Vesturport and Lyric Hammersmith Production – Kafka’s Metamorphosis

22 02 2009

I went to see the play tonight, having read it for the MA, and had my heart broken so much more completely than I’d expected. Gisli Orn Gardarsson’s Gregor Samsa was heart-rending in his brutal frustration, and I was struck afresh by the physical possibilities of the play. I marvelled at the transformation of his room floor into a gymnasium, and heard the collective gasp as he tore through the ceiling onto the dining room.

I mean, the fact that Gregor wakes up one morning and becomes an insect is absolutely absurd, but as the means of communication between him and his family deteriorate further his frustration and impotence are palpable: as his family goes through their various routines doing no more than ignoring him, his hopes for his sister Grete are terrible in their powerlessness, and heartbreaking in their dissonance.

But wow… oh, wow… the performances were superb, and Gregor was attractive in his frailty towards the end. Best play I’ve seen in a long time. But then I say that quite often with the calibre of the performances of this year’s Arts Festival.

Plus it was Nick Cave’s music. Perfect.


The Wedding – “Receive”

15 02 2009

I can hear a train a-comin’
I hear the ground beneath my feet
This is not speculation, this is my bones growing weak.
The sound of angels screaming
The drums are marching off to war
This is not speculation, please do not televise The King.
It’s like a fire coming down

We got it, we got it now.
Burn it up, burn it red 
We got it, we got it.
It’s like the rising of the sun
We got it, we got it now.

Turn it up, breath it in
Full redemption.
Clap your hands for breathing
Feel your heart begin to beat
This is our desperation, this is the deep calling deep.
You cannot keep us silent
We are the prisoner set free
This is our desperation, we are the service of The King.
All aboard. I hear, hear a train. Do you hear it?

This is speaking to me

10 02 2009

I just got home, and turned on Air1 radio, and this song was on:

Skillet – The Last Night
From the album Comatose

You come to me with your scars on your wrist
You tell me this will be the last night feeling like this
I just came to say goodbye
I didn’t want you to see me cry,
I’m fine
But I know it’s a lie

This is the last night you’ll spend alone
Look me in the eyes so I know you know
I’m everywhere you want me to be
The last night you’ll spend alone I’ll wrap you in my arms and I won’t let go
I’m everything you need me to be

Your parents say everything is your fault
But they don’t know you like I know you they don’t know you at all
I’m so sick of when they say
It’s just a phase, you’ll be o.k. you’re fine
But I know it’s a lie

(Repeat Chorus)

The night is so long when everything’s wrong
If you give me your hand
I will help you hold on

(Repeat Chorus)

I won’t let you say goodbye
And I’ll be your reason why

The last night away from me
Away from me


But this is just making me laugh:

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Wishes and fishes

10 02 2009

I wish I had more hours in a day, and I wish I were capable of thinking ahead just a little bit more. Instant gratification can only go so far…

Another Sunday: too much time online

9 02 2009

I spent the whole day in my pajamas, but managed to prep lessons for nearly the entire week, watch a pseudo-inspiring Chinese film, mess about with notifications in Facebook, update Twitter a handful of times and watch a couple of episodes of Grey’s Anatomy, that silly-for-the-most-part show. It’s interesting seeing how the characters are responding to their various issues though.

I guess I just generally feel more balanced after last night’s weepfest. Funny how that happens though.

On Christianese in the everyday

8 02 2009

I speak Christianese; I can look the part.

I can see no purpose to any of this if I don’t know the presence of God. And I write “know” very deliberately, as opposed to “feel,” because I just need more. And also because I know that maybe what it is is that I need to move on from mere feeling… but how can I if I’m not even whole? I have so few words to describe this state I’m in, this state I’ve been in, that I just don’t generally bother.

I thirst and yearn for God to be in my life again. In my head, I know He is, always, but the knowledge is not in my heart at the moment… hasn’t been for months now. Faith tells me to keep going, and hope tells me that things will be alright, and there will be an end to this right now, but it’s not enough for me.

I went to a young adults group at another church tonight, and it was alright I suppose. Most of the time I just missed SR and thought I was betraying it a bit, and also that “Oh, it’s 7:49pm. They’re probably into the speaking now.” as they went through the announcements. The time afterwards, when people had left the room and were laughing and talking outside, was the best, but also the worst. There were moments where I strongly visualised some un-good, unappetising things, and other moments where beauty was there in the changing colours of the lights, and in the small groups of people scattered about the place.

What if there were reviews for church? What would they say?

A rocking chair type of thing

6 02 2009

So I went and had Vietnamese food tonight with Sharon, and that was good, albeit the Richard thing was a little unsettling. But okay. It, too, could have been worse.

In other portions of the day: work was… work. We started writing the “Where I’m From” poem by George Ella Lyon and it was KILLER. Very difficult because it’s so abstract and seemingly-random. I can’t wait till they hand them in; knowing where who you are now is originally from shapes your understanding of who you will be, I think. I’ll bang mine up when I see it again.

I’m on my way home right now, and the bus is giving off this crazily high-pitched whine as it’s going, and I’m getting The Official Killer Headache. Love it? Not so much.

I feel a bit more positive today – at least I know what I need to do: plan out the rest of the English 9 week (going with metaphor, the overbearing statement, and simile that’s like strands of silk in the web of poetry), as well as Advanced Comp (with the rap-as-poetry connection, which loves as it hears and shouts as it speaks). History 9 week will have to happen a bit later as I don’t know quite where to begin. Either way, before Tuesday afternoon would be fine, I reckon. I’m supposed to meet up with Sharon again tomorrow so we can work on our respective essays. A bit of accountability and company never hurt. Maybe I’ll go to the young adults thing tomorrow night, without SR being my Saturday (but also, how do I react to the numbered group? What if I end up loving it? What if it’s where God ultimately tells me I have to be? 7 months may seem short, and long at alternating times, but to whom am I accountable during this time? I need to know the answer in my heart and not just in my head, and I need to let go).

I’m just so tired… I felt like I could fall asleep on my feet on the train going out tonight, and that’s the first time I’ve ever felt that way. I’ve not had bad sleep for a whole week since I was a teenager. I’m getting too old for this.

Ahh, but sometimes I do love the work I do; teaching keeps me young and on my toes. But sometimes I wish I were retired and could spend my time reading a good book in a rocking chair.