This is the next installment of the story that is written by many people.
Verity: The day after his dream, Patrick set about applying for an astology course. He'd never been fussed about it before, apart from reading the predictions for his starsign, Gemini Cosgrove, in Robots Healthly Monthly. At the counter, he handed his application form to a bored looking female robot. She looked newly made, with smoothly soldered joins and solidified bubbles on her face, like zits on a human child. She had an organic hand, which was the norm for robots whose systems had partially failed. Even so, Patrick stared at it in facination. He handed over his metal chip to be scanned and debited for his course.
"Where'd you get your hand?" He asked, partly awestruck, partly disgusted.
"Down the med-centre", drawled the girl, picking at a metal zit, "You want one? Only fifteen hudred credits, plus money back and a free replacment if the first one is faulty",
"Thanks for the info. but i think i will pass." Patrick took his chip back and made his way over to a male robot with flared legs and a piston balanced on the top of his head. Patrick collected some brochers from the robot on planetary movement and star formations, and sally forthed to find some accomodation.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Today is my 16th birthday. It started by watching last nights 'Live at Abbey Road', which was good, becasue it had James Morrison, the man i am going to marry in future days to come. No idea who the other American Matthews guy was though. I opened presents from family and friends, and very nice they were too, and then headed off out to Essentials to have all my hair cut off and blonded. I am v. pleased with it - a number of people have commented on how much i look like my mums twin sister though! Not sure if thats good or bad! We then headed of to Victoria Station and went to see Billy Eliot, the musical, which i have to say, was pretty amazing, it almost beats The Lion King. Actually, it would beat the Lion King if it wasn't for the uncomfortable language used when your 9 year old brother is sitting next to you. The language in general, was not pleasant, it was worse than the film. But anyway, the acting was good, and it seemed to make a strong inpact on the stranger sitting next to me - he did cry in two parts. But, i cant really talk because my eyes filled up, and my brother looked like some one had just died, he was sobbing so hard. But surely that is the sign of a really good show?
We had chips at the station, and i managed to keep up with thw record of how fast i can spend my birthday money after i get it. Although, it could of been worse - i bought two books, that i will look forward to reading but will not read yet, cause i am in the middle of another one. We then had Chinese later this evening - crispy duck pancakes are my favourate!
Anyway, i must go, becasue i am the only one not asleep in the house, and my leg has gone dead from sitting on it!
We had chips at the station, and i managed to keep up with thw record of how fast i can spend my birthday money after i get it. Although, it could of been worse - i bought two books, that i will look forward to reading but will not read yet, cause i am in the middle of another one. We then had Chinese later this evening - crispy duck pancakes are my favourate!
Anyway, i must go, becasue i am the only one not asleep in the house, and my leg has gone dead from sitting on it!
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
This is a story, in which each paragraph is written by different people. It's quite dodgy in areas, but i will not apologise for it, because i only wrote a paragraph.
Beth (me): Once upon a time, there lived a man named Englebert, whos unfortunate name cost him his first girlfriend, and in the future, his first wife. The metallic bonding of his head was soon to be melted by the robot squad - they had a tendency to be slightly evil. Being a robot had unfortunate disadvantages. Englebert was never considered a real man, and therefore, never got to perform his duties in the Food Discussion group. Eating was his life long ambition, however, he often suffered from bad bouts of constipation combined with insomnia - both of these together took there toll on Englebert, and he resorted to living in the carribean. He wanted to meet more girls in more bikinis.
Mark: After eight children and endless amounts of lovers, and still lonely, Englebert decided to strive for a more fulfilling lifestyle. He moved from the Carribean, dropped his raster tendencies and sold his home grown (finest) dope. He thought that to suceed he must become a citizen that respected law and order. He changed his name to Patrick and set up a business in Bracknell. All was not as it first appeared however, certain underground 'set-ups' soon led poor Patrick astray in endulgences such as prostitution, and illegal kite-flying left him bankrupt with his business in tatters. His house (which he built illegally in a park) soon got knocked down and having to resort to eating from bins, Patrick decided again to change some things about his miserable life which he was now, quite unfortunately, leading.
Elly: After a year of all this hoopla, one of his many children (called Engleburt 2nd) turned up on his non-existant door step and asked if he had a cup of sugar. The newly named Patrick refused to give his son any sugar on acount of the fact that he didn't have any. He offered to rummage through one of Bracknell's finest litter bins in the most prestigeous park in the whole of the estate but his son said that it really was ok, and started on a journey of 150 miles back to his home country of Wallop Gallop.
Steph: The journey took seven days a nights as he trekked with a limp in both hand a foot. The dusty, bleak road made him hunger for a bushel of apples and thirst for anything but camomile tea, for that was a flavour he promised his body he would never swallow again. Sometimes, in the dead of night, he would hear the fleeting coo of his long lost love, Dorris, begging him to return to her. He could still see her loving face, her smile lit up by the deep orange of her cigarrete: still smell her perfect aroma of smoke and Eau D'avion. Alas, he knew it was mere exhaustion and dehydration. He simply wished his sleep would grant him sweet surrender from reality. And so he slept.
Lucy: Meanwhile, in a bed now far far away, Patrick was a-sleeping next to a dead-to-the-world (sleepy) prostitute. And so it came to him a dream - far stranger than before - a dream to change his ways. And this was no drug-induced hallucination! The creature of Ohm came to him in the form of a tortoise, thirsty for the belief of the masses. And he said unto Patrick:
"Alo thar. Ah can see that you've not gawt much ta dew - so i thawt ah'd teach you aboot stars. Stay away from the black holes or you'll be spaghettifeyed. And studeh the stars - they'll tell ya awl ya need for yer life ahood."
And then in an instant, her was gone.
To be continued...
Beth (me): Once upon a time, there lived a man named Englebert, whos unfortunate name cost him his first girlfriend, and in the future, his first wife. The metallic bonding of his head was soon to be melted by the robot squad - they had a tendency to be slightly evil. Being a robot had unfortunate disadvantages. Englebert was never considered a real man, and therefore, never got to perform his duties in the Food Discussion group. Eating was his life long ambition, however, he often suffered from bad bouts of constipation combined with insomnia - both of these together took there toll on Englebert, and he resorted to living in the carribean. He wanted to meet more girls in more bikinis.
Mark: After eight children and endless amounts of lovers, and still lonely, Englebert decided to strive for a more fulfilling lifestyle. He moved from the Carribean, dropped his raster tendencies and sold his home grown (finest) dope. He thought that to suceed he must become a citizen that respected law and order. He changed his name to Patrick and set up a business in Bracknell. All was not as it first appeared however, certain underground 'set-ups' soon led poor Patrick astray in endulgences such as prostitution, and illegal kite-flying left him bankrupt with his business in tatters. His house (which he built illegally in a park) soon got knocked down and having to resort to eating from bins, Patrick decided again to change some things about his miserable life which he was now, quite unfortunately, leading.
Elly: After a year of all this hoopla, one of his many children (called Engleburt 2nd) turned up on his non-existant door step and asked if he had a cup of sugar. The newly named Patrick refused to give his son any sugar on acount of the fact that he didn't have any. He offered to rummage through one of Bracknell's finest litter bins in the most prestigeous park in the whole of the estate but his son said that it really was ok, and started on a journey of 150 miles back to his home country of Wallop Gallop.
Steph: The journey took seven days a nights as he trekked with a limp in both hand a foot. The dusty, bleak road made him hunger for a bushel of apples and thirst for anything but camomile tea, for that was a flavour he promised his body he would never swallow again. Sometimes, in the dead of night, he would hear the fleeting coo of his long lost love, Dorris, begging him to return to her. He could still see her loving face, her smile lit up by the deep orange of her cigarrete: still smell her perfect aroma of smoke and Eau D'avion. Alas, he knew it was mere exhaustion and dehydration. He simply wished his sleep would grant him sweet surrender from reality. And so he slept.
Lucy: Meanwhile, in a bed now far far away, Patrick was a-sleeping next to a dead-to-the-world (sleepy) prostitute. And so it came to him a dream - far stranger than before - a dream to change his ways. And this was no drug-induced hallucination! The creature of Ohm came to him in the form of a tortoise, thirsty for the belief of the masses. And he said unto Patrick:
"Alo thar. Ah can see that you've not gawt much ta dew - so i thawt ah'd teach you aboot stars. Stay away from the black holes or you'll be spaghettifeyed. And studeh the stars - they'll tell ya awl ya need for yer life ahood."
And then in an instant, her was gone.
To be continued...
Okay, lets look at some rather grainy videos, from the vastness of Youtube:
Russians by Sting has allways been a favourate song of mine, but i was recently looking into it a bit more, after having just finnished the study of the Cold War (which, by the way, i have enjoyed A LOT) . I have also just started my GCSE art exam, and the theme of it it 'Time' - i researched the doomsday clock a little, and found it at the beggining and the end of this video. Its amazing how close to nuclear war we actually were - the Doomsday clock was set to something stupid like 3 minutes to midnight. It's quite scary when you think about it really, people thought that this would destroy the earth!
Anyway, it's an alright video. I have to say that the floating heads are slightly sereal.
Russians by Sting has allways been a favourate song of mine, but i was recently looking into it a bit more, after having just finnished the study of the Cold War (which, by the way, i have enjoyed A LOT) . I have also just started my GCSE art exam, and the theme of it it 'Time' - i researched the doomsday clock a little, and found it at the beggining and the end of this video. Its amazing how close to nuclear war we actually were - the Doomsday clock was set to something stupid like 3 minutes to midnight. It's quite scary when you think about it really, people thought that this would destroy the earth!
Anyway, it's an alright video. I have to say that the floating heads are slightly sereal.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
HERE ARE THE RULES:
1. Grab the book closest to you.
2. Open to page 123; go down to the fourth sentence.
3. Post the text of the following three sentences.
4. Name the author and book title.
'"Don't know?"
"No, I don't know. I never see any difference in boys. I only know two sorts of boys. Mealy boys, and beef-faced boys."
"And which is Oliver?"
"Mealy. I know a friend who has a beef-faced boy; a fine boy, they call him; with a round head, and red cheeks, and glaring eyes; a horrid boy; with a body and limbs that appear to be swelling out of the seams of his blue clothes; with the voice of a pilot, and the appetite of a wolf. I know him! The wretch!"'
Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist.
1. Grab the book closest to you.
2. Open to page 123; go down to the fourth sentence.
3. Post the text of the following three sentences.
4. Name the author and book title.
'"Don't know?"
"No, I don't know. I never see any difference in boys. I only know two sorts of boys. Mealy boys, and beef-faced boys."
"And which is Oliver?"
"Mealy. I know a friend who has a beef-faced boy; a fine boy, they call him; with a round head, and red cheeks, and glaring eyes; a horrid boy; with a body and limbs that appear to be swelling out of the seams of his blue clothes; with the voice of a pilot, and the appetite of a wolf. I know him! The wretch!"'
Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist.
Monday, February 12, 2007
THE POLICE ARE BACK!
WOW! I am so excited. Not only do we have tickets to see Genesis in Manchester in the summer, but now the Police are touring this year aswel! Hehe! WOW, I would LOVE to see them, that would be amazing. Two of my fave bands I thought would never be seen on tour again, are back! I bet the tickets will go extremely quick, so if anyone wants to buy me a rather generous birthday present, Police tickets wouldn't go a miss.
WOW! I am so excited. Not only do we have tickets to see Genesis in Manchester in the summer, but now the Police are touring this year aswel! Hehe! WOW, I would LOVE to see them, that would be amazing. Two of my fave bands I thought would never be seen on tour again, are back! I bet the tickets will go extremely quick, so if anyone wants to buy me a rather generous birthday present, Police tickets wouldn't go a miss.
Friday, February 09, 2007
It's amazing how many people believe that Elvis Presley is still allive. There is an actually a religion and everything. SO strange. I read an article about how this guy thought he had seen him in a unrinal in Florida or somewhere. 'Elvis' denied that he was in fact Elvis Presley, but the witness thought he was joking and assumed that he was being sarcastic when he said his name was Ted. That must be a joke, right? The guy was really serious, and sent in his picture and everything!
'Moon S. Duepre, a former railroad track walker, was looking for root berries in a field outside the town of Midlothian when he spied a man he was certain was Elvis stepping into an abandoned old schoolhouse. "I know it was him, because he had a cape on and white satin pants with bell bottoms and lots of them spangle things that catch the sun and glitter sewed onto them pants," said Duepre. When he approached the building Duepre said he heard "a voice humming the strains of that Hunka Hunka Love song. There was no mistaking that voice. It was Elvis's sound. I went in the door real fast and surprised Elvis. He said he had just gone in there to find some momentary relief and asked me to respect his privacy. I told him I surely would because I truly had respect for him and his kind. He said he appreciated that and to thank me I could pick up a new Cadillac automobile at the Midlothian dealership, which I did the next day and put 214,000 miles on it before it quit on me.'
MAD, i tell you, MAD!
'Moon S. Duepre, a former railroad track walker, was looking for root berries in a field outside the town of Midlothian when he spied a man he was certain was Elvis stepping into an abandoned old schoolhouse. "I know it was him, because he had a cape on and white satin pants with bell bottoms and lots of them spangle things that catch the sun and glitter sewed onto them pants," said Duepre. When he approached the building Duepre said he heard "a voice humming the strains of that Hunka Hunka Love song. There was no mistaking that voice. It was Elvis's sound. I went in the door real fast and surprised Elvis. He said he had just gone in there to find some momentary relief and asked me to respect his privacy. I told him I surely would because I truly had respect for him and his kind. He said he appreciated that and to thank me I could pick up a new Cadillac automobile at the Midlothian dealership, which I did the next day and put 214,000 miles on it before it quit on me.'
MAD, i tell you, MAD!
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Well, on this day, in 1984, NASA astranaut Bruce McCandless performed the first untethered spacewalk using a Manned Manuevering Unit (what ever that is!) Mmmm, how interesting.
Did you also know that on the 17th of March, 1845, the rubber band was invented. Thats my birthday.
President Eisenhower signed a National Security Council directive on the anti-Cuban covert action program which lead to the Bay of Pig invasion, also on my birthday. The Cold War is allways interesting. (In 1960, by the way).
Serial killer Richard Ramirez, the "Night Stalker", commits his first two murders in Los Angeles, California murder spree. Also on my birthday.
I share my birthday with Nat King Cole ans Justin Hawkins. How cool. YOUR REALLY GROWING ON MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
Did you also know that on the 17th of March, 1845, the rubber band was invented. Thats my birthday.
President Eisenhower signed a National Security Council directive on the anti-Cuban covert action program which lead to the Bay of Pig invasion, also on my birthday. The Cold War is allways interesting. (In 1960, by the way).
Serial killer Richard Ramirez, the "Night Stalker", commits his first two murders in Los Angeles, California murder spree. Also on my birthday.
I share my birthday with Nat King Cole ans Justin Hawkins. How cool. YOUR REALLY GROWING ON MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
According to http://www.secondhandsongs.com. here are the most covered songs in history. I was actually quite suprised by these stats, cause i have only ever heard Elinor Rigby done by the beatles - maybe i am missing out. Plus, i am very suprised that Dylan's 'The Times they are A-Changing' isnt in there aswell. Casue i have that by four people on my ipod alone - including Nina Simone - that is a good-ish cover.
Anyway, each artist is followed by the amount of times the song has been officially covered. But im not sure, these stats dont look right to me!
oH YEAH! And! I thought that 'Ring of Fire' was written by June Carter. ? She wrote it for JC. I thought that anyway. I need to research this. Maybe Her sister covered it first!
1
Eleanor Rigby
The Beatles
119
2
Cry Me a River
Julie London
113
3
Yesterday
The Beatles
97
4
And I Love Her
The Beatles
89
5
(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction
The Rolling Stones
86
6
Blackbird
The Beatles
80
7
Imagine
John Lennon
79
8
Crazy
Patsy Cline
73
9
Summertime
Abbie Mitchell
62
10
What's Going On
Marvin Gaye
61
11
Not Fade Away
The Crickets
61
12
Silent Night
59
13
Come Together
The Beatles
59
14
Michelle
The Beatles
55
15
Oh Lonesome Me
Don Gibson
50
16
A Hard Day's Night
The Beatles
50
17
The Christmas Song
Nat King Cole Trio
49
18
Hey Jude
The Beatles
48
19
Let It Be
The Beatles
47
20
Light My Fire
The Doors
47
21
White Christmas
Bing Crosby & Martha Mears
47
22
Break My Mind
George Hamilton IV
46
23
Here, There and Everywhere
The Beatles
46
24
Over the Rainbow
Judy Garland
46
25
Can't Buy Me Love
The Beatles
46
26
The Look of Love
Dusty Springfield
46
27
You Really Got Me
The Kinks
45
28
Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas
Judy Garland
44
29
Cold Cold Heart
Hank Williams Sr.
44
30
The Fool on the Hill
The Beatles
44
31
Ring of Fire
Anita Carter
43
32
All My Loving
The Beatles
42
33
Day Tripper
The Beatles
41
34
Trouble in Mind
Bertha "Chippie" Hill
41
35
I Wanna Be Your Dog
The Stooges
40
36
I Can't Stop Loving You
Don Gibson
40
37
Norwegian Wood
The Beatles
40
38
Unchained Melody
Todd Duncan
40
39
This Guy's in Love With You
Herb Alpert & The Tijuana Brass
39
40
She Loves You
The Beatles
39
41
Something
The Beatles
39
42
You've Got to Hide Your Love Away
The Beatles
39
43
Your cheatin' Heart
Hank Williams Sr.
39
44
My Funny Valentine
Mitzi Green
38
45
Fair Margaret and Sweet William
37
46
I Want to Hold Your Hand
The Beatles
37
47
I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry
Hank Williams Sr.
37
48
Ain't No Sunshine
Bill Withers
37
49
Winter Wonderland
Richard Himber & His Orchestra
36
50
O, Holy Night
36
51
I Can't Help It (If I'm Still in Love With You)
Hank Williams Sr.
36
52
What'd I Say - Part I
Ray Charles
36
53
Wichita Lineman
Glen Campbell
35
54
While My Guitar Gently Weeps
The Beatles
35
55
Drift Away
John Henry Kurtz
35
56
Tennessee Waltz
Pee Wee King & his Golden Cowboys
35
57
With a Little Help From My Friends
The Beatles
34
58
Hey Joe, Where Are You Going
The Leaves
34
59
Jambalaya
Hank Williams Sr.
34
60
Fever
Little Willie John
34
61
Paint It, Black
The Rolling Stones
34
62
For All We Know
Morton Downey
34
63
In Other Words
Felicia Sanders
34
64
Hoochie Coochie Man
Muddy Waters
33
65
The Long and Winding Road
The Beatles
33
66
I'll Be Home for Christmas
Bing Crosby
32
67
Son of a Preacher Man
Dusty Springfield
32
68
Bridge Over Troubled Water
Simon and Garfunkel
32
69
Little Drummer Boy
Harry Simeone Corale
32
70
Mercy, Mercy, Mercy
The Cannonball Adderley Quintet
31
71
Moon River
Henry Mancini His Orchestra and Chorus
30
72
The Rising Sun Blues
30
73
Amazing Grace
30
74
By the Time I Get to Phoenix
Johnny Rivers
30
75
Masters of War
Bob Dylan
30
76
Sunny
Mieki Hirhuto
29
77
Blowin' in the Wind
Bob Dylan
29
78
In My Life
The Beatles
29
79
You Win Again
Hank Williams Sr.
29
80
Wabash Cannonball
The Carter Family
28
81
Killing Me Softly With His Song
Lori Lieberman
28
82
Land of 1000 Dances
Chris Kenner
28
83
Inner City Blues (Makes Me Wanna Holler)
Marvin Gaye
28
84
Baby Please Don't Go
Big Joe Williams
27
85
Georgia on My Mind
Hoagy Carmichael
27
86
Santa Claus Is Coming to Town
Eddie Cantor
27
87
Get Out Of My Life Woman
Lee Dorsey
27
88
Don't Think Twice, It's All Right
Bob Dylan
26
89
Tobacco Road
John D. Loudermilk
26
90
Let It Be Me
Jill Corey
26
91
The Shadow of Your Smile
Johnny Mandel
26
92
96 Tears
? and the Mysterians
26
93
Here Comes the Sun
The Beatles
26
94
Love Will Tear Us Apart
Joy Division
26
95
I Saw Her Standing There
The Beatles
25
96
Blitzkrieg Bop
The Ramones
25
97
Hey, Good Lookin'
Hank Williams Sr.
25
98
Four Walls
Jim Reeves
25
99
Silver Bells
Bob Hope & Marilyn Maxwell
25
100
You Don't Know Me
Eddy Arnold
25
Anyway, each artist is followed by the amount of times the song has been officially covered. But im not sure, these stats dont look right to me!
oH YEAH! And! I thought that 'Ring of Fire' was written by June Carter. ? She wrote it for JC. I thought that anyway. I need to research this. Maybe Her sister covered it first!
1
Eleanor Rigby
The Beatles
119
2
Cry Me a River
Julie London
113
3
Yesterday
The Beatles
97
4
And I Love Her
The Beatles
89
5
(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction
The Rolling Stones
86
6
Blackbird
The Beatles
80
7
Imagine
John Lennon
79
8
Crazy
Patsy Cline
73
9
Summertime
Abbie Mitchell
62
10
What's Going On
Marvin Gaye
61
11
Not Fade Away
The Crickets
61
12
Silent Night
59
13
Come Together
The Beatles
59
14
Michelle
The Beatles
55
15
Oh Lonesome Me
Don Gibson
50
16
A Hard Day's Night
The Beatles
50
17
The Christmas Song
Nat King Cole Trio
49
18
Hey Jude
The Beatles
48
19
Let It Be
The Beatles
47
20
Light My Fire
The Doors
47
21
White Christmas
Bing Crosby & Martha Mears
47
22
Break My Mind
George Hamilton IV
46
23
Here, There and Everywhere
The Beatles
46
24
Over the Rainbow
Judy Garland
46
25
Can't Buy Me Love
The Beatles
46
26
The Look of Love
Dusty Springfield
46
27
You Really Got Me
The Kinks
45
28
Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas
Judy Garland
44
29
Cold Cold Heart
Hank Williams Sr.
44
30
The Fool on the Hill
The Beatles
44
31
Ring of Fire
Anita Carter
43
32
All My Loving
The Beatles
42
33
Day Tripper
The Beatles
41
34
Trouble in Mind
Bertha "Chippie" Hill
41
35
I Wanna Be Your Dog
The Stooges
40
36
I Can't Stop Loving You
Don Gibson
40
37
Norwegian Wood
The Beatles
40
38
Unchained Melody
Todd Duncan
40
39
This Guy's in Love With You
Herb Alpert & The Tijuana Brass
39
40
She Loves You
The Beatles
39
41
Something
The Beatles
39
42
You've Got to Hide Your Love Away
The Beatles
39
43
Your cheatin' Heart
Hank Williams Sr.
39
44
My Funny Valentine
Mitzi Green
38
45
Fair Margaret and Sweet William
37
46
I Want to Hold Your Hand
The Beatles
37
47
I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry
Hank Williams Sr.
37
48
Ain't No Sunshine
Bill Withers
37
49
Winter Wonderland
Richard Himber & His Orchestra
36
50
O, Holy Night
36
51
I Can't Help It (If I'm Still in Love With You)
Hank Williams Sr.
36
52
What'd I Say - Part I
Ray Charles
36
53
Wichita Lineman
Glen Campbell
35
54
While My Guitar Gently Weeps
The Beatles
35
55
Drift Away
John Henry Kurtz
35
56
Tennessee Waltz
Pee Wee King & his Golden Cowboys
35
57
With a Little Help From My Friends
The Beatles
34
58
Hey Joe, Where Are You Going
The Leaves
34
59
Jambalaya
Hank Williams Sr.
34
60
Fever
Little Willie John
34
61
Paint It, Black
The Rolling Stones
34
62
For All We Know
Morton Downey
34
63
In Other Words
Felicia Sanders
34
64
Hoochie Coochie Man
Muddy Waters
33
65
The Long and Winding Road
The Beatles
33
66
I'll Be Home for Christmas
Bing Crosby
32
67
Son of a Preacher Man
Dusty Springfield
32
68
Bridge Over Troubled Water
Simon and Garfunkel
32
69
Little Drummer Boy
Harry Simeone Corale
32
70
Mercy, Mercy, Mercy
The Cannonball Adderley Quintet
31
71
Moon River
Henry Mancini His Orchestra and Chorus
30
72
The Rising Sun Blues
30
73
Amazing Grace
30
74
By the Time I Get to Phoenix
Johnny Rivers
30
75
Masters of War
Bob Dylan
30
76
Sunny
Mieki Hirhuto
29
77
Blowin' in the Wind
Bob Dylan
29
78
In My Life
The Beatles
29
79
You Win Again
Hank Williams Sr.
29
80
Wabash Cannonball
The Carter Family
28
81
Killing Me Softly With His Song
Lori Lieberman
28
82
Land of 1000 Dances
Chris Kenner
28
83
Inner City Blues (Makes Me Wanna Holler)
Marvin Gaye
28
84
Baby Please Don't Go
Big Joe Williams
27
85
Georgia on My Mind
Hoagy Carmichael
27
86
Santa Claus Is Coming to Town
Eddie Cantor
27
87
Get Out Of My Life Woman
Lee Dorsey
27
88
Don't Think Twice, It's All Right
Bob Dylan
26
89
Tobacco Road
John D. Loudermilk
26
90
Let It Be Me
Jill Corey
26
91
The Shadow of Your Smile
Johnny Mandel
26
92
96 Tears
? and the Mysterians
26
93
Here Comes the Sun
The Beatles
26
94
Love Will Tear Us Apart
Joy Division
26
95
I Saw Her Standing There
The Beatles
25
96
Blitzkrieg Bop
The Ramones
25
97
Hey, Good Lookin'
Hank Williams Sr.
25
98
Four Walls
Jim Reeves
25
99
Silver Bells
Bob Hope & Marilyn Maxwell
25
100
You Don't Know Me
Eddy Arnold
25
Saturday, January 27, 2007
My creative writing
Children of the Revolution
Once there lived a French revolutionary by the name of Luca. He was a short man. However, what he lacked in height he did not lack in character. He was a dressmaker by trade and he never failed to display that in his own incongruous attire. He was a man of great passion, he showed enthusiasm in everything he did and was not ashamed of his French accent – it was his trademark. His shop was surrounded by a series of cafés and coffeehouses that attracted many dancers who needed costumes made to order. Luca’s costumes were a treat for the eye; buyers described them as a form of art. Therefore, he never found himself without work - he was a busy man but preferred to live that way. Luca was not a rich man, in fact he believed that money could only bring doubt to one’s mind. Nonetheless, he did not deny that he could make more money if he wanted to. The people watched him work through the night and said it was aging him, but he was the sort of man who did not regret even a second of his life – he would describe his life as beautiful, and would tell passing customers that it was his pleasure to serve them. But to Luca’s annoyance, some of his more frequent customers decided that it was in fact the opium, and The Green Fairy, that were aging him.
As a young man, Luca was very quickly absorbed into the bohemian culture he had somehow longed for before it was even established – it fitted him fine. He believed in everything bohemianism stood for: truths, beauty, freedom, but, above all else, love. Although every acquaintance of the man could tell you this, only a few of his close friends had recognised the gaping gorge in his own principles. How could a young man, and now an aging man, call himself a bohemian when he missed the vital ingredient at the very soul of bohemianism itself? He had never experienced the greatest thing of all - to love and be loved in return. Luca had not denied the fact that he had never experienced such pure bohemianism; paradoxically, it was the only thing he had ever wished for.
On one particular Friday afternoon, Luca was busying himself by stitching extra buttons on a Can Can skirt. He had not been asked to, but the skirt was for a particular customer he had always been rather fond of – the buttons were a perfect match - he could not resist. It was at that exact time when a very young, beautiful dancer entered his shop; the beautiful dancer must have been no older than eighteen years. He had never seen her face before, but Luca welcomed her with his usual greeting, nothing more, nothing less. It struck Luca that she was dressed immaculately; her face was pale and her lips were a deep red. She spoke with a strong French accent, and she was polite. Luca thought she must be a new dancer in the area, because she was not weighed down by distracting thoughts; she smiled with a novelty dancers only possessed for a month into their work. They had got talking and not before long she had ordered a whole outfit. While Luca was writing down her order, she explained to him that she was in love. Luca admired the beautiful dancer for telling him this – he told her she was a true bohemian, he told her that she should always be grateful for what life had brought her. He told her that her outfit would be ready in two weeks’ time – she could come and pick it up then. She walked to the door and said goodbye elegantly. She paused before she left, and voiced the calm, well pronounced words, “It is beautiful: is it not, love?” Luca smiled and replied, “Yes, Mademoiselle, it is beautiful.”
Two weeks went by very quickly for Luca, and he worked extra hard to produce an outfit that would be perfect enough to be worn by the beautiful dancer. He wanted to make sure that there was not even the slightest stitch out of place. Still, Friday came and there was no beautiful dancer. Luca reassured himself that maybe she had an extra rehearsal; maybe she was too busy to pick up her outfit. He put it to one side, and labelled it with a very small piece of tissue paper. He wrote: the woman who talked of love.
Another three weeks went by and the beautiful dancer neither made an appearance nor sent any message as to why she had not been to collect her outfit – Luca was surprised by this, but decided that an outfit was just an outfit – outfits brought in money. He took the label off the outfit, screwed it up, and threw it in the bin without bitterness. He sold the outfit to a stern, wealthy woman who was not in love but paid a good amount for the perfect dress.
************
Two years passed, and Luca’s dressmaking was flourishing more than ever. The young beautiful dancer never returned to his shop. However, Luca thought of her often, and hoped that she was safe and still very much in love. He did not worry himself though; Luca told his customers he was too busy to worry himself over such non-existent things. He had made many more outfits that were as perfect as the one he had made for the beautiful dancer, and he was proud of his work. As Luca found himself with less and less time to think, he knew that any time he did get spare should not be taken for granted. Therefore, he dedicated this time to listening to his own thoughts on truths, beauty, freedom, but above all else, love. He was still happy with his life, but, for a reason he did not know, looked forward to the day when he would look upon the face of that beautiful dancer again.
It was again a Friday afternoon when her familiar face stumbled through the door at the very peak of winter. Luca only recognised her when she began to speak, but even this was not clear - she was slurring. He looked at the dancer and did not say anything; he thought that her hair was windswept, and her face was red and tired. He saw that she was not walking as elegantly as she had done the last time they met. She came up to the front desk in the shop and declared rather loudly that she had come to pick up her outfit. Luca explained, with hesitation, that he had sold it when he thought that she was not coming back to collect it. The dancer came closer to Luca and he could smell The Green Fairy on her breath, he could see the tear marks down her face. He felt sorry for her but he was angry with her also; Luca was not used to feeling that angry, it was a feeling bohemianism opposed. She had lost everything that he had admired in her and found himself impatient, “Are you not still in love? What is wrong with you? You said it was beautiful, and I agreed with you!” She laughed sarcastically at his question. “Of course I am still in love. Love makes us act like we are fools! It doesn’t change the attachments in our lives, the bad things that happen. It only makes the pain worse.” Luca looked at her with a questioning gaze and asked, “Then why are you so distressed? Why do you drink so much you can’t walk properly?” She remarked with no hesitance,
“Because that is what I do. You can not go on declaring life as beautiful when you know very well it is not. This is what bohemianism is! Do you not see? The Children of the Revolution! That’s what we are! That is what we are.” Almost out of breath, she dropped her bag on the floor and collapsed to retrieve it. Luca frowned involuntarily at the dancer. He was confused as to why she was so angry. He didn’t like the way she spoke – it made him uncomfortable. With her face down and her hair shrouding it, Luca could only just see the tears running rapidly down her face – she was distraught; she was lost and defenceless, and Luca couldn’t quite comprehend this. She had not lived up to his expectations. He paused to think for a few seconds, not quite knowing how to respond to the dancer on the cold floor of his dressmaker’s shop. Then he helped her up, taking her cold, dry hands into his own and supporting her. She looked at him and said, “So, you do not have my dress? Then I will be on my way.” She pulled away from Luca with her head down and made her way to the door silently and aware of her own vulnerability. Luca did not want her to go in such an unpronounced way: “Mademoiselle, you do not have to dance tonight, you are not fit to.” The dancer looked at him like a child who had not yet lost his innocence, “Do not be a fool, Luca. Of course I have to dance tonight.” She left the shop and Luca did not move from his position for a minute or so.
************
Eight years passed and Luca had aged enormously. He had been told that he would have to walk with a stick soon, and he might even have to give up his shop. To this, as everyone expected, Luca refused flatly. He simply went on with his life as he had done when he was young, although he found himself sitting down more often and getting out of breath frequently. But it did not worry him - he had never believed in worrying. He was now the only dressmaker in the whole village – all the others had gone out of business. Luca had beaten them all and he had done it with no spitefulness at all. He was now even happier with his outfits, and while many said his body was failing him, he had never lost his eyesight – he always knew what he was doing. Luca never thought about the dancer that came to see him; it had been a long time and he had forgotten her, so when she walked through the door one last time he did not identify her. She wore nothing but black, and had a netted veil over her face as if she were mourning. She had aged significantly. However, she still spoke with the same well pronounced words as she always had. To Luca she was just another dancer that needed another outfit quickly, and when she did order the outfit Luca was sure he recognised the dress she was describing – but maybe it was just a coincidence. Luca had made a lot of outfits in his time, and it was impossible for him not to have made any dress more than once. Luca could see that she was sad and assumed that she was in mourning. Just before she left the shop for the very last time, Luca, feeling he had to say something to comfort the woman said, “Mademoiselle, you do not look happy. You do not have to dance tonight.” The dancer was quiet when she spoke the words, “Do not be a fool, Luca. Of course I have to dance tonight. I always have to dance,” she left his shop and Luca paused for a moment. He felt a definite familiarity. But Luca was too busy to worry himself any longer - there was work to be done.
Children of the Revolution
Once there lived a French revolutionary by the name of Luca. He was a short man. However, what he lacked in height he did not lack in character. He was a dressmaker by trade and he never failed to display that in his own incongruous attire. He was a man of great passion, he showed enthusiasm in everything he did and was not ashamed of his French accent – it was his trademark. His shop was surrounded by a series of cafés and coffeehouses that attracted many dancers who needed costumes made to order. Luca’s costumes were a treat for the eye; buyers described them as a form of art. Therefore, he never found himself without work - he was a busy man but preferred to live that way. Luca was not a rich man, in fact he believed that money could only bring doubt to one’s mind. Nonetheless, he did not deny that he could make more money if he wanted to. The people watched him work through the night and said it was aging him, but he was the sort of man who did not regret even a second of his life – he would describe his life as beautiful, and would tell passing customers that it was his pleasure to serve them. But to Luca’s annoyance, some of his more frequent customers decided that it was in fact the opium, and The Green Fairy, that were aging him.
As a young man, Luca was very quickly absorbed into the bohemian culture he had somehow longed for before it was even established – it fitted him fine. He believed in everything bohemianism stood for: truths, beauty, freedom, but, above all else, love. Although every acquaintance of the man could tell you this, only a few of his close friends had recognised the gaping gorge in his own principles. How could a young man, and now an aging man, call himself a bohemian when he missed the vital ingredient at the very soul of bohemianism itself? He had never experienced the greatest thing of all - to love and be loved in return. Luca had not denied the fact that he had never experienced such pure bohemianism; paradoxically, it was the only thing he had ever wished for.
On one particular Friday afternoon, Luca was busying himself by stitching extra buttons on a Can Can skirt. He had not been asked to, but the skirt was for a particular customer he had always been rather fond of – the buttons were a perfect match - he could not resist. It was at that exact time when a very young, beautiful dancer entered his shop; the beautiful dancer must have been no older than eighteen years. He had never seen her face before, but Luca welcomed her with his usual greeting, nothing more, nothing less. It struck Luca that she was dressed immaculately; her face was pale and her lips were a deep red. She spoke with a strong French accent, and she was polite. Luca thought she must be a new dancer in the area, because she was not weighed down by distracting thoughts; she smiled with a novelty dancers only possessed for a month into their work. They had got talking and not before long she had ordered a whole outfit. While Luca was writing down her order, she explained to him that she was in love. Luca admired the beautiful dancer for telling him this – he told her she was a true bohemian, he told her that she should always be grateful for what life had brought her. He told her that her outfit would be ready in two weeks’ time – she could come and pick it up then. She walked to the door and said goodbye elegantly. She paused before she left, and voiced the calm, well pronounced words, “It is beautiful: is it not, love?” Luca smiled and replied, “Yes, Mademoiselle, it is beautiful.”
Two weeks went by very quickly for Luca, and he worked extra hard to produce an outfit that would be perfect enough to be worn by the beautiful dancer. He wanted to make sure that there was not even the slightest stitch out of place. Still, Friday came and there was no beautiful dancer. Luca reassured himself that maybe she had an extra rehearsal; maybe she was too busy to pick up her outfit. He put it to one side, and labelled it with a very small piece of tissue paper. He wrote: the woman who talked of love.
Another three weeks went by and the beautiful dancer neither made an appearance nor sent any message as to why she had not been to collect her outfit – Luca was surprised by this, but decided that an outfit was just an outfit – outfits brought in money. He took the label off the outfit, screwed it up, and threw it in the bin without bitterness. He sold the outfit to a stern, wealthy woman who was not in love but paid a good amount for the perfect dress.
************
Two years passed, and Luca’s dressmaking was flourishing more than ever. The young beautiful dancer never returned to his shop. However, Luca thought of her often, and hoped that she was safe and still very much in love. He did not worry himself though; Luca told his customers he was too busy to worry himself over such non-existent things. He had made many more outfits that were as perfect as the one he had made for the beautiful dancer, and he was proud of his work. As Luca found himself with less and less time to think, he knew that any time he did get spare should not be taken for granted. Therefore, he dedicated this time to listening to his own thoughts on truths, beauty, freedom, but above all else, love. He was still happy with his life, but, for a reason he did not know, looked forward to the day when he would look upon the face of that beautiful dancer again.
It was again a Friday afternoon when her familiar face stumbled through the door at the very peak of winter. Luca only recognised her when she began to speak, but even this was not clear - she was slurring. He looked at the dancer and did not say anything; he thought that her hair was windswept, and her face was red and tired. He saw that she was not walking as elegantly as she had done the last time they met. She came up to the front desk in the shop and declared rather loudly that she had come to pick up her outfit. Luca explained, with hesitation, that he had sold it when he thought that she was not coming back to collect it. The dancer came closer to Luca and he could smell The Green Fairy on her breath, he could see the tear marks down her face. He felt sorry for her but he was angry with her also; Luca was not used to feeling that angry, it was a feeling bohemianism opposed. She had lost everything that he had admired in her and found himself impatient, “Are you not still in love? What is wrong with you? You said it was beautiful, and I agreed with you!” She laughed sarcastically at his question. “Of course I am still in love. Love makes us act like we are fools! It doesn’t change the attachments in our lives, the bad things that happen. It only makes the pain worse.” Luca looked at her with a questioning gaze and asked, “Then why are you so distressed? Why do you drink so much you can’t walk properly?” She remarked with no hesitance,
“Because that is what I do. You can not go on declaring life as beautiful when you know very well it is not. This is what bohemianism is! Do you not see? The Children of the Revolution! That’s what we are! That is what we are.” Almost out of breath, she dropped her bag on the floor and collapsed to retrieve it. Luca frowned involuntarily at the dancer. He was confused as to why she was so angry. He didn’t like the way she spoke – it made him uncomfortable. With her face down and her hair shrouding it, Luca could only just see the tears running rapidly down her face – she was distraught; she was lost and defenceless, and Luca couldn’t quite comprehend this. She had not lived up to his expectations. He paused to think for a few seconds, not quite knowing how to respond to the dancer on the cold floor of his dressmaker’s shop. Then he helped her up, taking her cold, dry hands into his own and supporting her. She looked at him and said, “So, you do not have my dress? Then I will be on my way.” She pulled away from Luca with her head down and made her way to the door silently and aware of her own vulnerability. Luca did not want her to go in such an unpronounced way: “Mademoiselle, you do not have to dance tonight, you are not fit to.” The dancer looked at him like a child who had not yet lost his innocence, “Do not be a fool, Luca. Of course I have to dance tonight.” She left the shop and Luca did not move from his position for a minute or so.
************
Eight years passed and Luca had aged enormously. He had been told that he would have to walk with a stick soon, and he might even have to give up his shop. To this, as everyone expected, Luca refused flatly. He simply went on with his life as he had done when he was young, although he found himself sitting down more often and getting out of breath frequently. But it did not worry him - he had never believed in worrying. He was now the only dressmaker in the whole village – all the others had gone out of business. Luca had beaten them all and he had done it with no spitefulness at all. He was now even happier with his outfits, and while many said his body was failing him, he had never lost his eyesight – he always knew what he was doing. Luca never thought about the dancer that came to see him; it had been a long time and he had forgotten her, so when she walked through the door one last time he did not identify her. She wore nothing but black, and had a netted veil over her face as if she were mourning. She had aged significantly. However, she still spoke with the same well pronounced words as she always had. To Luca she was just another dancer that needed another outfit quickly, and when she did order the outfit Luca was sure he recognised the dress she was describing – but maybe it was just a coincidence. Luca had made a lot of outfits in his time, and it was impossible for him not to have made any dress more than once. Luca could see that she was sad and assumed that she was in mourning. Just before she left the shop for the very last time, Luca, feeling he had to say something to comfort the woman said, “Mademoiselle, you do not look happy. You do not have to dance tonight.” The dancer was quiet when she spoke the words, “Do not be a fool, Luca. Of course I have to dance tonight. I always have to dance,” she left his shop and Luca paused for a moment. He felt a definite familiarity. But Luca was too busy to worry himself any longer - there was work to be done.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
I have read a lot of books about Elvis Presley. Of course, most people who know me well allready know this, but the book i am reading at the moment is probably the best. I have found one paragraph which i can't ignore. It is the only paragraph i have ever read about the man which my own oppinion completely agrees with, so i though i would wirte it out for the lovely people reading my blog. I do not apoligise in advance for the length; it is a good paragraph.
'He likes the company of women, he loves to be around women, women of all ages, he feels more comfortable with them - it isn't something he would want to admit to his friends, or even prehaps to himself. His aunt Lillian notices it: " He'd get out there at night with the girls, and he just sang his head off. He was different with the girls - i'm embarassed to tell, but he'd rather have a whole bunch of girls around him than the boys - he didn't care a thing about the boys." The women seem to sence something coming out of him, somethng he himself may not even know he possesses: it is an aching kind of vulnerability, an unspecified yearning: when Sam Phillips meets him just two or three years later, in 1953, he senses much the same quality but calls it insecurity... Bathed in the soft glow of the highstreet, he appears almost handsome - the acne that embarasses him doesn't show up too badly, and the adolescent features, which can appear course in the cold day, take on a kind of delicacy that is almost beautiful. He sings Eddy Arnold's "Molly Darling", a Kay Starr number, "Habor Lights", Bing and Garys Crosby's "Moon light Bay", all soft, sweet songs, in a soft, slightly quavering voice, and then, satisfied, takes his comb out of his back pocket and runs it through his hair in a practiced gesture clearly at odds with his hesitancy of manner. With the women, though, he can do no wrong: young girls or old ladies, they seem drawn to his quiet, hesitant aproach, his decorous humility, his respectful scrutiny. The men may have their doubts, but to the women he is a nice boy, a kind boy, someone both thoughtful and attentive, someone who truly cares. '
This is about Elvis when he was 16. In the courts, Memphis.
'He likes the company of women, he loves to be around women, women of all ages, he feels more comfortable with them - it isn't something he would want to admit to his friends, or even prehaps to himself. His aunt Lillian notices it: " He'd get out there at night with the girls, and he just sang his head off. He was different with the girls - i'm embarassed to tell, but he'd rather have a whole bunch of girls around him than the boys - he didn't care a thing about the boys." The women seem to sence something coming out of him, somethng he himself may not even know he possesses: it is an aching kind of vulnerability, an unspecified yearning: when Sam Phillips meets him just two or three years later, in 1953, he senses much the same quality but calls it insecurity... Bathed in the soft glow of the highstreet, he appears almost handsome - the acne that embarasses him doesn't show up too badly, and the adolescent features, which can appear course in the cold day, take on a kind of delicacy that is almost beautiful. He sings Eddy Arnold's "Molly Darling", a Kay Starr number, "Habor Lights", Bing and Garys Crosby's "Moon light Bay", all soft, sweet songs, in a soft, slightly quavering voice, and then, satisfied, takes his comb out of his back pocket and runs it through his hair in a practiced gesture clearly at odds with his hesitancy of manner. With the women, though, he can do no wrong: young girls or old ladies, they seem drawn to his quiet, hesitant aproach, his decorous humility, his respectful scrutiny. The men may have their doubts, but to the women he is a nice boy, a kind boy, someone both thoughtful and attentive, someone who truly cares. '
This is about Elvis when he was 16. In the courts, Memphis.
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Hello. Haven't posted in aggggggggseeeeessss. Have been so busy with coursework is depressing. Have three massive pieces in this friday and two more next wednesday. Kinda sucks, but i am starting to get used to it. Can't wait for christmas now, it's coming so quickly. Am building up my itunes ready for my new ipod! Woo! About 5500 songs so far, tis looking good ;-)
New house is still looking lovely. We got a new table for our dining room last week, dad bought it off ebay which was a bit risky, but it's pretty nice. Since we have had it we have had tonnes of people round for dinner! Which is kinda nice, cause we didn't really have a bigger enough table before, and i always like having people around.
Apart from that, nothing really intresting has been happening at the moment. Just can't wait for holidays now, cause i am desperate for more sleep.
New house is still looking lovely. We got a new table for our dining room last week, dad bought it off ebay which was a bit risky, but it's pretty nice. Since we have had it we have had tonnes of people round for dinner! Which is kinda nice, cause we didn't really have a bigger enough table before, and i always like having people around.
Apart from that, nothing really intresting has been happening at the moment. Just can't wait for holidays now, cause i am desperate for more sleep.
Monday, November 27, 2006
La Belle Dame Sans Merci
You discover something that you think you really like. You don't really understand it, but you're sure it's the best thing thats ever happened to you. You are thrilled. You focus on it. You give into the beauty and richness and pleasure, and let it overwhelm you.
Then the pleasure is gone. Far more than a normal letdown, the experience has left you crippled emotionally. At least for a while, you don't talk about regretting the experience. And it remains an important part of who you feel you are.
You discover something that you think you really like. You don't really understand it, but you're sure it's the best thing thats ever happened to you. You are thrilled. You focus on it. You give into the beauty and richness and pleasure, and let it overwhelm you.
Then the pleasure is gone. Far more than a normal letdown, the experience has left you crippled emotionally. At least for a while, you don't talk about regretting the experience. And it remains an important part of who you feel you are.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
IF YOUR LIFE WAS A MOVIE, WHAT WOULD THE SOUNDTRACK BE?
Here's how it works:
1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc)
2. Put it on shuffle
3. Press play
4. For every section of the movie, type the song that's playing
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button
Opening Credits: America the Beautiful - Ray Charles
Waking Up: Sing - Travis
First Day at School: We are family- Pointer sisters
Falling in Love: Brighter than sunshine - Aqualung
Fight Song: If I ever lose my faith in you - Sting
Break up Song: Bye bye love - Simon and Garfunkel (Ha!)
Prom: One - U2
Life's OK: Imagine - John Lennon
Mental Breakdown: Holding back the years - Simply Red
Driving: Achilles heel - Toploader
Flashback: Strangers like me - Phill Collins
Getting Back Together: I fought the law - The clash
Wedding: The Bartender And The Theif - Stereophonics
Birth of a Child: Never felt like this before - Shaznay Lewis
Final Battle: Hard to get - Rich Mullins
Death Scene: Hey Jude - Sting, Elton John, Eric Clapton
Funeral Song: The Who - Quadrophenia
Closing Credits: Message in a bottle - Sting
Here's how it works:
1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc)
2. Put it on shuffle
3. Press play
4. For every section of the movie, type the song that's playing
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button
Opening Credits: America the Beautiful - Ray Charles
Waking Up: Sing - Travis
First Day at School: We are family- Pointer sisters
Falling in Love: Brighter than sunshine - Aqualung
Fight Song: If I ever lose my faith in you - Sting
Break up Song: Bye bye love - Simon and Garfunkel (Ha!)
Prom: One - U2
Life's OK: Imagine - John Lennon
Mental Breakdown: Holding back the years - Simply Red
Driving: Achilles heel - Toploader
Flashback: Strangers like me - Phill Collins
Getting Back Together: I fought the law - The clash
Wedding: The Bartender And The Theif - Stereophonics
Birth of a Child: Never felt like this before - Shaznay Lewis
Final Battle: Hard to get - Rich Mullins
Death Scene: Hey Jude - Sting, Elton John, Eric Clapton
Funeral Song: The Who - Quadrophenia
Closing Credits: Message in a bottle - Sting
Monday, November 20, 2006
'The phrase "in the dark", as i'm sure you know, can refer not only to one's shadowy surroundings, but also to the shadowy secrets of which one might be unaware. Every day, the sun goes down over all these secrets, and so everyone is in the dark in one way or another. If you are sunbathing in a park, for instance, but you do not know that a locked cabinet is buried fifty feet beneath your blanket, then you are in the dark even though you are not actually in the dark, whereas if you are on a midnight hike, knowing full well that several ballerinas are following close behind you, then you are not in the dark even if you are in fact, in the dark. Of course, it is quite possible to be in the dark in the dark, as well as to be not in the dark not in the dark, but there are so many secrets in the world that it is likely that you are always in the dark about one thing or another, whether you are in the dark in the dark or in the dark not in the dark, although the sun can go down so quickly that you may be in the dark about being in the dark in the dark, only to look around and find yourself no longer in the dark about being in the dark in the dark, but inthe dark in the dark nonetheless, not only becasue of the dark, but because of the ballerinas in the dark, who are not in the dark about the dark, but also not in the dark about the locked cabinet, and you may be in the darkabout the ballerinas digging up the locked cabinet in the dark, even though you are no longer in the dark about being in the dark, and so you are in fact in the dark about being in the dark, even though you are not in the dark about being in the dark, and so you may fall into the hole that the ballerinas have dug, which is dark, in the dark, and in the park. '
Wow!
The series of unfortunate events - The end -Chapter 9 - Lemony Snicket
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Two poems today; i am unsure of why i like this first one so much, but i do. It's called 'Once upon a time'.
Once upon a time, son,
they used to laugh with their hearts
and laugh with their eyes:
but now they only laugh with their teeth,
while their ice-block-cold eyes
search behind my shadow.
There was a time indeed
they used to shake hands with their hearts:
but that’s gone, son.
Now they shake hands without hearts:
while their left hands search
my empty pockets.
‘Feel at home’! ‘Come again’:
they say, and when I come
again and feel
at home, once, twice,
there will be no thrice –
for then I find doors shut on me.
So I have learned many things, son.
I have learned to wear many faces
like dresses – homeface,
officeface, streetface, hostface,
cocktailface, with all their conforming smiles
like a fixed portrait smile.
And I have learned too
to laugh with only my teeth
and shake hands without my heart.
I have also learned to say, ‘Goodbye’,
when I mean ‘Good-riddance’;
to say ‘Glad to meet you’,
without being glad; and to say ‘It’s been
nice talking to you’, after being bored.
But believe me, son.
I want to be what I used to be
when I was like you. I want
to unlearn all these muting things.
Most of all, I want to relearn
how to laugh, for my laugh in the mirror
shows only my teeth like a snake’s bare
fangs!
So show me, son,
how to laugh; show me how
I used to laugh and smile
once upon a time when I was like you.
Remember, remember the fifth of November,
Gunpowder Treason and Plot,
I see no reason why gunpowder treason
should ever be forgot.
Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, 'twas his intent
to blow up the King and the Parliament.
Three score barrels of powder below,
Poor old England to overthrow:
By God's providence he was catch'd
With a dark lantern and burning match.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, make the bells ring.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King!
Hip hip hoorah!
A penny loaf to feed the Pope.
A farthing o' cheese to choke him.
A pint of beer to rinse it down.
A faggot of sticks to burn him.
Burn him in a tub of tar.
Burn him like a blazing star.
Burn his body from his head.
Then we'll say ol' Pope is dead.
Hip hip hoorah!
Hip hip hoorah!
Once upon a time, son,
they used to laugh with their hearts
and laugh with their eyes:
but now they only laugh with their teeth,
while their ice-block-cold eyes
search behind my shadow.
There was a time indeed
they used to shake hands with their hearts:
but that’s gone, son.
Now they shake hands without hearts:
while their left hands search
my empty pockets.
‘Feel at home’! ‘Come again’:
they say, and when I come
again and feel
at home, once, twice,
there will be no thrice –
for then I find doors shut on me.
So I have learned many things, son.
I have learned to wear many faces
like dresses – homeface,
officeface, streetface, hostface,
cocktailface, with all their conforming smiles
like a fixed portrait smile.
And I have learned too
to laugh with only my teeth
and shake hands without my heart.
I have also learned to say, ‘Goodbye’,
when I mean ‘Good-riddance’;
to say ‘Glad to meet you’,
without being glad; and to say ‘It’s been
nice talking to you’, after being bored.
But believe me, son.
I want to be what I used to be
when I was like you. I want
to unlearn all these muting things.
Most of all, I want to relearn
how to laugh, for my laugh in the mirror
shows only my teeth like a snake’s bare
fangs!
So show me, son,
how to laugh; show me how
I used to laugh and smile
once upon a time when I was like you.
Gabriel Okara
I could write an essay including all the poetic techniques displayed in this poem, but i will save you the greif of reading it. Poem two- just because of the date, but also because it is surprising how many people only know the first two lines by heart:
Remember, remember the fifth of November,
Gunpowder Treason and Plot,
I see no reason why gunpowder treason
should ever be forgot.
Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, 'twas his intent
to blow up the King and the Parliament.
Three score barrels of powder below,
Poor old England to overthrow:
By God's providence he was catch'd
With a dark lantern and burning match.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, make the bells ring.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King!
Hip hip hoorah!
A penny loaf to feed the Pope.
A farthing o' cheese to choke him.
A pint of beer to rinse it down.
A faggot of sticks to burn him.
Burn him in a tub of tar.
Burn him like a blazing star.
Burn his body from his head.
Then we'll say ol' Pope is dead.
Hip hip hoorah!
Hip hip hoorah!
It may be a nursery rhyme, but I can't see children singing the full version of this!
Anyway, me and Lucy decided that in our english lesson, revision was the lesser option, and consequently wrote two poems, based on another two poems.
The first one is based on 'I shall paint my nails red' by Carole Satyamurti. So here goes:
I shall paint my nails black
Because Carol Satyamurti paints hers red.
Because i am a rebel.
Because black has more depth than brown.
Because my mother will be horrified.
Because it is less obvious than black lipstick.
Because it makes my hands stand out.
Because emo society dictates it.
Because it keeps me company.
Because it distracts me.
And I won't write the last line for sanitys sake.
The second poem is based on 'An unknown Girl' by Moniza Alvi. I love this poem, but i we have managed to destroy it completely!
An unknown German
An unknown German
Is filling my shoes
With gravel off the drive
And turf from the lawn.
An unknown German
Is saluting her Fuhrer
With a fake moustache
And a swastika badge.
Posters of the saviour
Slathered on the walls
Pictured on horseback
In a sea of glowing ambience.
An unknown girl bows down.
Hehe! You have to read the original to see the humor, if you even want to call it that!
Saturday, November 04, 2006
I am reading two books at the moment, and they both have great paragraphs I just have to share with the world, so here is book 1:
'Chapter 1
If you have ever peeled an onion, then you know that the first thin, papery layer reveals another thin, papery layer, and that layer reveals another, and another, and before you know it you have hundreds of layers all over the kitchen and thousands of tears in your eyes, sorry that you ever started peeling it in the first place and wishing that you had left the onion alone to wither away on the shelf of the pantry while you went on with your life, even if that meant never again enjoying the complicated and overwhelming taste of this strange and bitter vegatable.'
And book 2:
'She reached down into his throat and grabbed his heart, pulled it out, threw it on the floor, stepped on it with her high heels, spat on it, shoved it in the oven and burnt it. Then she sliced it into little pieces, slammed it on a hunk of toast and served it to him, and then expected him to say, thanks honey, it was delicious.'
'Chapter 1
If you have ever peeled an onion, then you know that the first thin, papery layer reveals another thin, papery layer, and that layer reveals another, and another, and before you know it you have hundreds of layers all over the kitchen and thousands of tears in your eyes, sorry that you ever started peeling it in the first place and wishing that you had left the onion alone to wither away on the shelf of the pantry while you went on with your life, even if that meant never again enjoying the complicated and overwhelming taste of this strange and bitter vegatable.'
Series of unfortunate events by Lemony Snicket - The end
Hows that for a first topic sentence?And book 2:
'She reached down into his throat and grabbed his heart, pulled it out, threw it on the floor, stepped on it with her high heels, spat on it, shoved it in the oven and burnt it. Then she sliced it into little pieces, slammed it on a hunk of toast and served it to him, and then expected him to say, thanks honey, it was delicious.'
The girl in Times Square - Paullina Simons
Ha!
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
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