One busy weekend

Hi, my dears!
I’ve been off for a few days, which you probably haven’t noticed, but okay! This was one busy weekend, but it was so much fun that I accept the complete tiredness. Friday was my prom party. I believe I looked good. There weren’t so many people, but after all it was a good party, we’ve had a good time.
Saturday I had to rise early again, the pain, the pain, because I had a free day filled with art stuff, thanks to being third with my overly self promoted story Luck is a loaded gun. I didn’t know anyone when I left my house here, I mean, I went there on my own. People from all over Belgium would come, but I didn’t know anyone.
And that’s kinda scary. You know, I’m always friendly because I want people to like me. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that they will like me. When I entered the place where would sleep, I saw all those people standing there, and they all seemed to know at least one other person.
Luckily, there was one other girl with whom I had already spoken during the competition in our region, so I just sat next to her and talked to her and the girl sitting next to her. As the day continued, I got to know more people and now there’s a giant befriend thing going on Facebook.
Because I’m on Facebook now. I did it to see all the pictures of our never-to-be-forgotten travel to Italy, and I stayed. Giant controversy, I was on FB….! After saying so many times that I didn’t like it….! But my opinion on FB hasn’t changed that much at all. I find it slightly boring, but sometimes it’s nice. Like now, you can befriend everyone you’ve talked to (or even the ones you haven’t talked to, doesn’t seem to matter) and act like you’ll stay in touch, which isn’t true.
Although, after two years I’m still in touch with the girl I’ve stayed with when I was ‘on exchange’.
So, what I want to say is: I was slightly scared, but after all I knew things would work out and if not- then I would be screwed for one day. That’s not too much. And I ended up making new friends. I had such a great time! We’ve had dance battles (in which I actively participated, duh!), people played guitar and the flute (the flute! I mean, does that ever happen except for when art competition people come together?), we’ve seen art things and so on.
I’m not really scared anymore of meeting complete strangers. Next year it will be the same, but no one will really know someone else who does the same studies (or, no one who will do the same thing as me will know someone else doing the same). This weekend, I have noticed that sometimes I’m even the most social one. I can do it. I can make new friends. Other people won’t bite.

Sweet taste of success… and irony

Well, it’s almost a week ago, Sunday to be precise, but actually I didn’t plan to tell you this.
But I will after all. Don’t ask me why I wouldn’t or why I do it anyway, just don’t ask anything, because my brain moves in mysterious ways.

Good. Last Sunday I participated in a competition. It’s a competition held in Flanders and Netherlands, and it has multiple categories to participate in. So there are: dance, music, text, fashion aaaand so on. The preselections (WP claims that this word doesn’t exist. Do you know what I mean though?) are held in a few bigger cities of Flanders, I think there are ten cities more or less where the first part of the competition takes place.
I participated in the categories dance (together with a friend, with whom I share one mind 😉 ) and text. Aaaaand I ended up third with my humble text! Aaaaaand what’s even better? I wrote the text for this blog! It was Luck is a loaded gun. I was proud, duh.
Unfortunately this story is based on reality, and when I said that irony striked back, I ment that the gun was fired and things went indeed wrong, after having achieved that third place.
Luck is a loaded gun.
I wish I didn’t write the truth. It felt so… ironically.

BUT that doesn’t take away that I won the third price with something I actually wrote for this blog. I didn’t win anything spectacular as in a lot of money, but I got some chique books and an ‘arty’ magazine, and a bag of the competition and a T-shirt, and the honour.

Realising this took me a few days, but now I’m very glad with it.

PS: have you seen it? Haven’t you? Come on, the sun shone! At 8 o’clock in the morning! How could you have missed that?

How ballet has changed

If there is one thing I will never dislike, it’s probably ballet. But how things have changed! Ballet used to be more about spirit and emotions (yep, emotions!) and less about the perfect turnout or 32 fouettes. (See Swan Lake) To show how different things have become, I offer you two viedo’s: the first one is Tamara Toumanova dancing the solo from Don Quichote. The second one is lina Somova doing the same. The same? Not really. Tell me, which one do you like the most?

Also check out this post on the same subject! It’s like an extended version of this one.

Would the world be better in black and white?

By Annemarieke van Drimmelen.

The Paleness of Ideal – 2

Don’t hesitate to have and keep your own interpretation, but here’s an image in addition to the last post I wrote. Imagine posing for it. Ouch.

The Paleness of the Ideal

It’s an odd kind of energy that runs through my veins.
It started with opening my eyes. I can’t remember opening them, but suddenly I saw light and sculptures surrounding me. White marble and pale faces. Then I heard the murmur of the sea, a few seconds before I realized it was the water crawling upon the rocks. Birds sang. I could hear it all, the wind knocking on the door.
My lips left each other and I could feel the air softly flowing in, from my mouth to my throath until it filled my lungs. My chest moved upwards, as if the air made me float.
It was an odd kind of energy that runned through my veins. It made me stretch my fingers and then clench them to fists. My nails pushing in the soft flat of my hand. The door creaked under the wind’s caresses. I could feel it, the tiny fingers on my face, every now and then.
It flowed and waved and runned through my veins. My legs bent, stretched. My toes curled.
What a strange feeling of lifting your hand, not obeying gravity, and touching your face. The space right above your eye is the softest. I could feel it with the tips of my fingers. My eyes feel so vunerable, with only the eye lashes as guards. My lips smiled when I touched them unexpectedly. I didn’t know I could smile. Did I smile before? I couldn’t remember anything before the light and the sculptures. Was that birth? I don’t know. It seems like I just feel and breathe. The movement while breathing, up and down. And then the energy, the tingle of oxygen.

Then the door opened and he came in. He looked stunned. Whispered: “Galatea… My sweet Galatea… How I have prayed… Begged! My sweetheart…” I watched his face and knew it was him who made me.
And I felt nothing but the cold of marble.

The Dots Effect

Ulysses and the Sirens by Hebert James Draper

I’ve talked before about strange coincidence and connecting dots etc. And I will do the same today! Right the same.
To understand my probably chaotic explanation, I have to give you a background. I’m in my last year of high school, and that means I have to write a sort of paper about a certain subject that I had to choose a while ago. I have chosen for the mythological Sirens. Those creatures are sexy birdwomen who live on an island and seduce men with their enchanting songs so that the men die due to shipwreck. Behind the lights of perfection, there are bloodthirsty birds. They appear in the story about Ulysses, the smart man who fought in Troy and who traveled ten years to return home. They passed by that dangerous island but thanks to the intelligence of Ulysses, they survived. The Sirens must have been angry.

Do they make you think of mermaids? Quite probably. On the painting you see here, one of the girl is a real mermaid. But there is something essentially different: mermaids are partly fish, not bird. Which means that the picture you see there, isn’t right. (Keep that in mind, my dears. It will make you seem so smart!) There are a lot of creatures that resemble Sirens, because of their deceptive beauty or enchanting voices. You could consider them to be family of the Sirens.
One of those members is the Slavic Sirin. A Sirin is just the Slavic version of the Sirens, partly bird, partly woman, with stunning voices and everything. And now, the great revelation: Vladimir Nabokov used to write using the name Vladimir Sirin!
You might be wondering what is so special about that. Well, Nabokov is the writer of my favourite book: Lolita. (The image was a hint.)

Coincidence? Do I have to believe that?
Now tell me, my dears, what is your favourite book? Do you know Lolita? Have you read it already? Tell me all about it. I will listen patiently.

Summer’s day or Winter’s night?

Shall I compare thee to a winter’s night?
When bats are flying
Vampires biting
The world remains in silence
And you decide to leave
There you go
With your burning candles
Through my garden of snow
To never return no more
Shall I compare thee to the winter’s night
When the world remained in silence
And you left

Ever raped Shakespeare? Great source of inspiration, I must admit. About a year ago, I felt a little bored and I started thinking about his poems somehow and then I did this cruel deed of ruining his most famous poem. I know, I know. I couldn’t help making this one up, it just happened, and maybe it’s not even good.
Still, copyright’s mine.

A bit of beauty

School needs a lot of my attention now, unfortunately. Concentration percentage = 0%, but okay. I’ll try to spend less time on the internet. Try. But before I go, a sublime video that you will probably not adore. I’ll post it anyway because it is BEAUTIFUL. Just accept that. Then I will try to entertain you as much as possible though I have a lot of work to do. I’ll survive it, don’t worry, but it helps that you can watch this pieces of beauty you find on the internet. Mind the music, the dress, the movements… That’s why it’s my latest obsession.

La belle dame sans merci

The beautiful ancient English text can be found here. I can but love these kind of poems. And what else can you do now it’s getting colder every day?