"If you don't h...

"If you don't have a dateCelebrateGo out and sit on the lawnAnd do nothing'Cause it's just what you must doNobody does it anymore"- fiona apple, waltz

well, i've g...

well, i've given this album a good month to redeem itself, but my opinion of it hasn't improved much.i'd like to know what the rest of you think; my final decision is that i'm not buying any more tori albums from now on. i'm just going to listen to my old tapes until they turn to dust.firstly, tori is discussing women and the bible; old, hackneyed, hackneyed old theme. she throws around concepts of nature as mother, woman as wronged, mother and daughter/child as the source of life. if you want to choose such cliched topics, you have to work hard at making your ideas sound new, and tori's blandness in the dvd interview just bores me.secondly, why backing vocals on so many of the songs? what happened to just tori and a piano; it's like she has no confidence in herself anymore.parasols - i suppose i should like this song; tame, repetitive little song. how cute. so it's about betrayal? um, like cornflake girl & the waitress? no, alas.sweet the sting - "shake me sane"? "shock me sane"?and "scor-beyown's tail" - is not how it's pronounced.the power of orange knickers - orange knickers under a petticoat don't have power, so we'll ignore tori trying to show that she's still eccentric, when she's forgotten what that was. and why is it knickers now, doesn't she still call them panties? & "terrorist" - that little buzz-word (pun pun) ruins it all. pity, if it was the old tori alone with her piano, maybe she could have pulled it off. am i alone in this?jamaica inn - cute. the lyrics seem to try very hard to fit a perfectly monotone song. trust isn't sexy though, and there's no need to keep repeating "in the jamaica inn" in a high pitched voice.barons of suburbia - starts out like "caught a lite sneeze", and ends like "professional widow". full of boring (half)rhymes, "carnivorous vegetarian" = pointless oxymoron. "Whether you're looking at certain governments or certain relationships, we go back to the personal and the political always." ... yes, very Foucauldian, tori, but it ain't in the song.sleeps with butterflies - sickeningly cutesy. i actually like the "Airplanes / take you away again" because it's true, that's what airplanes do. "butterfly" is better, if one must sing about butterflies.mother revolution - nice. i really like the phrase, "all along the watchtower".general joy - "I have to feel the pulse of what is current." oooh, tori. no you don't have to jump on the bandwagon and write a song dissing the war. "now “they” have Liberty gagged" - could you be ever so slightly more cliche, 'cos it would help us understand?ribbons undone - no. too slow, too cliche with "it is your time" and just the idea of a little girl running with ribbons in her hair, yeah we've seen it, done it, etc etc. and weird "music" too.cars and guitars - hmm. i don't really like the drawling way she sings it.witness - fun. i quite like it.original sinsuality - awful. i mean really truly god awful. "you are not alone" wail wail, you will not pull this off tori.ireland - WTF?the beekeeper - "- wrap yourself aroundthe Tree of Lifeand the Dance of the Infinityof the Hive -"ooo, tori does Metaphysical Poetics.(i wonder whether she knows about bees & death, or whether the beekeeper is just a random choice?)martha's foolish ginger - i love! ironic that it was a song she started 8 years ago.hoochie woman - i like the lower piano notes.goodbye pisces - the japanese-y theme is quite cute. i like the lines: "We’ve done this before / as Mars sauntered through his door". yeah, it's ok actually.marys of the sea - "in all of Gaul / is there safety?" love love love. tori's french accent, not so cool, but still, smashing song. i like the way it slows down and speeds up.toast - hmm. i like that it's unhurried, and i love the first line and last stanza, but all the bit about the toasting? well it's a little boring actually.garlands - yes, i do like it. it's a bit like "gold dust" in scarlet's walk - a gentle saving grace. & so what if it's a list of paintings? "datura" is mostly a list of plants and we love it.

eat me!...

eat me!

Victoria regi...

Victoria regiai wade my way through forest, thick green sea of unfurled ferns, reticular roots, fronds that catch the light on their vast fingers and cast huge lattices of shadow, tree trunks that loom dark and prominent with their tonnage of growth. the air that bites and nips and buzzes, and catches at you in moist, torrid breaths. i forage shallow pools, mud-clogged or clear and reflective, where dragonflies fly dizzy patterns in chase, and strange birds dive for food.the ladies-in-waiting, dressed in green liveries, bring me tea in laden tea-trays. they iron out my petticoats, arrange the folds of my dress into an impeccable white cluster, spray me with a haze of rare perfume. they bicker and nudge, whispering sharp, pointed snubs at the lowly maids, their skirts filling the room with a swirling shadow that denies any visitors.i find her at last, in a still sun-drenched tributary. there she stands above the waterline, on a peduncle long and erect, smelling of pine-apple or melon, or the fruit of some far off exotic land i have yet to explore. her petals are large and luminously white, and all around her expand the vast orbicular lamina, their edges curled up, their undersides reddish and covered in spines, attached to the stem by long, terete petioles.i walk out in the evening. the sun is just setting, but the cool night air is welcome after such perennial confinement as mine. i stretch my arms, my long legs under their many-layers. the ladies-in-waiting shoulder each other petulantly, they are red underneath, lively and lusty.he is by that giant river now, and it is day, humid, stifling. his hands are full of a magnificent blossom, which he examines and dissects.she flushes a deepening pink, and her petals reflex, layer by layer, until all that is left is a filamentous crown of deep rose, and the golden pollen at the heart of the flower is rendered visible. mindful not to breathe, i gently tap some of the pollen into a paper envelope, and wade back out onto the river bank, dripping with mud and tangles of plants. i rest alone on the floor of the rainforest, where it is nearly perpetually dark, and contemplate my small treasure, and the journey to the next bloom.the following morning, i dress in pink, and the ladies-in-waiting spend hours starching my skirts. at the palace a little girl dressed in dragonfly wings is sitting on a lily-pad, singing. they ask me when he will be back, and whether he will find what he seeks. i start to answer but a sudden, unseasonable rain, with its heavy droplets pounds against the plants and drowns out my voice. the rose-coloured skirts slap limply against my legs, the scent blows away. the ladies-in-waiting collect small pools but they are buoyant and laugh and prick each other viciously. my steps grow laboured as the dress soaks up the rain. i sink beneath its weight, into the watery depths which made me, where i brood, and invent the vernation of a new love.*- image from here.- INCREDIBLY BEAUTIFUL botanical descriptions of the victoria regia here.

scarf in progress...

stripes from the top, hearts from the side!(i know you can tell the hearts from the top as well, but it isn't quite so obvious in normal lighting.)