Fever

Last night I felt the familiar tinge of sharp muscle aches and knew a fever was swiftly dawning. It is the swipe of a sickness that leaves traces of the parts of our body that are more sensitive: the untouched upper arm, stomach, and throbbing mind. Bullied myself into going to school anyway, though. It's receding, thankfully. Nevertheless, a fever in March was an expected event; it has been the case for the past two years.

http://trackcity.net/?p=1263

Anyway, thankfully, blissfully, Arcade Fire have spun up a new, magical song: Abraham's Daughter, for the Hunger Games soundtrack. Love the bass that hits during the crescendo -- this song has grown on me. Regine's voice sounds lovely.

Time is everything

Hugo was a stunningly magical movie -- wonderfully played out in 3D (real 3D, not that 'enhanced' 2D we seem to be getting often). The moment the movie commenced, each particle of snowflakes drifting as in directly before my eyes, I was spellbound. Have never seen such impressive 3D effects. Not to mention it came with a true moral, and a real witty screenplay. The soundtrack was much fun, too -- don't know if Howard Shore can ever go wrong. First Lord of the Rings, and now this. Can't wait for The Hobbit!

Maybe that's why a broken machine always makes me a little sad, because it isn't able to do what it was meant to do... Maybe it's the same with people. If you lose your purpose... it's like you're broken.

I'd imagine the whole world was one big machine. Machines never come with any extra parts, you know. They always come with the exact amount they need. So I figured, if the entire world was one big machine, I couldn't be an extra part. I had to be here for some reason. And that means you have to be here for some reason too.

You've tried to forget the past for so long, but it has caused you nothing but unhappiness. Maybe it's time you tried to remember.

The Artist

Feeling uncomfortably hot -- even indoors, a damp humidity lingers. Perhaps it is because I just trimmed my cuticles, or have left my glasses elsewhere, but all is unpleasant to touch.

Anyway, that aside --

I must bashfully swallow my earlier predilection on The Artist. I just returned home from the cinema and it proved to be a rather enjoyable movie. The choreography was excellent, and the colour lighting for a black and white film was splendid. Excellent acting on Jean Dujardin and Bérénice Bejo's parts. Love the dog, as well -- he's probably my favourite character. Was also bounding about in the movie; he almost made me cry in one scene.
It certainly says something, though, to have a black and white film win Best Picture at the Academy Awards in the 21st century. I apologize if any take umbrage at such a statement, but it does ironically present the situation in the movie (won't delve into further detail here, as to not spoil anything). I suppose the movie really did sweep everyone off their feet. I've watched War Horse, and it's hard to say which deserves Best Picture -- War Horse was stunningly filmed, brilliantly coloured, and a wonderful story, yet there is something magically entertaining about The Artist. Being a huge John Williams fan, it hurts to say that I agree with Ludovic Bource taking home the Oscar for Best Soundtrack. It really was lovely, contributing to the film's wonder (as it played almost throughout the entire 2 hours). At one point, I even forgot it was a silent film and spoke aloud - that is bad film-watching...
Anyway, I'm glad I ventured to see it. It's a roasting afternoon, interrupting the cold whiplash of winter wind. The sun's high, yet I do miss a cool breeze.

March

Why not celebrate the arrival of March with Wordsworth? Always so joyous about nature, he is.

The cock is crowing,
The stream is flowing,
The small birds twitter,
The lake doth glitter,
The green field sleeps in the sun;
The oldest and youngest
Are at work with the strongest;
The cattle are grazing,
Their heads never raising;
There are forty feeding like one!

Like an army defeated
The snow hath retreated,
And now doth fare ill
On the top of the bare hill;
The Plowboy is whooping-anon-anon:
There's joy in the mountains;
There's life in the fountains;
Small clouds are sailing,
The rain is over and gone!

by William Wordsworth

There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy and the tired.“Our lives are defined by opportunities, even the ones we miss.” “Our lives are defined by opportunities, even the ones we miss.”

After a mild discussion on WW1 during history class today, The Great Gatsby was a subject that fell upon us lightly -- I remembered how lovely it was. Tremendously eager for the movie adaptation starring Carey Mulligan, Leonardo DiCaprio and Tobey Maguire.