It was Summer (March) and we congregated in Kirstin, Josh and Malan's flat at Lar Shei and got well acquainted with some red wine. This turned into an eventful evening, a heated 30 seconds game became the centre of attention in the somewhat over crowded lounge on that fateful Friday evening.
As some moved into the kitchen, a little surge of creative energy sparked a fridge magnet revolution. To clear things out, Kirstin had bought a set of frigde magnets, each with its own word on it. Looky here is a picture if you still don't quite get what I mean:
Anyway, so as my friends were crowding around the fridge, arranging and rearranging magnets to form silly yet somewhat profound sentences of poetic genuis, I crouched behind and started to copy down the magic on a crumpled piece of folio paper, awe-struck by what was appearing on this once inconspicuous tabula rasa before me.
This is what I noted down:
"what if these years are your good colour
above all talk,
know your mind
almost born after the moon
dance and ask for no secret
fragile white bay blowing real and crying out
on to twilight
still with every sigh some soft voice under the sea
why turn and give? go get the times living
being a ripple away from blue."
- Authors unknown and intoxicated
Anyway, now you know what 'Magnet Poetry' is if it should ever pop up in casual conversation.
Here however, I present to you my all time favourite poem by Bob Dylan called, "Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie" - it's especially poignant when you've got a bad case of the Sunday evening blues
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q0OdNY8Aybw (please hide your youtube screen because some asshole made a very bad fan video for this holy poetry reading)
also: today I realised that if I were to become a semi-professional villiam, this would be my theme song:
look: I can totally pull the Russian mobster thing off:
|in the get away vehicle|
|With main boss dawg associate|
|with vampire associate at a birthday celebration|
|in Amsterdam preparing a European invasion|
|me with my 'Young Blood Money' hit squad, congregating at a birthday party|
Have a good week ya'll
Marijke over and out.