i was barely 16, and thought that Prince kiss (in the movie, to this song) was the ultimate thing ~ amreeth
©1984 Controversy Music - ASCAP
"Purple Rain" Album Lyrics
I never meant 2 cause u any sorrow
I never meant 2 cause u any pain
I only wanted 2 one time see u laughing
I only wanted 2 see u laughing in the purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain
I only wanted 2 see u bathing in the purple rain
I never wanted 2 be your weekend lover
I only wanted 2 be some kind of friend
Baby I could never steal u from another
It's such a shame our friendship had 2 end
Purple rain, purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain
I only wanted 2 see u underneath the purple rain
Honey I know, I know, I know times are changing
It's time we all reach out 4 something new
That means u 2
U say u want a leader
But u can't seem 2 make up your mind
I think u better close it
And let me guide u 2 the purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain
If you know what I'm singing about up here
C'mon raise your hand
Purple rain, purple rain
I only want 2 see u, only want 2 see u
In the purple rain
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
this one is dedicated to the Count, who is MIA at the moment...
...do you remember this smash hit by the Fugees my Count??! i heard it on the radio the other day, and immediately thought about you (especially that bit on how she felt he had found her letters and was just reading each one aloud. sigh.) so now i think YOU, every time i hear this playing in my mind! ~ amreeth
KILLING ME SOFTLY - 08/06/1996
5 weeks at #1 - 20 weeks on chart
Copyrighted to the Fugees
Strumming my pain with his fingers
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
I heard he sang a good song, I heard he had a style
And so I came to see him and listen for a while
And there he was this young boy, a stranger to my eyes
Strumming my pain with his fingers
(One time, one time)
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
I felt all flushed with fever, embarrassed by the crowd
I felt he found my letters and read each one out loud
I prayed that he would finish but he just kept right on
Strumming my pain with his fingers
(One time, one time)
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Strumming my pain with his fingers
(Yes he was)
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
KILLING ME SOFTLY - 08/06/1996
5 weeks at #1 - 20 weeks on chart
Copyrighted to the Fugees
Strumming my pain with his fingers
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
I heard he sang a good song, I heard he had a style
And so I came to see him and listen for a while
And there he was this young boy, a stranger to my eyes
Strumming my pain with his fingers
(One time, one time)
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
I felt all flushed with fever, embarrassed by the crowd
I felt he found my letters and read each one out loud
I prayed that he would finish but he just kept right on
Strumming my pain with his fingers
(One time, one time)
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Strumming my pain with his fingers
(Yes he was)
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Monday, September 10, 2007
and so we have 50
50 posts that is. on my amreeth Blog.
i remember so vividly starting this Blog, my anxiety at the creation and the theme, and then i remember how i felt after my 1st two posts. and then again after my 1st short story. and then my 1st dark poem, and suddenly, i was alive again :)
i think the power of words, tumbling out into cyberspace, influencing and shaping, sharing and exposing, must be the biggest adrenalin rush there is really!
forget the F1 baby! these words that spring unbidden into my inner mind, swirling and metamorphosing, pulsing through my fingers out onto my keyboard, pushing to be published, has been my greatest self-discovery this year.
and so, onwards and upwards to my next 50.
p.s. i haven't felt like writing a short fictional since camo died, but i am hoping it will all come back soon.
i remember so vividly starting this Blog, my anxiety at the creation and the theme, and then i remember how i felt after my 1st two posts. and then again after my 1st short story. and then my 1st dark poem, and suddenly, i was alive again :)
i think the power of words, tumbling out into cyberspace, influencing and shaping, sharing and exposing, must be the biggest adrenalin rush there is really!
forget the F1 baby! these words that spring unbidden into my inner mind, swirling and metamorphosing, pulsing through my fingers out onto my keyboard, pushing to be published, has been my greatest self-discovery this year.
and so, onwards and upwards to my next 50.
p.s. i haven't felt like writing a short fictional since camo died, but i am hoping it will all come back soon.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
the uncle Sarge dream
flowers, surrounded us. hues of brilliant pinks, reds, blues and a sprinkling of lavender and yellow. and i had finally found him. the flowers made a perfect happy circle around us and we sat flourishing exactly in the middle, just him and i.
time outside the circle marched on. i could see the greys and the various shades of nightfall's black so clearly. and then the light baby blues of day-skies breaking gently. i saw the sun rise and set gloriously and numerous times either way. it even rained and then stopped abruptly.
butterflies, and birds, they flew and they chirped. a nurse waited for him outside our circle, in her severely starched white hat and uniform. it was a clean, organized English lawn we were sitting on. and he was alive and cheery, and he changed repeatedly as we spoke. from being his black-and-white self in a pin-striped suit with short thick curly black hair and his thick black round frames from days long past. to himself at 60 something and in vivid color, just as he was before his stroke, the year before he passed on.
we never moved from where sat, the two of us together, in the all encompassing circle of flowers. we were blissfully still, and only our mouths stirred. the words were there, being exchanged, rapidly at times between us. i could see that we were talking endlessly, and we were belabouring points. we were laughing at times, and then i was crying and then we were laughing all over again. he was ever calm, paternal, and loving throughout.
i felt warm and genuinely fuzzy, and i had a real sense of support and belonging. he was sharing with me finally, the universe's biggest kept secret of what happens to you when you die. the journey beyond. the process of becoming dead. the rules of afterlife and beyond. the answers to if you ever come back, and the when and why it sometimes doesn't happen. the answers to: do you get to watch your loved ones move on within their karmatic circles of life on Earth? do you get to guide them and reach out to them in dreams and whispers?
he was keeping his promise of coming back and telling me this ultimate truth. and i was with him again, sitting there just absorbing greedily. only i couldn't hear the sound of those words, from where i suddenly was, standing outside that circle watching myself within. it was like God himself had turned off the volume and moved my conscious soul into an observing silence, least He sacrifice the age old debate of life-after-death in allowing the words to filter through. yes, uncle Sarge did keep his promise of coming back to me in a dream, after he was gone from us, to finally reveal it all.
deep down, i am sure i know now, what to expect, even if i can't tell you in our man-made words. i am at peace and i know it is sitting somewhere within my subconscious, these answers to all our long debates. i know too that he is in utter bliss and that he went back to the UK. that he is walking upon his gentle green lawns, and that he dresses like a right gentleman. and that he frequents the pubs still, and everyone knows him by name.
time outside the circle marched on. i could see the greys and the various shades of nightfall's black so clearly. and then the light baby blues of day-skies breaking gently. i saw the sun rise and set gloriously and numerous times either way. it even rained and then stopped abruptly.
butterflies, and birds, they flew and they chirped. a nurse waited for him outside our circle, in her severely starched white hat and uniform. it was a clean, organized English lawn we were sitting on. and he was alive and cheery, and he changed repeatedly as we spoke. from being his black-and-white self in a pin-striped suit with short thick curly black hair and his thick black round frames from days long past. to himself at 60 something and in vivid color, just as he was before his stroke, the year before he passed on.
we never moved from where sat, the two of us together, in the all encompassing circle of flowers. we were blissfully still, and only our mouths stirred. the words were there, being exchanged, rapidly at times between us. i could see that we were talking endlessly, and we were belabouring points. we were laughing at times, and then i was crying and then we were laughing all over again. he was ever calm, paternal, and loving throughout.
i felt warm and genuinely fuzzy, and i had a real sense of support and belonging. he was sharing with me finally, the universe's biggest kept secret of what happens to you when you die. the journey beyond. the process of becoming dead. the rules of afterlife and beyond. the answers to if you ever come back, and the when and why it sometimes doesn't happen. the answers to: do you get to watch your loved ones move on within their karmatic circles of life on Earth? do you get to guide them and reach out to them in dreams and whispers?
he was keeping his promise of coming back and telling me this ultimate truth. and i was with him again, sitting there just absorbing greedily. only i couldn't hear the sound of those words, from where i suddenly was, standing outside that circle watching myself within. it was like God himself had turned off the volume and moved my conscious soul into an observing silence, least He sacrifice the age old debate of life-after-death in allowing the words to filter through. yes, uncle Sarge did keep his promise of coming back to me in a dream, after he was gone from us, to finally reveal it all.
deep down, i am sure i know now, what to expect, even if i can't tell you in our man-made words. i am at peace and i know it is sitting somewhere within my subconscious, these answers to all our long debates. i know too that he is in utter bliss and that he went back to the UK. that he is walking upon his gentle green lawns, and that he dresses like a right gentleman. and that he frequents the pubs still, and everyone knows him by name.
last night...
...i was flying. i was a super hero. i had merged with my green iguana and had her strengths and abilities, plus some super kick-ass human ones, plus an additional one of being able to fly (taken from my vampire fascination i think).
usually when i am dreaming of flying, and i get too high, i start panicking and start flailing my arms and i just fall down. last night, i was consciously flying and kept flying. i had the starting moments of panic and then i was like whatever, i better get this flying right.
and i looked below me... looked behind me to ascertain the leg movements, and just straightened out. i moved my arm forward and rearranged my hands like an ballerina in poetic motion, and wallah, i was flying. i then started focusing on flying faster and at blur speed.
i was suddenly anxious in my super hero skin. i was trying to chase something down. i was looking and seeking and finally i was in the same house. and then i was the victim. i was playing the victim, concealing my super hero prowess until i knew without a shadow of a doubt this man was the hunter we were seeking.
he thought i was weak, and then his smell changed and he stood up stronger and his eyes flashed power and hatred and he tried to subdue me. i flexed my super hero powers and ka-pow, whacked him unconscious, just as his knife came down onto my skin.
this is what happens when i wake up at 5am to pee, and then go back to "mr. sandman land" until my alarm rings at 6:15...
usually when i am dreaming of flying, and i get too high, i start panicking and start flailing my arms and i just fall down. last night, i was consciously flying and kept flying. i had the starting moments of panic and then i was like whatever, i better get this flying right.
and i looked below me... looked behind me to ascertain the leg movements, and just straightened out. i moved my arm forward and rearranged my hands like an ballerina in poetic motion, and wallah, i was flying. i then started focusing on flying faster and at blur speed.
i was suddenly anxious in my super hero skin. i was trying to chase something down. i was looking and seeking and finally i was in the same house. and then i was the victim. i was playing the victim, concealing my super hero prowess until i knew without a shadow of a doubt this man was the hunter we were seeking.
he thought i was weak, and then his smell changed and he stood up stronger and his eyes flashed power and hatred and he tried to subdue me. i flexed my super hero powers and ka-pow, whacked him unconscious, just as his knife came down onto my skin.
this is what happens when i wake up at 5am to pee, and then go back to "mr. sandman land" until my alarm rings at 6:15...
Monday, September 3, 2007
married men, are quite puke-y
i mean, married men of our generation, just to clarify. what a far cry from the times of my Dad and my beloved Uncle Sarge. of Uncle Handsome in Adelaide. and uncle Socka. when these original gentlemen were in the game. quietly romantic, faithful to a fault, never offensive to women. in addition... think romance, think Autumn Leaves. think respect for spouse. think discreet. sigh.
i mean married men today. what is up with that ring? that ring is usually just a neon beacon for "talk to me. i am vulnerable. and i am trapped. and i need a special friend. and i like you". and boy-o-boy. i have many such "friends" - i.e.: cousins removed; friends of friends; husbands of friends; acquaintances; ex-work colleagues; and even my own sibling. so it is not that i am sitting on my ass making all this up. the drama i have witnessed vicariously and have personally experienced.. starting with the text messaging. then the thinking and speaking out loud of all the 4th-gear insinuations that "we" should go with the flow. that "we" should not have boundaries. that "we" should not be afraid.
well, i say: grow-up.
it is SO not a "we" thing. it's a YOU + YOUR WIFE THING. life when you are married equates boundaries. you walked those "saat phere" so you only get freedom when you are doing it with your wife. other than that, you should be very afraid. that one wrong card falling out of place is your entire life gone down the toilet. especially when you have children. (and especially when one of them kiddies is a girl. think karma dude!) and that MOST single women almost 40 today? we choose to be single, and are not suckers for this "live life dangerously and see where it all ends up cos you have been missing out" crap. that we lose just a little more respect for you, and we shake our heads, and say: poor wife-y man! what an arse to be married too. thank God he is "just a friend".
i mean married men today. what is up with that ring? that ring is usually just a neon beacon for "talk to me. i am vulnerable. and i am trapped. and i need a special friend. and i like you". and boy-o-boy. i have many such "friends" - i.e.: cousins removed; friends of friends; husbands of friends; acquaintances; ex-work colleagues; and even my own sibling. so it is not that i am sitting on my ass making all this up. the drama i have witnessed vicariously and have personally experienced.. starting with the text messaging. then the thinking and speaking out loud of all the 4th-gear insinuations that "we" should go with the flow. that "we" should not have boundaries. that "we" should not be afraid.
well, i say: grow-up.
it is SO not a "we" thing. it's a YOU + YOUR WIFE THING. life when you are married equates boundaries. you walked those "saat phere" so you only get freedom when you are doing it with your wife. other than that, you should be very afraid. that one wrong card falling out of place is your entire life gone down the toilet. especially when you have children. (and especially when one of them kiddies is a girl. think karma dude!) and that MOST single women almost 40 today? we choose to be single, and are not suckers for this "live life dangerously and see where it all ends up cos you have been missing out" crap. that we lose just a little more respect for you, and we shake our heads, and say: poor wife-y man! what an arse to be married too. thank God he is "just a friend".
what makes a ghost??!
have you ever thought about it, i mean like as in really pondered the question? versus just going by the typical Hollywood interpretations.
in Hindi, a ghost is called a Bhoot, and so doesn't really sound very scary to me, ahem, being a non-native Hindi speaker myself. i wonder what the scariest word we have in Bahasa Malaysia would be? "hantu"? "pocong" (this contributed by LWB; but she thinks it is a corpse, covered in a white sheet!). anyway i seriously digress.
i just wanted to say that i think i know the answer!!!
you see, i was lying in bed, napping one afternoon over our long Merdeka week-end, and with my very heavy black-outs, one can almost think it is genuine night-time, such bliss. when i suddenly thought of camo. this in itself is not unusual, as i sleep every chance i get on any given week-end AND i have been thinking of camo daily since she passed on.
i was already waking up so it wasn't purely a dream. neither was it a completely conscious thought. i was waking up, thinking of camo and then suddenly i heard this whisper. it was more a breathing into my inner ear, and then suddenly there were words inside my head. and in my subconscious, i immediately knew it was her, or my need to connect with her.
it was like she was "standing" just inside my bedroom, whispering to me through my mirror, and i got a deep immediate sense that she was blissfully happy. and she was whispering a question to me... "what makes a ghost?"
we had a rapid back and forth flow of words. no other way to describe it really. there were no real sentences. just an exchange of feelings, and mutual thoughts all tumbled together, and flashing images. and i "heard" through this channel of communication that ghosts often exist only thanks to the living. to those of us that are "left behind" that feel a loss so immensely, we start to fill that vacuum with our hopes that the dead are still here with us. lingering and participating and our conversations with them are ever on-going. we still have this unfinished business we need to off-load. and this is how a ghost is created.
do i think i am being haunted??! NO! for i know without a doubt that she is in heaven now. plus you are so not listening to how we create this connection in our minds.
do i believe in ghosts the Parapsychology way?? YES! i wanted to study the subject as my first degree (a story for another time!)
but this whispered conversation, i think this was merely a self-creation because i got an email from David Nic last week and he asked for my mailing address as camo left behind something he thinks she would like for me to have. and i have been carrying all these unfinished conversations in my mind. and it makes for a saner way to eradicate the whisper don't ya think?
in Hindi, a ghost is called a Bhoot, and so doesn't really sound very scary to me, ahem, being a non-native Hindi speaker myself. i wonder what the scariest word we have in Bahasa Malaysia would be? "hantu"? "pocong" (this contributed by LWB; but she thinks it is a corpse, covered in a white sheet!). anyway i seriously digress.
i just wanted to say that i think i know the answer!!!
you see, i was lying in bed, napping one afternoon over our long Merdeka week-end, and with my very heavy black-outs, one can almost think it is genuine night-time, such bliss. when i suddenly thought of camo. this in itself is not unusual, as i sleep every chance i get on any given week-end AND i have been thinking of camo daily since she passed on.
i was already waking up so it wasn't purely a dream. neither was it a completely conscious thought. i was waking up, thinking of camo and then suddenly i heard this whisper. it was more a breathing into my inner ear, and then suddenly there were words inside my head. and in my subconscious, i immediately knew it was her, or my need to connect with her.
it was like she was "standing" just inside my bedroom, whispering to me through my mirror, and i got a deep immediate sense that she was blissfully happy. and she was whispering a question to me... "what makes a ghost?"
we had a rapid back and forth flow of words. no other way to describe it really. there were no real sentences. just an exchange of feelings, and mutual thoughts all tumbled together, and flashing images. and i "heard" through this channel of communication that ghosts often exist only thanks to the living. to those of us that are "left behind" that feel a loss so immensely, we start to fill that vacuum with our hopes that the dead are still here with us. lingering and participating and our conversations with them are ever on-going. we still have this unfinished business we need to off-load. and this is how a ghost is created.
do i think i am being haunted??! NO! for i know without a doubt that she is in heaven now. plus you are so not listening to how we create this connection in our minds.
do i believe in ghosts the Parapsychology way?? YES! i wanted to study the subject as my first degree (a story for another time!)
but this whispered conversation, i think this was merely a self-creation because i got an email from David Nic last week and he asked for my mailing address as camo left behind something he thinks she would like for me to have. and i have been carrying all these unfinished conversations in my mind. and it makes for a saner way to eradicate the whisper don't ya think?
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