O I wish I had a river I could skate away on
It finally rained for a long time, in the night, and I missed it while sleeping. It's still raining now, like wet bendy needles or feathertips and I wish it would pour and storm sensationally. Something is wrong with my faithful 6-year-old speakers, so that The Mamas and The Papas sound like they are singing Creeque Alley in an empty room with no happy jangle of guitars. And the horse clip clops of God Only Knows are soft. At least the proclaimers still sound awesome.
In the pictures on my wall, James Dean is always looking at me no matter which part of the room I am at, and Paul is always holding a teacup, looking out the train window, and in another he is at the piano, and Ringo poses in his polkadotted shirt. John is looking out from under an umbrella.
At percussion class yesterday we continued practicing for the little concert exam, and we played pieces related to weather. One is Hurricane (and I'm supposed to play the steel drums except we don't have them so I have to use this malay instrument of heavy golden bells like a mini royal xylophone) and there's the weather movement series, of which we're playing Spring Wind, a light and lovely piece with a jungle feel, and Storm Warning and Dance, an intriguing and rather mad piece. I never really could follow a conductor perfectly. But it's amazing. People standing in front of instruments, with someone leading them all. And out of nothing, they all enter a counting of beats and create a something that came from the mind of someone they've never met imagining how weather or a big happy green field on a summer's day would become music, and mutter '1, 2, 3, 4' under their breaths, and somehow enter this other world, all following nothing but this intangible counting of beats and try to play their loudest when the score reads 'ffff' like someone trying to type a bad word on a typewriter. And I hit a gigantic golden nipple of a gong. And then kiap the big mallet under my armpit like an auntie and grab my drumsticks so I can play the tomtom part coming up very uncoolly. And dainty girls' arms float up and down above the xylophone, marimba, with bouncing red and yellow yarn mallets, playing lovely sounds. Someone else scrapes a suspended cymbal. And I hit the middle of the gigantic golden nipple with all my might.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Saturday, February 23, 2008
evening garden bliss
Do you want to hold johnny or sharkie?
My evening garden bliss is sitting in the mad coloured inflatable swimming pool with mr krabbs, spongebob, plankton, patrick and sandy, with the adults watching tv and eating fruits and chinese new year goodies inside the glowing living room, us outside splashing and shouting and eating ice cream and pretending. Except my grandmother thought leaving the pool on her grass overnight will kill it so she watered the plants and grass immediately. Does shining a torch on glow in the dark stars that aren't bright enough recharge them?
I can't wait for it to rain for days. O please come in the night tonight, howling and mad, till i awake and then fall back deep into sleep with dreams of jungles and smoke and hands and berries and then wake up suddenly in the morn with a deep sigh of madness.
During the christmas sleepover esmonde left his black toiletries bag here. I was following an ant trail from my dustbin with a torchlight when I found his bag under a small wooden table. And a whiff of Nomad soap and shampoo from crabtree and evelyn sent me to heaven. I saw a car bumper sticker that said 'HEAVEN. Don't miss it' with clouds. What does it mean?
I have decided to make peace with the unfathomable amount of ants in my room and feel like they are my friends inhabiting the same space as me, that they enjoy the deep blue and robin-egg blue of the walls like me, that they are happily and hardworkingly living their lives here and i should be happy for that. I simply cannot kill them anymore. Why is that?
And I'd like a pig as a pet! Fresh pink skin and GLORIOUS MUD and poo and grunts. This is like how I'd prefer an ugly chunky looking mashed up cookie or cake to a pretty prissy delicate one anytime. Does anyone else want a pig? We could make our pigs be friends and hang out with each other sometimes. Give them sunglasses and star tattoos and separate them everytime they are on the very verge of mating and then laugh about it. Evil taking over. NO, Olivia, don't worry, you can sleep with me as long as you don't release yer bowels in my grandmother's beautiful king-size bed but as you are a pig no one will blame you.
23rd february is a very special date and today my father got me a rugged blue and brown timberland backpack that will stay with me for years on all future adventures and travels.
When does it rain cold and when does it rain warm?
My evening garden bliss is sitting in the mad coloured inflatable swimming pool with mr krabbs, spongebob, plankton, patrick and sandy, with the adults watching tv and eating fruits and chinese new year goodies inside the glowing living room, us outside splashing and shouting and eating ice cream and pretending. Except my grandmother thought leaving the pool on her grass overnight will kill it so she watered the plants and grass immediately. Does shining a torch on glow in the dark stars that aren't bright enough recharge them?
I can't wait for it to rain for days. O please come in the night tonight, howling and mad, till i awake and then fall back deep into sleep with dreams of jungles and smoke and hands and berries and then wake up suddenly in the morn with a deep sigh of madness.
During the christmas sleepover esmonde left his black toiletries bag here. I was following an ant trail from my dustbin with a torchlight when I found his bag under a small wooden table. And a whiff of Nomad soap and shampoo from crabtree and evelyn sent me to heaven. I saw a car bumper sticker that said 'HEAVEN. Don't miss it' with clouds. What does it mean?
I have decided to make peace with the unfathomable amount of ants in my room and feel like they are my friends inhabiting the same space as me, that they enjoy the deep blue and robin-egg blue of the walls like me, that they are happily and hardworkingly living their lives here and i should be happy for that. I simply cannot kill them anymore. Why is that?
And I'd like a pig as a pet! Fresh pink skin and GLORIOUS MUD and poo and grunts. This is like how I'd prefer an ugly chunky looking mashed up cookie or cake to a pretty prissy delicate one anytime. Does anyone else want a pig? We could make our pigs be friends and hang out with each other sometimes. Give them sunglasses and star tattoos and separate them everytime they are on the very verge of mating and then laugh about it. Evil taking over. NO, Olivia, don't worry, you can sleep with me as long as you don't release yer bowels in my grandmother's beautiful king-size bed but as you are a pig no one will blame you.
23rd february is a very special date and today my father got me a rugged blue and brown timberland backpack that will stay with me for years on all future adventures and travels.
When does it rain cold and when does it rain warm?
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
typewriters part 2
We wrote love poems in french class yesterday; tomorrow is the day for 'recitation with feeling'. Ah secret loves and desires.
typewriter tip tip tip
A is for Apple
These are making me very excited
The Remington Portable up there was the one desiree found in the antique shop in glens falls and nearly bought for me for my birthday and when i finally saw it...it was like buttered peas and fresh flowers and strawberry tea in my blooming mind. I think I will get off my arse and do face painting and use the money to buy it. Bumblebee yellow keys melt my heart.
These are making me very excited
The Remington Portable up there was the one desiree found in the antique shop in glens falls and nearly bought for me for my birthday and when i finally saw it...it was like buttered peas and fresh flowers and strawberry tea in my blooming mind. I think I will get off my arse and do face painting and use the money to buy it. Bumblebee yellow keys melt my heart.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
fly free duckies
Suddenly I turned around and she was standing there
With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair
Lucy Clementine, I am feeling strangely excited about lunch today, because we are having nice clean porridge with warm vegetables and carrots with fried egg and the day is bright and windy. The past few days, we've been having curry and rice and mee siam and prata and sweets and spring rolls and beehoon and chocolates and sugee and help i can't stop my hands from reaching out for another biscuit or nut. But I have been getting better at catching nuts in my mouth.
Adult relatives who come to my room usually stand at the doorway with their arms politely folded behind them, faced with napoleon dynamite and the beatles, they gaze with heads slightly tipped up and nod. And nod. And nod.
TIME FOR LUNCH -jumps up like tasmanian devil-
I ran down the stairs shouting 'PORRIDGE!!!!'
Mother: PORRIDGE?
It turned out we had to finish last night's copious amounts of mee siam and popiah. They had their NJC gathering last night here. For the past 2 decades and more, my parents' NJC friends have been meeting at one guy's house for on Christmas. But last christmas the tradition was broken, and now it's going to be at my house every chinese new year. My parents met in NJC. They were both in council. When their friends meet it's always a jolly time. I spoke to one of them in french about what my father was like then. Il ne change pas. Il est toujours pratique!
Enough with the lunch story, now onto my hair. O the whimsical topics in life. It was inky punk-blue and one morning I awoke to discover that it was mainly blue and purple on top, with a small patch of light purple (turning lavender) at my forehead, and a small patch of light robin-egg blue, with ocean blue across mixed with magic violet, with the sides blue-green with brown and black roots. Wondrous! It's protecting me with magic luck.
This evening if the weather is lovely I shall lounge in the inflatable swimming pool on the fresh garden grass, with my grandmother miles away in china and not able to see that my pool is killing her grass just by Being On It.
Fly free, duckies
With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair
Lucy Clementine, I am feeling strangely excited about lunch today, because we are having nice clean porridge with warm vegetables and carrots with fried egg and the day is bright and windy. The past few days, we've been having curry and rice and mee siam and prata and sweets and spring rolls and beehoon and chocolates and sugee and help i can't stop my hands from reaching out for another biscuit or nut. But I have been getting better at catching nuts in my mouth.
Adult relatives who come to my room usually stand at the doorway with their arms politely folded behind them, faced with napoleon dynamite and the beatles, they gaze with heads slightly tipped up and nod. And nod. And nod.
TIME FOR LUNCH -jumps up like tasmanian devil-
I ran down the stairs shouting 'PORRIDGE!!!!'
Mother: PORRIDGE?
It turned out we had to finish last night's copious amounts of mee siam and popiah. They had their NJC gathering last night here. For the past 2 decades and more, my parents' NJC friends have been meeting at one guy's house for on Christmas. But last christmas the tradition was broken, and now it's going to be at my house every chinese new year. My parents met in NJC. They were both in council. When their friends meet it's always a jolly time. I spoke to one of them in french about what my father was like then. Il ne change pas. Il est toujours pratique!
Enough with the lunch story, now onto my hair. O the whimsical topics in life. It was inky punk-blue and one morning I awoke to discover that it was mainly blue and purple on top, with a small patch of light purple (turning lavender) at my forehead, and a small patch of light robin-egg blue, with ocean blue across mixed with magic violet, with the sides blue-green with brown and black roots. Wondrous! It's protecting me with magic luck.
This evening if the weather is lovely I shall lounge in the inflatable swimming pool on the fresh garden grass, with my grandmother miles away in china and not able to see that my pool is killing her grass just by Being On It.
Fly free, duckies
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