Week 12 - Comment

Kelly's LJ

"It's great you got something out of this text! I gotta say, I did too and it's an amazing feeling when you have no idea that thing you learnt in Uni could have such an impact on your life. It's great to see that you can take things that we learnt, and possibly use them in your life experience, or to be made as an answer for uncertain questions!"

Week 12 - Goodnight, sweet prints.

And so here we are. The end of an era. A very, long, word-filled, keyboard-tapping, Joubert-reading, Thoreau-worshipping era. What can I say? It's been a great experience, I personally loved LiveJournal and it was a great way to express my interest about the texts we read and throw some creativity of my own into the vast mixing pot of the internet. At first, I will say, I was intimidated by this idea, it's not every day you'll have a lecturer encouraging everyone to surf the thrashing waves of the World Wide Web, exploring uncertain waters and getting caught in riptides. Why, just the other day I remember putting a pen to paper and marvelling at the difference between the natural curves of my hand and the tap-dancing of my fingertips against a keyboard. And so with this, I shall recount on the previous semester and what I have learnt, loved and shared.

The performance. It was great, it was a great deal of fun enacting a great piece of literature. Christianne and I were flawless in our accents and it seemed as though the stage came naturally to us! I couldn't have asked for a better person to do this with, she was great at playing her character, and I didn't think I did too bad myself! We seemed to get a great deal of encouraging signs as we slumped back to our seats after the performance. Whether it was a subtle under-the-table thumbs up, or a sharp whisper of "Great job, guys!" as the next performers got ready up front. Though once at our seats the realisation of what we had just done toppled over us, like a boulder falling from a cliff-face. We were hit, out for the count, exhausted and wanted to sleep off our achievement. Our greatest hope was that we would somehow stumble our way through this play with a brief understanding of our lines and an unconvincing, yet comprehensible New York accent. Though when we realised we pulled it off, much better than we thought we would have the excitement of it all was too much. It was time for a good nap. Though, of course, pride soon slumped into anxiousness as we watched the plays that soon came after. Play after play of brilliant acting, Mensa level memory skills and character development had my perched, wide-eyed on the end of my chair. Everyone was great! Their plays were magnificent and their presentation spectacular. It had been a great couple of weeks, and I shall not forget it any time soon.

                                                              A visual/awesome representation of Death Knocks, had Nat Ackerman
                                                                                                     been replaced by Batman.

Of course, this semester would be nothing if it weren't for the figures such as Henry David Thoreau, Robert Frost and William Wordsworth. They all speak of things that I too dream of. As I look around the world I am confronted by materials that I believe steal the beauty that is Nature from this world. The great stone slabs of an office building, the bulking metal frames of an electricity poll, the plastic invasion into everything in our lives. I remember, there was a grey, metal structure that held up the lines over a train track. I saw a raven, it's black feathers of such pitch night, as it's daunting sharp talons clinked up against the metal structure. I remember the sound distinctly, even though it was faint. Clink, clink, clink. It was like a scythe through by skin. Clink, clink, clink. It made a sound so unnatural a stood in disgust as I watched this black, trudging predator scamper around for a morsel of food, a chip or another scrap. I thought of what sound it should make, it's talons thudding against a tree branch, or the gliding swoop as it picks up an unlucky mouse. These three writers inspired me in this sense. They were a voice of reason, they sung the same tune as me, there voices were heard flailing and falling through the wind waiting for someone to pick them up.

                                                                        I'm not gonna lie. These birds are freakin' intimidating.

And so I shall end with a poem that I wrote in one of my previous entries. I do not repeat it to make up room, or too impress. I repeat it because I like it, I do not know what it is I like about it, it just seems to resonate with me. I hope you enjoy it, once again!

The Wooden Army

The King sleep always sneering,

The Queen places hands endearing,

The Knight rides loudly cheering,

The Bishop paces slightly leering,

The Castle's walls hide the clearing,

The Pawn holds his head in fearing.

The Player holds his Kingdom together,
Saves the damsel,
And lives forever.


  • Current Music
    Nantes - Beirut

Week 11 - Comment

Vanessa's LJ

"Haha, I really liked your play! It was really well done and kept the audiences attention. There was a great use of accents in it, and the big cast made it more interactive and interesting to watch! Seeing as you performed on the first week, I think you guys were one of the best ones in the glass, you certainly got my vote!"

Week 11 - Scared the living Playwrights out of me.

Well, I nearly had a fit today. The panic was slowly injected into my brain and from there it took over my body. It did weird things whilst in control, strange things I wouldn't usually do. It made me breakfast - I never eat breakfast! It made me put on shoes that had laces, it practically made me waltz to Uni, though not nearly as graceful. It made me sit down with Christianne (who plays Nat in Death Knocks) and forget all the lines I had spent last night frantically trying to remember. It made me choke out a half-arsed New York accent in the hopes that she wouldn't realise I was in no way prepared to stand up in front of a crowd of people pretending to be an existential being. It made me fumble the cards, forget how to play gin rummy and made my tongue go on a roller-coaster ride as I desperately tried to get by feet over these lines! And this was all before we had to perform! I worked myself dry until I was sure that I could remember my lines without crying like a twelve year old girl, and sound vaguely like a came from New York and not some far off coastal island.

You can imagine my grief as I found out we were not going to perform that day. Well, maybe grief isn't the right word. It was a strange mixture of agonising pain mixed with an overwhelming sense of euphoria. It hit me like a ton of steel bricks that I had spent the whole day practically in the foetal position, rocking back and forth over nothing, yet it took my mind a while to jog up to itself and hand it some common sense. Common sense explained in a simple and easy to learn way that seeing as I was not prepared, fate was giving me an extra week of practise. I nearly kissed common sense, though seizing some sort of composure I merely shook him by the hand and bid him a "Good day". I then spent the rest of the day half watching the first performers wearily walk in front of the class, and half cackling to myself that I had more time to prepare. Though they did good. They had seized their time and used it fast an effectively to create an outstanding result. My mind once again started working in overtime. I had to study them, find their weaknesses and see how I could build from them. It was as though we were all in the running to create the next Broadway hit, and fate be damned if I was going to lose!

                                                                          By the end of the day I looked like this. Except less Santa-like.

So yes, it was a fairly stressful day. I spent the rest of my night spouting names of random playwrights in a maniacal fashion, and explaining to anyone who would listen about how the flashing lights on phones controlled my heartbeat. Needless to say I'm no longer working at that childcare centre, but I got my message heard!

  • Current Music
    Thunderstruck - AC/DC

Week 10 - Comment

Georgina's LJ

"This was a great poem! It was very confronting, and played around with a lot of issues that we are forced to deal with in society. I liked it, as it made me think about individuality, it was strong yet it did not overwhelm. Good work!"

Week 10 - Speak softly and carry a big schtick.

I'll start off by saying that today we were given a lecture by the playwright, Professor Sam Bernstein. His lecture was amazing! He had a booming loud voice, with a sharp Boston accent that was unfamiliar to the ear, curving all it's R's and sharpening all it's A's. I liked his lecturing style, it involved pieces of music to keep us on the ball, and a tiny little question we had to answer to make sure that our minds were still working. And, if by some chance, on of us was to drift off, the accents of words in his sentences would boom over the microphone and slap us awake from our daytime slumber! All in all, it was a great lecture, and it let me understand how the minds of playwrights function, like gears constantly clicking away, always drawing inspiration from everything around them.

And so I move onto something creative. I realised that it had been a while since I had written anything creative, and I found something in my Common Place Book that I had written. It is a small, incomplete poem, it surfaces around a fantasy world that I created some time ago, the aspects of which I have down pat. So I present to you the very ramshackled, broken poem:

Tale of Defian

A man walked into my halls today,
Of his name he did not say.
His flesh was pink, he wore a grin,
He was a man cleansed of sin.

He travelled far I could tell,
He was a tinker who wished to sell
Various spices, cloths and tales,
Knives, pots, hammers and nails.

He stopped once he could see
That no one was in the hall but me.
My presence was not made aware,
If not for my burning stare.

I've worked it out to be a fact,
My eyes burn bright against the black.
They shine right through the stone hall,
Illuminating the first few steps in all.

The tinker gasped and barely said
"Your eyes match the size of my head!
What beast are you that roams this room,
Or stone walls and darkest gloon?"

I sat at the back of the hall,
As I have done decades before
And surveyed the tinker up and down,
He was plump, juice and round.

He stood at many paces back
And could only see my eyes in the black.
I shined a grin, teeth like blades
"Every day I live, I fade."

Wearily a shaking step he took
In order to get a better look.
His eyes widened, he stumbled back,
His bag hit the floor with a deafening crack.

He let out a frightening shout
And clumsily took a dagger out.
He pointed it threateningly in my direction,
I stared at him, a moments reflection.

Arm thicker than the mightiest oak,
I brought it down with a cleaving stroke.
It missed him by inches and struck the ground,
Debris hit the wall with a clattering sound.

He fell to the ground in a fright,
But was mesmerised by a magnificent sight.
Where shattered stone had once been
It was mended, no cracks could be seen.

He looked at the ground and then at me,
As if to confirm what he did see.
He looked at my eyes and then at my arms
Uncovered by light they caused him alarm.

My skin is made of an unbreakable stone
It's colour is red and blood-like in tone.
Cracks reveal a pulsing glow,
Like the fiery tip of a volcanoe.

Scars of my past that forever linger,
From the middle of my arm to the tips of my finger.
The tinker was pale as if he was dying,
He said "By the Gods...you are Defian!"

Yes, as you can see it is unfinished. Oh, and I own it, it's (c) Nick Spellicy. So if you stole it, you're gonna get the fist shaking of a lifetime! But anyway, I may add to it, I may not, I'm unsure. Please comment and tell me what you like, what you don't like. Good day!

  • Current Music
    I Feel Fine - The Beatles

Week 9 - Comment

silv90's LJ

"I have to agree, this was amazing! The rhythmic pattern is forceful, yet creates an easy reading pace. It lets you know that the words are important, where the key words truly take their mark. I loved it!"

Week 9 - All's fair in love and LOL.

This week was a good week. It was the beginning of something that has been a passion in my life for many a year. Since I was around 6 years old I have been involving drama and performance into my life, and it has stuck with me through the years. It was like a friend who has stayed with me as I have slowly grown through the world, and it has shaped me into who I am. When I started learning Math, it was all like "Hey man, that's not cool! Those are numbers man, and they ain't rad!" For some strange reason it seemed to talk in the stylings of a 1950's Teddy Boy. This is what you get after seeing West Side Story on TV. Anyway, the point is that it's been a major part in my life, and seemed to consume the greater part of my education. This is not to say that it blocked out the glaring light of all my other subjects, they just seemed dimmed in the 100 watt glory that was drama. I still had passions for literature, and to me the two subjects seemed to go hand in hand. It's not like you can say Shakespeare was a dramatist, as his plays were a series of sonnets, carefully placed and practiced, they moved audiences to tears, yet it took the delivery of the actors to truly drive his words home.

A friend and I had picked to do Woody Allen's play, Death Knocks. I was thrilled about this, I mean come on, Woody Allen? That guys hilarious! As I was reading through the play in the book, I had to stop every now and then to catch my breath and promptly roll about the floor in laughter. I'd sue him for splitting my sides, but I'd fear it'd stop him writing great works! Either way I knew I was going to have fun playing this, and immediately knew I wanted to go after the character of Death. It was a comical character, my favourite, plus I'm sure I could put him in all sorts of fancy outfits. All in all, I'm excited. It should go good, I'm in a good group, we get along and should be able to pull this off effortlessly! I mean c'mon, it's Woody Allen!

                                                                                          Look at this guy! He's a laugh a minute!

So yeah. I'm looking forward to it, it looks like a bundle o' laughs!

  • Current Music
    Roxanne - The Police

Week 8 - Comment

Christianne's LJ

"I reeeally liked this! I've heard heaps about your trip, but it's pretty great to read a piece of literature on it. The descriptive language you use makes it easy to picture the setting.

You should post more stuff you've written about your experiences in NT, it'll be a breathe of fresh air from everything here in Sydney!"

Week 8 - And we're back.

So, the break has been and gone. I'd like to say that I spent the week writing and studying so much my pen actually etched the words into my desk, but sadly I cannot. I could however tell you an accurate tale of how my pen stayed in the drawer and didn't seem to want to come out. Don't get me wrong, I tried to get him to come out, but he just wasn't for it! I pleaded to him that I had to study, and that if I didn't I'd most likely drown in work, though he was defiant, and unmovable. So I gave up, and sat in my room sighing while the work went undone, the essays piled up around me, and my desk and I slowly sunk into the ground under the pressure. It wasn't a fun time, though being a highly qualified procrastinator I knew not to panic under these conditions and gathered all my years of avoiding work and inexperienced experience to do one thing. Nothing. And I was pretty damn good at it.

But onto more pressing matters. If I though I was stressing before, you should have seen me after I read Emily Dickinson's, Much Madness is divinest Sense. At first I thought that in that week of doing little work I had forgotten the fundamentals of the English language, and while attempting to read seemingly normal poem, I had fallen into some sort of trivial hole in the Earth, where sentences no longer connected with each other in a logical fashion and hyphens tripped over commas in a mad dash to make literal sense. Then I realised that this madness I was feeling, was in fact what this poem was about; the conformity of society and the notion of free speach, in a sense. Easy, right? Wrong. It took me a while to figure out that Emily Dickinson must've seen the world like this:

                                                     A place so crazy you can wear thongs with socks on and not get judged.

All her poems are amazingly complex. I sometimes wonder if we're even close to what she was actually talking about, or way off. Now I write this after my tutorial, in which we were given the task of figuring out the meaning behind her poem What Soft - Cherubic Creatures, and I'm proud to say that our group figured it out. Now I wouldn't call myself a genius. More of a super awesome genius. And I still await my prize of a solitary piece of chocolate. It will be worth more than all the riches of the land!
  • Current Music
    Heaven - Los Lonely Boys