March 2007

They saved the cheerleader…

Tschö bis den 23. Abrëll ass nach sou laang. Ass jo schéin, dass et Heroes 360 gett, mee éischtens geet dat zu engem gudden Deel just fir Amerikaner, zweetens huet dat mech schon no den zwou éischte Wochen gestresst. Ech sin einfach kee Frend vun Alternate Reality Spiller. Just hier kleng Spoileren op Facebook fannen ech nach emmer cool.

Flugverkéier

Et soll ee manner fléien a net sou wäit an d’Vakanz reesen. Wat ech mech froen: ass et net méi emweltschiedegend wann 1000 Autoen bis op d’belsch Küst fueren wéi wann 2 Fligeren an Türkei fléien?

Den LGL war nees saufen

Ech hu grad d’Fotoen vum 2. Fräibéier vum LGL gekuckt. Do faale mer 4 Saachen op:
1. Ech kennen anormal vill Leit op deene Biller. Eng ganz Rei dierfte guer net méi am Lycée sin. Verschiddener sin et och net an hu sech just ageschlach.
2. Typen mat Fraenennerwäsch maache mer Angscht.
3. D’LGL Primaner hun et eraus: si dinn de Sonnebrëll einfach scho firum Saufen un, dann brauch een herno och net mat déckem Kapp dono ze sichen wann d’Lucht op eemol sou grell ass.
4. Ech hun eng Wessenslück: wou der Däiwel ass The Viking? Net wéi wann et no enger Plaz géing ausgesin wou ech hi wéillt, mee et ze wessen wier trotzdeem gudd, net dass ech eemol ahnungslos do erastolperen.

Uhm…

I am the girl kicked out of her home because I confided in my mother that I am a lesbian.

I am the prostitute working the streets because nobody will hire a transsexual woman.

I am the sister who holds her gay brother tight through the painful, tear-filled nights.

We are the parents who buried our daughter long before her time.

I am the man who died alone in the hospital because they would not let my partner of twenty-seven years into the room.

I am the foster child who wakes up with nightmares of being taken away from the two fathers who are the only loving family I have ever had. I wish they could adopt me.

I am not one of the lucky ones. I killed myself just weeks before graduating high school. It was simply too much to bear.

We are the couple who had the realtor hang up on us when she found out we wanted to rent a one-bedroom for two men.

I am the person who never knows which bathroom I should use if I want to avoid getting the management called on me.

I am the mother who is not allowed to even visit the children I bore, nursed, and raised. The court says I am an unfit mother because I now live with another woman.

I am the domestic-violence survivor who found the support system grow suddenly cold and distant when they found out my abusive partner is also a woman.

I am the domestic-violence survivor who has no support system to turn to because I am male.

I am the father who has never hugged his son because I grew up afraid to show affection to other men.

I am the home-economics teacher who always wanted to teach gym until someone told me that only lesbians do that.

I am the woman who died when the EMTs stopped treating me as soon as they realized I was transsexual.

I am the person who feels guilty because I think I could be a much better person if I didnt have to always deal with society hating me.

I am the man who stopped attending church, not because I don’t believe, but because they closed their doors to me.

I am the person ashamed to tell my own friends I’m a lesbian, because they constantly make fun of them.

I am the boy tied to a fence, beaten to a bloody pulp and left to die because two straight men wanted to “teach me a lesson”.

I am the person who has to hide what this world needs most: love.

(via MySpace)

Sudden Light

I have been here before,
But when or how I cannot tell:
I know the grass beyond the door,
The sweet keen smell,
The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.
You have been mine before, –
How long ago I may not know:
But just when at that swallow’s soar
Your neck turned so,
Some veil did fall, – l knew it all of yore.
Has this been thus before?
And shall not thus time’s eddying flight
Still with our lives our love restore
In death’s despite,
And day and night yield one delight once more?

by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Wéi eng Band ass dat?

Emmer erem kucken d’Leit mech schief wann ech hinnen soen, dass dat eng gudd Band ass, well se mol eng Kéier su ee richteg kitschege Power-Pop Hit haten (zu deem se vun der Musékindustrie gepusht goufen a selwer net kennen leiden). Firun zwee Joër war ech mat engem Kolleeg ennerwee an d’Staat; um Radio ass hier nei Single gelaaf. Dat war gudd Musék, bis ech de Numm vun der Band genannt hun. Direkt gouf de Sender gewiesselt – déi lauschtert dach kee fräiwelleg.
Mettlerweil sin se all iwwer 20, si bestued, hu Kanner an hun hieren eegenen Label gegrennt, 3CG (eng Ofkierzung fir 3 Car Garage), an si hun 2004 dee bis dato erfollegräichsten Independent Album an der Musékgeschicht erausbruecht. Si hun ee Film gedréit, Strong Enough to Break, dee net nemmen weist wéi schwéier et ass an der heiteger Musékswelt als One Hit Wonder eng zweet Chance ze kréien, mee och a virun allem ee vehementen, expliziten, Protest géint d’Muséksindustrie (haaptsächlech hiere fréiere Label Island/Def Jam Music Group – en Deel vu Universal) duerstellt. Momentan schaffen se un hierem nächsten Album mam Titel The Walk, deen den 30. Abrell erauskennt a wou een dat hei Lidd drop ka fannen. Dat gett et elo awer schon bei iTunes a sämtlech Erträg gin an Afrika.

Dee Video war och iwwregens deelweis Inspiratioun fir dat hei. Des Kéier ouni d’Béchs a mat 19 Sekonnen méi kuerzem Intro. Hoffentlech och manner komesche Pausen.

Ajo. D’Band heescht Hanson an ass dem Mainstream firun allem a wahrscheinlech och just duerch hieren Hit MMMBop Enn der 90er bekannt. Eng Blasphemie, well zanter se mat sou Bands ewéi Barenaked Ladies, dem Derek Webb, dem Jon Crosby oder och nach dem Chauntelle DuPree (vun Eisley) zesummenschaffen si se genial an eng vun de wéinege Bands, déi gudd Lyrics schreiwen.

Cigars in the summertime under the sky by the light,
I can feel you read my mind,
I can see it in your eyes,
Under the moon as it plays,
Like music every line,
There’s a rug with bleeding dye under the fan in the room,
Where the passion’s burning high,
By the chair with the leopard skin under the light,
It’s always Penny and me tonight

Creativity is only a construct

You know how psychologists always say that your childhood influences you in ways most people never realize? Yesterday I saw a few pieces of the puzzle that suddenly fitted together. As you may have noticed I wrote a few poems about a “little princess” over the last weeks. The reason I gave the figure that name is because for some reason the name Sarah keeps sticking to my mind, and, as you might know, that’s the Hebrew word for princess. So far…

Then yesterday I watched A hole in the world, the episode from the fifth season of Angel in which Wesley reads a bedtime story to his love, Fred, shortly before she dies. It was only a short passage, but it intrigued me and thanks to the Gutenberg Project I found out which story it was. Turns out I already knew that wonderful story (and I’m asking myself how I coud forget it). So good…

She sat with her feet tucked under her, and leaned against her father, who held her in his arm, as she stared out of the window at the passing people with a queer old-fashioned thoughtfulness in her big eyes.
       She was such a little girl that one did not expect to see such a look on her small face. It would have been an old look for a child of twelve, and Sara Crewe was only seven.

But here’s the problem: It’s called “A little princess”, was written by Frances Hodgson Burnett (who’s perhaps best known for Little Lord Fauntleroy) and tells the story of a girl called Sara. I’m not going to sum the story up, but it’s absolutely worth reading. There’s a summary on Wikipedia if you want to know more. What really brisks me up is this: was it really my idea to call the girl in my poems Sarah (forget about that additional h) and refer to her as “little princess”, or was it an old memory of a story I once knew that surfaced again? The poems are about something completely different than Burnett’s story, but still.

They say no matter how hard you try to invent something new you’ll always find someone who’s already had that idea. Could that really be true? What a pitiful world would we live in if such were the case…

Life 2.0

is having two sheets of paper, looking at one and instinctively moving your hand to hit keys (that aren’t there of course) to copy & paste a paragraph on the other sheet.

Yes, that did actually happen… Tuesday night.