Miracle Elixir

I had just finished working out six part harmonies for the new vincents track, when I stuck my head into my new piano for about the millionth time. WOW. I sang "Pirelli's Miracle Elixir" at the top of my voice, with the sustain pedal on, and it sounded great. Not only do I have my own real piano, but I also have my very own reverb chamber! Yay! =^-^= (meow)

Ah, what a great day *smile*

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Axl Rose, Rain And A Grand Piano.

(That's me sorted for the rest of my life *giggle*)

So, many of you have taken my "how well do you know me" test on my myspace. And when I put, what is my favourite song, the answer is in fact Ice Dance. But maybe the constant battle in my head is now leaning over to November Rain as being my favourite song of all time. The lyrics mean so much to me. It's a hard song to sing, but I can actually sing it... I guess because I mean it and love it so much. Hopefully one day I'll get the chance to sing it in front of a crowd. I wish I could write a song like this one. One that'll mean something to someone else as much as this one means to me. I don't think I'll ever tire of playing it, humming it, singing it, listening to it. Ever. So if you ever have the chance, on a rainy day, or when you need something great to listen to, youtube this song.

When I look into your eyes
I can see a love restrained
But darlin' when I hold you
Don't you know I feel the same

'Cause nothin' lasts forever
And we both know hearts can change
And it's hard to hold a candle
In the cold November rain

We've been through this such a long long time
Just tryin' to kill the pain
But lovers always come and lovers always go
And no one's really sure who's lettin' go today
Walking away

When you take the time to lay it on the line
I could rest my head
Just knowin' that you were mine
All mine

So if you want to love me
Then darlin' don't refrain
Or I'll just end up walkin'
In the cold November rain

Do you need some time...on your own
Do you need some time...all alone
Everybody needs some time...on their own
Don't you know you need some time...all alone

I know it's hard to keep an open heart
When even friends seem out to harm you
But if you could heal a broken heart
Wouldn't time be out to charm you

Sometimes I need some time...on my own
Sometimes I need some time...all alone
Everybody needs some time...on their own
Don't you know you need some time...all alone

And when your fears subside
And shadows still remain, ohhh yeahhh
I know that you can love me
When there's no one left to blame

So never mind the darkness
We still can find a way
'Cause nothin' lasts forever
Even cold November rain

Come On, Brothers, Lets Go Down.

Many people think they know what music I listen to. Queen, Guns 'n' Roses, Film Music.

But they never actually listen to what music moves me. The music I truly love.

I have film soundtracks from Bernard Herrmann's Psycho, to Danny Elfman's Pee-Wee's Big Adventures, from Williams' Jaws to Marianelli's Attonement, from John Ottman's take on Superman Returns to Patrick Doyle's turn at Harry Potter. I've got Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, to Queen's Live at Wembley to Brian Eno's Music for Airports. All of which I listen to with either fascination, incomprehensible feeling, emotion, awe, and a rising sense of pride (not quite sure if that's the right word). One day, just maybe one day, that'll be me. If I can move but one person in my whole career, through the music that I create, in the way that these composers (especially Danny Elfman) have moved me, I would have reached my ultimate.

I was listening to a track from the film "O Brother, Where art thou?" that I'm borrowing. The track is called "Down to the river to pray". The first time I heard the song, I got goose bumps all down my arms and spine. Just the amount of voices singing out that song, together, sounding like they mean every word.

At a Smokin' Vincents rehearsal, Ross asked us which on of the senses we'd be ok with losing. He said hearing. My chin dropped to the floor. He'd rather go deaf than blind. If I went deaf, I honestly don't think I could keep myself living. I know that sounds stupid, or selfish, or what ever. But music is honestly my life. If I couldn't hear, listen, anymore, I don't actually think I would be me any more. I wouldn't be able to play my piano, I wouldn't be able to hear the sound of an orchestra anymore. I wouldn't be able to hear your voice anymore. I always said that there's only a few people that actually listen to the music when they go to see a film. To them, the music is just there. Well, to me, the music is the most important part of the film. I was doing what we do in class whilst I was watching Indiana Jones last night for god's sake. "hmm, interesting that we haven't yet heard the main theme..." I then turned to Marina after those few notes that tell you that that's Jones' shadow and said

"Isn't music clever."

Regenerate

As I was writing these quotes down, I realised how stupid it is to worry about learning them for some stupid exam, when these words were written by men who actually suffered their meaning.
Starting with some jingoistic quotes, onto quotes from poems that show the brim of what the "great" war must have been like. "The old lie: It is sweet and right to die for your country."

Shakespeare’s Henry V (c. 1599)

St. Crispin’s Day Speech:
“The fewer men, the greater share of honour…”
We would not die in that man’s company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.”

Rupert Brooke

Peace: (1914)
“And caught our youth, and weakened us from sleeping…”
“To turn, as swimmers into cleanness leaping…”
“Glad from a world grown cold and weary…”
“Nothing to shake the laughing heart’s long peace…”
“…and the enemy is but Death.”

The Soldier: (Pre Somme)
“If I should die, this only this of me…”
“Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam…”
In hearts at peace, under and English heaven.”

Jessie Pope

The Call:
"Who's for the trench -
Are you, my laddie?"
Who'll earn the Empire's thanks - "
"Will you, my laddie?"

Sir Henry Newbolt (1862 – 1938)

Vitai Lampada (They pass on the torch of life.)
“An hour to play and the last man in”
“Play up! Play up! And play the game!”

Siegfried Sassoon

They (1917)
“‘They will not be the same; for they’ll have fought’”
“‘On Anti-Christ; their comrades’ blood has bought… honourable race…”

A Soldier’s Declaration (July 1917)
“I am a soldier, convinced I am acting on behalf of soldiers.”
“…I may help to destroy the callous complacence… majority at home… have not sufficient imagination to realize.”

Wilfred Owen

Dulce Et Decorum Est (1917 written in Craiglockheart)
“bent double, like old beggars under sacks…”
“GAS! Gas! Quick, boys! An ecstasy of fumbling…”
“In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.”
“The old lie: Dulce et dcorum est
Pro patria mori.

Anthem For Doomed Youth (1917 written in Craiglockheart)
“What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?”
“Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle.”

Smile! (you'll live longer)

I love the way things seem to travel, and get moved from one loving owner to the next. Take my piano, Ronald. He was once Beaulieu's piano, being loved by many a child, including my aunty who recognised it. "I used to sing next to a piano that looked just like that one at school" "That's because it IS that piano". Moving on... he then moved to a different home, where I'm sure he was loved again! He was then gonna be put into a dump, but somehow ended up in my dining room. heh. And so, Ronald is being loved some more.

Same happened again today. Tis my uncle's birthday, and he lives next to a field where we do bbq's and huge bon fires. The piano stool that I used to sit on during Smokin' Vincents rehersals, that came along with Ronald, was going to be taken up to the next bonfire heap because my mum refuses to have it in the house. I was very sad at this point, because I do love that stool (very comfy). Anywho, my cousin Katie walked in and was like "ooh! I need a stool for my room, and it'll look nice there too!" And there we have it. It's off to another loving home =)

How lovely.

Or If You're A Pirate, Tarrr Tarrr Fer Now!

So it's TTFN, ta ta for now, not TTFE, ta ta for ever.

Class of 2008

That's it. The last day ever of school. The last time I'm ever gonna have a whole week where I see my friends everyday. The last time I'm gonna be tirelessly following my structured timetable. The last time I'm ever gonna help to run an assembly. The last I'm ever gonna have to trudge up to U8 from the middle school half way through an eccentric English lesson. The last time I'm ever gonna complain about having to walk up that bloody hill to De La Salle RS lessons. The last time I'm gonna sneak down to the church during mentor time to play the grand piano. The last time I'm ever gonna walk down those steps to the dungeons (aka the studio) everyday. That's it. Over. I managed to hold my tears in yesterday quiet well. I somehow made everybody else cry, through the power of music, but it wasn't until that last "free" lesson that I let it out. I actually can't believe that I've finished at that school. I love the place so so much and my time there has just seemed to fly past, I guess because I've had so much fun there.

I know it's now onwards to new horizons and a new life, with excitement and new people, and that I'm so lucky to have the opportunities to go to this new life, but to be honest, I really really don't want to leave this one behind. I can't even begin to describe to you how much I'm gonna miss everything. The people, the place, the lifestyle... everything.

Sunshine Days

I'd thought I'd show you my favourite picture of me and my brother. He'll probably kill me for putting it up, but oh well. I just love it so much because we look so happy and innocent. I mean, just look how cute my brother was!

Zip Tour

As the final week of lessons at Beaulieu Convent School for Girls comes to a near closing, I thought I'd take you on a whistle-stop tour of my school years, along with a few memories I will treasure for ever.

I started Nursery school at the age of four, being vastly under the average size, seeing as I was very premature and had not yet caught up. I went to Nick-Nack-Paddy-Wack nursery, where a hall and a little church called St. Joseph's used to stand. I don't really have any memories of this place, but there's lots of family videos of parties and stuff I had there, with all my little friends (many of who are still good friends to me) playing games like "What's the time Mr. Wolf". I always seemed to be the crazy loud mouth wolf that would run and literally jump on people. Does that surprise you?

I then went on to St. Clement's primary school, from reception to year 4. I was apparently the only kid that wasn't crying, clinging onto their mummy or daddy for dear life. I stomped into the school eager to meet new people, loud mouthed and ready to learn. Perhaps my deep love of school started that exact day. I hold one memory from this school so vivid I can see it now. We were playing football in the field when I was in year 3. I kicked the ball, and someone tripped over my leg and they shouted "SHIT!" at the top of their voice. And I got the blame. It was also from a teacher who I really didn't like. LOL. My favourite teacher was the one that everybody else hated. Mrs Le Marquand. She was the kinda teacher who you didn't mess with. Abide by her rules and she'd love you and look after you. My best friend was called Kelsi, and we were the year's tom-boys. She had a black leather jacket and flowing red hair that she tied in a plait that reached her bottom. I was the one who loved hats and dungarees, and we used to roll in the mud. I fell into childhood love with two boys at that school. One was called John, the year's hot boy that every girl fancied, and another guy called Jamie. He was in the year above, and we held hands in the joint classes that they called year 4/5 (there weren't enough kids in each year group so they joined the two years together). He later became the reason why I left that school, and onto the new horizons of Beaulieu.

And so, I moved to Beaulieu in year 5. I remember walking around the school with my parents, feeling slightly icky. An all girl's school filled with all girls. I was the definition of a tom-boy in those days, and I HATED girls. But I did recognise the likes of Grace from swimming, so it wasn't all bad. I was shown round the school by a rather scary girl named Hannah Santos-Costa. I quickly realised that my friendship with her would be the kind of "hello how are you?" relationship, and then became friends with a girl named Charlotte McCann. God, was she funny. I remember once when I did the most putrid "sea-side" fart in year six that stank the whole room out. She made sure it was spread round the school. I don't think I ever stopped laughing since. It was one of the funniest things and one of my fondest memories of primary school! I also met three girls, who were much more shy and reserved than the crazy girl called Charlotte McCann. These girls were called Claire Bonjour, Rachel McCue and Rachel Genee. We used to play 40 40 round the stinky bin that still lives at the bottom of the playground. The best hiding place proved to be sitting cross-legged in front of the bin. No one ever looked right in front of their eyes. Laura Pickersgill also became a close friend, and we were a trio. Charlotte, Victoria and Laura. Another fond memory of primary school was when I came hurtling down the step and straight into the wooden door. I had a lump the size of a tennis ball throbbing out of my skull. Mrs James to the rescue! I was the cross-country champion in primary school, and so was loved by Miss. White, and everybody knew it too, which is now slightly embarrassing. Mrs. Charlton was one of the first teachers to scar my mind when she gave a gruesome explanation on the application of a tampon. But I also hold fond memories of our many artistic and fascinating projects we did with her. I was also intrigued with the secondary school music teacher called Mr. Saunter that took our music lessons in year six. My first memory of those lessons was when he asked Charlotte Balingall in front of the whole class whether she fancied him. "NO!" she exclaimed as she went bright red. "So stop looking at me in that loving way then" he replied. I pissed myself laughing with the rest of the class. Ah, yes, Charlotte Balingall. There was also the Dildo episode in year six. Charlotte held a grudge against me for some reason, and thought it would be a good idea to tell all the teachers that I had hid a dildo in her bag at school. "What the hell is a dildo?!" And so to the head teacher's office, being questioned about something I'd never heard before in my life. What an experience. I had the pleasure of learning what an adult sex toy was in year six... *cough* Moving swiftly on...

And so, after completing the first lot of scary exams, we moved on to the scary new world that they liked to call "Secondary School".

If I was to write down everything I remember and hold dear about this school, we'd be here forever. So I'm gonna start in year ten. The year that I'd met my future best friends. It all started in RS lessons with Mrs. Matthews. I feel very sorry for her looking back now. A red-headed girl (or auburn as she insists) called Helen and a brunette called Rose-Marie sat in front of me and a girl named Hayley. We discovered that we went together very well. Helen as always was as loud mouthed as I was, Hayley was the quiet one who was secretly evil, and took pleasure in tormenting me, which always ended in rolling on the floor laughter. Rose-Marie was the annoying girl that liked to throw things across the room. And so, the friendships began. Maths was when I met that wierd Spanish girl named Marina Bas. Scarily vicious: the kinda shmegal character that would sit there laughing with an eye twitch. We sat on a desk that held four. Me, Hayley, Helen and Marina opposite. Poor Mr. Shaw, that's all I can say. Oh, and at this point in time I hated that girl name Tori Morel Orchard. heh.

I had a hefty battle with myself, deciding my GCSE choices. Music or drama or geography. Well, my favourite teacher at this point was the red-headed man I met in year six. Funny, witty and slightly scary. So what the hell, I won't be good enough but I'll take it anyway. So, after much thought and bravery, I ended up in a music class filled with geniuses. That's where I met mother hen =) Methini was grade a billion at every instrument and so was Eimear and Jennah. Uh oh. But I soon realised that it was a good choice! My other option was fine art. Mrs. Robson lived in her attick with her bright red hair and glasses on the end of her nose. She was the best art teacher, bar Mr. Kowzan, as she was always so open minded, giving her opinions, but not expecting you to follow them adamantly, like other did. I enjoyed art so much, I even did an extra topic to add to my GCSE work! (what a geek) But then, it was a topic on Queen *cough*...

My fondest memory of year eleven was the lunch times spent in Mr. Whitehead's form. Crammed round a single desk, there were about 12 of us in our group. The rudest game of scrabble you will ever see appeared on that table in a game between me and Helen. Oh how I wish I took a picture! French lessons with Helen were the best, we just cheated in exams and spelling tests all the time, and never listened. Then came the time for choosing A Level subjects. The end of school still seemed a million miles away back then. Sheesh it's gone quick. I ended up choosing Music Technology, as music was my clear favourite subject, English, because I was quite good at it and loved the teachers, Mr. Whitehead and Mr. Tully, in my opinion a perfect combination. I also chose Philosophy and Ethics (the bain of my life) even though I'm not religious, I just wanted to argue, but instead I got the infamous "*nod* Yeah. *nod*" from Mr. Migallo. Oh, and I also chose physics. Lord knows why.

And so, onto year 12! No more checked skirt the length of my chemistry teacher's sweat patches. Only four subjects to take, and THANK GOD, no more french. *phew* . We sat in the corner of the room, right hand side. I found a chair right in the corner where I could sleep and put my feet up. Damn, are the chairs uncomfortable! It was sad at first, to lose my then best friend, Roger, to JCG. But here's where I met my true friends, all who I love dearly. Alex did English, a kind, witty girl, who, in my opinion, is the sense of the group ( and the coolness of the group). Tori did physics, I moved very swiftly from hating to loving the girl. We giggled and giggled and giggled in those lessons. The two girls in a pit full of A grade boffins. So, with our group now completed, there was me, Alex, Tori, Methini, Marina, Helen, Cecil, Claire and Chloe. Team Marmite. Year 12 proved to be one of the best years so far. Year 13 was better. Introducing Louise!

And so, I dropped Physics after my big fat D grade. English still remains to be one of my favourite subjects ever. Our group seems so close, we laugh and joke with Mr. W and we get all our work done in high spirits and random stories. I will miss Mr. W's spontaneous attacks that make me cry with laughter. I will miss Mr. Tully's fantastic ability to talk about sex and make me laugh beyond reason. LOL. My greatest memory of English lessons will be the lesson where we got split into team A and B... Alpha and Beta... Anus and Boobies. hahahahaha, one of my funniest lessons ever! I'm sad to say that I really wont miss RS lessons, although I will miss the face that Mr. Burke pulls when he's pleased with himself, and I guess I'll secretly miss Mr. Migallo's "*nod* yeah *nod*". Now onto music tech... This year has been the best of my life by far. Days spent in the studio composing Pin Cushion Queens and dodgy sounding samples over my Escape composition. I laughed so much in that room, and have been given opportunities that I never thought possible. Ross has entertained me for hours, with his jokes and altogether laid back and funny personality. Louisa singing her lungs out and giggling away in the corner at Ross' jokes. I will miss the court-yard, where I spent years as a statue and watched Mr. S dance around the pipes in a tutu. Music Technology A-Level... my best class ever.

And so, as my final music tech lesson draws closer (tomorrow lessons three and four), I shed a few tears and look forward to the blindingly bright future that this school and all its people have laid down the road for, before my awaiting, converse-clad feet.

Fair well dear Beaulieu Convent School, I owe you my life.

The Twenty Minute Hug.

So the other day, Marina et moi had a hug that lasted twenty minutes, in the middle of the playground. We got stared at, laughed at, things thrown at us, and shouted at, with girls whispering to each other and pointing. It does quiet amaze me how people frown upon a little bit of happiness, or turn it into something sexual, which it was not. We're about to leave Beaulieu forever, we've only got a few months left in Jersey together, and we're trying to cling on to every last moment we have left. Go spread love the world says, but when you do, you get made to feel like you've done something completely wrong.

On a better note, we got people talking - apparently a whole class were being entertained by the hug, but more importantly, we got some people smiling. So what the hell is so wrong with a hug that makes people smile and perhaps ultimately makes them feel a little better or happier, even for a second? Does it really matter how long a damn hug lasts for? It only lasted that long because the sun was shining and we couldn't be bothered to move, having normal conversation and "lets see how long we can hug for and see people's reactions".

Ronald.

World, meet Ronald. Ronald, the World.

Marina's Lighter and The Blessing of a Fairy God Father.

So I just let go of my past.

The smell of rum and fire and ash... Whispering loudly in my ears... The rooms are glistening red... My face is stained black and wet... I can hardly breathe from what feels like my soul being ripped from my chest... My throat has constricted I can hardly scream anymore... My eyes are scratching the inside of my skull as my body pleas to shut down...

But finally, the words scratched out in the soot of a thousand screams and cries for help read

"I AM FREE."

Yummmmm

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Kissing A Smoker Is Like
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LICKING
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An Ash Tray.
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One Inch

Yesterday I wrote a blog that said I would publish another blog tomorrow. Well sense has been heard and I'm no longer going to publish that blog. I am however, still going to provide a reply to Marina's blog. So here's five points about me that perhaps a few people know, or no one knows, or have forgotten.

The first one is that I held a British record for my age group (I was 13) in 400m Individual Medley, long course. And I don't think any one knows it. But I was in an early heat (which means I was one of the slowest) and I raced my way into that final at the National Championships in lane 4 (the fastest qualifier) with a new British Record of 5 minutes, 19.16 seconds, being a 20 second Personal Best. Sure, I only held the record for four hours (I got whipped in the final, but still went two seconds quicker, time of 5.17.54), but I still held it... No one expected it, and the glory was great.

I dislocated two vertebraes in my spine on the first 100m turn of a 400m Individual Medley... and kept swimming... and won the race... with a new personal best... then got rushed to hospital... and had my spine placed back in again. Mental? Nope, just determined to NEVER EVER let those two particular girls EVER beat me in my best races. And they never did. So there.

I nicked a lambs heart from the experiments at school, I then took it to swimming, where I tied the heart to a piece of string, then onto the top of a changing room door. When she opened the door, the heart landed smack in her face. Mean, yeah, but it was one of the most satisfying moments of my life. (The girl was the definition of a two faced bitch)

My first crush was my primary school bully, who effectively gave me the life I have today: I've had my fair share of bullies, but looking back, I am so glad that Jamie (NOT Le Brun) took it upon himself to beat me up. Because if he hadn't I wouldn't have gone to Beaulieu. If I'd have moved school in year seven like every body else, I would have ended up at JCG. And that would have SUCKED. That means that the probability of me being a musician would have been zilch. I would never have met my best friends, my teachers, pretty much all the people who I've grown to love (bar my family, cuz I knew and loved them already obviously).

I find it physically sickeningly impossible to sit on the left-hand side of my sofa. So if you ever see me on that side of the sofa, you know I'm having a hard time. I'm absolutely petrified of the dark and I hate the smell of flowers. I hate the sun and love the snow. I talk to posters and they talk back. Oh, and I'm also convinced I can fly. So maybe this last point was a few points, but oh well.

Some things I bet you didn't know about me.

In The Studio

So, here I am, once more, in the studio. On Monday's I have four frees that cover my morning. Your average, or 'normal' kid would be greatful to have a chance to sleep some more and stay at home doing nothing. But here I am. My second home. My safe place.

As I look around, I'm surrounded by posters that used to talk to me when I was feeling a little bit lonely. Spider man has a beard and my 18th JEP picture of me with my grand dad's hat on when I was about four years old is to my left. On my right lives Duck Vader and a little model of the motor bike I'm determined to drive myself in the future. Above these monuments of the genius' brain is a poster of the Incredibles, Jack Black and the South Park version of Mr. S that a past student stuck there (I think). Behind me was the station I poured my soul out to, when I composed the Pin Cushion Queen. In front of that station was a poster of the might Queen, Freddie winking down at me. There's even a scattering of posters on the ceiling that comfort when you're feeling a little sleepy. This little room is littered with guitars and keyboards, macs and bike jackets. There's even a crate filled with old CD cases that we throw away. There's drum sticks and pen drives, miracles and oranges. There's the big watch on the wall that tells the right time twice a day. There's even a Taz outfit. Right in front of me are four post it notes. The one on the left reads this:

• Hope
• Education
• Friends
• Family
• Understanding
• Hope.

Each are ticked. There's even a man at the bottom of the page. The second note that lives on the screen of the main mac reads "More pot noodles for everyone... fingerprints." It's still a mystery as to who wrote that down, but it's a very true message. To the right of the apple sign is a post it note that reads "Greater than the greatest great thing that ever called itself great. (That's very great) =) " And finally the last one says "Greatness". And they're all so true.

I can't even begin to describe how I'm feeling about leaving school. The place, the people. I don't think there's words to match. The thought of leaving all this behind, the jealousy of someone else spending all their time down here and not being able to myself... but, onto new horizons. All the laughs, talent, music, compositions, posters, drummers, tears, Christmas parties, morning doors, experience, Smokin' Vincents, hic-ups and burps, that fart that followed him in, the acoustic guitar head banger, guitar lessons, tutus and ties, the keyboards that are so damn small it's impossible to get down an idea quick enough... that damn fart machine, connecting an output to an output... so many memories, feelings, good times, hard times, safe...

All I can really do now is thank you, everyone, everything, that made that room my home. I'm gonna miss it all beyond words.

Piano.

As I was playing my piano, improvising madly in the key of B major, a thought popped up in my head. (dun dun DUN!)

I'm gonna do a Marina on you and ask you to carry this blog on with what song you'd call yours, or theirs, or what song reminds you of a particular person. So here's my list of songs and people.

Mine and Marina's song has gotta be Under Pressure. It was the first time that we both sang at the top of our lungs out my car windows last year, and we've sung ever since. Either that or Danny Elfman's "To Die For: Suzie's Theme". And she knows why! And obviously The Can Can. That'll always be Marina's song. But then there's also Estranged! There's so many songs that remind me of her! I'll never get away =P

Tuxedo Junction reminds me of Mr. Saunter. I think that when ever I hear that song in the future, even in the back ground, I'm gonna smile to myself, stand up and start dancing, no matter where I am.

A song that reminds me of Cecil is Shakira's "Hips Don't Lie". The way she belly dances to that song is jaw dropping. She's totally amazing at it and I can only hope to wiggle my finger as well as she can wiggle that ass.

A song that will always remind me of Methini is the "I'm A Spring Chicken" song (or any Indian song of course) But yup, chick chick, cluck cluck. (Only she will get this...)

A Tori song would have to be "The Wonderful Thing About Tiggers". That song matches her personality so well, and when ever I hear this song, I will always be reminded of the bouncy girl that raced me unintentionally up to physics lessons. lol

An Alex song is one we made up. "Two days are better than one"... And of course any song that has the word sunshine in it.

A song that reminds me of Helen is "Jack Sparrow" by Hanz Zimmer (frame). That composition tickles me so much, and I'll always be reminded of the drunken, hilarious nature of Helen.

The Sun'll Come Out Tomorrow will always remind me of Claire, and make me laugh, because of the pain we both went through for that bloody play and how when any body sings it now, we jump on them to shut them up.

Any Rave song will remind me of Louise, because of our Silent Rave in the common room not long after she had settled in our group. She fitted perfectly.

A song that will always remind me of Thomas is "The Power of Love" (the version from Back to the Future). I can't really explain why, but it just does! lol

The Wheels on the Bus is Big Dave's song, because that's where I met him, on the bus. And I'm so glad I did meet him =)

For Rossopopollinni, I'd say Black Knight, because that's the song he did for his AS course work, and a time where I really really started to admire his raw talent as a drummer.

Aunty Cooper's song would be "We're the monkeys". It just totally suits her, and it makes me laugh, cuz I've seen that side of her that not many have had the pleasure of seeing.

Summer of 69 reminds me of Louisa. It was one of the nicest moments I've ever had with her, when we went down to the church one lunch to practice.

A song that reminds me of my dad is "I feel it my fingers" by wet wet wet, because he used to sing it to me when I was little to get me to sleep.

My mum's song would be Cyndi Lauper's Sally's Pigeons, because it's her favourite song in the world, and I can tell how much she feels it, which is quite rare to see in my mum.

My brother's song woul either be "Lost in France" (I HATE the song, and he loves to torment me with it) or Thomas The Tank Engine. He makes me laugh that boy, and I wouldn't trade him for any other brother =)

Lyle's song would be the Lost theme tune, or something completely robotic.

Sarah Jane's song would be Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better. That was my moto when we were swimming. (mean, but oh well)

Mine and Roger's song is November Rain.

Chapstick Girl

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I’m looking at the sky from above
I’m feeling through my lungs and not my touch
I’m breathing in the water not the sun
I’m swimming through the jelly not the cigarettes
That we smoked last night for fun.

My chapstick girl
Forever, always, love
You popped up when my soul
Was getting cracked and dry

I’m jumping in the sea in my whole uniform
I’m going to a dusty church to sing out loud
I’m listening to my heart and not my head
I’m flying high not walking on the ground
That used to tie us down.

My chapstick girl
Forever, always, love
You popped up when my soul
Was getting cracked and dry

I’m whispering instead of acting out
I’m holding hands instead of stepping back
I’m tasting sugar now instead of salt
I’m running faster now than before
You showed me how to laugh.

My chapstick girl
Forever, always, love

You popped up when my soul
Was getting cracked and dry

Yup, Under My Car Seat.

.
.
I'VE FOUND MY FILE!!!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!

(wow, what a relief.)

Should I? Should I Not?

In two days time, I will add a post.

This post will be the five things (marina's blog) about me that perhaps a few people know, perhaps no one knows, or perhaps have forgotten.

This is a warning.

If you don't like the truth, or get upset, or angry, or what ever, easily... DON'T read it. Delete my blog and never visit the page again.

I have already written the post, but at this moment in time, I'm not quite brave enough, or stupid enough to post it.

So give me two days.

If you know what I'm talking about and think I would be an idiot to publish it on the web, then please tell me before the two days are up.

But in a way, I think me posting it, would be my way of finally letting go... because within the last few days, I've slowly started to realise that none of what was said will come true, none of what was done was my fault, and none of what I see is real.

Perhaps this blog is all I need to show that fact.

Or perhaps not.

Soaked again!

RAIN!!!

(When not writing this blog, I'm out there in it, right now, dancing and singing)

Alex Sunshine (to be read in an American accent)

A Little Poem About Alex:

Like we are so cool!
So much cooler than you!

We are just so cool!
You better believe it cuz it's true!


Like we totally rock!
All of your lame-ass socks!
You might think that you're cool!
But, my dears, you're really not!


(But like, we don't tell her that, right?!)

.

.

No matter what they say

Alex is the sunshine in my day =)

Have You Ever Seen The Rain Coming Down On A Sunshine Day?

Wow. I'm soaked. I don't know if it's the same where you are in the World, but at my house it's pouring down with rain. Not drizzle, not monsoon, but the pretty kinda rain that'll soak you in seconds. Shower.

The sun is shining as the grey clouds swirl past, red dye running down my neck and staining my shirt... All I can hear is my breathing.


Perfect.

Go Go Power Rangers.

One of the best and funniest car drives home I've ever had:

Listen to a girl screeching
Try not to laugh or cry
As she sings so out of tune
Try not to want to die.
Drive along in such relief
That the girl has gone
Nick a cone that has a sign
Put it in your shower, just for fun.

Baguette!

Are we wired differently? Perhaps our parents (or if you're religious, God) thought it would be fun to connect the red wire to the green, instead of just leaving it red. And voila! The creative one pops out.

"Mental she is." Funny that on a day where I talk about what it is to be "mad" I get called crazy / mad / mental about four times by five different people, including my parents, friends and my piano teacher. But what is it to be mental? Or normal for that matter! Wrong wiring? Or just the 'odd-job' who just has that little more willing to have fun and not give a **** what others think of them... Don't like it? Then bloody well lump it.

Today I had a chat about labels. Clothes labels and all.
Do I label myself? I try not to, and I hope I don't, but I am the way I am, put a name to it if you like, but it aint gonna change a thing. After all, a label is just a name. Sometimes I think, that if my experiences (in all aspects of my life) had not have happened, then maybe I wouldn't be me. And that would be terrible! (wouldn't it Alex? Coolness just wouldn't be there, and that would be totally lame-ass)

Am I Mad? Yeah, why not =)

The Definition Of Marmite.

Helen and me, me and Helen, Hell-hen and Freddie, Fred and Hell-Do-I-Love-You, Hell-Do-I-Hate-You and Bitch. How ever you look at us, we are Marmite. I love that girl to pieces, but boy do I hate her! And vice versa as we've figured out these past years.

Helen and I have been on a journey, have we not little ones? She knows just what chords to pluck to get me in the foulest moods EVER, but I've never laughed as hard with anyone else as I have with her (and at her hehehe) Ah, what would I do without her eh?

I'd never say it publicly, but boy, am I gonna miss that girl when we part ways.

Escalus?!

My Lord.

Three Miracles Make A Saint

What an incredibly interesting day!

Not last night, but the night before, I fell asleep without flicking: Miracle no 1.

I awoke rather suddenly this morning, after a terrible night's sleep, thinking that it was 7:15. I panicked like crazy, jumped out of bed, legged it into the shower, ate really quickly, and thought *shit* is was only 5:15. My heart can stop racing now. I went back to bed, and actually managed to get back to sleep. Miracle no 2: sleep because of music.

So the school day began as usual, but feeling rather tentative and unsure as to whether I should make my way down those steps. But I thought *fuck it* and went there anyway.

After singing and smiling, I made my way to Philosophy and Ethics. *sigh*. It was that enthralling that me and Cecil ended up making hand puppets and attacking each other. I even set fire to my pencil, narrowly missing the desk, and our teacher didn't even notice. (*snigger*)

I was in a surprisingly good mood after RS AKA WOT (Waste Of Time) and I headed down to the studio, where there was the roller coaster ride of sadness onto happiness. Miracle no 3: They've gone!

Lunch time proved to be a hyper one, even though I was so tired my eyeballs were screaming to jump out of their sockets. (like the staring girl).

I then finished with a lovely music tech lesson, that included the slight air of tension, but not enough to put me off such a great day. More greatness spread, more light can be seen.

Pussy Galore for everyone I say!

You're officially a Saint.

The Sea Is Just A Wetter Version Of The Skies.

.

.

.

Don’t make frowns, you silly clown

.

.

Just come and open up your folding chair next to me

My feet are buried in the sand and there’s a breeze

There’s a shadow, you can’t see my eyes

And the waves are just a frothier version of the skies

.

.

There’s a shadow, you can’t see my eyes.

.

.

.

Bingo.

Whoa. What a day. Half from the flamey depths of Hell, half from the blue skied, cloudy Heaven.




Reality check. Moving on.

Stages of a hallucination

1. Emergence of surprising or warded-off memory or fantasy images
2. Frequent reality checks
3. Last vestige of insight as hallucinations become “real”

4. Fantasy and distortion elaborated upon and confused with actual perception

5. Internal-external boundaries destroyed and possible pantheistic experience

I know for a fact that cameras show the truth. I'm not talking about the after processing of a photo, but the real time camera and what it shows and what I perceive from it. I understand how cameras work, so looking through the camera, I know that it shows what is real.

So, seeing normally through the lens of a camera, because it is perceiving the absolute truth, technology cannot be wrong (as to the way I understand it). The rest, being left to the imagination. "voluntary control." - is what is being told, or perceived, as to what the belief of what will happen is. If that makes any sense what so ever.

Hmmm...

Oh, Jealousy, Look At Me Now

Attack of the Green Eyed monster.

The other day, it was my best friend's 18th birthday party. We were all around her kitchen table in high spirits, eating sushi (yum). When one of our friends shouted out something she had heard being said at a party earlier that week, about me. *wow, that hurt*. Silence. Every person in the room, I'm sure, felt that stab, knew exactly how those few words had hurt me. Badly. Very badly. It was one of those moments where I just felt like the ground should eat me up, there and then.

The wave of hurt, turning into panic, turning into anger at the person who had origonally said these few words, was tremendous. I managed to control myself, it was my best friend's party after all, and I wasn't going to let a comment like that ruin the evening for her. We had a great time that night, making sure I gave myself temporary amnesia. (on a note, it wasn't my friend who said it at the other party, it was someone else, who possesses two faces.)

I'm not going to say the person's name, or in fact what they said that has hurt me so much. Because it struck me just how pathetic it really is. I wasn't there to witness it being said, but I'm sure it would have been one of those moments where the comment just slid out of their mouth... but I also doubt that they regret saying it. Which, in my eyes, makes it worse. Perhaps they have more than two faces.

I saw this person the day after I was told what they had said, and I chose not to confront them. But it did amaze me how sweet and lovely they were to me.

Jealousy. That's all it comes down to really.

Vroom Vroom!

I think I shall take a journey tonight
On the back of a motor bike.

Eyes wide open, the wind whips past
breathe the air, escape at last.

Hold on tight, faster we go
Sprint the corners, high and low

Now drift off into dreamy sleep
No need to wake, don't make a peep.

Bitch is 18!

HAPPY 18th BIRTHDAY MARINA!!!! WOOOOOO!
LOVE YOU (more) FOREVER AND EVER! (amen) xxxxx

Yo Ho Yo Ho A Pirate's Life Fer Me

It suddenly struck me today as I was shifting wet and stinky plants, that my life, the way I see it and my ideals are mirrored pretty well in the Pirates of the Caribbean Trilogy.

There's the kiss in the pouring rain, between Elizabeth and Will. I thought it was one of the most perfect scenes I'd ever seen in my life.


There's the unforgettable scene in which Davy Jones pours out his soul whilst playing that magnificent organ with his beard. (sounds funny when you say it like that). I though the way in which it was captured was perfect, the way Bill Nighy played the character, the way he felt that music, the emotion. Perfect.


There's the inevitable creatures that look half dead, though no where near bloody enough.


There's Captain Jack Sparrow swimming under water. I always loved underwater swimming the most. Perfect escape.


And of course there's the scene that's called "multiple Jacks" *cough*


Last but not least, I'd love to be a Pirate (as seen in POTC). I'd get to drink rum all day, get hitched with a Captain, preferably as hot as Captain Jack. I'd get to wear stunning dresses (unfortunately I'd probably have to wear the same dress for the whole of my life, but hey) AND I'd get to have dread locks without my mum complaining and threatening to shave my head if I ever got them. I'd get to see the world, kill a few people and not get into too much trouble (not that I want to kill anyone lol), and I'd get to sail the horizon to the corners of the world., and hopefully not get hanged in the meantime. Yo Ho, Yo Ho, A Pirate's Life Fer Me.

Mus-cles.

It's amazing how weedy and weak I've become!

I used to train nine to ten times a week, with group landwork, and also my own extra landwork on top of all that.

And now I do a great big fat NOTHING.

I really quite miss my muscles actually. I swear I used to have bigger pecks than my dad and my legs used to be made of rock. Hmmm... I was thinking all this as I was painfully riding my bike the other day. How I used to cycle about fifteen times faster with no pain whatsoever, and now, I'm struggling tremendously to get up a tiny slope that feels like a mountain. *sigh*

Not a very beautiful sport twas swimming, I have to say *cough*

Do the Can-Can!

la la, la la la la la, la, la la la la la, la, la la la la la

LA LA LA LA LA LA LA

la la, la la la la la, la, la la la la la, la, la la la la, la la la la,

LA!

Studio Badminton!

The latest sport in the world of Music Technology: Studio badminton.

Aim of the game:
To make your opponent fall impressively off their wheelie-chair, making sure they land flat on their arse (trying not to make them land in expensive gear - one, because of the price, and two because you love them really).

Things to know before you begin:
1. Must be played in a music studio environment.
2. Two players, facing each other on wheelie-chairs, with their feet placed on the same wheelie bench in the middle.
3. One scrunched up CD case paper as the ball
4. Flat hand as the racket.

Points:
10 points if your opponent hits the imaginary net
15 points for each time your opponent fails to return the ball
50 points if you hit a munchkin with the ball
100 points if you hit a munchkin on the head with the ball
200 points if you hit a munchkin and manage to get the ball straight back into play (without touching the floor)
1000 points if you do the above, but hit a munchkin on the head with the ball. (Ok, so you just won the game)

Rules:
None.

I Will Try, To Fix You

That Boy From Skins (written on April 4th)

Last night was an average night. I watched Skins, cried my eyes out for a couple of hours after that, finally fell asleep (thanks to that wondrous Rain, rain, rain...) at about two am, and awoke rather suddenly, sweaty, crying, shaking, terrified... luckily without screaming... about half an hour later. So now it was about three am. I thought of a Shetland pony called Keith and something along the lines of a tutu, laughed and smiled for a bit, the thoughts eased me back into sleep, and then, I began the process again, and again, and again... until, it's half six in the morning, time to get ready for school. I write a short poem, to continue the adventures. I then get showered, wash my hair, and drown under that shower, rain. I then make my lunch (if I need one) and by 7:40 on the .D.O.T. I leave for school. Yes, I have a few problems, what I've just described is just the brim of them, that's quite a good nights sleep for me. Yet, this isn't even anywhere near the problems that some others have. But it's true, that no matter how many problems we have, there's always someone out there who has it a million times worse. So there's no point in sitting there, feeling sorry for yourself. What doesn't kill us will make us stronger, and I agree with that whole heartily.

Anyway, this particular Skins episode struck a chord with me. It was about a girl, my age, who has found herself pregnant. It shows of her struggle to tell her boyfriend, who's asked her to move in with him. Towards the end of the episode, the girl returns home, to find that her boyfriend has been taken to hospital, she still hasn't told him, but he hasn't told her... it's a secret... shhh... Her story shows real frustration, want, feeling, emotion... the boy, my favourite character, has a heart problem... and that's the bit that got me. Dead.

I cried, and I cried, and I cried. Frustration, anger at myself, the want, the need to DO something, to help. This person, genius... they've helped me more than anyone in the whole world has ever been able to. I can now sleep, MUCH better than what I could, even three weeks ago. I slept without waiting for my whole family to be upstairs... light switches... something I've never done before. Miracle. Yet I'm pretty sure that I'm the one that's caused this person's heart to take a turn for the worse. Me telling them my troubles has led to them having more troubles for them self, from lack of sleep, from worry. My fault. Yet here I am, awake, from worry about them. Chain. But then, I want to worry about them. Because worrying is the first reaction to caring about someone we love, who is hurt, or upset, or not even that. I worry about my friends, all the people I love, all the time... even if I know they're okay. I just SO badly want to help that person in the ways that they've helped me. I'd fight through anything in order to mend their heart, to make it all better. Because I couldn't bear the thought of him being the one on that hospital bed, losing him... like that boy in Skins.

So it's now the 8th of May. I was scared to post this blog, because maybe I was giving myself too much credit, and it showed me how selfish I'd been in blubbing out all my problems when they've got their own to contend with. But I've learnt a lot since I wrote it. One, that friends really are everything. I don't know what I would do without them. Two, just how lucky I am. Three, how easy I had / have it compared to so many. Four, there's light at the end of the darkness and my brain is screaming for it. You're so right. I just need to convince myself whole heartily that it's true, THIS is real. And I promise you that I'm trying so hard to believe, and I WILL believe it in the end. I can't possibly describe to you just how greatful I am. Greatful's not even the right word, but thank you, a quatrillion times. For all the opportunities you've given me, for all the shoulders to cry on, for the talks, the questions, the laughs, the punch ups, the music... everything.

Whoa, this is heavy

Doc Brown: There's that word again; "heavy". Why are things so heavy in the future? Is there a problem with the earth's gravitational pull?

A wise (but not old) musical genius once told me that building a time machine would be disastrous, because everyone would travel back to the crucifixion. And this is how we know that people haven't managed to build one in the future, because we'd see all these time machines in our history.

So I guess that that disproves the existence of the time machine, or the existence of a God, Jesus. Don't worry I'm not going to blab out some raging theory as to why I don't believe there is a God, but it does make you wonder, if something as sci-fi and surreal as a time machine could prove the existence of God. I'd find it rather funny.

Talking of funny, I think I must have had one of the best days of my life today. The sun was shining, I rode my bike into school (now my knees hate me), and I started my school day. Brains, light and light switches, more sense made clear by that same genius. Yeah, I had a shitty RS lesson, but no change there, but then music was great, greater than the greatest great lesson that ever called itself great. I just giggled and laughed, laughed and giggled all the way through, I even sat on the floor and took my shoes off. hahahahahahaha! Ah, it was so wonderfully random, with punch ups and piss takes, me not being able to phrase sentences correctly AGAIN, or just generally being a philistine. But hey, I get a free bottle of rum out of it too =P

So in high spirits, after nearly shouting cock porn very loudly across school (but managing to shout pop corn instead) I walked up the steep hill to de la salle pool... got there and thought, shit. I'd left my swimming stuff in my bloody locker at school. But no matter! I legged it back to school, grabbed the stuff, legged it back up the hill (which seemed a hell of a lot steeper than before) and jumped straight into the freezing pool. *ahhhhh*

Thank you for such a perfect day.