Truth, Beauty, Art, Amity, Mess.

I shall begin with a quote from the Sunday Herald Sun’s horoscopes; even if this does prove that this blog rightfully belongs to June and that I have once again been terribly slack, in spite of my lack of homework.

I realise this horoscope is Gemini, and I am a Taurus, but these things generally have to be taken with a pinch of salt, and considering my heavy Gemini influence I always read both.

I was with my mother at her friends’ house and they always lend me this paper because we never buy it, and I came across this and I said, after I had stared at the page with my jaw dropped for a little while – “Oh my god, can I keep this? It is the perfect thing for my blog right now.” For two reasons, I wanted to dictate the excellent prediction, and also show you one of the worst and most obscure Gemini artworks known to man. Apparently its by Cole Gerst. It looks like a bored doodling an Aries woman might draw whilst on the phone to a Gemini she didn’t like much.

I see the last blog’s length delayed, or even detained, progress to my songs which I included here. I was thinking of putting something up to draw attention to it in far less words, but I thought I would just wait.

I was very proud of my last blog and that I managed to express everything. From parties, and drinking, to karaoke and boys, singing lessons, and weird dreams (I can sense that around here is where the length began to wane the attention) onto great books, lust, relationships, goodness, and finding the missing piece, then introducing my songs in uncharacteristically understated fashion.

I have nowhere to really start, so I’ll just go through the comments and notes in order, I’m bound to get carried away in the process. This blog is going to be soooo long once again. I think the month’s blogging effort should be measured in words, not individual posts. I’ve been cultivating this one over more than a week and dealing with the time warp of it all a lot better than usual. It’s still a bit of a random disorganised jumble, but I have tried to separate the various topics into paragraphs and start them clearly…

The bohemian life. Is a very attractive one indeed. It is something that I will either have or want, no matter what career I end up with. Whether I am a reporter, a musician, a writer, a lyricist or an English teacher. Music, love, art, anarchy, opportunity and happiness – those are words to live by.

No, Virginia… No, I haven’t listened to it yet. I don’t think it would be sitting on the shelves in my tiny little town any time soon. Not unless she becomes popular to plague proportions like Britney used to be. Even in the small city I go to school in I suspect I would have to order it in. And what a big ask that is. I tried it with the Paradise DVD, and no kidding, they wanted my full name, photo ID, my home address, my mobile number, my postal address and, if I wouldn’t mind, my home phone number as well. What am I getting, a DVD or a personal loan?

I did listen to and see Brian singing ‘Oh Comely’ on YouTube. I forgot to take my headphones to the library so I was left with a choice – either listen to it and disturb the peace in a small town’s library, with something they would undoubtedly ‘not get’, or pass up a rare chance to watch anything on YouTube, little own find the clip that I heard about so long ago from Amanda as heartbreaking and the first where Brian sung on his own. So I thought fuck it, and played it as loud as I thought I may. It was worth it. But I hardly recognised him to begin with for some reason. I wished they’d spent more time with the camera close to his face. There was something about his jaw and cheeks that just didn’t look right, maybe the lights and make up, I don’t know. It was a very touching song and subsequent rendition nonetheless.

I also listened to the girl whose MySpace page I was given. I can’t remember anything of how the song sounded now, but I liked it. I thought it was very quirky and expressive. The collage of band pictures were also nice to have right there on the site. I don’t quite see how she fits in with me and the blog, but it was a very rushed clinical encounter as far as being introduced to a band goes. So I think that it was something for me to like it on my first incomplete listen.

We are all once more riding the same beautiful turn of events and moods, I see. I am glad to see that my blogs and descriptions continue to improve and be enjoyed. Which is most unexpected and gratifying.

“Most people, and I firmly believe this, no matter how much shit is going on in the world, are good people. But get them in groups or cliques and they can do nasty things.” – This, is so true. And I perhaps should have added more background information to the girl and her clique taking a good-natured interest in me. A more apt description may have been: “I was at school and this popular girl, who had recently taken quite a good natured interest in me (for once in my whole life and long history of abuse from people such as her. And as some of the popular people have tended to do in later years, as they matured and I lost interest; slowly becoming more of a curious oddity to them, rather than an easy target as they fought tooth and nail up the slippery slope of popularity) asked me about my weekend.”

The thing that was mentioned about cliques is so right. So painfully clear, to the point of tear squeezing irony. Find yourself a big, nasty, jock-like, popular boy; or a bitchy, plastic, make-up coated, queen bee of a girl with body issues; in their last year of primary school or high school and become the subject of their clique’s abuse (not hard). Then drag them in front of a teacher and watch the metamorphosis before your very eyes. The insolent, self absorbed, shallow, cruel child that you knew in the playground transforms into a hurt, attentive, confused person who may just be acting their age for the second time in their lives. Sometimes they don’t even do it deliberately to spite you and your claims. Teachers see it too. The ones I have spoken to cite it as one of the most frustrating things about teaching. About life as they and I know it.

Onto my song and my voice. It is more intimate than writing. I thought of posting a podcast of my mammoth blog to accompany it. I like the idea of being able to read it to you, some much more personal and expressive. But I spared a thought for the expense of streaming an audio file that long, not only the upload but the download. I would still like to do that one day.

The reason that it was so loud and flat was because I had to upload it in the shittest quality ever. I wanted to use 128kbps (for those not acquainted with the terminology this is the average mp3 file, and amounts to something around 4MB each) and realised 32kbps (for those not acquainted with the terminology, notice the massive drop in numbers) which amounts to about 900KB a file. I settled for 56kbps, as this was as fast as my internet connection was; but a quality I still viewed as downright terrible. I apologise. Technology has its triumphs and its downfalls.

As does my voice. I am pleased to hear some compliments, but not much is sinking in at the moment. My last lesson didn’t go all that well. I had spoken of posting the songs online, and this week I gave her an update, recounting getting my first ‘reviews’. I repeated part of your comment Idril, about you hearing some tremolo in some of the more passionate parts of the first one, and that being promising. To which my teacher replied, in a very annoying patronising way, that tremolo was something instruments did, not a voice. And this prompted something very interesting.

For one, she said this in such a way that was slightly insulting to both myself (for repeating the mistake it seems) and to Idril (for saying it in the first place). I looked at her a little confusedly and told her that I was just repeating what had been said; hoping that she would get the hint that even if I did know or care about the difference, I was merely repeating the comment verbatim and saw no need to correct it because I got the message regardless. There was then a moment of awkward silence as I realised I had taken the side of someone on the other side of the world who reads my blog, rather than my teacher whom I know personally. Almost unconsciously I had gone “Hey, no need to get picky and condescending about that. You don’t get it.”

But then who knows who better? It’s so easy to dismiss internet relationships because they seem one-dimensional. I think the readers of this blog get a better idea of what is going through my head than someone who was actually there does. I have actually known some of you longer than I have her. It still surprised me though.

(My mp3 is playing Truce at the moment and I am being lulled into it, losing focus by the second.)

There really isn’t much chance for me to really get to know her as a person. I share a bit, but it’s not as much as I do on the blog. I wonder if she has a MySpace? Shit that’s ironic.

One of my friends entered the room just as I was laughing my head off drumming my hands on the table – she has Facebook! Ha ha ha! And a band page on MySpace. I didn’t peek, there’s something weird about knowing a person then reading their blog. I’ve managed to keep my friends off mine because of the sheer length of it.

Anyway, I was talking about my songs. You said I copied a lot of the original, and that’s a fair point. But one thing at a time. Getting back to the shoes and feet analogy, I only just discovered that I have a voice, and I have barely got the confidence to sing on my own; even beginning to develop a sound of my own is quite a while away. I am content to be able to mimic things. This was what I started out doing all those years ago. I have a lot of trouble creating the notes without another voice to copy, like I was telling my teacher repeatedly weeks ago. And I think I have uncovered another reason why this happens: I have no feeling for music at all. None. I have a bit of rhythm, and a meagre amount of tune nowadays – but no musical ability. I couldn’t compose or play anything short of a mobile phone ringtone to save my life. As I recounted earlier, I couldn’t play ‘Three Blind Mice’ on a flute after six months, and I was the first to produce a sound. I have given up the idea of getting some sequencing software and becoming a home producer because of this. Leave it to the professionals, leave it to someone else, leave it to someone born without a pathological deficiency in melody, tune, and composition.

Music, I do not get; mimicking, I do.

I enjoy it much more, and sound much better, accompanying someone else rather than singing solo. I don’t care if she can’t hear my voice when I sing with another person, I can; and the difference in quality and ease just about kills me. Without another voice I feel lost, anxious and embarrassed.

Case in point: ‘Mad World’. She was getting me to do this one in class as you know, then I got myself a copy and started practicing it at home. When I was only doing it with her I was really pleased with myself; this song, which I had only heard a handful of times, and had been put up four voice straining keys – was actually sounding quite passable. Then once I took it home, sat in my room alone with a microphone and sung along with the original (as distorted as it was with the key artificially raised and the equaliser compensating) after a little practice, I thought I had it nailed, and I couldn’t wait to show her. So I get to class, she finally plays the song after an arduous, ego wrenching, all-too-honest round of vocal exercises; and it’s so comparatively shit. I felt like I had gone backwards.

And another thing – that ‘ooh hoo woo yeah’ shit that singers love to do, randomly, for the hell of it and, in my opinion, sometimes just to hold it over the rest of us. I could never see the point in that. I’ve never included that in any of my lyrics, nor do I copy it in a song. Sure, I can see how it’s fun and all, but why? How did that trend arise I wonder? It seems as a singer you’ve got to like stuff like that, all of them seem to have a favourite nonsensical noise they throw in.

I’d be better suited to poetry and we all know it. But I’ve been over that one. This scene is dying once more. I know that I am subconsciously losing interest. I keep missing lessons, I missed this week’s, I was too busy chasing up my English assessment and taking care of the class when the teacher was away. Things keep cropping up, I keep forgetting, it certainly doesn’t help that she just suddenly decided to move the lesson to Tuesday, but I’m caring about these things less and less.

I was thinking about this recently, about how maybe this isn’t what I want to do with the rest of my life, for a job. Jobs should be more of a natural talent, a creative talent, but not creatively precarious. I searched for something fitting this bill and I suddenly wished I could take up blogging professionally. This, as far as I know, does not exist. And the type of grand scale popularity that you would need for something like that to be tenable isn’t something I desire anyway. But before all that, I thought – well I wouldn’t enjoy it anymore if it was my job to produce blogs.

How was it that I was totally cool with this happening to my song writing? Are they not the same? I’m stuck in the same limbo I always was.

My real passion, beyond all that; I realised in the bathroom one night – is words. I think words are fantastic. This great child-like awe springs forth from me when I realise how humans have a word for everything. Every single thing in this existence has a name, sometimes more than one, with a diverse range of synonyms varying in tone and connotations. We even have a whole host of things for describing the unknown as well. I love writing, reading, speaking and listening more than anything. I am a communicational whore. The whole point of my music as I pointed out to myself, was to create a connection. Even there I think Amanda and I don’t differ. Although she seems to possess the musical ability in proportion to my lack of it. Which may account for our different outlets. I also think I see the signs that Amanda may be quietly flailing in the midst of the rat race of her life after the album launch.

To expand on the Great Truths of life, which include Murphy’s Law: If anything can go wrong, it will, and at the worst possible time. Sattinger’s Law: It works better if it is plugged in. What I am now christening The Standpoint Principle: The moment after you decide you are sorted is the moment you realise you are irreparably fucked. And now, named in honour of Amanda: The Law Of Mindfuck: No matter how sure you are of this moment it doesn’t prevent you from being struck down with occasional bout of ‘What the fuck am I doing/have I done with my life?’

I got a haircut recently. Which, just quietly, went horribly wrong. My mother cut it, and she broke her string of good requirement-meeting haircuts.

She’s not a hairdresser, but she knows what she is doing. Usually she follows my instructions very well, and I get that rush of confidence that a makeover provides. But I knew something had gone amiss when she cut the front of it too short, and when it was finished I didn’t feel revitalised. I dyed it the same old red, which felt more like getting myself back to an acceptable standard rather than creating a great new look. People already think it’s my natural colour, even though it’s an unreal shade of auburn. Surprisingly no-one noticed that I had almost unwillingly lost half of my hair volume. The first person was my Information Technology (i.e. computers) teacher, who was marking the roll, he called out the other names then when he got to mine he said my name and then “Ah, with a new haircut!” so the whole class turned around and looked at me. Normally I would relish this sort of attention, but I still don’t feel confident with my new look. Instead of looking like Alison Mack in the earlier series of Smallville, I ended up looking like Tamsin Grieg in the early Black Books. In other words, it’s very short, tailored and sleek; rather than messy, spiky and jaw length. But, in yet another Great Truth of life, and hairdressing especially – it will grow out. I don’t know why I felt like sharing that useless paragraph.

Also on the visual front, I have been updating and tweaking this page, and hopefully, by the time I post this there will lovely artworked background of old floral wallpaper. This is actually a composite made of a stock image of peeling paint and my curtain, which I went to considerable trouble to cram into the scanner without tearing down. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a decent picture of peeling paint? I also tried searching for floral wallpaper on Flickr, with the most unexpected results. But the annoying thing is, like most things on Blogger, this background requires special code to make it work differently from the basic tiling. And they don’t actually tell you on the help site. I think I’ve got it now though. I hope you like it.

And no Idril, I don’t think you talk too much about your life. Both of you give me so much useful and interesting stuff to talk about, I wouldn’t mind if you did go on a bit. It’s good this way, it doesn’t feel so one sided, it doesn’t feel like the dynamic on Amanda’s blog that perturbs me, this isn’t an overlord and her minions, this is me, you guys and my ramblings.

I finished all the books in immediate release in the Nightrunner series, which I adore, and recommend to all. The author Lynn Flewelling is also quite an interesting character, as I found out when searching for future release dates.

I did find out the name of the mystery girl who looks like someone I once knew. It is just coincidence, her name is not one that the other girl would have used, and the more I am around her the more differences I see.

On the subject of drinking and that evil phenomenon known as teen culture… although I am still technically underage, in the privacy of my own home I am partial to a glass or two of Baileys and milk, or a dash in a good creamy coffee, with shortbread biscuits… mmmm. Or alternatively a sip of a nice sweet red with dinner. I am lucky that I am still under the legal drinking age, I can hide behind that for another year, that and the old (but untrue) favourite “my parents don’t let me.” I also do not see the point in getting trashed as a mark of… what is the stupid reason anyway? Idiocy? Rebellion? Escapism? Whatever it is, I never figured it out. When I was still in with the cooler and more brainless crowd I used to show up to the parties ‘drunk’. I do a fantastic act of drunkenness at various stages; and it became a necessity in order to maintain the ‘cool’ image. So since I was already ‘drunk’ there was no need to offer me much, or any alcohol. This, for me, was the perfect balance within this world of theirs. I had all the concessions being drunk affords you with, the excuse to be loud, stupid and reckless, but I was fully conscious and therefore able to remember and control my actions. To this day none of my past friends know how much of it was an act. I know it was dishonest, but you have to temper that with whatever value you place on their acceptance. It’s a sad state of affairs.

But there are some good things going on at the moment. My English Language teacher and I are currently pulling a fast one on my mother (i.e. slightly deceiving her). It’s not a combination that you get very often at all. Most of the time it’s the parent and the teacher pulling the wool over the kid’s eyes (aren’t there just the most colourful phrases associated with trickery? Love it.) or occasionally the parent and the kid fooling the teacher, especially about sick days and things. But I’ve never heard of this one, and the novelty and good fortune of it is not lost on me. You see, we are both trying to get me to go on this excursion, and without getting into it too much, my mother is very protective of me. I can’t go shopping on my own, to a friend’s place without the Spanish Inquisition, into town alone and by my own means, or on the internet without great suspicion. And this excursion requires me to catch a tram with another student, without a teacher present. Oh my goodness! It’s just an outrage isn’t it? I’m seventeen!

So having explained this to my teacher, she and I discussed the best approach to persuading my mother. Later that day when I explained the travel plans to my mother, some of her choice words included: “If you’re left alone for a single second, you’re not going!”, “Why can’t this bloody school organise anything in school hours anymore?!”, and “What a load of frog shit!” – I hope my teacher gets to see some of this firsthand. She’s great though, she really is. We had a good laugh about my mother and life after I move to university; she’s a really good sport, I’d much like to keep her as a friend once I leave school.

Speaking of school… I have actually found someone who understands my stance on relationships; and after just the right amount of sly hints he slid his hand under the table and onto the bare skin above my stockings, much to the enjoyment of both parties. And, remarkably, he can still carry on a decent conversation at the same time! What more could a girl want? He is undoubtedly the most well adjusted of my male friends. We ended up having a good old fashioned deep and meaningful via text for most of the night. Considering he’s a year younger than me and we dated once, the absence of awkwardness was remarkable. Relationships in general have fallen out of focus for me, Mr. Emo and Mr. Crushing, not to mention Mr. Inch-Mile; have faded into the background. In an independent free love kind of way, I still have all I want.

Oh oh, in other news I think there may be another song on the way. One of mine. There is this one that I wrote ages ago, in about 20 minutes (it seems the shorter time it takes the more I like them) while I was waiting for a vocal competition audition. I was looking for a song which encompassed some of my doubts and fears, but also passion for music. And I came across this one song called “Careers Advice”. I called it that because I felt like singing was the last thing that someone like me should be doing. It’s an upbeat show tune, and one of the few songs that I can almost envisage music for. I am having a bit of trouble recording it though, it’s a loud over-the-top almost satirical piece, which needs to be sung a quite a volume. Unlike you Idril, I still feel quite insecure about singing loudly when anyone else is in the house. Even to practice. I’m happy for you that your parents are cool with the singing, and the shyness is disappearing. It’s not quite the same for me. Karaoke may have had the potential for widespread humiliation, but it was done in front of total strangers as a bit of a laugh; my mother is my harshest and most feared critic who has been there through all my struggles. It was very different and quite life affirming to be able to just show up and belt out a tune, because they don’t know what I’ve been through or how hard it is.

Just to get a feel for this song I recorded myself self-consciously whispering the words into the microphone late one night. And I could swear that I actually heard the music. The equaliser effects and microphone/speaker relationship created this distorted echo that sounded like trumpets, saxophones, clarinets, old pianos and jazz style drums. But I realised I must have been delirious from lack of sleep or and insane amount of hope, because I never heard it quite the same way again. But for a moment, there was a full band, and images of myself acting this out in a video or performing it to an audience; it was magic, and it’s moments like that which keep me from giving up completely.

Much love

☆Anika☆