do i dare?
Michaelangelo.
let us go and make our visit
time for you, time for me click above for a handful of dust
so how should I presume?
If you are a dreamer, come in,
If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar,
A hope-er, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer...
If you're a pretender, come sit by my fire
For we have some flax-golden tales to spin.
Come in! Come in!... for where the sidewalk ends. - Shel Silverstein
These fragments I have shored against my ruins. - T.S. Eliot
do i dare...disturb the universe?
ren-ka // alias. karrot,kawun
dob.11.10.
I live in a world where
lobster and corn can be very
good friends.
i have known the eyes already
songs: Strokes
tvb: dinner at 8
kvariety: nil
kdrama: ryeo
twdrama: love O2O
anime: nil
book: Moveable Feast Ernest Hemingway
website: moonbeard
website: stumble
headache: the boy
about the layout
Credits to magnette from blogskins.com, mods made by me.
Lots of it is inspired by T.S. Eliot's Hollow Men and Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.
talking of Michaelangelo.
Monday, May 30, 2011
- learning by doing // 1:53 am
"How do you bop a bang?"
Classroom Strategy - It works splendidly. The children are rowdy and everyone is having their own conversation. Standing at the front of the class, you begin speaking without making a sound. You move your lips to any random words. With a slow and gradual crescendo, your end goal is a whisper. Watch the children lean forward trying to hang on to your every word. It's like magick, they become silent within moments.
So often, teachers think we must yell to get the attention of our students... but...
A thief of glances, once upon a time. When stolen smiles and glimpses of crow's feet Set flight butterflies, quickening heart beat. But love swooped down to purge this heinous crime.
A thief of gaze no more, but thief of time. To steal some memory and words so sweet To forge our world our language so discreet Of hands, of infinity - our sublime.
And now to guard the loot and keep it close. A transgressor! I sin the darkest sin; Not greed, but the eighth - a lofty hope, no?
To dream in your arms, my sweetest repose, Now and timelessly; but where to begin Memorizing you, before you must go?
- - -
iambic ambrosia, been awhile since my sonnet days.
By the by, thank you, for our first very own "thing". A language, how fitting for us, lovers of words. (Though, ironically, ours is one without.)
Strange observations: Dr. L: You have very curvy ear canals. K: Uh...um, thank you? You too?
Aside from his gorgeous face, I adore Johnny Depp for his smooooth. Watching him is like watching a grown man at play. A child at play, an actor's play. He is a beautiful, beautiful man. His words always come with a wink. Depp!
PIRATES!
"I came to steal m'self back."
(Yes, yet another installment, but I still watched intensely, just as I did years ago. I also, waited until the end credits were over. Yes, there is something more.)
The mermaids subplot was mesmerizing, to say the least. Loved their spin on it... the tears and the monstrosity of them.
I love these words and this melody entirely. Entirely. Lying here, letting these words float over me.
[Him:] So you think that I'm harder than easy, And you find me as strange as the truth I'm as guilty of judging as you are, But the difference is I don't judge you
You believed in your fairytale endings, Now you find yourself down on your knees, Like a rock thats been changed by the ocean, Or a shipwreck lost out at sea
Sing me a love song, I'm your man I will always love you The best I can
[Duet:] In our story of riddles and poems Every word that you speak tastes like stone Like a melody sung by a jester Some are stolen, some are your own
At the end of the day when youre lonely After begging to be left alone You can look at this world as your kingdom If you want you can make me your home
Sing me a love song, I'm your man I will always love you the best I can
Hold me close don't let me go I will always love you the most
[Her:] Sing me a love song, you're my man Will you always love me the best you can?
The duet that makes this song work, like magic. The softness. The lovely sound quality of... this almost pulling the words longer. The way the tones curve in their voices up and down. Lyrical and smooth.
... mostly the tune and the voice. And Teddy and Henry.
I see the colors in your face like the paintings that you hang But only you can read your mind You don’t believe me when I say that your smile makes my day A little better every time
And I just don’t know what else to do I can’t think of anything but you
I thought I had you figured out, well I should’ve shut my mouth Because now you’ve turned and walked away I know I promised you a song, and I know it’s been real long So here’s the heartbreak that you need.
you.me.we
I love the little-bit airy quality of his voice. Sort of like a blend of Daniel Powter and Jason Mraz and C.N.Blue ... a little bit Indie soft rock/pop. A bit of husky charm. My cup of tea! I love the meaning and the integrity that he chases after. I love the way the music turns just a little bit 1:45-6, oh love.
- cloudy, with a chance of thunderstorms // 11:55 pm
And thus starts the denial stage of the game.
"Look," the woman said. "I confess a sadness to you, but do not think I lack resolution. Nothing has happened to my resolution."
"The sadness will dissipate as the sun rises. It is like a mist."
Oh, Hemingway.
Really nice to read in an email, "I was just thinking of you!" :) Hm, so was I!
P.S. Just to keep track, a list of ridiculous movies that I may venture out to see when they are out... Hesher must must must, Anonymous oh, Shakespeare, Midnight in Paris (yes, despite the fact that it is unfortunately Owen Wilson...), Last Night (adulterous? but, ah! Guillaume Canet! must!).
Rustling trees are wind chimes, swaying and juggling laughter. Strolling and a short siesta. Oxford-Cambridge likeness stained glass windows, poetry reading; Imitations and observations.
The life cycle of a dandelion.
Measuring bean plants, singing inappropriate songs. And D's hilarious "Here we go!"
Again, like a child, with added warmth. The together to do list grows and grows and grows...
Reunions are nice, especially comfortable, sleepy long chats. Like picking up where we left off, but we never left.
(Airport. Seriously, what are the chances that I would run into you? I had to go to the wrong terminal by accident, run to the wrong exit, get lost and crash right into you and your gaudy, expensive looking flowers and your stiff-collared shirt and your suit. "Are those for me?" Hah. Gosh! Coincidences. How long has it been? Your high school graduation? And since then and there, where've you been off to? Either way, it was nice to see you again, doesn't fate have a strange way to bringing people back together? You haven't changed in the slightest, still got that stupid oblivious face going. Your Australian girlfriend must like that. Do you even remember me? Me, the little girl who you used to consider as your sister?)
[Setting the Scene: After school. One of the "cool girls". Grade 7. Also present, beloved janitor, R, good friend, in midst of conversation. (With no reason to suck up to me whatsoever, she...)] A: Miss C, hi! You're back. Hug. K: Yeah, I'm back. Smile. It's really great to be here again. A: You know, you're, like, the coolest student teacher ever. I remember always coming to Mr. H's classroom just to visit you. K: Aw, that is so sweet of you! A:to the janitor You know, Miss C's got one of those smiles. R: Like what? A: Like you can tell she's smiling with her eyes. For real. Like a real smile. R: How do you know? A:Matter-of-factly. I just know these things. Laughter all around.
I really love that word, but it's such a sad word to love. I'm totally procrastinating and bored. But really, these things are quite interesting. If it wasn't for school and I was just reading on AD/HD for fun, it it would be fascinating. Maybe it's just my nature to feel distaste for obligations...
So, did you hear, you can get salmonella from lettuce...?! WHAT? What a strange world we live in.
Rarely. Hm, a country song on loop? I run from hate, I run from prejudice I run from pessimists, but I run too late I run my life or is it running me, run from my past I run too fast or too slow it seems...
Leftover from last night, what were those strange dreams that still resurface now? Misty. Hm.
Work work work, K, must work! Finish and then play! :) Ugh, the bored randomness seeping from this post irks me.
Ah, how devastatingly pretty these words are. Stealing, on stealing.
"I think your center isn't the things you've stolen, but the spirit of the thief herself. Wash away all the content you've taken and what remains is the will to possess what is beautiful, and to beautify through this possession."
(Seven seasons later, Grey's storyline is still going strong. A testament to how well built up the relationships are. The characterization is flawless. The situations are still gasp-inducing, shocking, still amazing. Love. Cupcake, I miss watching and crying about it with you.)
Feels like the sky cannot wait to burst open, a growing balloon filling with water. Someone get me a pin already. The air compresses you from all sides... it's so stuffy. Not in the mood to do anything but lie on the cold floor and eat popsicles..................
There's not enough sun, the tangy smell keeps coming back to her, but the funny thing is, it's like she can never get enough of it to remember it fully, or as much as she wants to.
Yes, I'll admit that I'm a fool for you Because you're mine I walk the line
Spamming the body with water and it's so confused.
Pomplamoose! (in French!)
The xylophone and the accordion are heart-meltingly adorable. Time to hum this all day (instead). The father is so sick of Mr. Sandman. The brother on the other hand, is not.
Lala, a junkyard of thoughts. (Just like her desk. The pile of papers aren't getting any smaller.)
- an exposition on the perfect medium soft-boiled egg // 1:03 am
Big pots work better, but more water is wasted. Works with tiny pots too. (Large eggs are my preference, I have not experimented with any other sizes.) Fill cold water to cover the whole egg. High heat.
14 minutes exactly. The clock has to be watched; one can eat other things in the meantime to pass time. (I recommend a buttery croissant. Or two. Or hot toast with melted peanut butter and honey, that's a whole other post.) But when the minute turns to the 14th, the stove must be switched off and the pot must be removed, the egg must be poured into a previously prepared bowl of cold water (so the skin slides off easily).
In approx. 30 seconds, claim your prize. Scoop the egg out, the shell should be cold enough for one's fingers. You know you've done a fabulous job when the shell comes off without effort. Just lightly crack, it almost peels itself.
No more of the distasteful slimy watery whites. The yolk has one thin layer of firmness, almost a solid yellow, but the rest is moderately runny, but not overly raw. Perfection.
Cut in half (lengthwise), and while the inside is still steaming, a pinch of salt on either side, it should melt by the time one puts away their salt.
A Golden Moment.
[Aside: Scrambled is fabulous as well, but I am more partial to over easy scrambled -- still scrambled, but not watery at all (more oil and frying time). Normal over-easy eggs are great with bits of meat - bacon or sausage. Poached is not bad, but depends on what you're having it with and how cooked the yolk is. I don't believe in Hollandaise sauces or whatever though. Ruins the integrity of the egg. Omelettes are controversial, I think. It depends on time of day and mood and what's in them. Eggs are also delicious flaky, in corn soup. Mmmmm.
Egggggs obsesssss. Been having them and experimenting with them daily.
I've fallen in love with Levin in all his timidity and intensity and complicatedness. He is so misunderstood and digs so deeply into himself. He is so difficult and his struggles are endearing. I wish he'd stop beating himself up so hard. His spirit seems to over brim with under-appreciated gentleness.
...too much orbiting around the sun for much needed heat.
Utter disbelief. Shock, even. She felt that residue of feelings that she thought were long gone rush forward again. A caged beast, pushed so far into the forbidden parts of her that she thought she had forgotten. It roars, pushes out, consumes her for just a split second .... with who knows what and her face flushes. Unable to breathe for a moment. She caught herself too late, everyone at the table knew exactly what it was that flashed through her face. The brain racing to understand things her heart couldn't.
She can conquer this. It might just be hard to brave a smile when she'll have to face them all... those faces...
