Piano! Around 13 years! Two years ago I did my 6th grade exam and then stopped having lessons, but I still play now and then and teach myself pieces I want to learn. It's a lot of fun and often cathartic.
I've almost finished my essay. Just need to wrap it up now! And, y'know, fix up the introduction and reference it. But it's almost done damnit! I'm really proud of it, actually. Too bad it's late because I suck. BUT, hopefully with a medical certificate and the lecturer proving to be as lenient as he seems, I won't get too many marks taken off for lateness. I can hope! In either case, it's a good essay. Yay.
And yes, I have become one of those people that uses livejournal and writer's block as a procrastination tool. I bet you all just love me for that. XD
Так вышло и с образом семиклассницы Саши, которую я в первые увидел придя в новую школу. Ореол некоего свечения окружил эту в локонах брюнетку, и ложился бликами на все ее лицо. И хотя тогда в моих чувствах не было как таковой подоплеки в контексте секса, что-то обожгло меня чуть ниже...солнечного сплетения и я непроизвольно устремил полет своей фантазии ввысь...
Увы тогда звонок к уроку вывел меня из ступора.
Хэппи энда не было, она с родителями уехала из города в этом же году. Ходили слухи, что их семья эмигрировала за границу.
И не вольно я так и представляю себе "иностранку-Сашу" с ее детской внешностью, даже сейчас, когда слышу "уехали за бугор"...
Пусть остаются только воспоминания, хотя бы и зафиксированные в том или ином виде (слово-фото-видео или произвольный электронный отпечаток).
Мне отвратителен фетишизм по отношению к трупам: что выставочные мумии, что выставочные камни, занимающие — неважно — двести или два квадратных метра земной поверхности, или ханжески полумерное поклонение нишам, урнам. Честнее анатомический театр или кунсткамера, но своё тело не считаю настолько уж уникальным, чтобы оно заслуживало какого-то пристального внимания; я и при жизни, когда могу повлиять на ситуацию, стесняюсь избыточного внимания, а уж тем более будучи не в силах что-либо изменить… объяснить… да хотя бы повернуться в более выгодном ракурсе :)
Хотя разного рода памятники в какой-то мере понимаю и принимаю — они могут послужить живым точкой концентрации воспоминаний так же, как мемуары или зафиксированные образы.
My older brother on the other hand, can play just about anything he gets his hands on. He can make music out of things not meant to be instruments. He's like a living reminder of how much I fail - as I tell everybody, he took all the good genes. Sometimes his musical genius awes me, and scares me. Most of the times it annoys me.
Today is really not my kind of day. Woke up past noon and didn't get to do anything I planned to do. Been staring at the computer screen for probably 6 hours+ just listening to the My Girl OST (damn brainwashing, and calming, I tell you) and my roommate is gone out to party for the Halloween weekend only after she brought people over, then saw me, got awkward and left after gathering her stuff. I really don't know how to act in those kinds of situations. Wonder when I'll finally be able to interact with the human species like how everyone else seems able.
Which reminds me of Halloween - my least favourite labelled-with-a-title-day of the year. I was born and raised in Korea, and when I moved to Canada I was already too old for trick-or-treating, (or so I thought to myself anyway, I was 9) and ready to be annoyed at the kids who did come up to my door for treats. Now that I'm in uni, its the 'kids' in uni that bother me with the screaming and hollering in the streets, and for goodness sakes it's not Halloween yet. I have four midterms squished into next week and a ton of essays, I still haven't watched any of Shoon and Reon's new things and I have no idea what I'm going to write for NaNoWriMo.
Worst of all, my desk stand lamp died just a few minutes ago, and it has been with me since I was 6. I felt like a dear childhood friend just sputtered and keeled over in front of me. So then I tried to get it working again, touched the bulb by accident and now there's a huge blister on my left thumb. Great. So now I'm feeling betrayed by an old friend or something.
Gotta listen to more brainwashing, yet soothing drama OSTs.
Makes me realize that I really should get back to it all. Pity there really isn't space in my room or I'd have bought a set a long time ago. I feel so rusty I wonder if I can even still play jazz/bossa/etc anymore. I miss the gigging days with the jazz band, EGG, and most recently (though not at all quite recent), 2013. But dammit, EGG really was the best shit ever.
вышла в Воронеже книжка "4 года из 57" - наша переписка при знакомстве, после знакомства и при разлуках,
пока я 3 года учился в военном училище. Приведу заключительные слова в послесловии этой книжки,
написанные после смерти моей Зои в 2005 году: "Зоя сделала мою жизнь счастливой. Знаю, что и она была
со мной счастлива. Наше общее с ней счастье будет со мной, пока дышу, пока бьется сердце".
Это счастье осветляет мою одинокую в квартире жизнь и сейчас. Это счастье в наших дочери и сыне,
шести внуках и семи правнуках. Они не дают мне чувствовать себя одиноким в обыденной жизни.
When grade five graduation inevitable rolled around, I eagerly had my mom sign me up to play the flute, an instrument I had been longing to play for the entirety of the time I had know about it. It took me a whole two weeks (four band classes) to realize how much I hated the flute. I couldn't hold it right (despite my small hands), my fingers kept slipping off the keys, and I wasn't able to make a single bloody note come out of the stupid thing. I don't know what I was thinking; I loathed high sounds with a passion and yet I choose the highest instrument in our band. So I turned my back on the flute and its' bullshit and leapt gladly into the arms of the clarinet, my first love. The rich, reedy tone had me swooning. And the low notes. I just couldn't understand why some composers had the clarinets play anything over a middle C (Concert B flat for those musically inclined) . Luckily, my band teacher is freaking amazing. He noticed my distaste of those "dumb high notes," and suggested I switch to the lower, larger, and all around lovelier bass clarinet for grade seven. Now this was love at first honk. It didn't hurt that the lowest note, one we played quite often, sounded like a fog horn. I happily huffed along on that for the next five, which brings us up to present day.
I also had a brief, unsatisfying affair with a tiny, blue guitar I got for my eighth birthday. I was less enthusiastic to take it up as I was still; starry-eyed over the prospect of someday playing a flute (I even offered to trade the guitar to my younger sister if she ever won one in a contest). Add an unpleasant teacher for group lessons with older kids that insisted on reminding just how much younger I was, and you get a Very Unwilling Torrie. Practicing pretty much went out the window, and when the however-many-weeks of lesson were up, the guitar was all but shoved in a closet, never to be played again. I still regret not sticking with it.
In grade seven, my interest in the guitar was revived by Guitar Hero and Rock Band, of all things. My soon-to-be best friend had previously taken lessons, and her dad owned a plethora of guitars. She gladly gave me a few tips, lent my a beginners book, and sent me on my merry way. After some time of chugging through old scale sheets from the group lesson incident and the beginner book, my parents and grandma decided I was serious about learning to play. My grandma took me to my music store of choice, and let me pick out a bigger, better quality guitar to replace the cheap, tiny one I had been plonking away on. I was once again signed up for lessons (private ones offered by the store), but due to the effects of a (still) ongoing medical issue, I dropped them. Present day, I still pick up my guitar from its' place of honour in the corner of my room to play some of the few songs I know. The desire to expand and actually acquire some actual playing ability has been growing stronger and stronger in my mind. Lessons or some serious self-teaching are definitely in my future.
In the future, I would like to add the playing the piano to my list of achievements. And, I wouldn't complain if I magically acquired the ability to sing without wanting to apologize to every incorrect note. :0)
The first instrument that I ever learned how to play was a recorder in early (Pre-Grade 5) elementary school. The summer between fourth and fifth grades, I started to learn how to play an alto saxophone, which I played for about a year or so. Between fifth and sixth grades, I was asked to step in and learn the tenor sax in order to cover the previous player's advancing to high school. I played the tenox sax for all of junior high, plus a year (?) of senior high. I ended up learning how to play the baritone sax to fill in for a graduating senior in (I think) tenth grade. I was the only bari sax player in the senior high band up until I left the band in order to focus on college prep classes during my senior year. I still remember playing Honor Band (a regional performance that gathered students from different schools) at Northland and trying desperately to keep up! Sadly, I haven't played in a long time, since I no longer have any of the instruments that I played. My alto sax went to my sister when she was deciding what instrument to learn and I rented the others from my school. I've actually thought about brushing up on one of the saxes.
Я натура эмоциональная, увлекающаяся, потому как завижу что достойное внимания - сразу вспыхиваю. И каждый раз как первый раз... Но только.. Бывает такой раз, один-единственный, когда понимаешь что не влюбился а именно полюбил - и это, без сомнения, навсегда.
I play the piano. For about 11/12 years? I can't remember if I did before I left my home country, but all the time I've been in Singapore, so 11 years and counting.
If I'm more free, I'll like to pick up something else. The saxophone, the guitar, or cello. I'm ambitious, but often an underachiever. And I'm realistic.
10. It is still the only place where I place my private writings via my flist.
9. It is where I have been able to keep in touch of online friends that I have first connected with on various list serve groups which are no longer active.
8. It is the place that introduced me to friendships that have morphed into real life meetings of seriously awesome people.
7. It is a primary source of inspiration, hope and compassion.
6. It is my number one location for connecting with other INFPs.
5. My flist is the fertile ground for contemplation and mediation of ideas relating to my own spiritual path.
4. It is where I connect with some of the greatest friends that I have known in my life.
3. It is where I life to store my best memories, travel experiences and thoughts.
2. It is where I can express my passion for visual art, myth and symbolism
1. I get to create my own little icons.
соловьи заливаются трелью..
Ну она вроде как знала об этом, но тоже не решалась на первый шаг. На встрече выпускников меня она разочаровала... полнотой
Первая любовь хороша своим теплом и светом, как солнечный апрельский день. Потому и помнится всю жизнь. А еще в ней важно не только и не столько, есть ли взаимность, а сама способность любить. Многие влюбляются в книжных персонажей (каких-нибудь заморских принцев). Мода и декорации сказки меняются, но суть остается. "Он приедет и спасет ее, а в ответ она спасет его" (с).
Впервые влюбилась в 13 лет. Это был мой друг детства. Мы всегда вместе играли, потому что родители вместе работали. И вдруг однажды я заметила в нем какую-то непонятную привлекательность, что-то щемящее. Тогда, ясно, было не разобраться. С ним было так светло и тепло, будто свернулась калачиком у камина, и кто-то рассказывает тебе сказку о том, как все в твоей жизни будет прекрасно.
Он учил меня кататься на велосипеде (так и не научилась), придерживал его сзади и легонько касался губами моего уха, что-то говорил, но я не улавливала слов. Я вслушивалась в голос, и он был музыкой. Казалось, он слышит стук моего сердца. А еще очень хотелось, чтобы поцеловал:)
what about you??
And since then I have been terrified about being buried alive.
The best way to ensure that I am not buried alive......is to have every usable organ donated for transplant.
But on balance I want to be cremated. I want the funeral service to have a sense of humour about it with perhaps appropriate music as my coffin disappears along the conveyor belt. Johnny Cash singing "I fell into a ring of fire" might work..........but I am leaning towards "Great Balls Of Fire" (Jerry Lee Lewis). I want my ashes in an urn.......sitting on the mantle facing the TV. When Mrs FJH kicks the bucket, I want her to join me on the mantle until our kids scatter our ashes together. The urn containing my ashes will make a useful ash tray for my Daughter-in-Law as she flicks her cigarette ash in on to of me. Which I suppose means I will be the only corpse to actually gain weight.
There is some merit in the Indian Hindu ceremony of a massive funeral pyre and grieving women hurling themselves into the flames.
I cordially invite all my many female friends on Live Journal to join in.
Так, чтобы не нафантазировала сама, один раз влюблялась. Мысль была странная: "Как, я, он, когда-нибудь вместе, не верю." Оказалось, если я не верю во влюбленность, ещё не значит, что влюбленность не верит в меня. А на такие мелкие вещи, в духе "Ну девочки, ну посмотрите, какой! Как можно не заметить? Ну девочки, ведь замечательный, да? А как в футбол играет, а? И прическа у него хорошая, пусть волосы отращивает." Не то, чтобы я так прямо это говорила, где-то как-то. И вообще я думала, что я так просто поддерживаю, подумать большее просто стеснялась. Тем более чего думать, если в общем-то ничего и нет.
А в остальном 5-6 раз за жизнь придумывала себе объекты повышенного внимания. Если что-то цепляло или от нечего делать. Искала, чем можно "повосхищаться" в основном.
I had to sleep with the lights on for a week when I went to the Crokes-Patterson Mansion (in Denver, CO... notoriously haunted) with a couple friends. We just walked around the perimeter of the house and another friend explained the history of it. Didn't actually go inside, but you leave feeling like something's watching you. It follows with you for days.
The viola. I've had one for seven years, and occasionally practiced in that time. I keep breaking strings, and those string sets run over fourty dollars.
The violin. I've had one since I was 16, and practiced for a while. Unfortunately one of the machine pegs (yes I know they don't make them anymore) stripped out and I haven't been able to fix it properly yet.
А так, чтобы в детстве и по-крупному, первый раз когда гриппом болела и Гардемарины смотрела...в Дартаньяна!
Ну вообще на самом деле. Из звёзд ещё классе в 5м солист "Scooter: был и классе в 7м - солист "Him". Репутация у них, правда, "подкачала", да и далековато были, поэтому приходилось искать что-то более "приземлённое" рядом.:)
А вот ухажера своего в дет.саду не ценила...боялась, сварганил там, представьте себе, "Тимур и его команду" и проходу не давал. Взрослые, вдобавок, шушукались, братья подшучивали. А этот мальчик и в школу поступил, приходил на меня в группу посмотреть. Ничего не помню, только рассказы взрослых, как меня к нему выводили "на смотрины". Я только помню, что пряталась, когда могла.)
В итоге лучше Дартаньяна до сих пор никого нет.) Такой был...на коне, ух! Для больного ребёнка настоящим рыцарем благородным казался.
That's it really, nothing terrifying just one of those things where a sequence of events can fold out so perfectly.
8C I made the mistake of discovering Marble Hornets the day I watched Paranormal Activity. Those maskies bother the hell out of me, and I'm already prone to paranoia...
I did not sleep well for about a week. Gosh. It's so silly, but Marble Hornets really gets to me. Paranormal Activity 1 got to me too, but the second one wasn't so bad...maybe that's because I was exhausted when I watched it. I'm sure I'll wind up watching the third...hope it's not too bad.
I suppose i'll share a small bit. believe what you will, take it as a bad ghost story, as a dream, a hallucination, a flat out lie, whatever. . . I really don't care, but i'll give you my answer.
being courageous and being fearless are two different creatures. Now I personally, thought i was fearless. I had nothing to lose. However i I've been afraid a few times. . . not too long ago in fact was the last one. It was an average day, no wind, overcast, no rain. . . In the middle of the day the power went out, so i decided to lay on the couch and stare out the window for a while. I am prone to insomnia so often when i've not slept for a while, i'll phase in and out of consciousness. I was dozing that time. Suddenly i heard it, clear as day. . . The same low, primal growl that had stopped me so many years ago from meditating (after i had. . .gone a little too deep and as my grandfather seems to think, "opened a door"). It voiced out "you're mine you know" and suddenly, i couldn't move. i saw a shadow moving toward me in rapid bursts like some odd horror movie, but i was wide awake by that time. Awake enough to notice that the lights were flickering back off and on, and there was a truck outside the window with a cherry picker fixing a transformer. It touched me and sucked the breath out of me, but i forced myself to breathe and then finally started hollering "You want to fuck with me now? You want to do this again? I might die, or go insane but i'll be damned if i don't fuck your vapor ass sideways first. You know damn well what i'm capable of, and I know damned well the power of Yhwh's name. I don't need to move to perform the LRP and solar banishing, sackface."
(yes i said all that. Don't ask what either one is. If you don't know, you should study up a little)
It disappeared, but it took about 5 minutes before i could manage to move again. I don't have sleep paralysis, and I can tell a lucid dream from being awake. That's what makes lucid dreams lucid. The next day i started getting gray hairs, and had a lot of rather dark dreams. Anything that moves like The Ring Girl and paralyzes you is a bit unnerving. . .
After that i didn't think i was fearless anymore, just realized that -most- things don't scare me.
However, I'm only brave in that i know what scares me, and will stand up to it like a schoolyard bully every time it shows up until i leave this world. I'm not going out of my way to piss it off again like i did when it scared me into quitting meditation. I'm sure it's nothing special, no one special. not the devil, not the grim reaper. just some lonely dark spirit who happened to hitch a ride on me when i made myself vulnerable. Like a moron i went too deep and opened something, and said i would let any spirit through that would grant me strength. This is what i got.
The realm of the spirit is very real, and some people (some genuine, some charlatans) claim to interact with it regularly. some even daily. Possession is an old, and very wide spread phenomena, too old and too wide spread to be dismissed. Although it seems the further i am away from god, the less i even think about this "thing" let alone see it. It's only when i'm most open, and most vulnerable to Yhwh that i even start to have thoughts about these things, or that i dream about, see, or experience anything of this sort, so I'd have to say it's a good way to make a believer out of a skeptic.
When I thought that the person standing at the front of my door during the night was a thug, and danced oddly. It was then I realized it was my brother, coming back late at night for some reason.
My alarm went off at 6pm, like it always does, but when I finally opened my eyes and rolled over to turn on my lamp, a 4'10" Michael Myers was standing over my bed with a knife in his hand. I'm kicking my nephew's ass for deciding that I should be the one to see him in his Halloween costume first.
I don't like short things. Bothers me. Child's Play, the Leprechaun. Things like that freak me out.
I've got to give him credit, though. It was clever.
Spooky? The demon log truck from hell coming around a hairpin turn, taking up the whole road and a celerating around the bend, and me in a little Honda Civic, bracing for death--or at least the ditch.
Seriously, very scary.
Every single time I shut the desk lamp before going to bed without making sure the hall light is on first. Every. Single. Time. Because I think I can make it to my bedroom, but halfway there I start panicking, real live danger-mode adrenaline pumping, heart-hammering panic, and smacking my hand desperately against the wall like LIGHT THINGIES MAKE THE LIGHT COME BACK OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD WHERE IS THE LIGHT SWITCH YOU HAVE LIVED HERE ALL YOUR 24 YEARS WHY DON'T YOU KNOWWWWWW and sometimes I even squeak if I don't get there fast enough. Then I turn on my bedroom light, shut the hall light, and FLEE into my bedroom, shutting the door way too quickly behind me, and then I collapse into bed because that was a terrible ordeal, all that oppressive scary darkness.
Another time I was spooked out of my mind would've been back in 2006. I attended UIS, and I lived in the 1 South wing of Lincoln Residential Hall. We took a trip to a haunted house during the Halloween season. This was super spooky because the haunted house had a lot of creaky noises that I didn't really hear that loudly. Though it was not really accessible, I tried it out, and every room had a ton of spooks. In one of the rooms, something or some tapped me on my side, and something yelled in my ear, making me shake and jump.
Whrn I first moved to the Mary Bryant Home, I learned that we had a Fall Festival right around Halloween. Not thinking that the staff was even going to dres up, I wasn't even expecting one of our maintenance workers to spook me. I heard a growling sound coming towards me, and I saw what I thought was a tangled mess of hair. A voice told me that he was the wolf man, and he was coming to get me. I later learned who the monster was. It was Marvin Jackson, our maintenance man.
The first time I met our other maintenance worker, Bill, he tried to sneak up on me. He has a habit of quietly walking up to you, no mater where you are or what you may be doing. "Roar!" he yells, either tickling me in my ribs or buzzing like a bee in my ear, then running off. Someone else did that, someone younger. I could've been pretty sure it was Bill because he tries to get me all the time. Sooner or later, I intend to get him back.