I literally don’t have one and just cannot choose even if I were held at gun point! I loved watching Thierry Henry. I also love watching old Bobby Charlton because he is just the epitome of a ‘traditional British footballer’ which I adore. It’s a weird thing to try to define though, I think he just exudes it though.
2. a game you will never forget (try to pick ONE)
Well it depends, do you mean I watched at the stadium or one live on TV? I think watching beating Arsenal 8-2 at Old Trafford in 2011 has to be the most unforgettable experience while I remember the 7-1 win over AS Roma for some reason so, so well - from where I was sitting in the pub to the face of the guy who spilt his beer over my father by accident while celebrating Evra’s goal (our 7th of the game).
3. the national team u support the most
Literally don’t support anyone tbh. Only in rugby for England I get really hardcore about supporting!
4. if you could pick one of your teams to win any trophy, who and which?
Manchester United and the Champions League of fucking course because I need me some fresh new memories, it’s been 9 years since the last time and 8 years and 6 since Barca kept crushing our dreams both times in the finals!
5. whats the story of how you got into this sport!!!
Oh honestly it’s so bloody boring. I actually really hated it when I was 8 because I went to a Liverpool match which was against a London based team and it was boring af. Like honestly I was so put off football until I was 11 (so over 10 years ago now really), but I don’t know what really clicked. I think it was watching Ajax for the first time fully and falling in love then. And then finding out Manchester United’s goal keeper (of course the amazing van der Sar) came from Ajax and knowing my dad was so in love with the team that I ended up latching onto that love too. I also used to play as a CB/RB back when I was younger (11 again) though I never actually watched the sport, but my dad accidentally (he is a ruthless player no matter who you are!) injured my knee and I haven’t really played the sport since even after it healed fully. It’s almost as if watching the sport kind of replaced the fact I couldn’t really play for a while, so I’m half thankful because I’m not sure I’d love Manchester United as much as I do now. But I guess at the moment that’s both a curse and a blessing!
6. how many games a week do you watch (approx.)
I drift in and out of all matches, Manchester United really is the only team I sit down to watch. I can’t really give you a number! I’d say it’d end up being 3 on average!
7. world cup or copa américa/euro cup?
I really don’t care for national football, I know I’m weird! If I have to choose one it’s probably the World Cup.
8. do you want uefa to rot in hell for how they treated borussia dortmund the latest weeks (yes/yes)
UMMMMM worse than rot in hell!!!
9. god im running out of ideas hmm… have u played football urself?
I used to! But not really anymore unless it’s some one on ones with my brother just to keep even a little in shape.
15. five most influential books over your lifetime.
Oh, I love this question. Aaaaah and I just noticed it doesn’t specify fiction or non-fiction, so. Okay, okay, let me think. Five books, in no particular order:
1) Voices After Midnight by Richard Peck I read this when I was seven years old and it was my first foray into speculative fiction and time travel!! (I fucking love time travel, no wonder the flash hit all my buttons.) i remember it being charming, with likeable characters and looping time paradoxes, yyyyy.
2) Phantom by Susan Kay I’m not entirely sure how good this book is anymore? It’s been years since I read it, but it formulated a great deal of aesthetic for me–melodramatic and beautiful POV, a gothic sensibility. I remember a section where Erik joins a travelling circus troupe of Roma, and from what I remember, they were treated respectfully (or as respectfully as a white British woman in 1990 would treat their culture.) And oh, the deep and all consuming love story, which I still desperately adore.
3) The Dogs of Babel by Carolyn Parkhurst At its heart, this book is about grief and loss and survival. It’s so beautiful, and parts of it haunt me even now. It deals with suicidal thoughts and animal harm, but ugh, it’s one of those things that’s just a part of me, okay?
4) The Complete Poems: Anne Sexton When I was younger, I fancied myself a poet, and she is everything I strived to be: feminist, unapologetic, deeply confessional. I don’t write poetry anymore, but when I want to connect with that part of myself, this is immediately my go-to book.
5) Delights and Shadows by Ted Kooser This book of poetry was written by a man from the Midwest (Kansas, if I remember correctly) and he has this very particular way of looking at incredibly common things in an extraordinarily beautiful way. (and no, I don’t think I used enough adverbs in that sentence. ;))
29. three songs that you connect with right now.
Hallelujah - Leonard Cohen Because of that meme going around (you know the one, your favorite Hallelujah lyric is your personality) I discovered that my favorite lyric is from the rare religious recording he did of the song? I’ve listened to eighty versions of this song. This version is still my favorite.
The Greatest Bastard - Damien Rice This was a song that I listened to on repeat while I was writing the last two chapters of The Break-Up of the Ice. This was very much Leonard’s song in that story, with all the longing and self-loathing that I associate with that story. When I listen to it, it takes me straight back there and makes me full of longing myself.
Paper Moon - Ella Fitzgerald I don’t know why this one is in my orbit right now, but it feels right. I was listening to my google music on shuffle recently and this song came on and I was just like. YES THIS I’VE MISSED THIS IN MY LIFE. I like the breeziness, the wistfulness in it. I’m starting to sense a theme here. ;)
you will wake up to the word syzygy. It
could be a synonym for a storyteller. Or your own name. Celestine
chemistry of a cloud stubbed by monsoon, you will watch Indra herd smoke over
water, tease the stampede of rivers through their crab-claw helixes, line the
corpuscles of three eclipses in a sacred symmetry. This is how I want to begin
again. Fluid. Lucid. Coherent of my inconsistencies, dangling dreamcatchers
above the abyss.The etymology of a demon. Danse Macabre from the numen. An
interpreter of invisible horizons. The blue-lily lip of Shiva in Halahala. What
I am looking for is the bouhali;
nepenthe nude as David in Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore. Algebra of
bones, physics of muscle. The rosa moschata of his bloodless back against a
crescendo of thirsty mosquitoes. I want to see the faint scream of a sculpture
rise, ithyphallic, alabaster that was once aborigine. Show me that which was
killed in me to satisfy your calculated civilization. The barbiturate of your mens sana. The insomnia
of your sine die. I will take my Hell. Gladly. Trust me to learn how to pet its
hounds. I want unashamed. Don’t clothe me in the memory of your forgiveness.
There is nothing in me that needs your approval, there is nothing in me that will
negotiate my apology. I have stopped being sorry. I am not your mutated lab rat, your closet full of hazmat. I will not make prisons out of memories. Do not reduce the
dragon in my voice to an echo of embers. Call me camphor & find the nearest
matchbox. I want to swim through this room in a drum-dance of ghosts. I want
to remember always that I am Roma. I want the muslin-mouthed sediments of golden
seacoasts. Chemical bridge of a synapse. A marital bed where the axis mundi mounts
my neo cortex. A single lotus swimming above the poisoned lake. I resent your
monotonous thresholds; the phlegmatic dogma subtracting what is human from what
is holy. I want to hold the holy inside the human. The holy of a perfumed
twilight, red as my wrists in the aftermath of two razors. I want to meet my
God when she sings a lullaby for my brokenness. I don’t want you to tell me how to be strong so frequently that it sounds like a cussword. I want to remain weak, small & defeated for a while. I want to replace better with braver. In my own time. I want language to gut me to a fishbelly white.
I want a language like the photograph of a jaundice-eyed violinist playing at
his teacher’s funeral. Beauty in its bitter ferment. A Russian soldier softened to a single piano note in the middle of a dying forest. I want
that dirge, its dire urge. The urvogel of every angel who fell disputing His
throne. I want a heart like a piñata full of flowers. Every time it is beaten,
wings of petals rain on the weapon’s hand. I want to be the Stranger who cries
at nameless graves. I am Scorpion on the cusp of Cancer. When I move forward,
it will always be sideways. Bring me to something that doesn’t want to wash
away my sickness with a calendar of sugar pills, that allows me altars and
battlefields in equal measure. I want to dig out what is ancient in me, the
mistaken-for-monster, its ophidian prowl, its raven-cursed rudiment & let
it teach me how to be unafraid again.
And hell has just frozen over!!! As if this day could get anymore dramatic...I was just perusing some of the tweets related to today's drama when I came across 1 from our notorious Roma Sars to Lisa Marie, Shatner's pr girl...Roma says: "...Some of the stuff celebs have to put up with is crazy." Really Roma? I think we ALL remember the storm you threw at Sam for canceling Germany. Yes, those relentless tweets you sent to him & DG & TD were too much to put up with & crazy!! Thnx 4 stating the obv