Yet again I'm surprised by my.. awesomeness xD
Sorry, just had to say it. When you're this good and it even surprises your own self. Ok, I'll stop bragging before someone shoots me.
Sue me for having high self esteem. Come on, I dare you.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Sunday, January 15, 2012
So...
Her obsessing with you is making my missing you seem like it's nothing.
Can this change please?
Can this change please?
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Introduction in 2012
I really can't get my head around the idea that even though you don't do anything at all, some things can just drastically change overnight. You get a phone call or a message, and that's when those around you are nice enough to make you aware of the change. You finish reading or listening, and go on with your life just as before. But it's not quite like that.
They either step out of your life. Or enter brutally without any thought of backing. Or you're faced with a decision that you must make as soon as possible or some opportunity slips away from you.
I've always believed that it's better to regret doing something than wonder aimlessly how it could've been.
On another note, I've started listening to German songs more and more and I think I'm getting addicted! I really like Silbermond and Jennifer Rostock but bands like Sportfreunde Stiller as well!
This is such a silly nice song that I adore to start singing randomly because the lyrics are really kinky, but few people understand German, so I don't get any weird stares when I burst out saying "Du willst mir an die Wasche" XD
Also, I can't wait for Sherlock Holmes episode 3 to come out on BBC this Sunday, though I doubt I can watch it on the livestream since I'm going back to school starting this Monday. No more outings for me (ok, maybe rarely) till July! I'm gonna study like crazy, since 5 months of my life spent exclusively reading and learning stuff won't do me any bad in the end :) You can always party like crazy, but you gotta study when you gotta study.
I hope things will calm down steadily regarding everything and everyone. I don't know how I can keep up with all this stress and craziness going around me. I just want sometimes to lock myself in my room from a month or so with my books and lessons and be left alone so I can be sure I will do well in my exams.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Day 4
4. What will be the last place you will visit?
As weird as it may sound, I think I would go to the cemetery where my father is buried, since I seldom go there, barely once a year. I do not actually believe in afterlife or heaven and hell, so that might be the only chance I might get to commemorate him ever again.
As weird as it may sound, I think I would go to the cemetery where my father is buried, since I seldom go there, barely once a year. I do not actually believe in afterlife or heaven and hell, so that might be the only chance I might get to commemorate him ever again.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
December
The Weekend is an awesome band on whose tracks I wanna have sex constantly.
So 2011 is almost over, can't wait for 2012. A lot of things have happened this year, good and bad. If I were to describe this year, mostly it would be an eventful year with a lot of drama. Apparently I am a magnet for drama. Either that or I'm becoming a drama queen, drama-llama.
Also, this Christmas must have been the most unchristmassy Christmas ever. Didn't even get a tree or decorate the house, barely spent time with the family, out drinking mostly to shoo away thoughts and numb feelings. Whoa, yeah, I think it's the second one, I'm becoming a drama queen. But all in all it wasn't a disaster, just not family warm and reassuring.
On the 25th I went to see Sherlock Holmes 2 at the cinema, had a great time watching it, the cinematic is wonderful and I just love the way Sherlock interacts every time with Watson, they're such a great pair!
Well, darlings, I wish all of you a happy New Year full of happiness and good luck! See you in 2012!
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Let's play a game
What song was at #1 for the week you were born?
1. go to
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/
2. find the song on youtube
3. share it here
Eh, could've been better, but it's good :D
Having the weirdest musical weekend ever: from listening to 2NE1 to listening to Celldweller, Ray Charles and so on and so forth. Winamp on shuffle is amusing.
Went Friday night to one of my friend's band rehearsal. It was fucking awesome. I meant to go to one of these session since last year. Oh, how I regret that only now I went. I'm seeing each of them in a different light, and not in a groupie kind of way. The music they make is wonderful, and I cannot wait for them to release a single or an album. I'll be the first one to buy their music <3
1. go to
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/
2. find the song on youtube
3. share it here
Having the weirdest musical weekend ever: from listening to 2NE1 to listening to Celldweller, Ray Charles and so on and so forth. Winamp on shuffle is amusing.
Went Friday night to one of my friend's band rehearsal. It was fucking awesome. I meant to go to one of these session since last year. Oh, how I regret that only now I went. I'm seeing each of them in a different light, and not in a groupie kind of way. The music they make is wonderful, and I cannot wait for them to release a single or an album. I'll be the first one to buy their music <3
Thursday, December 15, 2011
"The Werewolf" by Angela Carter
"It is a northern country; they have cold weather, they have cold hearts.
Cold; tempest; wild beasts in the forest. It is a hard life. Their houses are built of logs, dark and smoky within. There will be a crude icon of the virgin behind a guttering candle, the leg of a pig hung up to cure, a string of drying mushrooms. A bed, a stool, a table. Harsh, brief, poor lives.
To these upland woodsmen, the Devil is as reals as you or I. More so; they have not seen us nor even know that we exist, but the Devil they glimpse often in the graveyards, those bleak and touching townships of the dead where the graves are marked with portraits of the deceased in the naif style and there are no flowers to put in front of them, no flowers grow there, so they put out small votive offerings, little loaves, sometimes a cake that the bears come lumbering from the margins of the forests to snatch away. At midnight, especially on Walpurgisnacht, the Devil holds picnics in the graveyards and invites the witches; then they dig up fresh corpses, and eat them. Anyone will tell you that.
Wreaths of garlic on the doors keep out the vampires. A blue-eyed child born feet first on the night of St. John's Eve will have second sight. When they discover a witch - some old woman whose cheeses ripen when her neighbours' do not, another old woman whose black cat, oh, sinister! follows her about all the time, they strip the crone, search for her marks, for the supernumerary nipple her familiar sucks. They soon find it. Then they stone her to death.
Winter and cold weather.
Go and visit grandmother, who has been sick. Take her the oatcakes I've baked for her on the hearthstone and a little pot of butter.
The good child does as her mother bids - five miles' trudge through the forest; do not leave the path because of the bears, the wild boar, the starving wolves. Here, take your father's hunting knife; you know how to use it.
The child had a scabbby coat of sheepskin to keep out the cold, she knew the forest too well to fear it but she must always be on her guard. When she heard that freezing howl of a wolf, she dropped her gifts, seized her knife, and turned on the beast.
It was a huge one, with red eyes and running, grizzled chops; any but a mountaineer's child would have died of fright at the sight of it. It went for her throat, as wolves do, but she made a great swipe at it with her father's knife and slashed off its right forepaw.
The wolf let out a gulp, almost a sob, when it saw what had happened to it; wolves are less brave than they seem. It went lolloping off disconsolately between the trees as well as it could on three legs, leaving a trail of blood behind it. The child wiped the blade of her knife clean on her apron, wrapped up the wolf's paw in the cloth in which her mother had packed the oatcakes and went on towards her grandmother's house. Soon it came on to snow so thickly that the path and any footsteps, track or spoor that might have been upon it were obscured.
She found her grandmother was so sick she had taken to her bed and fallen into a fretful sleep, moaning and shaking so that the child guessed she had a fever. She felt the forehead, it burned. She shook out the cloth from her basket, to use it to make the old woman a cold compress, and the wolf's paw fell to the floor.
But it was no longer a wolf's paw. It was a hand, chopped off at the wrist, a hand toughened with work and freckled with old age. There was a wedding ring on the third finger and a wart in the index finger. By the wart, she knew it for her grandmother's hand.
She pulled back the sheet but the old woman woke up, at that, and began to struggle, squawking and shrieking like a thing possessed. But the child was strong, and armed with her father's hunting knife; she managed to hold her grandmother down long enough to see the cause of her fever. There was a bloody stump where her right hand should have been, festering already.
The child crossed herself and cried out so loud the neighbours heard her and come rushing in. They know the wart on the hand at once for a witch's nipple; they drove the old woman, in her shift as she was, out into the snow with sticks, beating her old carcass as far as the edge of the forest, and pelted her with stones until she fell dead.
Now the child lived in her grandmother's house; she prospered. "
I've come across this tiny story-fairytale, and I must say I am deeply impressed by it. Written in the XX century and depicting today's society's needs. What are your first thoughts about it?
Cold; tempest; wild beasts in the forest. It is a hard life. Their houses are built of logs, dark and smoky within. There will be a crude icon of the virgin behind a guttering candle, the leg of a pig hung up to cure, a string of drying mushrooms. A bed, a stool, a table. Harsh, brief, poor lives.
To these upland woodsmen, the Devil is as reals as you or I. More so; they have not seen us nor even know that we exist, but the Devil they glimpse often in the graveyards, those bleak and touching townships of the dead where the graves are marked with portraits of the deceased in the naif style and there are no flowers to put in front of them, no flowers grow there, so they put out small votive offerings, little loaves, sometimes a cake that the bears come lumbering from the margins of the forests to snatch away. At midnight, especially on Walpurgisnacht, the Devil holds picnics in the graveyards and invites the witches; then they dig up fresh corpses, and eat them. Anyone will tell you that.
Wreaths of garlic on the doors keep out the vampires. A blue-eyed child born feet first on the night of St. John's Eve will have second sight. When they discover a witch - some old woman whose cheeses ripen when her neighbours' do not, another old woman whose black cat, oh, sinister! follows her about all the time, they strip the crone, search for her marks, for the supernumerary nipple her familiar sucks. They soon find it. Then they stone her to death.
Winter and cold weather.
Go and visit grandmother, who has been sick. Take her the oatcakes I've baked for her on the hearthstone and a little pot of butter.
The good child does as her mother bids - five miles' trudge through the forest; do not leave the path because of the bears, the wild boar, the starving wolves. Here, take your father's hunting knife; you know how to use it.
The child had a scabbby coat of sheepskin to keep out the cold, she knew the forest too well to fear it but she must always be on her guard. When she heard that freezing howl of a wolf, she dropped her gifts, seized her knife, and turned on the beast.
It was a huge one, with red eyes and running, grizzled chops; any but a mountaineer's child would have died of fright at the sight of it. It went for her throat, as wolves do, but she made a great swipe at it with her father's knife and slashed off its right forepaw.
The wolf let out a gulp, almost a sob, when it saw what had happened to it; wolves are less brave than they seem. It went lolloping off disconsolately between the trees as well as it could on three legs, leaving a trail of blood behind it. The child wiped the blade of her knife clean on her apron, wrapped up the wolf's paw in the cloth in which her mother had packed the oatcakes and went on towards her grandmother's house. Soon it came on to snow so thickly that the path and any footsteps, track or spoor that might have been upon it were obscured.
She found her grandmother was so sick she had taken to her bed and fallen into a fretful sleep, moaning and shaking so that the child guessed she had a fever. She felt the forehead, it burned. She shook out the cloth from her basket, to use it to make the old woman a cold compress, and the wolf's paw fell to the floor.
But it was no longer a wolf's paw. It was a hand, chopped off at the wrist, a hand toughened with work and freckled with old age. There was a wedding ring on the third finger and a wart in the index finger. By the wart, she knew it for her grandmother's hand.
She pulled back the sheet but the old woman woke up, at that, and began to struggle, squawking and shrieking like a thing possessed. But the child was strong, and armed with her father's hunting knife; she managed to hold her grandmother down long enough to see the cause of her fever. There was a bloody stump where her right hand should have been, festering already.
The child crossed herself and cried out so loud the neighbours heard her and come rushing in. They know the wart on the hand at once for a witch's nipple; they drove the old woman, in her shift as she was, out into the snow with sticks, beating her old carcass as far as the edge of the forest, and pelted her with stones until she fell dead.
Now the child lived in her grandmother's house; she prospered. "
I've come across this tiny story-fairytale, and I must say I am deeply impressed by it. Written in the XX century and depicting today's society's needs. What are your first thoughts about it?
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