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Re: Responsdilldall: Ny oppdatering; Romeo & Julian

InnleggSkrevet: 19 Feb 2013 15:25
Twiggy Watcliff
Romeo & Julian er ferdig, og har fått additional voices. Alt dere hører er meg.

Re: Responsdilldall: Ny oppdatering; Romeo & Julian

InnleggSkrevet: 19 Feb 2013 15:57
Lilja Ravnsdottir
Å, så nydelig den ble! :D

Re: Responsdilldall: Ny oppdatering; Romeo & Julian

InnleggSkrevet: 23 Feb 2013 18:02
Marck Carhal
HARMONIENE HARMONIENE aaaaaaaaaaaah<3 I love it. Veldig. Liker akkordene også. Syns fortsatt du trenger et band.
sur gitar:(((

EDIT: Hører du forresten på Susanne Sundfør, for harmoniene er veldig hun-ish.
Edit 2: Melodiføringa også.
Edit 3: Sangen var litt for lang til å bare være gitar og stemme(r).

Re: Responsdilldall: Ny oppdatering; Bad Karma Live

InnleggSkrevet: 22 Mar 2013 23:47
Twiggy Watcliff
Bad Karma live cover. Ida Maria er kul, og jeg syns jeg fikk det til bra på turne. Sangen er temmelig vanskelig å synge. Bandet som komper heter "Skjerf".

Re: Responsdilldall: Ny oppdatering; Romeo & Julian

InnleggSkrevet: 26 Mar 2013 13:44
Lilja Ravnsdottir
Jeg kan ikke mye om stemmebruk/teknikk osv, men sånn bare så du vet det... Du er rå!

Re: Responsdilldall: Ny oppdatering; Romeo & Julian

InnleggSkrevet: 27 Mar 2013 00:52
Twiggy Watcliff
Tusen takk! Er veldig fornøyd med hvordan det gikk den konserten.

Jeg tegner en gammel venn. Noen som kan gjette hvem det er?

Re: Responsdilldall: Ny oppdatering; The Fabulous Kim Seymor

InnleggSkrevet: 22 Feb 2014 17:37
Twiggy Watcliff
Er det noen som husker Kim Seymore? Jeg skriver igjen (litt. LITT) og har fryktelig lyst på litt konstruktiv kritikk.
Saken er den: Kim er 24, Kaféen hans går som en drøm, han bor alene i leiligheten han arvet etter bestemoren, og selv om ting er hektisk, elsker han det litt. Helt til hans uansvarlige mor plutselig svinger innom med en ny unge Kim aldri har hørt om, sier at det er lillesøsteren hans og at han må ta vare på henne mens hun drar på ferie med kjæresten. Den er på engelsk, fordi det er lettere å være sassy på engelsk. Here goes!

Chapter 1: When November Ends

“It was Christmas eve, babe, in the drunk tank…” Jesus, he loved that song. This version was different than The Pogues’ original Happy-go-Irish style. This one had strings and a male vocalist that sounded like someone taught a grizzly bear to sing, but it was wonderful nevertheless: it made Kim Seymore leave the kitchen of The gingerbread house with a spring in his step and a pleasant smile on his face. The tray of chocolate chip cookies topped with chocolate sauce he was carrying found its place between the forest berry muffins and the Oreo buttons he recently tried out. Now on to the Café’s namesake, he thought as he nodded towards one of the regulars who waved at him.
“Mel, will you be a dear and handle the cash register for me? Flour. Flour everywhere.” He waved his fingers in her face as she passed by for extra effect, just to prove his point. She smiled and shook her head at his familiar childishness before she went to do what he told her to do.
As he entered the kitchen again, Kim noticed a familiar back hunched over the gingerbread dough with a knife, cutting off a decent sized chunk. Well, at least Keaton was hygienic. Kim cleared his throat and put his hands on his hips, like the boss ass bitch his employees claimed him to be. Keaton wasn’t near startled enough, a fact he proved when he took the cookie dough he’d prepared for himself in his rubber gloved hand and popped it in his mouth. Kim sighed, mostly with amusement.
“I’ll take that off your wages, you prick,” he grinned at his friend, and scoffed in disgust when the Irishman had the nerve to smile at him with a mouth full of sticky brown dough. “Get that down and get to work, Mella is drowning out there and you are, by the way, late.”
“Mella can swim,” Keaton nonchalantly replied, grabbing a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water, downing it in one go. Kim noticed that the young man looked like he spent the night getting intimate with the toilet seat.
“Was that how you treated your pints yesterday? You’re too Irish.”
“Nope, no pints for me yesterday,” Keaton answered as he splashed water in his face from the sink by the back door. “I treated my shots that way, though, but that’s the whole point with shots.”
“What kind?” Silence for a few seconds.
“We’ll talk about it after hours,” Kim said, smiling sympathetically. Vodka was always a bad sign. Keaton finished putting on his apron over the uniform shirt and waistcoat. As he walked past, Kim smacked his butt with his floury hands and chuckled when the Irishman turned to look at the two white hand marks that had appeared on his trousers. He simply raised his eyebrows and grinned widely, continuing out into the café. “Wash it off, will you,” Kim called.
“No way! I’ll wear it proudly with the uniform!”
“And the boys of the NYPD choir were singing Galway Bay, and the bells were ringing out for Christmas day.”
He washed his hands thoroughly and squirted a few drops of antibacterial soap in the palm of the left one, covering both in foam. He hated baking with gloves, so he had to make sure he kept clean at all times. He finished drying off and looked at the clock above the door. Four hours left of the day. Mella deserved a good, long lunch break. He poked his head out and told her to get some food before he went back to baking.
A tiny drum solo on the door frame snapped him out of his baking induced coma. Keaton peeped in and whistled for his attention.
“Kim? Lady at the counter. She wants to speak to you.”
“Tell her I’ll be right there, I just have to…”
“She says it’s important, and she’s on a tight schedule. Her words.” Kim grunted in annoyance before he went to the sink to wash his hands. He was almost done with cutting all the parts, and all he wanted was to throw them into the wall. This was the fucking last time he made a gingerbread Big Ben. Keatons cocky smile at his frustration didn’t do anything for his motivation.
“Wipe that grin of your face before I reconsider your salary.”
“Grumpy bitch.” And then he had the balls to chuckle. Kim gave him a look, took a deep breath and plastered a smile on before exiting the kitchen.
“Hello ma’am, how can I help you?” The tired looking lady beside the counter could do with some bathroom time. At least some cleansing wipes for the mascara that was everywhere except on her eyelashes. Her hair was second day unwashed, but her clothes looked rather good: and they were definitely expensive. She did not do them justice. She had a huge bag and a hideous, pink max size suitcase at her side.
“Kim, you have to do me a favour.” Kim’s smile faded slowly. Who the fuck was this lady? Why did she know his name, and why did he have to do anything for her? He kept his mildly hostile thoughts to himself.
“Excuse me, ma’am, but… have you been here before? I don’t seem to remember you…”
“Oh, God damn it, Kim,” the woman said exasperatedly. “I should have expected this from you! I’m your mother, you daft prick. And I have a flight to catch, so you’ll have to excuse me for being stressed. I need you to take care of Marjorie until January.”
Kims smile didn’t fade: it downright dropped into a frown. His gaze wandered through the room until he saw a little girl in a bright yellow jacket and unmatched socks by one of the tables. She was obviously Marjorie: not only because of the overstuffed One Direction merch backpack sitting on the chair next to her, but also because she looked just like him. Just what he needed: his own mini-me to take care of.
“Well, first of, you could at least be nice to me while you’re taking away my freedom for the next six weeks. Second, what rights do you have to demand that I do you any favours when I haven’t seen you for fourteen years?”
“That is bull…”
“Oh, true, it’s just eight years since you did the exact same thing: you dropped Jerome of when he came here for vacation, and then you went to Thailand. Where the fuck are you going this time, mom? And third: What kind of bitch leaves her kid with a guy she doesn’t know during Christmas?!” Amanda Bryce, previously Seymore, turned pale.
“You little bastard!”
“I’m the only kid you got during a marriage, so I’d shut up if I were you,” Kim hissed angrily back at her. She gaped at him for a moment before she tried to compose herself.
“My first mistake,” she replied dryly. Kim felt his cheeks heat with anger. “I’m leaving for Australia. She can’t come with me because I couldn’t afford the stay for the both of us. I’ve tried everyone I know here in Britain, and you were the last option.” Now it was Kims turn to gape at her. He took a deep breath through the nose to keep calm enough not to yell at the woman in front of him.
“What is wrong with you? Where the bloody hell is your moral compass?”
“Shut up, you brat! And you better take better care of her than you did with Jerome.”
“I was only two years older than him! How was I supposed to take care of him? And besides, Jerome was a misogynistic, homophobic wanker, and he should have been put on a plane back home before he even left the States. He reminded me so much of dad it made me sick… You know I always wondered how dad could be such an asshole when his mother was so great, but I guess it might have something to do with whom he married…”
“Shut up about that asshole!” Amanda screamed through the entire café, and Kim quickly dragged her out of public and into the hall outside the toilets. Luckily there was no line. The unpleasant smell of being in a confined space with a heavy smoker filled his nostrils. He glared daggers and gunshots at his so-called mother, and hissed so aggressively he almost chocked on his own voice.
“You can’t just come marching back into my life every time you need to dump off a new kid you can’t take care of!” Amanda bit the inside of her cheeks, still a bit embarrassed at her outburst.
“I don’t have to listen to this. My flight leaves soon, Terrence is waiting for me outside, and Marjorie needs a goddamn place to stay. Do you really think I want to leave her with you? By the way, I’ve told her you’re a girl, so don’t screw this up. I don’t want her to know that her brother is bat shit crazy.”
“She’s probably familiar enough with crazy already, you fucking…”
“Well, at least I don’t pretend I’m something I’m not, Kim! I really do not want to handle the questions if she finds out her brother is trying to be a woman!” She took a deep breath and let it out in a long, frustrated sigh. Kim had to bite his tongue not to scream her ears of. He rubbed his forehead violently and scoffed.
“I’m a transvestite, mom, not a transsexual. I love being a man. And yet, I’m pulling of woman better than you ever will. Get out of my café before you scare away my guests and leave me the fuck alone!” He went barging out of the small space, making his way into the kitchen. Amanda stomped out after him, but changed directions and nearly threw herself out the entrance door, into the grey, rainy and unwelcoming street. She disappeared into a fancy-looking Audi, and that was the last her furious son saw of her that year.
Kim was fuming when Keaton came sneaking in with a questioning look.
“A little birdie told me you have a sister out there waiting for you?”
“Birdie? Try a fucking crow. Or a bloody magpie! Seriously…” Kim slammed his fist on the surface of the kitchen counter. Mella, who had taken over his Big Ben gingerbread project, put the knife aside and came over to hug him. He needed that. “It’s the girl in the yellow jacket. And she doesn’t even know I am me, because that bitch lied to her and said she has an older sister. Because I am the abomination here, you see, and not the damn mother who leaves her kid with a fucking stranger!” Mella sighed and patted Kims back, while Keaton whistled.
“Nice lady,” the Irishman muttered. “Hey, boss, if you want to, I can go prepare her for the truth? I’m good with kids.” Kim nodded slowly and turned towards the counter, focusing his gaze on the unfinished clock tower.
“I need a timeout.”
“I will handle the register,” Mella said with her charming Italian accent when they heard the bell ring from the café. Keaton left with her.
Kim went to the sink and filled a glass of water. “Couldn’t afford. Hah. Couldn’t afford far up my ass. Her new boyfriend seems to afford just fucking fine,” he muttered angrily between sips. After calming down considerably and deciding to try his luck at Big Ben again, he cut out the rest of the needed parts and put them in the stove. His feet led him to the open doorway between the café and the kitchen, where he stopped to look at the eight year old on table three by the window. Keaton had brought her cookies and a soda, and he seemed to deal with her quite well.
Suddenly the girl looked up towards him. Kim didn’t know how to react at all. He stared at her for a few seconds, before deciding to pull his head out of his ass. He smiled a big, welcoming smile, lifted his hand and waved cheerily at his little sister. She looked at him with big, uncertain eyes. Keaton said something to her before he waved back. And then the corners of Marjorie Bryce’s mouth twisted upwards into a smile clearly missing a canine tooth in the upper row, before her hand shot up over her head and she waved at him, too.

Re: Responsdilldall: Ny oppdatering; reunited with Kim Seymo

InnleggSkrevet: 01 Jul 2014 01:01
Twiggy Watcliff
Skrev et dikt, av alle ting, inspirert av min enorme irritasjon over at gutter lærer å undertrykke følelsene sine. Suicidale jenter har lettere for å søke hjelp enn gutter, og det er så feil at du skal "blåse opp brystkassa og fikse det sjæl" når du sliter.
TRIGGER WARNING! Det er en semihappykindofsortof slutt, men det inneholder selvmordsrelatert tematikk.

"Don't cry," they said. "Be a man."
"Don't be scared," they said. "Be a man."
"Don't show your emotions," they said. "Be a man."

"Be aggressive. Be a man."
"Be protective. Be a man."
"Help yourself. Be a man"

He didn't cry.
His tear canals dried up
like a droplet in the desert.

He wasn't scared.
He was not scared. Not of anything.
Except the day people discovered what a lie that was.

He dammed his emotions
he tied and locked them up in the basemen of his soul
People called him cold, distant.
That was good;
he was a man after all.

He pursued women aggressively
He talked aggressively.

He was protective. Too protective. He smothered her with protection, she said.
He had to let her go.
She couldn't take him anymore.

He did not ask for help.
It all piled up, got worse by the minute
He wanted to cry, to be scared, to scream his feelings of the rooftops
So someone could hear him, see him
See the raging storm in his heart and mind
But he couldn't, he had to be a man.

So like a man he held the gun to his head
Like a man he drew his last breath
Like a man he pulled the trigger

Like a man he missed his head on purpose and hit the wall instead
Like a man he collapsed;
a sack of sand on the floor
The sand spilling in the form of tears
Like a man he cried in fear of what he had almost done
Like a man he let his emotions run wild
Making up for lost time
Like a man, he felt all the aggression seep out of his body
Like a man, he realised that he had been busy
Being too protective of everyone else,
but not of himself
So like a man he asked for help to protect himself
Like a man he asked to learn how to protect himself

And like a man he stopped "being a man"
And became a human