Sunday, November 27, 2005

My baby shot me down...

I was five and he was six
We rode on horses made of sticks
He wore black and I wore white
He would always win the fight

Bang bang, I hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, my baby shot me down.

Seasons came and changed the time
And I grew up, I called him mine
He would always laugh and say
"Remember when we used to play?"

Bang bang, I hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, my baby shot me down.

Now he's gone, I don't know why
And till this day, sometimes I cry
He didn't even say goodbye
He didn't take the time to lie.

Bang bang, I hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, my baby shot me down...

-- Lyrics for the song Bang bang (My baby shot me down) by Nancy Sinatra.
'Kill Bill" soundtrack.

Shakespeare in Love

What is it about that movie that overwhelms me?
An indescribable feeling sweeps me off my feet and into an untold world of fantasies, romance and yearnings. Sitting there from start till end, unable to move out of the chair in front of the TV, just watching intensely every expression, every look, every smile, every gesture, every touch. Perfect! Open-mouthed, gazing and focused, that is exactly how you would describe me during the broadcast of my favorite movie of all times. Why?? Why does it move me every single time I see it? With the same intensity, at the very same scenes... every time!! Amazing! One scene after the other… and I find myself head over heels with the movie.
Is it my never-ending love for Shakespeare himself??
Or is it the exquisite use of the Shakespearean English dialect?
Perhaps it’s the insanity of the lovers in the picture? Their restless venture into the pleasures of passion and their sincere commitment to one another with all their senses.
I’m most certain the way they express their love to one another leaves a profound impact inside of me. Wouldn’t it move you? See for yourself:

“She says: Tell me how you love her, Will
He says: Like a sickness and its cure together.”

And in another scene, talking to her nanny:
“She says: I will have poetry in my life. And adventure. And love. Love above all. No... not the artful postures of love, not playful and poetical games of love for the amusement of an evening, but love that... over-throws life. Unbiddable, ungovernable - like a riot in the heart, and nothing to be done, come ruin or rapture. Love - like there has never been in a play.”

Love was their only inspiration, their only motive. Words do move me… a lot. I’m very much a “word” person, especially when it comes to expressing love and other emotions. But the actions too, speak loudly and assertively and leave an engraved impression in my heart.

Whatever it is, after watching Shakespeare in Love, I have an incredible feeling like I’m floating on clouds…
that I’m lighter than air…
that I’m in love with love itself.

Bitter Sweet

How can you erase the inerasable?
How can you digest in the indigestible?
How can you take back the hurt you inflict in the moments of anger… the moments of uncontrolled anger.
How can such hatred and rage emerge so fiercely from the very same heart which pulsates tenderness, care and love?
How can you be so in need of affection and attention, ask for it, dream of it. But only get anything but it?
Why did everything suddenly turn into an incomprehensible colour?
It’s not bright, but is not purely black; a pale, dim grayish colour that seems so odourless, tasteless and senseless.
How could you be yearning of the “good old times”, remembering all the sweet, intimate moments of love, and recalling in your mind the first date and all it symbolized and yet, feel sorrow so deep inside?
I heard them use the expression “bitter sweet” often; only now I know what it means… unfortunately!
It could not be… I could not be so blind, so foolish!!!
Where have I gone so wrong??
Wishing for perfection? Is that a fault? I’ve always viewed it as an aspiration for one to be better and better. Always searching for ways to change.
Something is wrong. the negative vibrations cling in the air tensely… so tensely that it has become unbearable to communicate, to forgive, to give, to understand, to calm down, to inter-mingle.
Never have I given up, I’m not a quitter.
My nature tends to fight… to fight harder. To make this be.
But my essence seems to repel away from even the thought of trying, of giving, of forgiving, of doing it all over again.
Where has my faith gone?
What is left? What more can be done?
The feeling of conformity seems to find no place here.
Bitter sweet.