Mother's day

My son dedicated this to me, such a beautiful gift!

Emilie Autumn

I learnt to walk in the backstages of theatres and opera houses, amongst the beautiful chaos of costume changes, circus performers, sweaty ballerinas, dripping make-up, and far too much glitter. Then, I went mad and was locked up. What did you think that would sound like?

Emilie Autumn says about her music. The child-prodigy classical violinist grew into a very special artist. She played with Cortney Love on her debut solo album and toured with her for a few years, worked a while with Smashing Pumpkin's Billy Corgan before releasing her own solo album, Ohpeliac, in 2006.

To me Emilie Autumn is the kind of person who is so pretty, so adorably cute, so strong and so vulnerable it breaks my heart, the kind of artist I cannot not love! Her music is funny, rich and elaborate, her way of performing it so light in touch it dances all around the room. Her lyrics are beautiful, poetic and slightly bizarre, she follows the gothic tradition in her choice of themes and sings about death and madness as phenomena rather than as threats.

Give her a listen, I don't think you'll regret it.

Life in a jar

On the very last lesson of the school year the teacher put an empty glass jar on the table without saying a word. She started filling it will colourful balls of different sizes, squeezing them into the jar until no more could fit.

-Is the jar full? she asked the students. Some said yes, some said no. So she took from her bag a bowl filled with sparkling marbles in bright colours, and started putting them in the jar. They fell between the balls, filling the holes and empty spaces between them, catching the light from the sun through the window. She shook the jar and continued to fill it until she could not find room for even a tiny marble.

-Is the jar full? she again asked the students. More said yes, but some still said no. So she took from her bag another bowl filled with soft sand. Carefully she poured the sand into the jar, again shaking it so the sand would fill all the tiny empty holes between the marbles and the balls. She smoothed the sand at the top of the jar, some fell to the table, and for the third time she asked the students:

-Is the jar full? Yes, they said, except one or two who still shook their heads.

-Well, said the teacher, this here jar represents your lives. The balls represent the things that bring meaning to your life, the things you could not take away without changing your life for the worse. They represent family, health, home. Children and friends, food on the table and love. If everything else disappeared and only the balls remained, your life would still be valuable and rich.

The marbles represent the other things in life that means a lot to you. Your hobbies, your workplace, your car for example. They make life colourful and sparkly.

The sand represents all the other things that fill your life, like bills, dentist appointments, horrible neighbours, standing in line and taxes.

Now, if you start by pouring the sand into the jar, and then the marbles, you could not fit all the balls in there. You must always remember to begin with the really important things. If you spend too much time and energy on the little things there’ll be no time for the big, important things. Play with your kids, spend time with your friends, kiss your loved ones and take care of your health.

The students were all nodding in agreement. The teacher now took the last thing from her bag. It was a bottle of bear. She opened it and poured it into the jar where it filled out the last pockets of air between the grains of sands, balls and marbles.

-And remember, she finished, no matter how complete your life may seem there’s always room for a single, nice, cold beer!

What's in a name?

What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet

Shakespeare has Juliet say, lamenting the fact that Romeo is a Montague. A few moments later he will let her know he's there, and the name will be of even less importance to them. For a little while, in the middle of the night, they will be two people, and that is all. Neither Capulet nor Montague, just two young people in love. The play is a tragedy, yet she's so right.

A name does not define a person. Somebody today was being really, truly nervous about the fact that Someone had said the name of the Syrian President Assad could be translated as Beast. This, claimed Somebody, is a warning.

Dear Somebody, it's just a name.

To offer some balance I can tell you that my given name, not the one I've given myself but the one my parents quite optimistically gave me many years ago, translates as Angel. See how little a name tells you about a person?

Adrian Heath

Some of you, who know me away from keyboard, out in real life, might be a bit surprised when you listen to Adrian Heath. He’s a singer/songwriter (see, I told you, not what you’d expect to read about here, but go on, he’s worth it) living in New South Wales in Australia.

His lyrics go beyond the simple storytelling too often found in this genre. The kind of lyrics one could read and reread as poetry, finding more in them each time; a quality further foregrounded by his distinct British pronunciation. The music is soft, often dreamy, yet intriguing enough to keep me interested.

Check him out, I think you might enjoy the experience.

Misunderstandings

Sometimes people totally get things wrong. They misunderstand everything about it, from the very beginning to the very end.

Sometimes that causes disaster. But sometimes, not often but sometimes, it leads to something pretty good.

Time zones

A few months ago, as I was fighting the unavoidable after-holiday-jet-lag, a friend of mine calculated my personal time zone. My mind was to be found in the time zone of Yekaterinburg, it was said.


Today somebody else explained to me that my friend was thinking backwards. Actually, it turns out, if one calculates carefully, my personal time zone is to be found in New York.


Now I’m not only jet lagged, I’m utterly confused about it too.

Tinnitus

The banshee's still far away
her voice lingers beyond today
near is pleasure brought on pressure
all is here and all will stay

Dizzy Lizzy's spinning a dream
lightheaded chaos creating the scene,
needles' dancing neadless prancing
knew so well was all too mean

Eddie Izzard - Brit and American Films

I went to YouTube to look for something tonight. YouTube recommended me Eddie Izzard, who made me laugh again and again. I still haven't found what I was looking for. I don't even remember what it was any longer.

I do know Eddie Izzard is absolutely wonderful.

Power to the People

I was not really going to talk about my job, I had a whole different subject in mind but something came up. So here we go.

Sometimes my students fondly (I hope, at least) call me Darth Vader. It’s because I wear black and appear kind of scary when I sneak up on them when they least expect it, they explain. But there’s more to it. There’s the power too.

In my position as teacher I have huge amounts of power invested in me. I decide what we do, when we do it, for how long we do it. If it pleases me we could spend an entire school year studying adverbials and how to use them. If I choose I could decide that some students have privileges others do not have, and some might have duties others don’t have.

In short, I could be as corrupt as I please, because I have the power to decide who passes and who don’t. I do. And all my colleagues do too.

Therefore one of the most important characteristics in a teacher is humbleness.

I must humbly remind myself that even though I know things the students need to learn, they know vast amounts of things I don’t know the least about. They have done things, seen things, and experienced things that I cannot even dream about.

I must, at all times, remember that I work for the students. They are not there for me, I am there for them. I must constantly remind myself that the fact that I have the power means that I have the power to share it with them, and they have the ability to handle it.

What's in a name?

My screen name – Morrica – was given to me by the person who knows me better than anybody else in the world: me. It’s a name that represents me, rather than the name given to me by birth which represents my parents at that time.

It turns out, however, pronouncing it is not as easy as I think. I have heard many different, very creative, versions. Actually, it’s quiet simple: Do you know how to pronounce Morticia, as in Morticia Addams? Good, just copy the intonation, which seems to be the hardest part, and remember the c is a hard c.

That’s all.

September Mourning

This is a young band from New York worth keeping an eye on, wouldn't you agree? Colourful, interesting, vivid music, rough enough to keep me happy, yet at the same time as sweet and sparkling as youth itself.

Never heard of them? You will! A good start could be to go to their MySpace page! This is how they describe the music they make:

We make music for the light in us all

no matter how small....

the beat down or the forgotten
the broken hearted or the alone
the lost or the scared
the weak or the strong
the loved or the hated
the dreamers......

We make music to give you hope.

Your dreams. Your vision of who you want to be.....

Never give in.

Never give up.

We make music for you.

Sounds beautiful, doesn't it? Here's a sample of what their music sounds like, more to be found, as mention, on MySpace:

The romantic point of view vs the classical

Many many years ago I read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance for the very first time. It was the first time I saw put into words the cultural crash that I was encountering every single day, and couldn't understand.

I have read and reread the book a few times since then, to remind myself that even if people have a totally different way of seeing the world it is still possible to get along. It's even possible to have a good time together, enjoy things together and love each other.

The Angel

I dreamt a dream! What can it mean?
And that I was a maiden Queen
Guarded by an Angel mild:
Witless woe was ne'er beguiled!

And I wept both night and day,
And he wiped my tears away;
And I wept both day and night,
And hid from him my heart's delight.

So he took his wings, and fled;
Then the morn blushed rosy red.
I dried my tears, and armed my fears
With ten thousand shields and spears.

Soon my Angel came again;
I was armed, he came in vain;
For the time of youth was fled,
And grey hairs were on my head.

-William Blake

The first post in a new blog

The feeling is similar to the feeling you have the first day of the school year, when you open the door to the class room to greet the new students. Even if you know some of them, perhaps all, it’s been a long time since you last met, and much has happened. Who are they? As individuals, and as a group? And who will you be, with them?

Welcome.