Today's Music Monday is brought to you by my wanderlust. I have said enough. Ladies and gents, please enjoy Scalliwag, by Gaelic Storm.
Scalliwag, by Gaelic Storm
Come away come away with the traveling show
come away with the raggle taggle gypsy oh!
We'll raggle-taggle here we'll raggle-taggle there, raggle up and down taggle everywhere.
From the North from the South from the East from the West, well the sky is our roof and the road is our rest.
No one to say 'yes', no one to say 'no'.
Run free with the raggle-taggle gypsy oh!
They locked you in a tower and threw away the key but this tower's no match for a wag like me
I'll be sneaking through your gate I'll be peaking round the corner well I've come to take your daughter, don't you say I didn't warn ya.
I'll be bringing you a fiddle I'll be singing you a song we'll fiddle, sing, sing, fiddle all day long.
In the halls and the walls they will her us sing and say "whack fol the diddle diddle die diddle day"
Chorus:
Come on and wade, way out into the wayer with me, we're drowning on dry land.
Come on and wade way out into the water with me... Jump in and take my hand.
I'll be rapping at your window I'll be knocking at your door I'll be tip tippy tapping, tippy tapping on the floor
With me fine silk britches and a feather in me hat If I run into your father then I'll stop and have a chat!
Cutting through your garden on the way to rendezvous and the owls in the trees are hooting "who are you?"
And the mice and the cats and the spiders and the bats we're dancing 'round the kitchen like a pack of acrobats
Run away, Run away with the traveling show Run away with the rambling gypsy oh!
Come on and wade, way out into the wayer with me, we're drowning on dry land.
Come on and wade way out into the water with me... Jump in and take my hand.
A roving and a running and a riding on the sea and everywhere we go as happy as can be
All the mountains and the valleys and the rivers and the streams, all the lovely places that you've seen in your dreams
I'll give you the heavens, the stars in the sky, every wooded creature, every bird and butterfly
I've never had a fotune not a penny will you find you're my one and only treasure, you can leave all the rest behind.
Come on and wade, way out into the wayer with me, we're drowning on dry land.
Come on and wade way out into the water with me... Jump in and take my hand.
17 January 2011
10 January 2011
The Cast
Out of a morbid curiosity, I was going through the archives of this blog, and found this delicious post. I gave you an idea of who the recurring characters in my melodrama were. Well, a lot of these characters have passed out of my life, so it is high time that my reader become reacquainted with the Cast.
First, an update on older members of the cast:
NtropyNcarnate has gone to college.
Lady Specs has gone to college.
UnexpectedSong has gone to college.
Toothpick has married.
Pipsqueak has joined Running Start.
Dory is at community college.
Now, to introduce the new members:
the Professor is a speaker and novice debater from my club.
Milan is an unexpected friend from California. She is a debater in college, and has been an incredible blessing to know.
Bill is more scenery than anything else. He's UnexpectedSong's little brother. Worldview 2010 was made bearable by hanging out with him and the Professor.
SirSarcasm is a relatively new, also unexpected friend and brother from speech and debate, now in college.
Shorty is a debater whom I've been getting to know over the past year. She's "more cool than hot sauce" in her own words.
Shrimpy is a friend, also from speech and debate, who I look forward to getting to know more over the coming year. She's Shorty's debate partner.
Old friends I never introduced.
Ophelia - a lovely girl from church. She used to blog, but has since left the self-centric world for reality.
Grey - Ophelia's older sister. Also used to blog, but is fairly infrequent now. Both Grey and Ophelia competed in speech and debate, but have dropped out for more edifying activities. :)
There you have it. More characters to keep track of!
First, an update on older members of the cast:
NtropyNcarnate has gone to college.
Lady Specs has gone to college.
UnexpectedSong has gone to college.
Toothpick has married.
Pipsqueak has joined Running Start.
Dory is at community college.
Now, to introduce the new members:
the Professor is a speaker and novice debater from my club.
Milan is an unexpected friend from California. She is a debater in college, and has been an incredible blessing to know.
Bill is more scenery than anything else. He's UnexpectedSong's little brother. Worldview 2010 was made bearable by hanging out with him and the Professor.
SirSarcasm is a relatively new, also unexpected friend and brother from speech and debate, now in college.
Shorty is a debater whom I've been getting to know over the past year. She's "more cool than hot sauce" in her own words.
Shrimpy is a friend, also from speech and debate, who I look forward to getting to know more over the coming year. She's Shorty's debate partner.
Old friends I never introduced.
Ophelia - a lovely girl from church. She used to blog, but has since left the self-centric world for reality.
Grey - Ophelia's older sister. Also used to blog, but is fairly infrequent now. Both Grey and Ophelia competed in speech and debate, but have dropped out for more edifying activities. :)
There you have it. More characters to keep track of!
06 January 2011
Weary
Well, I haven't found the words, precisely, but I have found a word.
Weary, adjective: Having one's interest, forbearance, or indulgence worn out.
I am weary. My forbearance with life is worn out. The constant stress, the mundane melodrama, and the ever present, lurking thoughts of "I've messed up again" are wearing me down. I want out.
It's hard to explain. I've yet to find the words to explain. But this one word, it's a start.
B
Weary, adjective: Having one's interest, forbearance, or indulgence worn out.
I am weary. My forbearance with life is worn out. The constant stress, the mundane melodrama, and the ever present, lurking thoughts of "I've messed up again" are wearing me down. I want out.
It's hard to explain. I've yet to find the words to explain. But this one word, it's a start.
B
03 January 2011
Vagabond, by Blackmore's Night
I was trying to describe this band to Calvin the other day, with less than satisfactory results. If you've ever tried to talk music with someone who doesn't listen to the same style as yourself, you know what I mean when I say it's like speaking different languages. Suffice to say, Blackmore's Night is incredible. It has beautiful lyrics, melodies that could spring from the 1300s, and some pretty awesome guitar riffs to boot. Ladies and gents, I give you Vagabond, by Blackmore's Night.
Vagabond
There's many a crooked path
That has ended me here
Tired, broken and wearing rags
Wild eyed with fear
There's so much more to this vagabond
Than the eye can see
You can see me through different eyes
Make a princess of me
Door to door with a heavy heart
Try to stave off the cold
In the distance a gypsy cart
Filled with thieves and rogues
Sing for supper and sing for pence
A song's all I have to give
With a fiddle and with no rest
Singing only to live
Through the window a golden glow
Families gather round
Here outside it starts to snow
Silence the only sound
B
post scriptum: Last week's Music Monday was not published by me. My brother Thursday broke into my computer in revenge for a hard time I gave him concerning a certain young lady in his acquaintance.
Vagabond
There's many a crooked path
That has ended me here
Tired, broken and wearing rags
Wild eyed with fear
There's so much more to this vagabond
Than the eye can see
You can see me through different eyes
Make a princess of me
Door to door with a heavy heart
Try to stave off the cold
In the distance a gypsy cart
Filled with thieves and rogues
Sing for supper and sing for pence
A song's all I have to give
With a fiddle and with no rest
Singing only to live
Through the window a golden glow
Families gather round
Here outside it starts to snow
Silence the only sound
B
post scriptum: Last week's Music Monday was not published by me. My brother Thursday broke into my computer in revenge for a hard time I gave him concerning a certain young lady in his acquaintance.
01 January 2011
Pleased to make your acquaintance
Hello there! I'm Problematic. You haven't met me before, but it's understandable. You only just became. I have a feeling we're going to be the best of friends this year. No, no, I completely agree. If we're going to be best friends, you need to know a bit about what's been happening. My relationship with your predecessor. No, I didn't kill it. It left on its own, quite without my help. You're curious now? Well, so am I.
I stole a form from my friend, Bethany. You should meet her, too. Anyways, this form will make the acquaintance a little easier. Are you ready? Let's leap right in. :)
Well, the past relationship was strained. A feeling of exuberance carried over from your predecessor's predecessor. Things looked pretty peachy. In the early months of our time together, 2010 and I got into many messes throughout tournament season. Spirits were high. I criticized angsty teenagers. I congratulated my clubmates on their achievements in the great realm of competitive forensics. I made opinionated, annoying, aggravating, or just amusing sarcastic comments on a great many things I didn't properly understand.
Then in March, I went and paged at the state capitol, Olympia. That was very exhilarating, and I've completely lost faith in the state of our country as a result. But the power, the incredible power of it all! I'm sorry, I have to work on suppressing my evil chuckles. It won't happen again, I promise. Don't quote me on that.
Anyways, there was a violin concert where I endeavored to make my lovely, luscious Ignatius sound like a bagpipe, with a surprising amount of success. However, in March, things started taking a turn for the worse. As I've said in previous posts (which, 2011, you may want to check out as they explain quite a bit) I don't have the words to talk about that now, but suffice it to say, the clouds were rolling in, and rosy-fingered Aurora was no longer visible above the menacing strata of rain storms.
April was the Regional Qualifier. My good friend Jedi Gerbil qualified to Nationals as well as a few others, but I had the task of cheering up a few depressive clubmates who thought that their first turn at Regionals would yield fantastic results.
In May, my uncle Barry Hendrickson died, leaving behind a wife and little girl. We do not know if he ever accepted Christ or not. Also in May, I was accepted into a local drama company's protection of Much Ado About Nothing. I strongly believe it was based on my violin and not on any acting ability I may hope to possess. June through early July was spent in rehearsals for Much Ado, saying goodbyes to friends who were all but digested in the life of college, and preparing from my month of hell. During the rehearsals, I asked Calvin if he'd consider being my duo partner for the upcoming tournament season --- that's the one that you'll be watching with me. :)
Immediately after the last performance of Much Ado, 2010 and I headed over to Worldview Academy for a week of recursiveness. It was alright, more for getting to know a couple kids from the league. Then I taught Speech Camp. Then, I played in a pit orchestra for Les Miserables. Then, I went to debate camp. All in the space of three weeks. At debate camp, 2010 and I had some nice, good, old-fashioned emotional moments.
And met a new friend. From now on, I shall refer to her as Milan. :)
In the fall, I dealt with the mass migration of friends out of my circle. And a few others things as well which belong in my journal. Impertiant year! No, I don't trust you to keep a secret. Sorry. Sorry. Wrong way to start out. Sorry. :)
Anyways, those are the high and low-lights. But to sum things up... Just between friends, you understand. Don't expect this to happen in public or anything.
Classic Epic Times: Running around Coop B with NtropyNcarnate, giggling with Grey and Ophelia and other friends and staying up far too late considering the tournaments the next day, bannana gun fights with Escapist, teaching a class about cutting interps on the fly, chasing down the Professor with a cup of water and being soaked by his gallon of ice-tea.
First: energy drink, adoptive older brother, friend married, friends lost, college visit, part in a produced play, driving all the way across the state of Montana, close family member to die.
Most nostalgic songs: Inside of You, In Spite of You; So She Dances; Dark Waltz; Always Look On the Bright Side of Life; Kernkraft 500; Prelude 12/21; Lost?; I Can Walk On Water; Not Gonna Get Us
Favorite memories: Waterfights over the summer; sleepovers with friends; hiking Mt. Si with Speech and Debate friends; conversations on the balcony; bugging the Professor with a Basshunter song all week at Worldview
Major Hits: Converse, Tascam DP-02, Pike Place Market, Despicable Me, Sherlock Holmes, Inception, iPod, Henna, KatyBell Socks, Knee High Leather Boots, stilleto heels, Kershaw knives, YMCA, Jamba Juice, Five Pump No Water Non Fat Chai Tea Lattes
Best Books: The Elegance of the Hedgehog, The Schwa Was Here, The Hunger Games series, the Harry Potter serires, Stargirl, Nuremberg: Infamy On Trial, I Have Lived A Thousand Years, Mistborn Series, Elantris, I Am Not A Serial Killer
Best Music: Nightwish, Snow Patrol, Coldplay, Sherlock Holmes-Schindler's List-Lord of the Rings-Inception soundtracks, The Eternal Chapter, Within Temptation, select Basshunter selections, Loreena McKennit
Keywords: cards, caffeine, facade, insomnia, bleary, bannana
Keywords [inside joke edition]: Foot-lover, brrrgggh??!, bannana-bread, ding!, wibbly-wobbly
Favorite teacher: Dr. Lund
Best quotes:
"You know, you look like a international jewel thief. I don't trust you one bit."
"You've got an innocent face but scarily crafty eyes."
"I thought they were giving the quilt a rest - but there's a dog in there..."
" If I'm a Spitfire, that makes you a Panzer: Slow, ground-borne, and easy to destroy from the air..."
"You're a one-track mind with a skip on it"
'Dalink, dis iz Russia. Ve have vodka on tap."
"You smell like a mad scientist - musty with a megalomaniacal overtone."
"I'm like red wine, complete with the nutty undertones." (this and the one previous to it came from entirely different conversations.)
"Problematic, if you're my sister, you're my little sister." "But I'm older than you." "And this proves what?"
And there you have it, 2011. See? You know me already! So, with that footing, I'd like to say, once and for all. I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance.
B
I stole a form from my friend, Bethany. You should meet her, too. Anyways, this form will make the acquaintance a little easier. Are you ready? Let's leap right in. :)
Well, the past relationship was strained. A feeling of exuberance carried over from your predecessor's predecessor. Things looked pretty peachy. In the early months of our time together, 2010 and I got into many messes throughout tournament season. Spirits were high. I criticized angsty teenagers. I congratulated my clubmates on their achievements in the great realm of competitive forensics. I made opinionated, annoying, aggravating, or just amusing sarcastic comments on a great many things I didn't properly understand.
Then in March, I went and paged at the state capitol, Olympia. That was very exhilarating, and I've completely lost faith in the state of our country as a result. But the power, the incredible power of it all! I'm sorry, I have to work on suppressing my evil chuckles. It won't happen again, I promise. Don't quote me on that.
Anyways, there was a violin concert where I endeavored to make my lovely, luscious Ignatius sound like a bagpipe, with a surprising amount of success. However, in March, things started taking a turn for the worse. As I've said in previous posts (which, 2011, you may want to check out as they explain quite a bit) I don't have the words to talk about that now, but suffice it to say, the clouds were rolling in, and rosy-fingered Aurora was no longer visible above the menacing strata of rain storms.
April was the Regional Qualifier. My good friend Jedi Gerbil qualified to Nationals as well as a few others, but I had the task of cheering up a few depressive clubmates who thought that their first turn at Regionals would yield fantastic results.
In May, my uncle Barry Hendrickson died, leaving behind a wife and little girl. We do not know if he ever accepted Christ or not. Also in May, I was accepted into a local drama company's protection of Much Ado About Nothing. I strongly believe it was based on my violin and not on any acting ability I may hope to possess. June through early July was spent in rehearsals for Much Ado, saying goodbyes to friends who were all but digested in the life of college, and preparing from my month of hell. During the rehearsals, I asked Calvin if he'd consider being my duo partner for the upcoming tournament season --- that's the one that you'll be watching with me. :)
Immediately after the last performance of Much Ado, 2010 and I headed over to Worldview Academy for a week of recursiveness. It was alright, more for getting to know a couple kids from the league. Then I taught Speech Camp. Then, I played in a pit orchestra for Les Miserables. Then, I went to debate camp. All in the space of three weeks. At debate camp, 2010 and I had some nice, good, old-fashioned emotional moments.
And met a new friend. From now on, I shall refer to her as Milan. :)
In the fall, I dealt with the mass migration of friends out of my circle. And a few others things as well which belong in my journal. Impertiant year! No, I don't trust you to keep a secret. Sorry. Sorry. Wrong way to start out. Sorry. :)
Anyways, those are the high and low-lights. But to sum things up... Just between friends, you understand. Don't expect this to happen in public or anything.
Classic Epic Times: Running around Coop B with NtropyNcarnate, giggling with Grey and Ophelia and other friends and staying up far too late considering the tournaments the next day, bannana gun fights with Escapist, teaching a class about cutting interps on the fly, chasing down the Professor with a cup of water and being soaked by his gallon of ice-tea.
First: energy drink, adoptive older brother, friend married, friends lost, college visit, part in a produced play, driving all the way across the state of Montana, close family member to die.
Most nostalgic songs: Inside of You, In Spite of You; So She Dances; Dark Waltz; Always Look On the Bright Side of Life; Kernkraft 500; Prelude 12/21; Lost?; I Can Walk On Water; Not Gonna Get Us
Favorite memories: Waterfights over the summer; sleepovers with friends; hiking Mt. Si with Speech and Debate friends; conversations on the balcony; bugging the Professor with a Basshunter song all week at Worldview
Major Hits: Converse, Tascam DP-02, Pike Place Market, Despicable Me, Sherlock Holmes, Inception, iPod, Henna, KatyBell Socks, Knee High Leather Boots, stilleto heels, Kershaw knives, YMCA, Jamba Juice, Five Pump No Water Non Fat Chai Tea Lattes
Best Books: The Elegance of the Hedgehog, The Schwa Was Here, The Hunger Games series, the Harry Potter serires, Stargirl, Nuremberg: Infamy On Trial, I Have Lived A Thousand Years, Mistborn Series, Elantris, I Am Not A Serial Killer
Best Music: Nightwish, Snow Patrol, Coldplay, Sherlock Holmes-Schindler's List-Lord of the Rings-Inception soundtracks, The Eternal Chapter, Within Temptation, select Basshunter selections, Loreena McKennit
Keywords: cards, caffeine, facade, insomnia, bleary, bannana
Keywords [inside joke edition]: Foot-lover, brrrgggh??!, bannana-bread, ding!, wibbly-wobbly
Favorite teacher: Dr. Lund
Best quotes:
"You know, you look like a international jewel thief. I don't trust you one bit."
"You've got an innocent face but scarily crafty eyes."
"I thought they were giving the quilt a rest - but there's a dog in there..."
" If I'm a Spitfire, that makes you a Panzer: Slow, ground-borne, and easy to destroy from the air..."
"You're a one-track mind with a skip on it"
'Dalink, dis iz Russia. Ve have vodka on tap."
"You smell like a mad scientist - musty with a megalomaniacal overtone."
"I'm like red wine, complete with the nutty undertones." (this and the one previous to it came from entirely different conversations.)
"Problematic, if you're my sister, you're my little sister." "But I'm older than you." "And this proves what?"
And there you have it, 2011. See? You know me already! So, with that footing, I'd like to say, once and for all. I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance.
B
31 December 2010
Goodnight 2010
Well, I still haven't quite found the words to describe things yet. There are quite a few unfinished drafts sitting in the publishing queue, so while we wait, I'll redo a New Year's tag. Here you go.
3 things I accomplished last year:
1. Paging at the Washington State Senate
2. Overcame my phobia of being touched
3. Received recording equipment!
3 things I plan to accomplish this year:
1. Get closer to NCFCA Nationals (if not actually to them)
2. Survive
3. learn guitar
3 embarrassing things that happened last year:
1.Crying in front of a stranger at debate camp (but it all worked out ;P )
2.Trust games in drama over the summer.They involved being held (like this, with less intent to snog and more stiffness), by my soon-to-be duo partner and dealing with my phobia of being touched.
3. Presuming friendship with someone who didn't want it.
3 life-changing things that happened last year:
1. Teaching Speech Camp and attending debate camp
2. A very unpleasant realization
3. Singing "I Am Sixteen Going On Seventeen" the eve before my 17th birthday. The only time I sang it while 16.
3 things that happened last year that made me smile:
1. Being told I looked like an international jewel thief
2. Adopting a few new brothers - older and younger
3. Arguing with a debater from the National Forensics League about Communism
3 random things that I didn't do last year:
1. I didn't go to Hawaii
2. I didn't record an album
3.I didn't forget to water the orchid (at least, I didn't until it died.)
3 things I accomplished last year:
1. Paging at the Washington State Senate
2. Overcame my phobia of being touched
3. Received recording equipment!
3 things I plan to accomplish this year:
1. Get closer to NCFCA Nationals (if not actually to them)
2. Survive
3. learn guitar
3 embarrassing things that happened last year:
1.Crying in front of a stranger at debate camp (but it all worked out ;P )
2.Trust games in drama over the summer.They involved being held (like this, with less intent to snog and more stiffness), by my soon-to-be duo partner and dealing with my phobia of being touched.
3. Presuming friendship with someone who didn't want it.
3 life-changing things that happened last year:
1. Teaching Speech Camp and attending debate camp
2. A very unpleasant realization
3. Singing "I Am Sixteen Going On Seventeen" the eve before my 17th birthday. The only time I sang it while 16.
3 things that happened last year that made me smile:
1. Being told I looked like an international jewel thief
2. Adopting a few new brothers - older and younger
3. Arguing with a debater from the National Forensics League about Communism
3 random things that I didn't do last year:
1. I didn't go to Hawaii
2. I didn't record an album
3.I didn't forget to water the orchid (at least, I didn't until it died.)
20 December 2010
Intruder Alert!
This isn't really a new post, despite appearances, as I've been busy lately and so this just feels too short to really count.
Thank you for holding. Please enjoy the music.
Thank you for holding. Please enjoy the music.
My Body Is A Cage
To be quite honest, I'm not quite sure what to think of this song. When I first listened to it, I thought it was beautifully, if pointlessly morbid, and had no resolution. It sounded like the dualists who believe that the physical world is entirely worthless, and that their bodies trap them in an existence that is nothing like what true reality is.
But the melody was catchy, so I looked up the lyrics and found Biblical allusions in the verses. So I'm in the strange position of loving the melody and verses, but can't quite decide whether to love or hate the chorus.
Have at it!
My Body Is A Cage, by Arcade Fire
My body is a cage that keeps me
From dancing with the one I love
But my mind holds the key
My body is a cage that keeps me
From dancing with the one I love
But my mind holds the key
I'm standing on a stage
Of fear and self-doubt
It's a hollow play
But they'll clap anyway
My body is a cage that keeps me
From dancing with the one I love
But my mind holds the key
You're standing next to me
My mind holds the key
I'm living in an age
That calls darkness light
Though my language is dead
Still the shapes fill my head
I'm living in an age
Whose name I don't know
Though the fear keeps me moving
Still my heart beats so slow
My body is a cage that keeps me
From dancing with the one I love
But my mind holds the key
You're standing next to me
My mind holds the key
My body is a
My body is a cage
We take what we're given
Just because you've forgotten
That don't mean you're forgiven
I'm living in an age
That screams my name at night
But when I get to the doorway
There's no one in sight
My body is a cage that keeps me
From dancing with the one I love
But my mind holds the key
You're standing next to me
My mind holds the key
Set my spirit free
Set my spirit free
Set my body free
But the melody was catchy, so I looked up the lyrics and found Biblical allusions in the verses. So I'm in the strange position of loving the melody and verses, but can't quite decide whether to love or hate the chorus.
Have at it!
My Body Is A Cage, by Arcade Fire
My body is a cage that keeps me
From dancing with the one I love
But my mind holds the key
My body is a cage that keeps me
From dancing with the one I love
But my mind holds the key
I'm standing on a stage
Of fear and self-doubt
It's a hollow play
But they'll clap anyway
My body is a cage that keeps me
From dancing with the one I love
But my mind holds the key
You're standing next to me
My mind holds the key
I'm living in an age
That calls darkness light
Though my language is dead
Still the shapes fill my head
I'm living in an age
Whose name I don't know
Though the fear keeps me moving
Still my heart beats so slow
My body is a cage that keeps me
From dancing with the one I love
But my mind holds the key
You're standing next to me
My mind holds the key
My body is a
My body is a cage
We take what we're given
Just because you've forgotten
That don't mean you're forgiven
I'm living in an age
That screams my name at night
But when I get to the doorway
There's no one in sight
My body is a cage that keeps me
From dancing with the one I love
But my mind holds the key
You're standing next to me
My mind holds the key
Set my spirit free
Set my spirit free
Set my body free
18 December 2010
Low
Dear readers, before you chastise me for a record-breaking delay on Music Monday, let me explain. This past week has been pretty stressful. What with the last week of classes, the reports due, Christmas next week, and an upcoming tournament to prepare for, I completely lost track of time. So today, Saturday, let me offer you a humble piece for your musical edification.
Low, by Coldplay, comes off one of my favorite albums: X&Y. While I admit that some of this album confounds my mind entirely, the theme is that of relationships. And if you can sense a theme here, you're a genius.
Anyways, I like Low because it seems to be talking about someone searching for perfect love but not finding it. It's interesting like that.
Ladies and gents,
Low, by Coldplay
You see the world in black and white
No colour or light
You think you'll never get it right
But you know you might
The sky could fall could fall on me
The parting of the seas
But you mean more, mean more to me
Than any color I can see
All you ever wanted was love
But you never looked hard enough
It's never gonna give itself up
All you ever wanted to be
Living in perfect symmetry
Nothing is as down or as up... as us
You see the world in black and white
Not painted right
You see no meaning to your life
Yes, you try
Yes, you try
And all you ever wanted it was love
But you never looked hard enough
It's never gonna give itself up
All you ever wanted to be
Living in perfect symmetry
Nothing is as down or as up
Don't you want to see it come soon
Floating in a big white balloon
Oh, given your own silver spoon
Don't you want to see it come down
There for throwing your arms around
an sayin "you're a moment too soon"
Cause I feel low
Cause I feel low
Oh oh oh oh oh
Yeah I feel low
Low, by Coldplay, comes off one of my favorite albums: X&Y. While I admit that some of this album confounds my mind entirely, the theme is that of relationships. And if you can sense a theme here, you're a genius.
Anyways, I like Low because it seems to be talking about someone searching for perfect love but not finding it. It's interesting like that.
Ladies and gents,
Low, by Coldplay
You see the world in black and white
No colour or light
You think you'll never get it right
But you know you might
The sky could fall could fall on me
The parting of the seas
But you mean more, mean more to me
Than any color I can see
All you ever wanted was love
But you never looked hard enough
It's never gonna give itself up
All you ever wanted to be
Living in perfect symmetry
Nothing is as down or as up... as us
You see the world in black and white
Not painted right
You see no meaning to your life
Yes, you try
Yes, you try
And all you ever wanted it was love
But you never looked hard enough
It's never gonna give itself up
All you ever wanted to be
Living in perfect symmetry
Nothing is as down or as up
Don't you want to see it come soon
Floating in a big white balloon
Oh, given your own silver spoon
Don't you want to see it come down
There for throwing your arms around
an sayin "you're a moment too soon"
Cause I feel low
Cause I feel low
Oh oh oh oh oh
Yeah I feel low
08 December 2010
For A Friend Close To My Heart
For the past few weeks, I've been working on a sonnet for a British Literature class. Iambic pentameter, quatrains and couplets filled my head as I wrote. Because I spent so much time on this, I figured I'd post this. Not to continue a common theme or anything, of course.
My dearest friend for whom I’d give my life
Has killed my spirit to the core, for I
Have been a faithful friend. We had no strife
‘twixt us, yet still you cause my soul to die.
Our hearts did beat as one, did dream as one,
Inseparable were we. I gave no cause
To hurt me thus, yet hurt me you have done.
Never I have broken friendship’s true laws,
And yet you chastise me. But still I’d take
Great pain from you. For faithful friends are true
Through earthly woes and problems that you make ---
I’ll guard your back in all the things you do.
As David with Saul did not break nor sever
So will my faithfulness be yours forev’r.
07 December 2010
Friends, I appear to have relapsed. While I can't recall blogging about this previously, the pages of my journal from last year are filled this particular issue: my great social anxiety. Don't laugh. It's not funny.
I had thought that, only by God's grace, I had overcome that hurdle, but as I just said, I seem to have relapsed. Due to quite a few semi-related incidents in the past few weeks, I once again question and re-question every action's motivation.
It doesn't stop there. My motivations aren't the only victims. My tact. My approach. Other's interpretations. What my mother would say.
They've all returned in full force, bringing me back to the realization that a mountain top in the Himalayas doesn't look so bad after all. My honeymoon with humanity appears to be over. It's back to business as usual: ie, psychotic Problematic.
What's more, Sylvia, my alter-ego, seems to have returned as well. Don't misinterpret this. I don't have fractured personalities. Rather, what I do have is a very dark sense of humor, irony, cynicism, and a generally morbid fascination with loneliness in pain, all of which I term "Sylvia" to distinguish them from who I consider myself to be.
Wait a second. I thought we were seeing the dark side of Problematic these past few months.
There is actually a difference, but it's a little hard to explain. Basically, Sylvia is an appreciation for the beauty in tragedy combined with a complete disdain for assumed pain. Sylvia is a stoic philosopher from the days of Greek philosophy. She's an aesthetic, if a cynical and calloused one.
While Sylvia was gone, I had more compassion for other teenagers going through their own trials. "It's possible," I told myself, "that their grief is just as real as mine."
But the return of double-think and Sylvia is making me wonder if all the angst of the past fall has been nothing but that: they type of dramatics I despise so much caused by nothing more than the racing of chemicals and hormones through my pubescent body. It need not be stated that this doubt extends to others, even the ones I love and trust.
The sum of all this is to say that yet another layer has been added to my melodrama. GK Chesterton once said "Always be comic in a tragedy. What the deuce else can you do?" and while I am having trouble following his advice, I agree, there's not much else you can do. Wait it out and laugh.
It's aggravating, really. I was close, ever so close to breaking out into full-fledged humanity. To be caught in old traps when freedom was close enough to smell is frustrating. I am impotent in my own snares.
Yes, they protect me, but at what cost? Is reality worth enough to open myself up to for more betrayals? What if they're self-inflicted injuries? What price am I willing to pay to be secure in the knowledge that no one else will hurt me? Should I prefer the injuries of a friend to ones of my own devising?
Friends, if you think of it, please include me in your prayers. Because that mountain top has never looked so appealing.
B
I had thought that, only by God's grace, I had overcome that hurdle, but as I just said, I seem to have relapsed. Due to quite a few semi-related incidents in the past few weeks, I once again question and re-question every action's motivation.
It doesn't stop there. My motivations aren't the only victims. My tact. My approach. Other's interpretations. What my mother would say.
They've all returned in full force, bringing me back to the realization that a mountain top in the Himalayas doesn't look so bad after all. My honeymoon with humanity appears to be over. It's back to business as usual: ie, psychotic Problematic.
What's more, Sylvia, my alter-ego, seems to have returned as well. Don't misinterpret this. I don't have fractured personalities. Rather, what I do have is a very dark sense of humor, irony, cynicism, and a generally morbid fascination with loneliness in pain, all of which I term "Sylvia" to distinguish them from who I consider myself to be.
Wait a second. I thought we were seeing the dark side of Problematic these past few months.
There is actually a difference, but it's a little hard to explain. Basically, Sylvia is an appreciation for the beauty in tragedy combined with a complete disdain for assumed pain. Sylvia is a stoic philosopher from the days of Greek philosophy. She's an aesthetic, if a cynical and calloused one.
While Sylvia was gone, I had more compassion for other teenagers going through their own trials. "It's possible," I told myself, "that their grief is just as real as mine."
But the return of double-think and Sylvia is making me wonder if all the angst of the past fall has been nothing but that: they type of dramatics I despise so much caused by nothing more than the racing of chemicals and hormones through my pubescent body. It need not be stated that this doubt extends to others, even the ones I love and trust.
The sum of all this is to say that yet another layer has been added to my melodrama. GK Chesterton once said "Always be comic in a tragedy. What the deuce else can you do?" and while I am having trouble following his advice, I agree, there's not much else you can do. Wait it out and laugh.
It's aggravating, really. I was close, ever so close to breaking out into full-fledged humanity. To be caught in old traps when freedom was close enough to smell is frustrating. I am impotent in my own snares.
Yes, they protect me, but at what cost? Is reality worth enough to open myself up to for more betrayals? What if they're self-inflicted injuries? What price am I willing to pay to be secure in the knowledge that no one else will hurt me? Should I prefer the injuries of a friend to ones of my own devising?
Friends, if you think of it, please include me in your prayers. Because that mountain top has never looked so appealing.
B
Stand My Ground
Stand My Ground, by Within Temptation is yet another favorite of mine. I enjoy exercising to it because of it's driving beat and resolved lyrics. It's quite pretty.
Stand My Ground
I can see
when you stay low nothing happens
Does it feel right?
Late at night
things I thought I'd put behind me
haunt my mind
I just know there's no escape now
once it's set its eyes on you
but I won't run, have to stare it in the eye
Stand my ground, I won't give in
No more denying, I gotta face it
Won't close my eyes and hide the truth inside
If I don't make it, someone else will
Stand My Ground
It's all around
getting stronger, coming closer
into my world
I can feel
that it's time for me to face it
can I take it?
Though this might just be the ending
of the life I held so dear
but I won't run, there's no turning back from here
Stand my ground, I won't give in
No more denying, I gotta face it
Won't close my eyes and hide the truth inside
If I don't make it, someone else will
Stand My Ground
All I know for sure is I'm trying
I will always stand my ground
Stand my ground, I won't give in (I won't give in)
I won't give up (I won't give up)
no more denying, I got to face it
won't close my eyes and hide the truth inside
if I don't make it, someone else will
Stand my ground, I won't give in
No more denying, I gotta face it
Won't close my eyes and hide the truth inside
If I don't make it, someone else will
Stand My Ground.
Stand My Ground
I can see
when you stay low nothing happens
Does it feel right?
Late at night
things I thought I'd put behind me
haunt my mind
I just know there's no escape now
once it's set its eyes on you
but I won't run, have to stare it in the eye
Stand my ground, I won't give in
No more denying, I gotta face it
Won't close my eyes and hide the truth inside
If I don't make it, someone else will
Stand My Ground
It's all around
getting stronger, coming closer
into my world
I can feel
that it's time for me to face it
can I take it?
Though this might just be the ending
of the life I held so dear
but I won't run, there's no turning back from here
Stand my ground, I won't give in
No more denying, I gotta face it
Won't close my eyes and hide the truth inside
If I don't make it, someone else will
Stand My Ground
All I know for sure is I'm trying
I will always stand my ground
Stand my ground, I won't give in (I won't give in)
I won't give up (I won't give up)
no more denying, I got to face it
won't close my eyes and hide the truth inside
if I don't make it, someone else will
Stand my ground, I won't give in
No more denying, I gotta face it
Won't close my eyes and hide the truth inside
If I don't make it, someone else will
Stand My Ground.
30 November 2010
The Legionnaire's Lament
Well, I'd better 'fess up. I've been on a binge of The Decemberists. At the moment, they're the only band I want to listen to. It's no small surprise, therefore, to find myself introducing you to a song from, you guessed it, The Decemberists. It's called the Legionnaire's Lament. The thing I like about this particular song is that it is set in a historical era - the French Legion. Not only that, but the images it captures are so vivid, and the language used is just perfect. But enough about the mechanics. You should experience it for yourselves.
The Legionnaire's Lament, by The Decemberists
I'm a legionnaire
Camel in disrepair
Hoping for a frigidaire to come passing by
I am on reprieve
Lacking my joie de vive
Missing my gay paris
In this desert dry
And I wrote my girl
Told her I would not return
Terribly taken a turn
For the worse now I fear
It's been a year or more
Since they shipped me to this foreign shore
Fighting in a foreign war
So far away from my home
If only summer rain would fall
On the houses and the boulevards
And the side walk bagatelles it's like a dream
With the roar of cars
And the lulling of the cafe bars,
The sweetly sleeping sweeping of the Seine.
Lord I don't know if I'll ever be back again.
La la la la dam
La la la low
Medicating in the sun
Pinched doses of laudanum
Longing for the old fecundity of my homeland
Curses to this mirage!
A bottle of ancient Chiraz
A smattering of distant applause
Is ringing in my poor ears
On the old left bank
My baby in a charabanc
Riding up the width and length
Of the Champs Elysees
If only summer rain would fall
On the houses and the boulevard
And the side walk bagatelles it's like a dream
With the roar of cars
And the lulling of the cafe bars
The sweetly sleeping sweeping of the Seine
Lord I don't know if I'll ever be back again
If only summer rain would fall
On the houses and the boulevard
And the side walk bagatelles its like a dream
With the roar of cars
And the lulling of the cafe bars
The sweetly sleeping sweeping of the Seine
Lord I don't know if I'll ever be back again...
Be back again,
Be back again,
I'll be back again
B
The Legionnaire's Lament, by The Decemberists
I'm a legionnaire
Camel in disrepair
Hoping for a frigidaire to come passing by
I am on reprieve
Lacking my joie de vive
Missing my gay paris
In this desert dry
And I wrote my girl
Told her I would not return
Terribly taken a turn
For the worse now I fear
It's been a year or more
Since they shipped me to this foreign shore
Fighting in a foreign war
So far away from my home
If only summer rain would fall
On the houses and the boulevards
And the side walk bagatelles it's like a dream
With the roar of cars
And the lulling of the cafe bars,
The sweetly sleeping sweeping of the Seine.
Lord I don't know if I'll ever be back again.
La la la la dam
La la la low
Medicating in the sun
Pinched doses of laudanum
Longing for the old fecundity of my homeland
Curses to this mirage!
A bottle of ancient Chiraz
A smattering of distant applause
Is ringing in my poor ears
On the old left bank
My baby in a charabanc
Riding up the width and length
Of the Champs Elysees
If only summer rain would fall
On the houses and the boulevard
And the side walk bagatelles it's like a dream
With the roar of cars
And the lulling of the cafe bars
The sweetly sleeping sweeping of the Seine
Lord I don't know if I'll ever be back again
If only summer rain would fall
On the houses and the boulevard
And the side walk bagatelles its like a dream
With the roar of cars
And the lulling of the cafe bars
The sweetly sleeping sweeping of the Seine
Lord I don't know if I'll ever be back again...
Be back again,
Be back again,
I'll be back again
B
27 November 2010
Fly, you fools
This past Thursday was Thanksgiving,the holiday where we eat lots of food and show off our philosophical sides by musing aloud for the gathered company on things we're thankful for. Don't imagine that my cynicism dulls my enjoyment of this holiday. In fact, it is my favorite of them all. Because it is a National Holiday, schools from kindergarten to post-graduate take two days off. Thus I find myself this weekend with the friends I so dearly missed coming back to Washington.
For the majority of these partially-digested college friends, such is no longer the case. Perhaps it was the antagonistic room-mates. Perhaps, it was because I wasn't as good friends with them as I deluded myself. Maybe the High-School switch was permanently welded into the "off" position their first week of college. It could be all three.
Whatever the case, I found myself in the awkward position of pretending to be the person I was six months ago- the last time anyone noticed who I am.
Let me tell you, it's not pleasant. Trying to remember and approximate who one's been is a difficult task in the privacy of one's bedroom. But to pull off a perfect performance in front of those who knew one and expect one to both remain in the same static stasis and respect the new people they've become is a Herculean task.
I spent the precious time I had with these Once-Friends screaming in my mind.
People change, sweetheart. You've changed while you were at college? That's great, so have I.
I guess they just can't hear,not when it's spoken through non- telepathicmeans. Plain language, straight talking, they are senseless.
From my boat out at sea, I thought I'd seen boats coming over the horizon. Trick of the light, I suppose. Happens that way some times.
All that's left is to mourn the loss of those friends. Don't get me wrong. I discovered this weekend that they couldn't begin to scratch the surface of the plexiglass even if they tried, but this no longer bothers me. They no longer touch me, but I'm still fond of them. The same way you're fond of a particular sportsman or actor with whom you share nothing in common.
So while I mourn, it is not for what is or what could have been. I weep for what was, what has been back when I still cared.
Requiescat in pace, meae amicae.
For the majority of these partially-digested college friends, such is no longer the case. Perhaps it was the antagonistic room-mates. Perhaps, it was because I wasn't as good friends with them as I deluded myself. Maybe the High-School switch was permanently welded into the "off" position their first week of college. It could be all three.
Whatever the case, I found myself in the awkward position of pretending to be the person I was six months ago- the last time anyone noticed who I am.
Let me tell you, it's not pleasant. Trying to remember and approximate who one's been is a difficult task in the privacy of one's bedroom. But to pull off a perfect performance in front of those who knew one and expect one to both remain in the same static stasis and respect the new people they've become is a Herculean task.
I spent the precious time I had with these Once-Friends screaming in my mind.
People change, sweetheart. You've changed while you were at college? That's great, so have I.
I guess they just can't hear,not when it's spoken through non- telepathicmeans. Plain language, straight talking, they are senseless.
From my boat out at sea, I thought I'd seen boats coming over the horizon. Trick of the light, I suppose. Happens that way some times.
All that's left is to mourn the loss of those friends. Don't get me wrong. I discovered this weekend that they couldn't begin to scratch the surface of the plexiglass even if they tried, but this no longer bothers me. They no longer touch me, but I'm still fond of them. The same way you're fond of a particular sportsman or actor with whom you share nothing in common.
So while I mourn, it is not for what is or what could have been. I weep for what was, what has been back when I still cared.
Requiescat in pace, meae amicae.
21 November 2010
Reminder
I am once again reminded of the folly of my ways. This is what happened:
Yesterday was the first speech Round Robin of the year, and as always, I had some interesting conversations with fellow competitors. This year was unique, thought. I had a very intriguing conversation with a couple of friends I had passed judgment on as nice, if clueless, guys. I'm ashamed to admit it, but it's true.
What I discovered yesterday was so "coincidental" it could be nothing short of Divine guidance. Because you see, I found two people who claim to have shared the same malady as me, and what's more, their opinions on this malady were also similar. It was incredible, and entirely unstaged.
Of course, this leads me to wonder if these two young men actually experience the same as I, or if they merely said it to conform to the drift of the conversation. What's more, it is an interesting thought to wonder if they now express doubts about the authenticity of my "confession" as motivated by a desire to fit in with the expressed standard. I will never know, as this topic of conversation will most likely never occur again with my conversation partners. I will not force the issue, and while I cannot tell them this personally, I hope they know their confidence is in safe hands.
Thinking back on this conversation, I become a little embarrassed. Did I reveal too much? Did I say what I said from a desire to impress, blend in? Not to add to the conversation? I don't know, really.
However these two friends came away from the conversation, I can only hope they realize how much harm they could do should they choose. But even with these bitter thoughts, I am elated and chastised.
To have written them off as a silly and stupid guys without even wondering if we had commonalities was a gross error. This lesson won't stick for long, but I hope that maybe, just maybe it will last long enough.
Nothing's really going to change as a result of yesterday's conversation. Being a secret-keeper doesn't automatically grant some special friendship upon the two parties. But I will guard their secrets as my own, because in a way, they are my secrets, too. And if that doesn't make sense, you haven't begun to understand me.
Pensively,
B
Yesterday was the first speech Round Robin of the year, and as always, I had some interesting conversations with fellow competitors. This year was unique, thought. I had a very intriguing conversation with a couple of friends I had passed judgment on as nice, if clueless, guys. I'm ashamed to admit it, but it's true.
What I discovered yesterday was so "coincidental" it could be nothing short of Divine guidance. Because you see, I found two people who claim to have shared the same malady as me, and what's more, their opinions on this malady were also similar. It was incredible, and entirely unstaged.
Of course, this leads me to wonder if these two young men actually experience the same as I, or if they merely said it to conform to the drift of the conversation. What's more, it is an interesting thought to wonder if they now express doubts about the authenticity of my "confession" as motivated by a desire to fit in with the expressed standard. I will never know, as this topic of conversation will most likely never occur again with my conversation partners. I will not force the issue, and while I cannot tell them this personally, I hope they know their confidence is in safe hands.
Thinking back on this conversation, I become a little embarrassed. Did I reveal too much? Did I say what I said from a desire to impress, blend in? Not to add to the conversation? I don't know, really.
However these two friends came away from the conversation, I can only hope they realize how much harm they could do should they choose. But even with these bitter thoughts, I am elated and chastised.
To have written them off as a silly and stupid guys without even wondering if we had commonalities was a gross error. This lesson won't stick for long, but I hope that maybe, just maybe it will last long enough.
Nothing's really going to change as a result of yesterday's conversation. Being a secret-keeper doesn't automatically grant some special friendship upon the two parties. But I will guard their secrets as my own, because in a way, they are my secrets, too. And if that doesn't make sense, you haven't begun to understand me.
Pensively,
B
17 November 2010
Small Rebellions
Last evening, I wore one of my suits to speech club. It's not a suit I've worn in competition before, seeing that all my suits don't quite fit anymore (they're too big), so I improvised and took a knee-length skirt, a nice blouse, and a suit jacket to get an almost-suit that would pass in a pinch. The ruffles at the bottom of the pencil skirt make it look shorter than it really is, but I figured that since I was wearing dark hose, it wouldn't matter.
Wrong. A new mom in club told me in front of the small group that if she didn't know me, she'd think I was rebelling against the dress code. It was very embarrassing to be told off concerning my clothing in mixed company, especially considering the members of the opposite sex who were listening in. It's a good correction, and I appreciate it, but since I don't plan on using this suit in competition, it was mostly embarrassing/annoying and less helpful.
But it raised an interesting point. If she didn't know me better, she'd have thought I was rebelling.
If she didn't know better, she'd have thought I was rebelling. Think about that for a second.
Well, maybe that doesn't strike you as odd, but it does me. I've always thought of myself as a rebel. As one who goes against the current. As one who doesn't compromise with the status quo. But apparently, I don't act it. Because if this mom didn't know me better, the length of my skirt would look rebellious.
Huh. Do I just tell myself I'm rebellious, unique, strong, to make me feel better for floating downstream with the current? Only dead fish go with the flow, so is this my attempt to justify my lack of action? Do I keep this blog full of dark thoughts to make up for the typical homeschooled Christian girl that I act?
Because regardless of what I tell myself, I'm certainly coming across as nothing less than a dutiful homeschooled kid. Nothing I think will change my actions. But my actions can't deny the things I think. I don't think like your typical homeschooler, not even the ones trying to be different.
Just a quick note before proceeding: In this usage, I do not use "rebellious" with the normal negative connotations.
This leads me to wonder: Am I rebellious by not acting the way I think? Or by not thinking the way I act?
If I acted the way I thought, in real life I'd resemble more closely my current profile picture - romantic and moody clothing with soft lens-flares and all. But I don't dress like that, and I don't act like that ... much.
If I thought the way I acted, I'd be spouting the same goody-two-shoes drivel of my peers that I so despise. I'd be mindless, repeating lessons I learned in Sunday School without thinking about these Truths for myself. I don't do that, either.
So is my little rebellion one of action, or thought? One of contrariness, or deception? If I had to choose, I'd say I rebel by not acting the way a person with similar ideas would. But is that necessarily true? No. Personal preference doesn't change anything.
Whatever the case, my thoughts and actions don't match up. I'm not a hypocrite - a person who acts in contradiction to his or her stated beliefs or feelings (Merriam-Webster's) - because I haven't stated all my beliefs and feelings. It does, however, make me an imposter.
But still the question remains. Am I an imposter in thought, or deed?
B
Wrong. A new mom in club told me in front of the small group that if she didn't know me, she'd think I was rebelling against the dress code. It was very embarrassing to be told off concerning my clothing in mixed company, especially considering the members of the opposite sex who were listening in. It's a good correction, and I appreciate it, but since I don't plan on using this suit in competition, it was mostly embarrassing/annoying and less helpful.
But it raised an interesting point. If she didn't know me better, she'd have thought I was rebelling.
If she didn't know better, she'd have thought I was rebelling. Think about that for a second.
Well, maybe that doesn't strike you as odd, but it does me. I've always thought of myself as a rebel. As one who goes against the current. As one who doesn't compromise with the status quo. But apparently, I don't act it. Because if this mom didn't know me better, the length of my skirt would look rebellious.
Huh. Do I just tell myself I'm rebellious, unique, strong, to make me feel better for floating downstream with the current? Only dead fish go with the flow, so is this my attempt to justify my lack of action? Do I keep this blog full of dark thoughts to make up for the typical homeschooled Christian girl that I act?
Because regardless of what I tell myself, I'm certainly coming across as nothing less than a dutiful homeschooled kid. Nothing I think will change my actions. But my actions can't deny the things I think. I don't think like your typical homeschooler, not even the ones trying to be different.
Just a quick note before proceeding: In this usage, I do not use "rebellious" with the normal negative connotations.
This leads me to wonder: Am I rebellious by not acting the way I think? Or by not thinking the way I act?
If I acted the way I thought, in real life I'd resemble more closely my current profile picture - romantic and moody clothing with soft lens-flares and all. But I don't dress like that, and I don't act like that ... much.
If I thought the way I acted, I'd be spouting the same goody-two-shoes drivel of my peers that I so despise. I'd be mindless, repeating lessons I learned in Sunday School without thinking about these Truths for myself. I don't do that, either.
So is my little rebellion one of action, or thought? One of contrariness, or deception? If I had to choose, I'd say I rebel by not acting the way a person with similar ideas would. But is that necessarily true? No. Personal preference doesn't change anything.
Whatever the case, my thoughts and actions don't match up. I'm not a hypocrite - a person who acts in contradiction to his or her stated beliefs or feelings (Merriam-Webster's) - because I haven't stated all my beliefs and feelings. It does, however, make me an imposter.
But still the question remains. Am I an imposter in thought, or deed?
B
15 November 2010
The Green Fields of France
My words cannot properly express the emotion inherent in this song. Just listen to it and let the song move itself.
The Green Fields of France, by the Dropkick Murphies.
Oh how do you do, young Willy McBride
Do you mind if I sit here down by your graveside
And rest for a while in the warm summer sun
I've been walking all day, and I'm nearly done
And I see by your gravestone you were only nineteen
When you joined the great fallen in 1916
Well I hope you died quick
And I hope you died clean
Or Willy McBride, was is it slow and obscene
Did they beat the drums slowly
Did they play the fife lowly
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down
Did the band play the last post and chorus
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest
And did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind
In some loyal heart is your memory enshrined
And though you died back in 1916
To that loyal heart you're forever nineteen
Or are you a stranger without even a name
Forever enshrined behind some old glass pane
In an old photograph torn, tattered, and stained
And faded to yellow in a brown leather frame
Did they beat the drums slowly
Did they play the fife lowly
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down
Did the band play the last post and chorus
Did the pipes play the flowers of the forest
The sun shining down on these green fields of France
The warm wind blows gently and the red poppies dance
The trenches have vanished long under the plow
No gas, no barbed wire, no guns firing now
But here in this graveyard that's still no mans land
The countless white crosses in mute witness stand
To man's blind indifference to his fellow man
And a whole generation were butchered and damned
Did they beat the drums slowly
Did they play the fife lowly
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down
Did the band play the last post and chorus
Did the pipes play the flowers of the forest
And I can't help but wonder oh Willy McBride
Do all those who lie here know why they died
Did you really believe them when they told you the cause
Did you really believe that this war would end wars
Well the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame
The killing and dying it was all done in vain
Oh Willy McBride it all happened again
And again, and again, and again, and again
Did they beat the drums slowly
Did they play the fife lowly
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down
Did the band play the last post and chorus
Did the pipes play the flowers of the forest
B
The Green Fields of France, by the Dropkick Murphies.
Oh how do you do, young Willy McBride
Do you mind if I sit here down by your graveside
And rest for a while in the warm summer sun
I've been walking all day, and I'm nearly done
And I see by your gravestone you were only nineteen
When you joined the great fallen in 1916
Well I hope you died quick
And I hope you died clean
Or Willy McBride, was is it slow and obscene
Did they beat the drums slowly
Did they play the fife lowly
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down
Did the band play the last post and chorus
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest
And did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind
In some loyal heart is your memory enshrined
And though you died back in 1916
To that loyal heart you're forever nineteen
Or are you a stranger without even a name
Forever enshrined behind some old glass pane
In an old photograph torn, tattered, and stained
And faded to yellow in a brown leather frame
Did they beat the drums slowly
Did they play the fife lowly
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down
Did the band play the last post and chorus
Did the pipes play the flowers of the forest
The sun shining down on these green fields of France
The warm wind blows gently and the red poppies dance
The trenches have vanished long under the plow
No gas, no barbed wire, no guns firing now
But here in this graveyard that's still no mans land
The countless white crosses in mute witness stand
To man's blind indifference to his fellow man
And a whole generation were butchered and damned
Did they beat the drums slowly
Did they play the fife lowly
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down
Did the band play the last post and chorus
Did the pipes play the flowers of the forest
And I can't help but wonder oh Willy McBride
Do all those who lie here know why they died
Did you really believe them when they told you the cause
Did you really believe that this war would end wars
Well the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame
The killing and dying it was all done in vain
Oh Willy McBride it all happened again
And again, and again, and again, and again
Did they beat the drums slowly
Did they play the fife lowly
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down
Did the band play the last post and chorus
Did the pipes play the flowers of the forest
B
08 November 2010
Johari, again
Longtime readers of my blog may remember this link coming up in the past. If you've already done it, my apologies, and please skip this post.
However, I've gained quite a few followers since then. The link I am about to share with you is intriguing. It asks you to pick 5-6 adjectives to describe me, and then compares it with adjectives I chose to describe myself.
Care to give it a spin?
http://kevan.org/johari?name=Problematic
Thanks a ton,
B
However, I've gained quite a few followers since then. The link I am about to share with you is intriguing. It asks you to pick 5-6 adjectives to describe me, and then compares it with adjectives I chose to describe myself.
Care to give it a spin?
http://kevan.org/johari?name=Problematic
Thanks a ton,
B
Beautiful
I admit it. I don't like Christian radio. Guilty as charged. But reaaalllyyy early on Saturday, I tuned in to the local station as I rode down to a church work day. Imagine my surprise when the first new song to come up (amidst a generous scattering of the Newsboys and BarlowGirl (blech blech blech) ) was actually decent. More than decent. Good.
Ladies and gents, let me introduce you to a new favorite of mine: Beautiful, by MercyMe. I can't really explain why I like it: Once again, I've run out of words. So my advice? Enjoy the song.
Beautiful, by MercyMe
The days will come when you don't have the strength
When all you hear is you're not worth anything
Wondering if you ever could be loved
And if they truly saw your heart they'd see too much
You're beautiful
You're beautiful
You are made so much more than all of this
You're beautiful
You're beautiful
You are treasured, You are sacred, You are His
You're beautiful
And praying that you have the heart to find
Cause you are more than what is hurting you tonight
For all the lies you've held inside so long
And they are nothing in the shadow of the cross
You're beautiful
You're beautiful
You are made so much more than all of this
You're beautiful
You're beautiful
You are treasured, You are sacred, You are His
You're beautiful
Ladies and gents, let me introduce you to a new favorite of mine: Beautiful, by MercyMe. I can't really explain why I like it: Once again, I've run out of words. So my advice? Enjoy the song.
Beautiful, by MercyMe
The days will come when you don't have the strength
When all you hear is you're not worth anything
Wondering if you ever could be loved
And if they truly saw your heart they'd see too much
You're beautiful
You're beautiful
You are made so much more than all of this
You're beautiful
You're beautiful
You are treasured, You are sacred, You are His
You're beautiful
And praying that you have the heart to find
Cause you are more than what is hurting you tonight
For all the lies you've held inside so long
And they are nothing in the shadow of the cross
You're beautiful
You're beautiful
You are made so much more than all of this
You're beautiful
You're beautiful
You are treasured, You are sacred, You are His
You're beautiful
04 November 2010
Oh My God
Due to a variety of reasons, including a bad cold and plenty of homework, I forgot that Monday was Monday until today, Thursday. Yes, Music Monday is late. Again.
I didn't quite know what song to use this week: there were too many options to have a definite choice. I ended up on Oh My God, by Jars of Clay. A few years ago, my uncle, who recently died of pancreatic cancer, gave me the Good Monsters album by Jars of Clay. It was Christmas 2008, the year his cancer was discovered, and at the time, I was too immature to truly appreciate the album. In fact, I was afraid to listen to Oh My God because the lyrics seemed so sacrilegious to me. I listened to the flashier songs without even understanding the lyrics.
I've been increasingly frustrated with CCM recently because of its complete inability to face the brokenness that's inherent in this world. But this album is ... different. And I can't explain it. Just go listen to it, and you can start with
Oh My God, by Jars of Clay
Oh my God, look around this place,
Your fingers reach around the bone,
you set the break and set the tone
For flights of grace, and future falls
In present pain all fools say, "Oh my God."
Oh my God, why are we so afraid?
we make it worse when we don't bleed,
there is no cure for our disease.
Turn a phrase and rise again,
or fake your death and only tell your closest friends,
Oh My God.
Oh my God, can I complain?
You take away my firm belief and graft my soul upon your grief.
Weddings, boats, and alibis,
All drift away, and a mother cries...
Liars and fools, sons and failures, theives will always say..
Lost and found, ailing wanderers, healers always say..
Whores and angels, men with problems, leavers always say..
Broken hearted, separated, orphans always say..
War creators, racial haters, preachers always say..
Distant fathers, fallen warriors, givers always say..
Pilgrim saints, lonely widows, users always say..
Fearful mothers, watchful doubters, Saviors always say..
Sometimes I can not forgive
and these days mercy cuts so deep,
If the world was how it should be, maybe I could get some sleep.
While I lay, I'd dream we're better, scales were gone and faces lighter,
When we wake we hate our brother, we still move to hurt each other,
Sometimes I can close my eyes and all the fear the keeps me silent,
Falls below my heavy breathing, what makes me so badly bent?
We all have a chance to murder, we all have the need for wonder.
We still want to be reminded that the pain is worth the plunder.
Sometimes when I lose my grip, I wonder what to make of heaven,
All the times I thought to reach up, all the times I had to give up.
Babies underneath their beds, in hospitals that cannot treat them.
All the wounds that money causes, all the comforts of cathedrals,
All the cries of thirsty children, this is our inheritance,
All the rage of watching mothers, this is our greatest offense
Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God.
I didn't quite know what song to use this week: there were too many options to have a definite choice. I ended up on Oh My God, by Jars of Clay. A few years ago, my uncle, who recently died of pancreatic cancer, gave me the Good Monsters album by Jars of Clay. It was Christmas 2008, the year his cancer was discovered, and at the time, I was too immature to truly appreciate the album. In fact, I was afraid to listen to Oh My God because the lyrics seemed so sacrilegious to me. I listened to the flashier songs without even understanding the lyrics.
I've been increasingly frustrated with CCM recently because of its complete inability to face the brokenness that's inherent in this world. But this album is ... different. And I can't explain it. Just go listen to it, and you can start with
Oh My God, by Jars of Clay
Oh my God, look around this place,
Your fingers reach around the bone,
you set the break and set the tone
For flights of grace, and future falls
In present pain all fools say, "Oh my God."
Oh my God, why are we so afraid?
we make it worse when we don't bleed,
there is no cure for our disease.
Turn a phrase and rise again,
or fake your death and only tell your closest friends,
Oh My God.
Oh my God, can I complain?
You take away my firm belief and graft my soul upon your grief.
Weddings, boats, and alibis,
All drift away, and a mother cries...
Liars and fools, sons and failures, theives will always say..
Lost and found, ailing wanderers, healers always say..
Whores and angels, men with problems, leavers always say..
Broken hearted, separated, orphans always say..
War creators, racial haters, preachers always say..
Distant fathers, fallen warriors, givers always say..
Pilgrim saints, lonely widows, users always say..
Fearful mothers, watchful doubters, Saviors always say..
Sometimes I can not forgive
and these days mercy cuts so deep,
If the world was how it should be, maybe I could get some sleep.
While I lay, I'd dream we're better, scales were gone and faces lighter,
When we wake we hate our brother, we still move to hurt each other,
Sometimes I can close my eyes and all the fear the keeps me silent,
Falls below my heavy breathing, what makes me so badly bent?
We all have a chance to murder, we all have the need for wonder.
We still want to be reminded that the pain is worth the plunder.
Sometimes when I lose my grip, I wonder what to make of heaven,
All the times I thought to reach up, all the times I had to give up.
Babies underneath their beds, in hospitals that cannot treat them.
All the wounds that money causes, all the comforts of cathedrals,
All the cries of thirsty children, this is our inheritance,
All the rage of watching mothers, this is our greatest offense
Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God.
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