This piano is free.

(Disclaimer: This post is not about music.)

I’ve spent the most part of this week trying and failing to get back into blogging. It’s been an embarrassing effort as proven by the shizloads of drafts I now have. And suddenly, there seems to be a whole slew of pointless things to say and not enough people to say them to. I will now try to summarize the bulk of those drafts into one conveniently rushed and flustered post.

  • I’m naming a future notebook/sketchpad Skarsgard, not because I’ve ever seen an episode of True Blood but because the dude looks like my mental image of this one character I have. Actually, no, not really, I just saw a picture of him looking friggin great in a suit.
  • Also, have I mentioned how obsessed with the 50s I’ve become? Well, I am. And I think there should be more songs about the fifties. There’s a 1983, there’s a 1901, but I ask for the love for 1957! The decade of beat poetry, Sylvia Plath, pretty polka-dot dresses, Audrey Hepburn, Donna Reed, Marlon Brando, Elvis! It’s like the Rupert Grint to the Emma Watson and the Daniel Radcliffe.  Classy and smooth in its own way. I demand the music. (Yes, Candy magazine, I do realize that magazines can only have two covers, but you can’t just put Emma on one side, Dan on the other and completely ignore Rupert. That’s what centerfolds are for.)
  • Corazon by Bishop Allen has been stuck in my head for the past few days. I’m taking it as a sign that the world is still capable of thought and beauty. (Yeah, this is where the title of the post came from.)
  • I have ugly hair, as always. My comb is dirty. This is not a metaphor.
  • I think I’ve also neglected to mention that I am online shopper amateur no longer! And what better way to lose my virtual V-card than with a Dramione shirt! This deserves so many exclamation marks! Shirts to be shipped next week! I am a total spaz!
  • I figured that since I was wearing a sort-of nice dress, I should at least take advantage and eat out at someplace fancy. My aunt and I ended up eating at this awesome Indian restaurant at The Podium. It was basically the best Friday afternoon I’ve had in a long while.

And now, for my grand finale: completely useless musings.

I’ve noticed that literature, art and music is slowly edging itself into the world of science. Or maybe it’s been happening for a long time and I’ve only just noticed. It’s always that way with me. I’m never sure of whether I saw it first. In any case, it’s fun to watch.

I feel like art has had enough of being confined to the whimsical and it wants to prove that it can understand all the big, serious things in the world. Possibly, art has grown so large itself that it doesn’t really know in which direction to grow so it decides to go make the hard, real world things easier. Or, I don’t know, science geeks, lit geeks, music geeks, math geeks, art geeks: we’re all the same in the end. It allows for a lot of witty inside joke-ry, and then some.

By literature taking over science, I don’t mean science fiction. Well, not just science fiction. There are so many poems about the beauty of mechanics and the complexities of electron clouds. I think this all started with the discovery of the science in stars and space. What people thought to be the gods ended up as gas. (Gas gods?) Anyway, t’s all very pretty. I wouldn’t mind being taught science via poetry.

I probably wouldn’t be enjoying this as much if I hadn’t tried poeticizing science myself. (Yes, Switches people, I am looking at you. If it was possible to look inside my head.) It’s a topic that’s particularly close to my heart. I find that reading about space-time continuums and listening to songs about chemicals and elements and watching movies about crazy neglected child prodigies warms my heart more than any other.

Oh, that last one? I’m so glad you asked.

You know how weird it feels not to have something to fangirl over? Very. Or at least to have the one thing you’ve always loved somehow start depressing you. Well, yeah, I’ve gotten over that but still, you start to look for the thrill after a while and Pottermore is just not enough.

I watched Confessions/Kokuhaku the other day and may I just say that it is the best Japanese movie ever ever ever. It’s probably my sadistic streak showing itself, but a really well-done movie about emotionally distraught child murderers–yes, that’s murderer with an s–with an awesome plot and great cinematography is just enough to restart my appreciation for all things dark and beautiful. Another testament of how good this movie is. I watched it in a crowded, noisy lobby and I still thought it was amazing. I usually need complete silence for me to scream and react at the appropriate parts without bothering anyone really appreciate a movie.

Anyway, I am dying to get a second, more concentrated go at it and it’s been Saturday for a few beautiful minutes now. I am so ready to watch it again. Until then, go teach someone a song, Corazon.

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About shaniquasparkles
Fangirl writes. Has never written fanfiction. Pretends to write six-word stories.

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