The Crocus

The Crocus

Something struck my heart once.
It wasn't a sting or a stab or a sticking of sorts
but a striking shard of sentiment
that made my heart stop.

It turned my meticulous monotony
into an operatic heart-wrenching melody
and although I cannot trace where it first began
the change in beat is ever fresh.

Following the musical rhythm, I found a garden
of boys and girls, chanting familiar chansons
with lungs so clear and innocent
that assumed the air from my own
and left me breathless.

In this moment, only my heart knew
how to slow down to allow me another chance.

I did not want another chance.

Like a toppling pillar
my life curved on a downward slope beneath the ground
awakening my dreams, putting to bed my delusions,
turning on the light of the afterlife.

My eyes stretched over the park, the kids at play, singing
songs of the earth of which I would soon be a part.
My life held a quiet semblance of truth
that I could find after all.

Pictures that filled my photo albums once
do not appear in the final cut of what I remember best
be it the subdued lions at the zoo
or my mother ironing her dress
all memories that have no meaning
in this last minute of dreaming

my heart opens its doors while my lungs close theirs
as a little girl brings me a flower,
a crocus, to which she was once deathly allergic
affects her not a single spot
since she embraced them for an hour
before she came to the garden.

She asks if I like the flower,
but I cannot speak.
I place her hand on my heart
for one last beat
and slip into the semblance of a smile
that fades her face from mine.

Andrew Vlasblom

They never grow up

They never grow up.

And if they do, it's not by their own choice,
but by the choice ones who claim ownership
of the weaklings--the kicking, screaming, hatched fetuses
that have no say in the matter.

And if they did, they would choose to never age,
if only to spare themselves the pain
of perpetuating the process known as parenthood
and playing protagonist roles
while flying selfish colours of pride.

Misinfants of miscreants, why do you continue on?
Why not stop while you're ahead, fine-tune your present song?

Their weakness is their strength,
for in it they cannot grip
the weight of one small infant
struggling to bite its lip
amongst other things, of course,
like bullets and peppermints
and pieces of broken heirlooms
and family fingerprints
that are nowhere to be found

They cry now over the the most minuscule things!
Here, it's only hungry. The pacifier'll tide it over
'til morning.

'Til morning,
a storm rages
and threatens the hollow inside
so easily breakable
by the ravaging blizzard
that intensifies
and then

peace, met by a cold, pale hush.
The storm has settled, and all that remains
is an impeccably spread blanket of snow
covering its territory serenely
yielding such fruits as only winter can bring--

Grandma, look here!

Poor little thing, guess it was just too weak.
Here, fetch your Grandpa and a spade.
And open the window while you're at it,
it's gettin' mighty warm in here.

Poor little thing. Guess it'll never grow up.

She never grew up.

Andrew Vlasblom

I sold my soul pour un verre de l'eau

Well, I haven't posted one of my poems in quite some time, so I figured I'd post a new one now. (Note: the title translates to "I sold my soul for a glass of water" in English.)

I sold my soul pour un verre de l'eau

I sold my soul pour un verre de l'eau.

Unable to perpetuate, I gave in
to the surrounding, sweeping presence
of solidarity, my solitude snapping
like a twig, with a twist

I gave up my life for melted ice
in a cup carved by unclean hands
from men of isolated lands
who will never know the Truth

The tears I cry exceed the cup, once dry
before it was filled with the substance
that sufficed to saturate the sustenance
that leeched my life from me

Free, they said, in this land
as if I'd never been before
Paradise closed his door
and left me to continue on
in life
or in death
all I get is more

Looming gloom will be here soon,
I'm one of them now, they reckon;
they're green and brown, like slime and mud
seeking to ensnare souls with shrubberies
self-seeking, without supernatural affiliation--
all this for one glass of water?

Dear God.

I have lost my place to cite
what is wrong and what is right.
My dreams betrayed my hope
for my hope was but a dream.

The breeze that skims my face
whispers calmer words that whisk
my weary eyes to a puddle
filled with mud.
Staring in, I see
a meadow of beating hearts
without a soul to be found
and my reflection
as the rain comes down.

Bonjour.

Alright, so it`s been more than a year since I`ve posted anything here... marry me.

Those last two words are both a nod to the last post and a favored line from a favourite television sitcom. Donc! Now that I`ve succeeded in filtering out 0 out of the 0 people who still frequent this blog (including myself), I`m going to continue writing for the sake of a movie I anticipated for many, many months. It`s a movie I like to call Indiana Jones 4, though you may know it more commercially as Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.

The first time I saw the movie, my initial impressions were slightly jarred due to several reasons. One, no mere movie could live up to the expectations I had reserved for this film. Two, I saw it in dubbed Quebecois. Three, I was restlessly squirming throughout the film, but not because I was bored: my undergarments had shrunk in the dryer earlier and in my former excitement, I hadn`t realized it. So I went to the premier. Well, once I wasn`t excited anymore, the epiphany kicked in--right in the crotch. The viewing experience was, needless to say, an uncomfortable one.

I came out of the theatre that night not really sure of what to think. It wasn`t a bad film, but then, it didn`t really feel like a film; I couldn`t judge the dialogue based on my rudimentary interpretation of the Quebecois dubbing. Overall, the film and viewing experience felt rather unnatural.

Well, I went back to the theatre last night for a review. And dang. This is Indiana Jones. The second viewing experience felt as natural as when I imagine popping in a dvd of my imaginary friend karate chopping David Spade`s limbs off and then sewing them back on with strings of lava-spiked yarn. This really is fantasy at its best.

The film is flawed. I caught more mistakes and implausibilities the second viewing, for sure. But I love it all the more because of it. I still couldn`t judged the dialogue because once again I viewed the film dubbed. Harrison Ford`s voiceover sounds a good deal more aged than he. But no matter; no matter how old this man gets, he`s still got the spirit of Jones. His age was not a factor for disappointment in the film; he`s still the same Indy that you`ll see in the first three films.

However, the film loses its tight pitch several times throughout the film. I won`t spoil where, but it`s not as tight as the first three. It`s missing the excitement that the original trilogy packed incessantly with every line of dialogue, every shot of cinematography. This film is full of action, but the adventuring aspect that made the first three so engaging seems to be in search of Indy, but never quite catches up due to the redundant fast-paced action.

The musical score by John Williams is decent; no theme really stood out for me on this one. With every Indy film in the past, there are at least 1-2 memorable themes. However, this film misses the mark and recycles too many of the themes found throughout the trilogy. Personally, I find that music can really make or break a film; it`s a huge factor for me, one that has the potential to situate myself in the moment of every shot on film and set the emotional stage. This film doesn`t break because of the lack of new music, but it`s certainly not rescued by Williams.

For all of my complaints, I really did enjoy this film. I am an enormous fan of the 50s era, and this film certainly captures that era. Shia Labeouf performed well, to my surprise.

There`s more that I can say about this film, but I`m out of time for now. A shame, really since I was just getting to the good stuff. But essentially, there`s nothing more I can really say about this film until I see it in English. Until then, enjoy Indy at the cinema and see you in a few weeks` time.

Peut-être.

Aftermath

(Post consummation) WELL so it appeared that the day for dear brother of mine and his newly wed wife went off without a hitch. Well, not quite. But I believe that was the intention behind the ordeal, so I'd say everything's alive and well. Save for some largely overused cameras. The event was heavily covered by photographers and family alike. As you might notice in the photograph below, multiple camerafolk indulged in their shooting techniques simultaneously. Poses were taken from all angles--and so were shots.

Should you ever be enrolled in Photography 101, bring this one to class for bonus points in your research project on paparazzi photography and sneaking side shots. Otherwise, you can check out the wedding party for Dave's and Sarah's wedding as pictured here.

"Well, they say when you marry in June...

...you will always be a bride." (Seven Brides for Brothers) What a shame that my brother in blood is not eligible for the timeless title! His wedding day falls the first weekend shy of June, the 26th of May, two thousand and seven. But the fact that Dave will never forever personify an everlasting bridal gown is the least of his worries in what should be anti-anticipation for the upcoming date.

Last year, a particularly bad superhero movie hit the theatres on May 26th. This movie, helmed by Brett Ratner, was the third to a couplet of artistic efforts from filmmaker Bryan Singer. However, this third installment utterly disappointed. X3 (or XXX) took a stand, buckled, and fell flat on its face. Terrible film. So it seems that Dave has disappointment to contend with for his special date, but it doesn't end there.

Also last year on the same date, the 2006 Java earthquake killed over 5,000 and left over 200,000 homeless.

Then to cap things off, Augustine of Canterbury, an archbishop, died on May 26th, 604. An archbishop. Church wedding. Hmmm...

So here are the D's: Disappointment, Destruction, Death. Dave may show determination and dexterity in pulling this (among other things (refer to X3 symbolism)) off, but will the good D's deliver enough to outdo the bad D's? Only time will tell; but the fact that Dave's not eligible for that timeless title at the top of the show doesn't seem too promising.

Will history repeat itself? Tune in shortly after May 26th to find out!

N(e)o Matrix

Mathematics with motion Picture
Meld to mold Algorithms
Majoring in metaphors, Philosophy
Minoring in martial Arts

One, an anti-archaic Allegory
Influencing modern pop culture, Never
Losing its impacting existential Debonair

Two, returns with reloaded Momentum
Capitalizing on hype, Anticipation
Undermines its major, majors in its Minor
And trades intelligence for mindless Action

Three, rife with redundant Adrenaline
Replete with repetition turned Repulsion
Whose title revolutionizes the term "Euphemistic..."

(Four? The chance to reveal revelations Newfangled
The chance to reconcile the trilogy Opaque
The chance to resolve the disoriented Themes...)

The algorithm miscalculated somewhere in the Matrix.
There is no way to balance the equation Arithmetically,
For trilogies come in odd numbers, and thus Cannot
Connect the neo one with the existing three Harmoniously.