabloid The Mirror; my GOD, why am I happily believing all this shit?! Haha...) And although I would have seriously hated him as the Doc, since he is as far from a proper Doc as anyone could imaginably be - I am very happy to announce that, apparently, he is up for a guest part on the upcoming series (in plural, probably series 4 if it actually happens) and he will play a baddie, because that's what he likes best. He says. And that's of course what we, his fans, like best too!!! Especially after his brilliant performance in Bridget Jones. Plus, if Hugh comes along, maybe Colin Firth and Bill Nighy will too??? And Billie? THAT would be an event to die for. Literally. I'd have to be careful to avoid a heart attack, yes indeed.
___________
So, that's all for now, and more than enough I think. Poetrie and Who-e-ie comin' up. As always. Starstruck-ness still lingering, though, I feel I could jump over the moon...and land on a puff. With a whiff. Cheers! And - read Brian May's Blog, AND support the Hedgehogs! (Sign petition!) He's smart and they're important!
Love, Scara
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Skikkelig STARSTRUCK!!!
En utrolig dag.
Fantastisk minikonsert-opplevelse; da jeg og min gode studievenninne Tonje Elin tok oss en tur på Platekompaniet for å nyte en halvtimes intimkonsert med Mr Sondre Lerche, og hans råflinke bandkollega, som dro 4 låter fra sitt nye album "Phantom Punch". Vi hadde de beste plassene av alle, helt forest, og ble nesten døve siden vi stod rett ved siden av den ene høyttaleren...! Så, to meter unna min store helt fikk jeg servert fire kjempebra, tøffe rockelåter; alle potensielt slagermateriale. Han stod såpass nærme at jeg virkelig måtte ta meg sammen for å motstå fristelsen til å bare kaste meg over fyren og gi ham en diger klem. Han er søtere enn søtest. Og gift. Heldige Mona!
Videre; selv om lyden var litt hakkete til tider, viste Sondre seg fra sin mest superproffe side -som den rutinerte artisten han er blitt - og hadde full kontroll hele veien. (Selv om han klarte å erklære "Går alt til hælvete no?" da de fleste apparatene var iferd med å klikke...likevel, alle lo, og spesielt da han like etterpå begynte å fleipe med at nå var kanskje et godt tidpunkt for å teste ut sin nye karriere som impuls-standupkomiker...! Befriende uformell type! Og Erkebergenser på sin hals, tydeligvis! Yey!) Og etterpå, da fyren hadde signering i annen etasje i samme Platekompanibutikken, fikk jeg heldigvis sagt til ham hvor flink jeg synes han var - på tross av de nevnte problemene! - noe han satte stor pris på å høre. Jeg fikk også fortalt ham at jeg har vært trofast fan i 7 år og digge-digger den utrolige musikken hans. Og berømmelsen har åpenbart ikke gjort ham særlig blasert ennå, for det var et megret smigret fjes som smilte mot begge oss to jentene foran ham og takket hjertelig for komplimentene. Vi fikk personlige hilsener, gratis plakater (signert), han skrev endog bursdagkort til Tonje Elins venninne!! Og da han selv ble oppmerksom på at han ikke hadde skrevet "Til Hilde" på det ene coveret, gjorde han meg faktisk oppmerksom på det og tok seg tid til å signere på nytt. Køen bak meg var lang, for å si det sånn, men han var tålmodig og hilste ordentlig på alle og smilte og det var nok mange som oppdaget ham (også på ny!) i dag. Hvis han fortsetter slik, kan han bli en mest-bestselger! Uten tvil! Jeg mener - hvor mange norske artister holder på denne måten når de er på gratis promotur, selv når de er etablert i New York med Hotel Cæsar-kone og får julekort fra Tom Cruise? Nei, vettu hva, det er bare SÅ hyggelig med jordnære og vennlige popartistmennesker som tar vare på fansen sin! :) Heia Lerche!
Fantastisk minikonsert-opplevelse; da jeg og min gode studievenninne Tonje Elin tok oss en tur på Platekompaniet for å nyte en halvtimes intimkonsert med Mr Sondre Lerche, og hans råflinke bandkollega, som dro 4 låter fra sitt nye album "Phantom Punch". Vi hadde de beste plassene av alle, helt forest, og ble nesten døve siden vi stod rett ved siden av den ene høyttaleren...! Så, to meter unna min store helt fikk jeg servert fire kjempebra, tøffe rockelåter; alle potensielt slagermateriale. Han stod såpass nærme at jeg virkelig måtte ta meg sammen for å motstå fristelsen til å bare kaste meg over fyren og gi ham en diger klem. Han er søtere enn søtest. Og gift. Heldige Mona!
Videre; selv om lyden var litt hakkete til tider, viste Sondre seg fra sin mest superproffe side -som den rutinerte artisten han er blitt - og hadde full kontroll hele veien. (Selv om han klarte å erklære "Går alt til hælvete no?" da de fleste apparatene var iferd med å klikke...likevel, alle lo, og spesielt da han like etterpå begynte å fleipe med at nå var kanskje et godt tidpunkt for å teste ut sin nye karriere som impuls-standupkomiker...! Befriende uformell type! Og Erkebergenser på sin hals, tydeligvis! Yey!) Og etterpå, da fyren hadde signering i annen etasje i samme Platekompanibutikken, fikk jeg heldigvis sagt til ham hvor flink jeg synes han var - på tross av de nevnte problemene! - noe han satte stor pris på å høre. Jeg fikk også fortalt ham at jeg har vært trofast fan i 7 år og digge-digger den utrolige musikken hans. Og berømmelsen har åpenbart ikke gjort ham særlig blasert ennå, for det var et megret smigret fjes som smilte mot begge oss to jentene foran ham og takket hjertelig for komplimentene. Vi fikk personlige hilsener, gratis plakater (signert), han skrev endog bursdagkort til Tonje Elins venninne!! Og da han selv ble oppmerksom på at han ikke hadde skrevet "Til Hilde" på det ene coveret, gjorde han meg faktisk oppmerksom på det og tok seg tid til å signere på nytt. Køen bak meg var lang, for å si det sånn, men han var tålmodig og hilste ordentlig på alle og smilte og det var nok mange som oppdaget ham (også på ny!) i dag. Hvis han fortsetter slik, kan han bli en mest-bestselger! Uten tvil! Jeg mener - hvor mange norske artister holder på denne måten når de er på gratis promotur, selv når de er etablert i New York med Hotel Cæsar-kone og får julekort fra Tom Cruise? Nei, vettu hva, det er bare SÅ hyggelig med jordnære og vennlige popartistmennesker som tar vare på fansen sin! :) Heia Lerche!
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Kloke ord
Mennesker i min næremeste omkrets overøser meg med kloke ord og sitater for tiden...her er et lite utvalg;
Fra min kjære mor: Følelser er selv det levende livet - men det passer ikke for alle å kjenne etter - mange mennesker er ikke ordentlig levende.
Fra Ann Siri, min høyst uimaginære heltinne: Den dagen jeg glir ubemerket inn i mengden er jeg død. (Og husk at du kan få deg jobb som giftekniv anytime!)
Rebels till we die! Rebels stand united!
[possibly more to come...hvis jeg kjenner dem rett!]
Fra min kjære mor: Følelser er selv det levende livet - men det passer ikke for alle å kjenne etter - mange mennesker er ikke ordentlig levende.
Fra Ann Siri, min høyst uimaginære heltinne: Den dagen jeg glir ubemerket inn i mengden er jeg død. (Og husk at du kan få deg jobb som giftekniv anytime!)
Rebels till we die! Rebels stand united!
[possibly more to come...hvis jeg kjenner dem rett!]
flere tanker om tkid
Jeg tror folk vil ha mer tilgjengelig lyrikk. Ikke sånn påtatt merksnodig og altfor innviklet utforskning av sjelens krinkelkroker og hjerter som brister, men rett og slett god lesning.
Derfor, og dermed, skrev jeg - om selvrealisering i praksis og dobbel forstand;
"Å skrive er å lese seg selv, og jeg tok meg en erkjennelsesreise"
Av Scaramouche, en blivende, strevende po(t)et
tanker om tkid
og at man trenger et speil
ikke nødvendigvis
for å speile det dypeste av ens sjel,
og dens krinkelkroker
en utforskning og erobring
av det merksnodige
som er så meksnodig at det ikke blir annet enn
uforståelig til slutt, og det uforståelige
blir ikke mer forståelig av den grunn
kun bunnløse dyp
som rommer intet annet enn luft, og pompøsitet
der finnes ingen kjerne
selvsikkerhet og selvbevissthet går hånd i hånd,
men gavner ikke nødvendigvis noen
for man kan gå seg vill i hjerer som brister
selv når det er ens eget
dette å kjenne på egne følelser er vår forutsetning
symbolikken likeså, tidvis altoverskyggende,
de store største større enn det største - ord, og
alt dertilhørende kan samtidig bli vår bane
som når vi trår ut i klisjéenes endeløse hav
og nytenkningens tanker svinner hen
til fordel for de enkleste nødløsninger
det er et redskap som må benyttes med omhu
for da vil selv klisjéene fremstå tålelige
endog nyskapende, om brukt på riktig vis
likledes hater jeg dem som avskriver oss,
po(t)etene, det er oss,
for vår bruk av nettopp klisjéene,
og ikke ser skogen for bare trær, men i stedet
vender blikket innover og tror de har oppdaget skogens bunn
og finner en løvhaug i stedet
de som ikke forstår
og ikke lar seg berøre
de som ikke tror
og aldri kan bli overbevist
om å prøve noe helt annet
enn de mest opptråkkede stier
på alle måter
såh
jeg tror man trenger et speil
for å speile verden
akkurat så simpelt
som verden er simpel
og akkurat så utilgjengelig
at ved å gjenspeile den i det konkrete;
bare da kan den bli tilgjengelig
kanskje
om stunder og timer
og i en annen verden, speilet
hvori jeg er en virkelig
po(t)et
Derfor, og dermed, skrev jeg - om selvrealisering i praksis og dobbel forstand;
"Å skrive er å lese seg selv, og jeg tok meg en erkjennelsesreise"
Av Scaramouche, en blivende, strevende po(t)et
tanker om tkid
og at man trenger et speil
ikke nødvendigvis
for å speile det dypeste av ens sjel,
og dens krinkelkroker
en utforskning og erobring
av det merksnodige
som er så meksnodig at det ikke blir annet enn
uforståelig til slutt, og det uforståelige
blir ikke mer forståelig av den grunn
kun bunnløse dyp
som rommer intet annet enn luft, og pompøsitet
der finnes ingen kjerne
selvsikkerhet og selvbevissthet går hånd i hånd,
men gavner ikke nødvendigvis noen
for man kan gå seg vill i hjerer som brister
selv når det er ens eget
dette å kjenne på egne følelser er vår forutsetning
symbolikken likeså, tidvis altoverskyggende,
de store største større enn det største - ord, og
alt dertilhørende kan samtidig bli vår bane
som når vi trår ut i klisjéenes endeløse hav
og nytenkningens tanker svinner hen
til fordel for de enkleste nødløsninger
det er et redskap som må benyttes med omhu
for da vil selv klisjéene fremstå tålelige
endog nyskapende, om brukt på riktig vis
likledes hater jeg dem som avskriver oss,
po(t)etene, det er oss,
for vår bruk av nettopp klisjéene,
og ikke ser skogen for bare trær, men i stedet
vender blikket innover og tror de har oppdaget skogens bunn
og finner en løvhaug i stedet
de som ikke forstår
og ikke lar seg berøre
de som ikke tror
og aldri kan bli overbevist
om å prøve noe helt annet
enn de mest opptråkkede stier
på alle måter
såh
jeg tror man trenger et speil
for å speile verden
akkurat så simpelt
som verden er simpel
og akkurat så utilgjengelig
at ved å gjenspeile den i det konkrete;
bare da kan den bli tilgjengelig
kanskje
om stunder og timer
og i en annen verden, speilet
hvori jeg er en virkelig
po(t)et
Monday, February 19, 2007
Never cared for escapism that intensely, did I
expectations of a very rude Robbie in a box, as seen thru millions of lenses
"Escapism...these days"
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et, and number one punch line-pun-fan! :)
sneaking, snoping, scowling
there behind your back
are you
will you ever be
aware
but no - irreverent - I query;
the ones you loved instead
were they truly angels?
and
did they spread their wings for you
with heavenly grace?
was their devotion pure
or just corrupted by illusion
that image
far too much must lark behind
so problematic
a claustrophobiac would die
in such a crowd
but
never you, you carried on
if upside down,
selv-certain as magician
you were
constantly uncertain
and paradoxical
off course
you stood there, at the gates
when marlon brando passed away
you saw yourself that day
in future times
you live not then, but now
forever in the now
"Escapism...these days"
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et, and number one punch line-pun-fan! :)
sneaking, snoping, scowling
there behind your back
are you
will you ever be
aware
but no - irreverent - I query;
the ones you loved instead
were they truly angels?
and
did they spread their wings for you
with heavenly grace?
was their devotion pure
or just corrupted by illusion
that image
far too much must lark behind
so problematic
a claustrophobiac would die
in such a crowd
but
never you, you carried on
if upside down,
selv-certain as magician
you were
constantly uncertain
and paradoxical
off course
you stood there, at the gates
when marlon brando passed away
you saw yourself that day
in future times
you live not then, but now
forever in the now
Småplukk og ruskomsnusk
Det nærmeste jeg klarer å komme en "ordentlig" (proper) blogg...skremmende nok. Uten noe slags overlagt popmpøsitet eller innbilskhet. Overhodet.
Stolt av å være et skrivende menneske...finnes for få av slike...uten å ville høres blærete ut...for det kan i allefall ikke finnes for mange! - mener jeg...og damen med smilefjeset sier at det er litt skummelt for en iskald verden vi lever i, egentlig, hvor vi ser på at mennesker blir ødelagt og vi bare ler...og det synes jeg er kloke ord; jeg vil være som henne, jeg vil dikte i øyeblikket...en impulspo(t)et...hvis improvisasjon er en dyd, kan jeg være et dydsmønster? - håpet lever ennå...men er dydsmønster fortsatt et norsk ord? - jeg tror det...jeg liker det...er det ikke fantastisk med ord man liker? - jeg samler på ord...har en hel liten kolleksjon, faktisk...noen kommer ut, andre blir der inne et sted, noen ligger på tungen og hviler, andre sitter bom fast i bakhodet og synes det er bedagelig, noen irriterer meg, derfor, noen behager meg, noen provoserer meg, selv om de er mine oppfinnelser...jeg er et oppkomme av smått og stort og meningsløst og -fast til tider...men det gjør ikke noe, for ordene er vakre i seg selv, det betyr ingenting eller lite om de ikke alltid lyder like fornuftige og innholdsrike, om de ikke alltid har en sammenheng...jeg er ikke så opptatt av helhetsinntrykk, jeg foretrekker det løsrevne...det pleier å etterfølges av det løsslupne...og det er alltid udelt positivt...fange øyeblikket, det er viktig, være impulsiv og følge sine egne veier, sine egne lyster...det er derfor jeg ønsker meg den jobben, sant; øyeblikkspoet, som en naturfotograf, eller en stillebenskunstner...eller en stillebensfotograf...fotograf generelt...fotografere verden i en brøkdel av et sekund, gjennom ord...gjennom sansesinntrykk som gjengis og formidles i skriftlig form...finnes der noe vakrere? - jeg synes kunst er det vakreste på jorden, i alle former og fasonger...og mitt kunstneriske uttrykk, i likhet med alle andre kunstneres, er egenartet...unikt, om bare i form av å være annerledes enn det andre vil kunne kreere...men det er også tilstrekkelig...kunst handler, etter min mening, om å skape noe grunnleggende forskjellig, ellers vil det være meningsløst, siden det iboende innovative er selve kunstens nytteverdi...uten den finnes ingen hensikt, finnes faktsik ingen kunst...og jøsseball som jeg kan reklamere for mine egne produksjoner, gitt...hihi...nå begynner dette å flyte ut litt her, ut i det altfor finurlige...jo mer langdrygt, jo mindre fornuftig...sies det...derfor: en brå avslutning
Stolt av å være et skrivende menneske...finnes for få av slike...uten å ville høres blærete ut...for det kan i allefall ikke finnes for mange! - mener jeg...og damen med smilefjeset sier at det er litt skummelt for en iskald verden vi lever i, egentlig, hvor vi ser på at mennesker blir ødelagt og vi bare ler...og det synes jeg er kloke ord; jeg vil være som henne, jeg vil dikte i øyeblikket...en impulspo(t)et...hvis improvisasjon er en dyd, kan jeg være et dydsmønster? - håpet lever ennå...men er dydsmønster fortsatt et norsk ord? - jeg tror det...jeg liker det...er det ikke fantastisk med ord man liker? - jeg samler på ord...har en hel liten kolleksjon, faktisk...noen kommer ut, andre blir der inne et sted, noen ligger på tungen og hviler, andre sitter bom fast i bakhodet og synes det er bedagelig, noen irriterer meg, derfor, noen behager meg, noen provoserer meg, selv om de er mine oppfinnelser...jeg er et oppkomme av smått og stort og meningsløst og -fast til tider...men det gjør ikke noe, for ordene er vakre i seg selv, det betyr ingenting eller lite om de ikke alltid lyder like fornuftige og innholdsrike, om de ikke alltid har en sammenheng...jeg er ikke så opptatt av helhetsinntrykk, jeg foretrekker det løsrevne...det pleier å etterfølges av det løsslupne...og det er alltid udelt positivt...fange øyeblikket, det er viktig, være impulsiv og følge sine egne veier, sine egne lyster...det er derfor jeg ønsker meg den jobben, sant; øyeblikkspoet, som en naturfotograf, eller en stillebenskunstner...eller en stillebensfotograf...fotograf generelt...fotografere verden i en brøkdel av et sekund, gjennom ord...gjennom sansesinntrykk som gjengis og formidles i skriftlig form...finnes der noe vakrere? - jeg synes kunst er det vakreste på jorden, i alle former og fasonger...og mitt kunstneriske uttrykk, i likhet med alle andre kunstneres, er egenartet...unikt, om bare i form av å være annerledes enn det andre vil kunne kreere...men det er også tilstrekkelig...kunst handler, etter min mening, om å skape noe grunnleggende forskjellig, ellers vil det være meningsløst, siden det iboende innovative er selve kunstens nytteverdi...uten den finnes ingen hensikt, finnes faktsik ingen kunst...og jøsseball som jeg kan reklamere for mine egne produksjoner, gitt...hihi...nå begynner dette å flyte ut litt her, ut i det altfor finurlige...jo mer langdrygt, jo mindre fornuftig...sies det...derfor: en brå avslutning
Barbarianella
Inspired by "Waiting for the barbarians"...have a feeling this will only be the first in a row...Anywhooo; here goes -
"A dream inside a dream inside a lie; before the dawn" [very first edition]
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et, and dedicated to J.M. Coetzee
You caused upon yourself, to be so blind
lacking will-power, or was it fate
Was it the angels who told you not to speak
did you cut your throat, or someone else's
You fell into a state of drowsed oblivion
conviction lost, or were you superstitious
Some sign you got, which told you not to act
did you realize, all of a sudden, you were weak
A man cannot do, more than a man cannot do,
which means you can always do more than nothing
You did not dare, nor did you ever scream
opposition reserved, for a selected few
Words got stuck, although you tried to speak
did you send for one, or did you learn yourself
*
Her breath, your breath, her cold cold feet,
entangled, and adjoined, but - you;
You slept within her arms, you felt her skin
strains of hair caressed your naked arm
A safety you called trust, misunderstood
sacrificed more than you thought possible
You followed her as long as you could go
then, vanished into dim and desert light
Was it only shadows of a doubt you saw
existed more, there, that you sure disowned
"A dream inside a dream inside a lie; before the dawn" [very first edition]
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et, and dedicated to J.M. Coetzee
You caused upon yourself, to be so blind
lacking will-power, or was it fate
Was it the angels who told you not to speak
did you cut your throat, or someone else's
You fell into a state of drowsed oblivion
conviction lost, or were you superstitious
Some sign you got, which told you not to act
did you realize, all of a sudden, you were weak
A man cannot do, more than a man cannot do,
which means you can always do more than nothing
You did not dare, nor did you ever scream
opposition reserved, for a selected few
Words got stuck, although you tried to speak
did you send for one, or did you learn yourself
*
Her breath, your breath, her cold cold feet,
entangled, and adjoined, but - you;
You slept within her arms, you felt her skin
strains of hair caressed your naked arm
A safety you called trust, misunderstood
sacrificed more than you thought possible
You followed her as long as you could go
then, vanished into dim and desert light
Was it only shadows of a doubt you saw
existed more, there, that you sure disowned
The "Help Britney"-campaign
My contribution;
"Solar flare, startstruck"
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et; not-so-proud, former Britney-fan
Where is the common sense?
I actually remember what it was like
wanting to be like Britney Spears
Knowing the lyrics and singing along
to the hits she can't sing anymore
Cos now
it's all about tattoos
and hairdos
and custody for kids
It's all about stripping
and tripping
and hunting for hunkies
You're such a sad story,
yes you are
Throwing up out through
the window of your car
Parties with Paris, or
maybe that's over
One thing's for sure though,
you're still far from sober
I actually remember how she sounded
when she was 17, in white, and Lucky
Knowing too little perhaps, and foresaw
nothing at all of the wrong stuff to come
Cos now
it's all about bad days
and bald days (!)
and sunglassed disguises
It's all about driving
and striving
and fightings in court
How you're hiding yourself
while exposing too much
Protection from others,
though with no gentle touch
You forget who you are
and you slip once too many
K-fed is fed up, still
you're looking uncanny
I actually remember how she smiled
and shrugged off accusations in a Leno-chair
When will she ever be at ease, and beautiful
is there not enough left to break free again?
Behind your pale mask, lonely bungler,
do you see it coming,
Or was it all gone, long ago?
Is it too late for the butterfly-girl to emerge,
anew and painless,
Can the answers turn yes, end the no?
Cos now
someone must look at her
see through her
through to her
Someone take hold of her
reach out to her
reach for her
**
Someone must care...
if not, how could they face their own eyes in the mirror,
when after, it's all a disaster?
Someone must care...
they can't claim not to see, for we all can observe her, and
we know that young Britney needs help!
"Solar flare, startstruck"
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et; not-so-proud, former Britney-fan
Where is the common sense?
I actually remember what it was like
wanting to be like Britney Spears
Knowing the lyrics and singing along
to the hits she can't sing anymore
Cos now
it's all about tattoos
and hairdos
and custody for kids
It's all about stripping
and tripping
and hunting for hunkies
You're such a sad story,
yes you are
Throwing up out through
the window of your car
Parties with Paris, or
maybe that's over
One thing's for sure though,
you're still far from sober
I actually remember how she sounded
when she was 17, in white, and Lucky
Knowing too little perhaps, and foresaw
nothing at all of the wrong stuff to come
Cos now
it's all about bad days
and bald days (!)
and sunglassed disguises
It's all about driving
and striving
and fightings in court
How you're hiding yourself
while exposing too much
Protection from others,
though with no gentle touch
You forget who you are
and you slip once too many
K-fed is fed up, still
you're looking uncanny
I actually remember how she smiled
and shrugged off accusations in a Leno-chair
When will she ever be at ease, and beautiful
is there not enough left to break free again?
Behind your pale mask, lonely bungler,
do you see it coming,
Or was it all gone, long ago?
Is it too late for the butterfly-girl to emerge,
anew and painless,
Can the answers turn yes, end the no?
Cos now
someone must look at her
see through her
through to her
Someone take hold of her
reach out to her
reach for her
**
Someone must care...
if not, how could they face their own eyes in the mirror,
when after, it's all a disaster?
Someone must care...
they can't claim not to see, for we all can observe her, and
we know that young Britney needs help!
Romantic again
ererBEST ROMANTIC MOVIES EVER,
EDITED LIST:
Love Actually
Sleepless in Seattle
Léon ('cos it IS actually romantic!)
The Bodyguard
Lost in Translation
Casino Royale (can't believe I actually wrote that)
On her Majesty's Secret Service (better!)
Moulin Rouge
The English Patient
Before Sunset
Casablanca
Kate & Leopold (takk til Tonje Elin!)
The Mask of Zorro (takk til min mor, verdens største Anthony Hopkins-fan!)
Robin Hood - prince of thieves (nicest movie-wedding ever? AND a Connery-cameo!)
Tristan & Isolde (takk til Ann Siri!)
Receptive to more suggestions and ideas! Please!
EDITED LIST:
Love Actually
Sleepless in Seattle
Léon ('cos it IS actually romantic!)
The Bodyguard
Lost in Translation
Casino Royale (can't believe I actually wrote that)
On her Majesty's Secret Service (better!)
Moulin Rouge
The English Patient
Before Sunset
Casablanca
Kate & Leopold (takk til Tonje Elin!)
The Mask of Zorro (takk til min mor, verdens største Anthony Hopkins-fan!)
Robin Hood - prince of thieves (nicest movie-wedding ever? AND a Connery-cameo!)
Tristan & Isolde (takk til Ann Siri!)
Receptive to more suggestions and ideas! Please!
Sunday, February 18, 2007
simple pleasures
my 111th post!
Passenger. Buscards and blouses.
By Scaramouche, the travellin' strawberry po(t)et potato
And: you say potato, I say - no, actually, it's "po(t)et" and it's Norwegian!
Did you ever consider
not getting off?
Simply remain in your seat
and watch the rest
As passer-bys pass by
and windows clouded white
and silence falls
I was never one of the punks playing in the back seats
Did you ever consider
not getting out?
Simply stay in the coupé
and guard the place
As looker-ons look on
and doors opened dramatically
and shadows fall
I was always the one who sat alone with her umbrella
People yell, and they leave
they haunt you, yet only for a minute
are they there with you
People smile, and they're gone
they visit you, yet only for a moment
are they close to you
I am a passenger
on a bus, or a train
or on a walk through life
I observe
and am strictly observed
by possible others
I adore
oblivious to the adoration
of possible others
I won't give up my seat to an old lady with a rain coat
not because I'm bad
but because I want to sit
and just breathe
the warm air in a crowded means of public transport
feeling integrated, included
yet utterly insignificant
but for the time being, at least I may say I am -
I am a passenger.
Passenger. Buscards and blouses.
By Scaramouche, the travellin' strawberry po(t)et potato
And: you say potato, I say - no, actually, it's "po(t)et" and it's Norwegian!
Did you ever consider
not getting off?
Simply remain in your seat
and watch the rest
As passer-bys pass by
and windows clouded white
and silence falls
I was never one of the punks playing in the back seats
Did you ever consider
not getting out?
Simply stay in the coupé
and guard the place
As looker-ons look on
and doors opened dramatically
and shadows fall
I was always the one who sat alone with her umbrella
People yell, and they leave
they haunt you, yet only for a minute
are they there with you
People smile, and they're gone
they visit you, yet only for a moment
are they close to you
I am a passenger
on a bus, or a train
or on a walk through life
I observe
and am strictly observed
by possible others
I adore
oblivious to the adoration
of possible others
I won't give up my seat to an old lady with a rain coat
not because I'm bad
but because I want to sit
and just breathe
the warm air in a crowded means of public transport
feeling integrated, included
yet utterly insignificant
but for the time being, at least I may say I am -
I am a passenger.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Celebrating an old friend!
It's late. But I am a night person. That means the day isn't over, officially, until I go to bed. And I'm not in bed...yet. That also means that this message still counts as having been posted yesterday, although its being a quarter past one in the morning suggests it's techinally yesterday's news. However; the following is still on imdb, on the front page too, picture and all, so it does count.
Anyway! What I wanted to say was:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHRISTOPHER ECCLESTON!
Turning...43 on the 16th of February.
Nice man, nice actor, nice (former) job!
Anyway! What I wanted to say was:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHRISTOPHER ECCLESTON!
Turning...43 on the 16th of February.
Nice man, nice actor, nice (former) job!
Being...of course...My Doctor, personal favourite that is, and everyone's Number Nine. Also infamous for his personification of Leo in "Jeg er Dina" and for being a true badass-hero, trying to kill off both Nicholas Cage and his "brother" (Giovanni Ribisi) in "Gone in 60 Seconds". In a very cruel way, too, as it were. But what a villain! My hopes are, that Chris one day will recreate that stylish, evil character and gain a part in a Bond-movie. How cool would that be?! That being said, whatever the man does it usually ends up brilliant. 'Scuse me; FANTASTIC! Chris is Fantastic! And Doctor Who's newly-retrieved success is, without wonder, much thanks to this man. If it hadn't been for his interpretation, his plotting the future course of -and laying an amazingly complex and interesting, basic foundation for - The Doctor, I doubt anyone would have had faith in the series' durability - and credibility! And, of course, without him I wouldn't have started watcing Doctor Who in the first place, and it wouldn't have become so dear to me - plus I would never have discovered what a marvellous actor Chris REALLY is. Not just good like I new he was, but absolutely gorgeous and talented and charming. Love, now! Hence...many happy returns, manye good luck-wishes, and hope to see him on the telly soon again!
And remember, furthermore, that: An apple a day keeps The Doctor away, which is why I'll never eat apples again!
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
"Love is..." Considerably appropriate on a night like this
Best Romantic Movies EVER!!!
(Possible Editing to Follow...later!)
And yes, I know my romance movie preferences tend to imply a ceratin sadness-factor.
(Possible Editing to Follow...later!)
And yes, I know my romance movie preferences tend to imply a ceratin sadness-factor.
- Love Actually
- Sleepless in Seattle
- Léon ('cos it IS actually romantic!)
- The Bodyguard
- Lost in Translation
- Casino Royale (can't believe I actually wrote that)
- On her Majesty's Secret Service (better!)
- Moulin Rouge
- The English Patient
- Before Sunset
- Casablanca
And furthermore: The most romantic things I know about!
- Katie Melua and Norah Jones...cannot be avoided! And it's what I am currently listening to! ("When you left, I became a hopeless drifter...")
- Bryan Ferry singing old café-melodies, such as "As time goes by" and Leif Ove Andsnes playing the tingling, background piano...yes, preferrably combined...take a hint, guys? Or even better - make a deal? ;)
- Jane Austen-novels...preferrably filmed with Colin Firth...Mr. Daaaaaarcy!!! Me luva!
- The bar-scene at the end of the above-mentioned "L.i.T." ("Stay here with me, we'll start a jazz band!" Classic!)
AND the obligatory ones;
- Doctor Who and the hand-holding! ("Before I go, I just wanna tell you; you were fantastic. Absolutely fantastic!")
- The dancing scene in "Dear Frankie" (too sad and serious to qualify for a place in my purely romantic movie-category, though...! Yet, I LOVE that little piece of indie-film so much!)
- Chocolate and candles and live piano-music, by the fireside - also including a (fake) fur rug and a couple of good bottles of red wine...and someone who looks like the guy who's dancing with Emily Mortimer in that particular scene...! (Perchance could I get hold of the man himself???) In a tux, with that genuine Scottish burrrr....rrrr!
- James Bond. Whom I've always wanted (yearned...and longed...desperately) to marry. That being said; I would only marry him if he looked like (*cough cough*) Butler, Burkhard, Eccleston or Jackman. Preferrably combined. Well, actually; if he was James Bond, I would just marry him. Especially if he was Butler-Bond. Regardless where, why and how. Just marry him. Any time!
Did I mention I'm a hopeless Romantic? Guess I did, yeah. I love being in love. I love Love. Love is good. It hurts, occasionally, but it makes me feel and feeling (it) makes me feel alive. And there's not point in living, at all, if you can't feel...alive.
Enough said. Now sleep. And sleep to dream. Again. About a brave and handsome man. Who rides my way, on an amazing white stallion, accompanied by the sound of faint piano playing; he comes to take me far from here, and meanwhile sweep me off my feet with strawberry kisses. Hehehe. Now, that's the sweet escape of night-time!
Word from the Heart, spoken with Soul
Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!!
This is the day one should devote to honouring all those who love and are loved...which means, technically, all of us. Since (which I am happy to say that I have learnt from watching - perhaps - too many, too romantic movies) somewhere, out there, there is someone special and someone intrinsically right for each and everyone one of us!
And if you don't dream, you die. So dream on! For Love is Hope - and believing that some day, there will be a stranger on your door whom you'll instantly know your heart belongs to!
Love, Scaramouche; proud and devoted, hopeless romantic!
This is the day one should devote to honouring all those who love and are loved...which means, technically, all of us. Since (which I am happy to say that I have learnt from watching - perhaps - too many, too romantic movies) somewhere, out there, there is someone special and someone intrinsically right for each and everyone one of us!
And if you don't dream, you die. So dream on! For Love is Hope - and believing that some day, there will be a stranger on your door whom you'll instantly know your heart belongs to!
Love, Scaramouche; proud and devoted, hopeless romantic!
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Something about the way I look on things tonight
Newsflashes, lashes and clashes - listening to Elton John's "Song for guy"
R.I.P Anna Nicole Smith. Marilyn was her idol and she pursued a lifestyle identical to that of Miss Monroe's - even to her death. Maybe such an ending was for the best. What could another future possibly have held of opportunities and blessings for this woman? And if we don't get to know all the answers, if we don't get to learn the full and complete truth; what does it matter? I hope she's reached a state of peacefulness at last, wherever she might be now. And I hope there were no tears in Ms. Smith''s eyes the moment she entered her eternal sleep. God speed. It's sad how the entertainment business can turn out very little entertaining to the ones involved in it, sometimes. Contributors might gain a profit from what they do, what the commit to - but at the same time, they suffer a grave prize.
Which reminds me; is there anyobody out there who would mind taking more care of one certain Ms. Spears and just prevent her from doing silly things - for a couple of coming weeks? For God's sake, she's got children! Keep her away from drinks, drugs, lack of thongs, unstable short-time-boyfriends, Las Vegas poker parties, Burger King, Paris Hilton and fast cars which she can't drive. Provide her with a pair of decent-looking sunglasses, for a change, and get her into some kind of recreation facility. 'Cos, actually, I believe at the moment she's more of a danger to herself than she is to her friends or anyone else. Although she has been seen vomiting on them. It's been enough with one deceased celeb girl this month. And it scares me how progress is going the wrong way for BS as well, right now.
Local news; Dennis Storhøi, jeg elsker deg, du er en utrolig skuespiller og "Spellemann på taket" var helt absurd bra!! Gratulerer til Guri Schanche for å ha vunnet den norske MGP-finalen, men se å få på deg et ordentlig skjørt, og egentlig er jeg litt sur fordi Torhild Sivertsen ikke vant. Men jeg gleder meg til Eurovision-finalen. Det blir stilig!! ...som alltid. Problemet er når Trine Rein, Janniche Abrahamsen, Torhild og Guri stiller i én og samme, norske finale; litt mye på én gang, liksom. Men Grand Prix har fått seg et kvalitetsløft og det liker vi! Videre: jeg synes overhodet ikke synd på Se og Hør, spesielt ikke redaktøren - jeg synes det er bra at deres skitne arbiedsmetoder kommer for en dag, og jeg tviler på at noen andre skulle inneha et annet, motstridende syn. Savner et ordentlig, norsk sladreblad ála det fantastiske "InTouch" (USA & Canada). Et som kunne kombinere sladder, mote og underholdning - og benytte en grammatikk vesentlig over det ungdomsskolenivå der de befinner seg nå. Seher.no er en god side for å holde seg oppdatert på kjendisstoff, men gudbedre for et elendig skriftspråk de besitter!
And apart from all this; I hate winter; snow, fog, rain, bloody temperature. Don't know why I'm still residing here, in this godforsaken place of frozen, rocky ice age-remains and bad journalists. I try staying warm, calm and happy with Elton John and Le Doc. And I want to see Casino Royale again, but don't know if I should bother. Anyone knows when the DVD will be out? Better preorder on amazon, before everyone else realizes and gets the same idea. Hehe.
Last, but not least; on what I want? Well. I want a handsome, nice, smart and noble gentleman prince, a tropical island with a mediaval castle all to myself - well, technically speaking, all to the two of us - I want to enjoy sun and warmth and a relatively lonely, quiet and utterly comfortable life style. I want Queen as a private house band and an own, private cinema showing old classics 24-7; whenever and whatever I might please. I also want to travel to the moon and Gallifrey and have a Time Lord show me the magnificence of the millions of stars glowing unseen, out there in the extreme deep space. That's what I want. Whether I can ever achieve it is another and a far more difficult, complex and unpredictable question. It's beyond. There's a fly buzzing lazily above me, and the fire in my fireplace has completely gone out whilst I've been writing. Better get back to reality, catch up, and sort out some of my more possible, expectale bits of reailty - already present or soon coming up. I dread stepping out of the virtual world and view the actual one with these tired eyeballs. What an ordeal. But it sort of makes us human, doesn't it?
Fantastic Fantastic Rose!
"You saved me more than I could tell..."
Someone was kind enough to post this little piece of sweetness on YouTube lately - written specifically for the two lovebirds and everything...sweet...so now you know what I am listening to these days! The video isn't that good, but the clips are of course brilliant Doctor Who-cuts and the acting is superb, despite the lack of spoken dialogue...! Problem with fan vid's, that is. Anyway, this little item had me forgetting about David T.'s abhorrent escapades in a flash. Me luva YouTube! Entitled "Fantastic Rose", as should have been implied by my title; music by some genius called Geoff Smith, credit MrsCake. And somehow, you know you're not alone... Billie Piper just said in an interview that Rose might return, too. Dazed and confused? Hell, yeah. But indeed, it would have been wonderful.
Now, enjoy!
EDIT 20 FEBRUARY;
Some lyrics too!
If you walk away from me
Well you know that I hope that it would sure as hell be
Better than everything
And all that I've let you see
Tell your mom I said hello
Tell her sorry that I ever let you go
Far from the life you knew
And all that I put you through
But don't let the time that you knew
Break you like you broke me
Now that you're free
Rose
You're fantastic
You know if it can't last
You'll always be the one who knows
You'll always be my Rose
Fantastic Rose
Remember how it all began
All you had to do was hold my hand
And we've been running all this time it seems
But what does it really mean
It seems like a million years
So how's it all disappear
Are you still here
Rose
You're fantastic
You know if it can't last
You'll always be the one who knows
You'll always be my Rose
Fantastic Rose
All that I ever could show you was love
And Rose, you taught me how to let go
Of love
You saved me more than I could tell
Not that I'm desperate but you know just where to cut me
And you did
Right through the bone
But somehow I'm never alone
Rose
You're fantastic
You know if it can't last
You'll always be the one who knows
You'll always be my Rose
Fantastic Rose
Someone was kind enough to post this little piece of sweetness on YouTube lately - written specifically for the two lovebirds and everything...sweet...so now you know what I am listening to these days! The video isn't that good, but the clips are of course brilliant Doctor Who-cuts and the acting is superb, despite the lack of spoken dialogue...! Problem with fan vid's, that is. Anyway, this little item had me forgetting about David T.'s abhorrent escapades in a flash. Me luva YouTube! Entitled "Fantastic Rose", as should have been implied by my title; music by some genius called Geoff Smith, credit MrsCake. And somehow, you know you're not alone... Billie Piper just said in an interview that Rose might return, too. Dazed and confused? Hell, yeah. But indeed, it would have been wonderful.
Now, enjoy!
EDIT 20 FEBRUARY;
Some lyrics too!
If you walk away from me
Well you know that I hope that it would sure as hell be
Better than everything
And all that I've let you see
Tell your mom I said hello
Tell her sorry that I ever let you go
Far from the life you knew
And all that I put you through
But don't let the time that you knew
Break you like you broke me
Now that you're free
Rose
You're fantastic
You know if it can't last
You'll always be the one who knows
You'll always be my Rose
Fantastic Rose
Remember how it all began
All you had to do was hold my hand
And we've been running all this time it seems
But what does it really mean
It seems like a million years
So how's it all disappear
Are you still here
Rose
You're fantastic
You know if it can't last
You'll always be the one who knows
You'll always be my Rose
Fantastic Rose
All that I ever could show you was love
And Rose, you taught me how to let go
Of love
You saved me more than I could tell
Not that I'm desperate but you know just where to cut me
And you did
Right through the bone
But somehow I'm never alone
Rose
You're fantastic
You know if it can't last
You'll always be the one who knows
You'll always be my Rose
Fantastic Rose
Thursday, February 08, 2007
Why I go to school... University tales - and some allusions!
This is what the still obedient, youngster student Scara did for her literature seminar yesterday. It was a very interesting seminar, too. See: it inspired me! "Tintern Abbey" is beautiful...and I love William Wordsworth. In a pretty general sense.
"Transboundary verse" -
with thanks to my seminar leader who got me started
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et, slightly fixated with everything trans...sonic.
The visibility of a creator, in all that's visibly created
The solitary mind emerging, in all that's solitary mine
The truth of once eternal, in all that's eternally true
The stuation I transposed
Betrayal well transfixed
My closet I transformed in style
Denial I'll transcend
The parts will not transact
I long to be transported
I had a vision, he transpired
Transversed and left me lonely
I challenge, me;
Did I ever quit?
Did I ever stay, not cut?
I question, me;
Did I ever listen?
Did I ever ease, not hasten?
I reckon, me;
I never did, I never do,
I never could, for I knew who
and who would wait up on me
"Transboundary verse" -
with thanks to my seminar leader who got me started
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et, slightly fixated with everything trans...sonic.
The visibility of a creator, in all that's visibly created
The solitary mind emerging, in all that's solitary mine
The truth of once eternal, in all that's eternally true
The stuation I transposed
Betrayal well transfixed
My closet I transformed in style
Denial I'll transcend
The parts will not transact
I long to be transported
I had a vision, he transpired
Transversed and left me lonely
I challenge, me;
Did I ever quit?
Did I ever stay, not cut?
I question, me;
Did I ever listen?
Did I ever ease, not hasten?
I reckon, me;
I never did, I never do,
I never could, for I knew who
and who would wait up on me
Shiver and shake, shaken and stirred
Could someone please save these people from themselves?
Sometimes you find yourself in the midst of some freaked-out reality which you severely wish was just a crazed illusion. Then again, it rarely is. Like, yesterday, when I was looking for fan-vid's on YouTube and came across a "hilarious clip" of a certain Doc in a completely new role. Boy, do I regret taking the risk of watching that! And a few moments ago I was checking out The Sun for news on my fav. Brits, and guess what: Mr. Blonde has gone and done something silly - again. (Disclaimer: I do NOT trust The Sun! I don't necessarily trust YouTube either! But they both had photographic evidence!) Here follows another few chapters in the story of what nightmares poor Scaramouche has had to endure over the past days and hours;
PART ONE - DOC IN DRAG: Apparently, the Doctor's worst enemy these days is neither Slitheen nor Dalek, it's Mr. DT's appalling sense of humour. He recently visited the infamous Friday Night Project and there let fans induldge in a Doc Who-spoof featuring himself in a curly, yellow wig and a skimpy, black dress. And heels, high heels. Only an unmistakable, Scottish accent could overshadow the pitchy, atonal voice and the ridiculous gestures and reveal that this wasn't even remotely funny, this was David Tennant. (Hopefully not giving us a taste of the upcoming third season?! Please!) And that being said, had it been an ordinary, not-WHO-related, entertaining, transvestite-homage plot, I would probably have been first in line to praise the scene. Considering that I usually adore men in drag. (Long story.) But this was no such; this included a beard-o version of the Doctor, in an ugly grey suit and played by one Friday Night regular with horrible acting skills, set on the location of a so-called "Pink Planet", reminiscences of a not too bygone past; as we got face to face with a ghastly, wobbly-seeming TARDIS, and then David, most importantly and regretfully, as the "gorgeous time travelling assistant". Indeed; he didn't even have the decensy of playing himself! We were also "fortunate" enough to enjoy appearances from both the evil "Gay-Lord" and the silver-shirted "Car-leks", before the whole thing eventually came to an end. However, and as if we had not been through Hell and back already, they did manage to ruin the end-credits with some dreadful animation. AND they dared being disrespectful of the late King of Queen, Mr. Freddie Mercury somewhere in the middle.
Conclusion: the only Doctor Who + men in drag-setup that ever worked took place in the film "Breakfast on Pluto", which starred the cute, lovable Cillian Murphy and in which the Daleks looked like actual Daleks. As much as I might enjoy watching David Tennant make a fool out of himself, I can't stand his making a fool out of my favourite TV show. Shame on you guys!
(I did laugh a little, though - of relief! - for it could actually have been worse. Seriously. It could have been Chris!! *Shudders*)
PART TWO - MR. BOND'S A DUMB BLONDE: Craig the Clown has bought a new car, the only problem remains that he can't actually drive it. Reportedly, Daniel Craig made observers laugh their asses off as he unsuccessfully tried to park his brand new 4X4-drive monster the other day. So much for showing off your Casino Royalties. And just now, I'm reading that Sienna Miller and Craig are giving the Bafta-administrators a real headache as a previous love-affair of theirs makes it so embarassing for them to meet, that the organizers must organize for the two spoiled wretches to avoid bumping into each other during the entire evening of the awards. And he still doesn't claim to have taken on the role for any other reason except the money.
Conclusion: I know a couple of other actors who would be more than pleased to take over that part. And they can drive, too.
PART THREE - AT WAR WITH THE LOCALS: Og her hjemme, i gamlelandet, planlegger vi å sende Jenny Jensen til finalen i Grand Prix, i tillegg til at folk som Herodes Falsk får gi ut samlealbum og TV2 Zebra sender dokumnentarfilmer der Whitney Houston fremdeles er gift med Bobby Brown og Britney er på dater'n med Justin.
Conclusion? It's a mad, mad world. And cruel.
Sometimes you find yourself in the midst of some freaked-out reality which you severely wish was just a crazed illusion. Then again, it rarely is. Like, yesterday, when I was looking for fan-vid's on YouTube and came across a "hilarious clip" of a certain Doc in a completely new role. Boy, do I regret taking the risk of watching that! And a few moments ago I was checking out The Sun for news on my fav. Brits, and guess what: Mr. Blonde has gone and done something silly - again. (Disclaimer: I do NOT trust The Sun! I don't necessarily trust YouTube either! But they both had photographic evidence!) Here follows another few chapters in the story of what nightmares poor Scaramouche has had to endure over the past days and hours;
PART ONE - DOC IN DRAG: Apparently, the Doctor's worst enemy these days is neither Slitheen nor Dalek, it's Mr. DT's appalling sense of humour. He recently visited the infamous Friday Night Project and there let fans induldge in a Doc Who-spoof featuring himself in a curly, yellow wig and a skimpy, black dress. And heels, high heels. Only an unmistakable, Scottish accent could overshadow the pitchy, atonal voice and the ridiculous gestures and reveal that this wasn't even remotely funny, this was David Tennant. (Hopefully not giving us a taste of the upcoming third season?! Please!) And that being said, had it been an ordinary, not-WHO-related, entertaining, transvestite-homage plot, I would probably have been first in line to praise the scene. Considering that I usually adore men in drag. (Long story.) But this was no such; this included a beard-o version of the Doctor, in an ugly grey suit and played by one Friday Night regular with horrible acting skills, set on the location of a so-called "Pink Planet", reminiscences of a not too bygone past; as we got face to face with a ghastly, wobbly-seeming TARDIS, and then David, most importantly and regretfully, as the "gorgeous time travelling assistant". Indeed; he didn't even have the decensy of playing himself! We were also "fortunate" enough to enjoy appearances from both the evil "Gay-Lord" and the silver-shirted "Car-leks", before the whole thing eventually came to an end. However, and as if we had not been through Hell and back already, they did manage to ruin the end-credits with some dreadful animation. AND they dared being disrespectful of the late King of Queen, Mr. Freddie Mercury somewhere in the middle.
Conclusion: the only Doctor Who + men in drag-setup that ever worked took place in the film "Breakfast on Pluto", which starred the cute, lovable Cillian Murphy and in which the Daleks looked like actual Daleks. As much as I might enjoy watching David Tennant make a fool out of himself, I can't stand his making a fool out of my favourite TV show. Shame on you guys!
(I did laugh a little, though - of relief! - for it could actually have been worse. Seriously. It could have been Chris!! *Shudders*)
PART TWO - MR. BOND'S A DUMB BLONDE: Craig the Clown has bought a new car, the only problem remains that he can't actually drive it. Reportedly, Daniel Craig made observers laugh their asses off as he unsuccessfully tried to park his brand new 4X4-drive monster the other day. So much for showing off your Casino Royalties. And just now, I'm reading that Sienna Miller and Craig are giving the Bafta-administrators a real headache as a previous love-affair of theirs makes it so embarassing for them to meet, that the organizers must organize for the two spoiled wretches to avoid bumping into each other during the entire evening of the awards. And he still doesn't claim to have taken on the role for any other reason except the money.
Conclusion: I know a couple of other actors who would be more than pleased to take over that part. And they can drive, too.
PART THREE - AT WAR WITH THE LOCALS: Og her hjemme, i gamlelandet, planlegger vi å sende Jenny Jensen til finalen i Grand Prix, i tillegg til at folk som Herodes Falsk får gi ut samlealbum og TV2 Zebra sender dokumnentarfilmer der Whitney Houston fremdeles er gift med Bobby Brown og Britney er på dater'n med Justin.
Conclusion? It's a mad, mad world. And cruel.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Thoughts streaming
Don't get to write so much these days, I'm soooo busy and my head is just filled with thousand thoughts and ideas and obligations, duites that must be executed and business that must be attended too, school-stuff that must be written and books that must be read...pretty interesting but equally exhausting! Funny, though, how it seems to me that the more I have to do the more I actually get done...
Anyway, in the midst of all this, I at least managed to sort together a small piece of stream-of-consciousness, mind-reading, inner monologue, blabla, experimental poetry...rest home for a troubled mind and very healthy to get frustration out of my system, etc. Have perhaps watched too many bizarre movies; "Thirteenth Floor" was amazing, however! I mean, it might be a Matrix-inspired, low-budget, cult-scifi-time travel-apocalyse-thingy, but it was soooo cool! And it reminded me of "Strange Days", which is genuinly promising, because I really love that movie and anything with that same use of colours and meddling with time and spaces and featuring Vincent D'Onofrio can't be bad, in my opinion. In my humble-jumble-thumble opinion. It's like my mama always says; enjoy the good things of every day. And eat your spinach. I do and I don't.
And here goes:
"For my friend in the elevator" -
trying out some new stuff again
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et, who thinks too much and drinks too little (?) and hits her head against the walls repeatedly, a little much too often.
if I should make a list of things that make we want to squeeze you hold you crush you with my love I'd be a thousand years too late I'd never be along or gone I'd be so stuck but still inspired I'd be here but over there and all my consciousness retired I'd be shaken stirred and broken I'd be sleepy yet awake and that's the things you're doing to me that's the state you put me into that's the craziness you inflict that's the moment that I see you I go boom and body shaking I'd be jumping I'd be screaming but I don't I just go quiet and I stare I glare I whisper and I sniff and sigh and listen you might thing I'm such a nutter but the truth is I'm a sucker if I could I'd suck you dry love for whatever you can be I would give all I have to own and thus I'd kill to know you better and I'd die to see you often and I'd love to have you love me but I realise we're strangers so come closer don't stay shy love and I'll show you what I'm made of what the two of us could be and what the two of us must never so forgive my small intrusion and pardon my strong confusion but I'm tired won't be begging though I can't help go on nagging I'm a preacher for attention won't you see me won't you hear me won't you read my list of things that make me fall onto my knees and make me squeeze you make you love me make me love you always love you
Anyway, in the midst of all this, I at least managed to sort together a small piece of stream-of-consciousness, mind-reading, inner monologue, blabla, experimental poetry...rest home for a troubled mind and very healthy to get frustration out of my system, etc. Have perhaps watched too many bizarre movies; "Thirteenth Floor" was amazing, however! I mean, it might be a Matrix-inspired, low-budget, cult-scifi-time travel-apocalyse-thingy, but it was soooo cool! And it reminded me of "Strange Days", which is genuinly promising, because I really love that movie and anything with that same use of colours and meddling with time and spaces and featuring Vincent D'Onofrio can't be bad, in my opinion. In my humble-jumble-thumble opinion. It's like my mama always says; enjoy the good things of every day. And eat your spinach. I do and I don't.
And here goes:
"For my friend in the elevator" -
trying out some new stuff again
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et, who thinks too much and drinks too little (?) and hits her head against the walls repeatedly, a little much too often.
if I should make a list of things that make we want to squeeze you hold you crush you with my love I'd be a thousand years too late I'd never be along or gone I'd be so stuck but still inspired I'd be here but over there and all my consciousness retired I'd be shaken stirred and broken I'd be sleepy yet awake and that's the things you're doing to me that's the state you put me into that's the craziness you inflict that's the moment that I see you I go boom and body shaking I'd be jumping I'd be screaming but I don't I just go quiet and I stare I glare I whisper and I sniff and sigh and listen you might thing I'm such a nutter but the truth is I'm a sucker if I could I'd suck you dry love for whatever you can be I would give all I have to own and thus I'd kill to know you better and I'd die to see you often and I'd love to have you love me but I realise we're strangers so come closer don't stay shy love and I'll show you what I'm made of what the two of us could be and what the two of us must never so forgive my small intrusion and pardon my strong confusion but I'm tired won't be begging though I can't help go on nagging I'm a preacher for attention won't you see me won't you hear me won't you read my list of things that make me fall onto my knees and make me squeeze you make you love me make me love you always love you
Friday, February 02, 2007
Babes med briller - Kampen mot de forskrudde skjønnhetsidealer
Jeg slo av en film idag. Skrudde rett og slett av TV'en i rent raseri. Og dette var en film med Julie Andrews, så det sier litt. "Princess Diaries", het den. Forkvaklet Disney-møl. Hvorfor? Vel - det har noe med følgende å gjøre: Hollywoods oppskrift på hvordan man blir en "pen prinsesse"!
- av med doc martens, på med strømpebukse
- braziliansk bikinivoksing benyttet på "buskete øyenbryn", deretter på med agurker (!)
- krøller er lurvete, glatt og striglet hår er vakkert
- briller bør helst knekkes i to; kontaktlinser er en glitrende oppfinnelse
- rare jenter har rare mødre og rare venninner
- rare jenter er sjelden sportsatleter
- stereotyper er til for å brukes
- AAARGH!
Jeg skjønner at noe av pointet med filmen var å vise de negative sidene ved den forvandlingen og de "royale" idealene, men fortsatt; da kunne de latt være å gjøre et så innmari stort poeng utav hvor mye søtere og mer korrekt Anne Hathaway var uten briller og øyenbryn. UGH! Og neida, slikt forekommer ikke bare i filmer som "Princess Diaries"; det er et bransjefenomen. Jeg husker med gru slike ungdomsfilmer der helten falt for skolens minst populære jente; hvordan hun deretter ble forvandlet til en "svane" på slutten av filmen og fikk vist hvor undervurdert hun hadde vært, og hvor vakker hun egentlig var. Som oftest foregår en slik forvandling ved at vedkommende tar av seg nevnte briller. Og for å gjøre debatten aldeles dagsaktuell: HVORFOR må det som gjør denne Betty spesielt "ugly" på død og liv være briller og reggis?! Moralen i serien er visstnok at jenter skal tørre å være seg selv, utstråle naturlig skjønnhet, være stolt av den kroppen de har, bla bla bla. Ugly Betty kler seg som en kråke, lissom, ter seg som en klovn, haha, og - hun er belemret med den klassiske "femme fatale-i-nerdeham"-looken. Hun innehar en jobb hun fikk kun fordi hun var tilstrekkelig "lite tiltrekkende". Publikum ler fordi hun kolliderer med glassdører og fordi hun kommer utkledt på jobb når karnivalet er avlyst. Evt aldri har blitt arrangert. Og publikum aner at produsentene sikkert kommer til å stæsje henne opp til sesongavslutningen, også får hun drømmemannen og sjefsjobben, hun blir anerkjent og satt pris på, fordi alle plutselig innser at hun var faktisk ganske pen likevel. Vel - Ugly Betty er ikke særlig ugly nå heller, hun. Skuespillerinnen selv, America Ferrera, er for eksempel en nydelig dame med et fantastisk smil. Både i rollen og utenfor. Som Betty har hun kule briller, smilet blir ikke så skjemmet av den reguleringen at det gjør noe, klesstilen er eksentrisk, men ikke stygg. Klarer vi virkelig å se dette? Klarer vi virkelig å se igjennom det stereotyp-baserte forhenget som forteller oss hvilke formeninger vi skal ha om den aspirerende moteblad-medarbeideren?
Det er tradisjonene som påvirker oss; det er forventningene. Det er hva vi tror vi ser, ikke hva vi faktisk ser. Hvilke inntrykk vi gir, og får, hvilke konvensjoner vi er oppvokst med. Briller og reggis er tydeligvis ikke særlig sexy. Vel, her håper jeg at i allefall Ugly Betty gir oss en ny vri. Et alternativ. Jeg håper Betty får all den suksess hun fortjener, slik hun ser ut for øyeblikket. Jeg håper hun får en kjæreste som verdsetter henne for den personen hun er; både utseendemessig og personlighetsmessig. Jeg håper Hollywood-drømmedamer kan slutte å ha "stygge" venninner som blir fremstilt stygge fordi de har svekket syn. Jeg håper den kjekkeste gutten på skolen kan velge den smarteste jenten i klassen, ikke bare fordi hun er "annerledes og tenker mer", men fordi hun er skikkelig stilig som den hun er, og fordi det å skille seg ut - også intellektuelt - tilfører kvinner en andel skjønnhet menn burde finne attraktivt. Og mange menn gjør nok også det. Men vi blir fôret med det motsatte; en moral om at vi må kaste disse hersens brillene for å kapre ham vi liker. Kapre den beste jobben; for slikt kommer i naturlig rekkefølge, sant, og likeledes få et vellykket liv.
Slik verden fungerer nå er det ikke rettferdig. Det er kjempe-urettferdig, for å være ærlig, og derfor:
Jeg vil herved slå et slag for jenter med store øyenbryn, kraftige briller, reggis og viltert hår! Vi er faktisk ganske tiltrekkende vi også. Burde ikke vært nødvendig å påpeke det en gang. Burde ikke finnes en mulighet for at vi kunne bli ansett som ugly. Jeg er lei av å få høre at "du er i det minste smart" eller "utseende betyr ikke alt". Det er verdens verste, hvite løgn. Dagens oppskrift på hva det vil si å dolle seg opp er helt forvrengt! Hvem var det som i utgangspunktet bestemte hvilke kvaliteter dagens skjønnhetsideal skulle baseres på? Jeg har en følelse av at han eller hun - eller DE - må ha drukket noe meget sterkt og hjernecelle-drepende før de gikk igang med den avhandlingen. Skjønnhetsidealene har vært i en langvarig utvikllingsprosess frem mot dagens uttrykk, selvfølgelig, og de forandrer seg fortsatt - men de har aldri vært særlig sunne. Og kommer neppe til å bli det. Men jeg tar meg i undres, videre, på hvorfor jeg takket være dette fordømte, urimelige systemet skal bli avskrevet, helt automatisk og uforanderlig, som en "nerd", eller en annen klisjé, simpelthen en som ikke er pen nok?
De eneste som kan vise at det er tøft å være "annerledes" er folk som Ugly Betty. Og Anne Hathaway, hvis hun vennligst kunne få på seg de brillene igjen. Prinsesser kan også bruke briller, nemlig, det tar ikke fra en stilen. Briller kan bli det nye sex-symbolet! Og brillene er i bunn og grunn bare første steg, eller toppen av isfjellet; vrangforestillingene stikkere dypere enn dét.
Hvis man tar alle klisjéene og hiver dem oppi en bås og kaller dem "standard", da blir kanskje det å være "annerledes" ikke fullt så synonymt med det å være "rar"? Kanskje annerledes ikke blir annerledes lenger, kanskje det simpelthen blir helt og fullstendig normalt - i den forstand at det blir anerkjent? Det hadde vært en ideell stereotyp, det!
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Bond i Beijing, med mer
Siste nytt på den Scaramouche-relaterte delen av sladderfronten:
- Daniel Craig besøkte nylig Kina i anledning den kinesiske premieren på "Casino Royale". Og da Craig the Clown var ute på rekognoserings-tusletur i Beijing - ugjenkjennelig takket være hatt og solbriller, ifølge ham selv - ble han likesågodt tilbudt en piratutgave av filmen på DVD! Og jeg må holde meg veldig hardt for ikke å le her, nå. Det som derimot setter saken i et litt mer positivt lys er at: 1) CR er den første Bond-filmen som får lovlig kinopremiere i Kino, og da er det tøft at hovedpersonen selv tar seg en tur for å overvære og kaste glans over begivenheten - og 2) "...det gjør meg trist. Det er en fantastisk opplevelse å gå på kino. Du går glipp av den hvis du ser på en dårlig kopi av en DVD", sitat Daniel Craig, og jeg må jo si meg aldeles enig i det. Ikke noe mobbing der, nei. Men, puh, da kan jeg kanskje få lov til å le av de noe komiske, mentale forestillingene av Mr. Blond med flosshatt og digre, mørke solbriller...? Skumpf.
- Vokalisten i Norges Aller Beste Band, Briskeby, det vil altså si Lise Karlsens, skal pryde Vero Modas reklameplakater og -kampanjer for våren '07. Hun blir nå, fullt fortjent, fremstilt som Norges Stilikon Nr. 1 og den faste designeren hennes Nanna Heiberg (som jeg digger) får litt etterlengtet promo og jeg sier bare; HEIA LISE!
- Scissor Sisters skal visstnok besøke Quart-festivalen i år. Jeg vil helst ta del i den moroa. Noen andre som har lyst å bli med? ;)
- OG: hva jeg mener om The Valla+Yssen Catfight, Playboys Kelly Osbourne-nekt (i den rekkefølgen, ja), Mariah Careys Playboy-ja, Idol-Tones nettsjekking, Poshs klesstunts, Celeb Big Brother-skandaler - med mer? Njeee..."Kunne ikke brydd meg mindre", blir liksom ikke helt dekkende. Jeg får sitere Nemi i stedet; "EG GJER FANDEN!" (Ok, men jeg leser fortsatt Se Og Hør, da. Hyklerisk som jeg her. Hihi.)
Who would have known...
[THIS IS MY 100TH POST!!! WOOOHOOOOOO!!! CONGRATULATIONS TO ME; AND MANY HAPPY RETURNS! LALALALALALALA....]
...without artists producing lines like these;
largely inspired by her new album, "I'm not dead"...
"Being like you" - dedicated to P!nk
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et
when what you have become is
but the last remains of your poetic times
and you've traversed the seas
then you shall find yourself waiting, still
when what you have been taught
is transformed into vague reminiscences
and you cherish only subtle moments
then you shall find yourself wanting more
when what you have brought to life
confines itself to a volume none would read
you look no further than to your thumb
then you shall find yourself wishing it's gone
when what you can turn your back on
is a circle, and tomorrow'll promise no twirls
you break your pen and burn your books
but please don't, for
then you shall only find yourself wrathful
the world you make up, is what you make use of,
and what you make out of the rests
the changes you create, though may make you crazy,
are critical to your success
take it with a twist and just screw the scrubs, silly
for you are the only one who
can ever be only like you
...without artists producing lines like these;
And thus, here comes an ode to my favourite contemporary artist,"You talk real loud, but you ain't saying nothing cool,
I could fit your whole house in my swimming pool!"
largely inspired by her new album, "I'm not dead"...
"Being like you" - dedicated to P!nk
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et
when what you have become is
but the last remains of your poetic times
and you've traversed the seas
then you shall find yourself waiting, still
when what you have been taught
is transformed into vague reminiscences
and you cherish only subtle moments
then you shall find yourself wanting more
when what you have brought to life
confines itself to a volume none would read
you look no further than to your thumb
then you shall find yourself wishing it's gone
when what you can turn your back on
is a circle, and tomorrow'll promise no twirls
you break your pen and burn your books
but please don't, for
then you shall only find yourself wrathful
the world you make up, is what you make use of,
and what you make out of the rests
the changes you create, though may make you crazy,
are critical to your success
take it with a twist and just screw the scrubs, silly
for you are the only one who
can ever be only like you
*Lyspære over hodet*
Man er ikke en selvstendig voksen før man har blitt i stand til å fjerne, identifisere, kjøpe og skifte lyspærer. Har jeg funnet ut. Om ikke annet følte jeg meg i allefall ekstremt moden og fornuftig da jeg stod der ved kassen på Safari med den riktige pærepakningen i hånden, og -ansvarsfull som jeg er - umiddelbart tok fatt på å mekke badelamper da jeg kom inn døren hjemme. Men så begynte jeg å tenke. Hvis modenhet, eller i det minste en følelse av sådan, oppnås allerede ved gjennomførelsen slike nokså ubetydelige bagateller - gjør ikke det modenhet i seg selv til en bagatell? (Eller et resultat av en bagatell?) Og når bagatellene er unnagjort og man sitter der i stillheten og badelyset skinner som aldri før, hva skjer da? Hvordan forløper utviklingen videre? Hvordan vil min nye verden, sett med mine nye og modne øyne, fortone seg? Og hva slags påvirkning vil jeg utsettes for gjennom økt modning, etterfølgende ytterligere bagatellmessige, daglige plikter og andre "voksne" handlinger?
Jeg tror ikke modenhet er noe som egentlig oppstår eller skapes i løpet av et sekunds åpenbarelse. Jeg tror ikke nødvendigvis at modenhet er noe man må tilegne seg på et tidspunkt i livet og bør blir straffet for om man ikke behersker. Jeg er av den oppfanting at modningsprossesn er langsom og langvarig, faktisk kan den vare ut alle ens leveår. Og selv etter å ha gjennomgått mange nok lyspærutskiftninger, gjennom å utfordre seg selv på denne måten og teste egen nevenyttighet, teste ut egne kvalifikasjoner, vil man stadig og fortløpende modnes. Man får et annet verdenssyn og verdensbilde; en annen måte å angripe vanskeligheter på. Først var det å skifte sengetøy en utfordring, så mestrer man det, og når man da for eksempel skal gå løs på sying og reparering av nevnte sengetøy, blir dette enklere enn hva det ville vært om man ikke hadde lært seg teknikkene med å skifte og vaske det på forhånd. Simpelthen fordi man da allerede har kommet over bøygen som innebærer å stifte bekjentskap med begrepet/problemet/tålmodighetsprøvelsen populært kalt husarbeid.
Det er bare en tanke. Kanskje en del av en modningsprosess. Og definitivt et resultat ov omgang med husarbeidsmessige trivialiteter.
Jeg tror ikke modenhet er noe som egentlig oppstår eller skapes i løpet av et sekunds åpenbarelse. Jeg tror ikke nødvendigvis at modenhet er noe man må tilegne seg på et tidspunkt i livet og bør blir straffet for om man ikke behersker. Jeg er av den oppfanting at modningsprossesn er langsom og langvarig, faktisk kan den vare ut alle ens leveår. Og selv etter å ha gjennomgått mange nok lyspærutskiftninger, gjennom å utfordre seg selv på denne måten og teste egen nevenyttighet, teste ut egne kvalifikasjoner, vil man stadig og fortløpende modnes. Man får et annet verdenssyn og verdensbilde; en annen måte å angripe vanskeligheter på. Først var det å skifte sengetøy en utfordring, så mestrer man det, og når man da for eksempel skal gå løs på sying og reparering av nevnte sengetøy, blir dette enklere enn hva det ville vært om man ikke hadde lært seg teknikkene med å skifte og vaske det på forhånd. Simpelthen fordi man da allerede har kommet over bøygen som innebærer å stifte bekjentskap med begrepet/problemet/tålmodighetsprøvelsen populært kalt husarbeid.
Det er bare en tanke. Kanskje en del av en modningsprosess. Og definitivt et resultat ov omgang med husarbeidsmessige trivialiteter.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
"Rose..."
...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.
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.
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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)