because greta said i should write…


First off, I would like to say how much I hate labels. I hate labels and people who would judge me for shopping at Dollarama. I tear at them (the people, that is) as I feebly scratch the reluctant sticker and get my nails all gunky. I also hate when you boil water and forget about it and have to drink cold tea. I hate when you actually take the time to make a salad but then the dressing leaks all over your bag. I hate how I have the worst teachers for the subjects I love, and the best ones for those I hate. I hate how my parents don’t even consider what I have to say, but stuff their ears with cotton balls (not really, but that would be funny). I hate how lately I break down every time I try to stand up. It’s really not okay. Oh no, today was not a very pleasant day.

I love how they told us our French teacher was going to be cranky in her pregnancy, but instead we’re laughing more than ever before. I love how somehow some people keep smiling under stress, duress, the rest. I love poetry and writing and words WORDS, even when the teachers (unknowingly) do their best to ruin them. I love oatmeal raisin cookies with coconut, especially when you find a secret, don’t-you-dare-eat-them stash and you eat them anyway. I love girls who aren’t afraid to yell down the hallway. I love people who give money for nothing, and people who do big somethings for no money at all. Thanks to them, today was wonderful, really truly full of wonder.

But I don’t know how I feel about love and hate and all those words in between. My daddy says hate is a strong word and shouldn’t be misused. Well, I say love is a strong word that shouldn’t be abused. So maybe we should salvage all the lost words floating somewhere in between and serve up some meaning for what should’ve been.

P.S. Sorry to be so mopey and melancholy. If you’re interested, get your own mind-numbing t-shirt over here.

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here we go again


What comes from little sleep and a whirring head…something sentimental and sappy, but if nothing else, original.

Here we go again,
The perfect insomnia cocktail:
Never ending nights and musical delights
And you, always you, crawling into my thoughts.

And here come the memories,
From their lyrics, from my words -
The missed conversations and the fascinations,
The wonder and the pain.

Here they will persist,
Always regretting, (but caring and daring too)
Until the sun challenges the moon
And you and your memories are – for one day at least -
lost.

Poem by me, picture by her.

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oh how i hate you, time

This is what I’ve been feeling like lately. Overwhelmed and sad and wanting to hold on to everything wonderful from last year and the year before and all the years before that. Yeah, I’m having a mid-life crisis at sixteen. You don’t need to tell me I’m pathetic.

But at least I can comfort myself by resorting to the ever-refreshing human behaviour of comparing myself to everyone else. (UNBELIEVABLY therapeutic!) Yeah so I’m concerned about my marks…but I’m nowhere near as bad as that girl who stopped me in the hall to hyperventilate about losing two points on a multiple choice quiz. (I walked away in a huff while she gasped for air.) And maybe I’m slightly panicked about where to apply for university and where I’m going to get the money to pay for it all…but at least I won’t consider myself a total failure if I don’t get accepted into Harvard Med. And I guess you could say that I spend more than a healthy amount of time worrying about losing touch with friends I had last year that I simply no longer see…but at least I care. Most of all though, I’m scared of time. Time moving too quickly. Time forcing me forward before I’m ready to move. Time eating up all the simplicity of youth.

As you can see, a stupid amount of melodrama goes on in my mind. Just in case you need more evidence, I found this scribbled in my notebook: “Someday I think I’ll go to Dollarama, buy a cheap clock, and on the way home, smash it heavily with a big, big rock.” Bit much, says you? Lily Allen gets it though, she absolutely does.

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pencil vs. camera

Or, the genius of Ben Heine. Originally, I was going to show you two or three but it was impossible to choose. I wish we were able to do something like this in art class. Well really, I merely wish I had art class. I digress. You can see more of Ben’s awesomeness here.

Also I love this girl. She posts covers of all the best artists (in my opinion) under the name “unaffectedbytheaccepted.” Here’s my current favourite:

 

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go van gogh!

Yes, I will persist with these cheesy titles.

At first my eyes whined (if that’s possible), upset because – no matter what – they couldn’t focus. But then it was magic; the painting was alive! And all thanks to Serena Malyon, a third year art student, and the wonders of Photoshop. By manipulating the light and shifting the focus, a Van Gogh masterpiece became a miniature world. But don’t just drool, do it yourself.


Also, I just can’t resist…take a listen to the amazing Johnny Flynn.
(that’s four n’s!)

 

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tu risa

Take bread away from me, if you wish,
take air away, but
do not take from me your laughter.

Do not take away the rose,
the lance flower that you pluck,
the water that suddenly
bursts forth in joy,
the sudden wave
of silver born in you.

My struggle is harsh and I come back
with eyes tired
at times from having seen
the unchanging earth,
but when your laughter enters
it rises to the sky seeking me
and it opens for me all
the doors of life.

My love, in the darkest
hour your laughter
opens, and if suddenly
you see my blood staining
the stones of the street,
laugh, because your laughter
will be for my hands
like a fresh sword.

Next to the sea in the autumn,
your laughter must raise
its foamy cascade,
and in the spring, love,
I want your laughter like
the flower I was waiting for,
the blue flower, the rose
of my echoing country.

Laugh at the night,
at the day, at the moon,
laugh at the twisted
streets of the island,
laugh at this clumsy
boy who loves you,
but when I open
my eyes and close them,
when my steps go,
when my steps return,
deny me bread, air,
light, spring,
but never your laughter
for I would die.

- translated from the Spanish poem by Pablo Neruda

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slow club

I found this lovely duo while listening over at 8Tracks (check me out!) and I just can’t get enough. I would try and describe them but it’s already been done – all too well.

“Could they be the UK’s answer to The White Stripes? Charles and Rebecca are Slow Club. They hail from Sheffield and are a sort of one man band. Only with two people. He strums guitar and sings and she plays drums and all sorts of weird instruments, like water-filled glass bottles, spoons and the back of a wooden chair. And sometimes an organ called Miles. Not something you get to see and hear every day. The effect is rockabilly and somewhat folksy but thankfully their songs are fairly jolly affairs without a bit of teenage angst in sight.”
[The Independant On Sunday]

“In a city still jam packed with derivative monkey bands, Slow Club stand out. Call them ‘folk’ if you must, but songs such as ‘Sunday’ and future single ‘Me and You’ are so gut-wrenchingly beautiful that the term sells them short. No, singing percussionist Rebecca and guitarist Charles are more than folking troubadours, they’re a musical revelation. Tonight in a jam-packed theatre ‘Sumer’ is pure heart-bursting pop, propelled by odd absurdist chair and table thwacking. Equally brilliant is debut single ‘Because We’re Dead’; imagine Nico playing with Bob Dylan if they were raised in Sheffield. Don’t call this club Slow, call it special.”
[NME Radar Gig Review]

But don’t take their word for it; listen yourself! Here’s a song they did for Bandstand Busking.

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