| I am sure the sky will fall on my head tomorrow |
[Oct. 31st, 2009|04:04 pm] |
Ohai. Feeling a little frazzled, wound up, strung out, but only a little. I have two weeks to finish four assignments - all of which are at varying stages of completion, but certainly on the way to being done. So, um. Nothing really new there.
( Here be a certain amount of aimless rambling thinking )
In other news! I just discovered Edith Sitwell and William Walton's 'Facade' which is a suite of Sitwell's poems set to Walton's music and it makes my head explode with awesomeness.
( Youtubery under the cut )
Okay so I am weird.
Anyway I guess life is pretty good generally, bar the occasional flail. Uni is going okay, I have stuff to look forward to, I am surrounded by friends, I have a boy who cares about me and cooks for me and talks about swords and Shakespeare with me for hours on end.
So that is pretty good, I think.
Have a poem. Or a bit of a poem. I should write some more stanzas.
I know a boy who sleeps in Neverland His chestnut hair spread out all on the silky strand
I know he sleeps there, even though by day His tired eyes betray an older face Who traces distant shores with worn and steady hand But see him at his work and at his play - World-weary smiles those tired lines erase
Until the sun is loath too long to stay And home at last he creeps to silver-threaded sand. |
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| Watch this space |
[Oct. 1st, 2009|11:15 pm] |
Don't disregard the last post entirely, because a lot of it is factual, but disregard the singular vehemence with which it was delivered.
It was a description of how I was feeling at the time. What it quite categorically wasn't was a description of the sum total of my life right at the moment. What I am trying to do is clear out all the negative horribleness that's going on in my head so I can make room for new goals and changes.
There will be further negative posts to clear out the cobwebs, and then I will start talking about the things that are good. There are a lot of things that are good. There is at least one thing in my life right now that is spectacularly good, but more on that later. It has to be done in the sequence that makes sense in my head.
Right now, I need to write down the old bad things, and the things that went wrong, or sideways, or backwards, or pear-shaped, so that I can let go of them and adjust my metaphorical sails. Then I can discuss the things that have made me happy, that I have enjoyed, and the things that I am looking forward to, and the things that I am going to fix.
Just wanted to clarify all that.
More as it comes to hand. |
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| Things to Regret, Things to Forget: A Negative Post |
[Sep. 29th, 2009|07:48 pm] |
Right now, I feel completely rubbish. I'm tired and stressed and fed up. It's as if I don't have time to live properly.
It's as if I somehow failed to achieve every single goal I set myself for this time this year.
Oh wait.
I did, didn't I?
I was going to get that job. I haven't done it yet. I never heard back from any of the applications I sent out when I had the time, and then I stopped having time.
I was going to find a place and move out of home. No way in hell that's happening without the job.
I wanted to be healthier. And I was really fit during the holidays, which lasted until university started again. At which point I put on five kilos and stopped fitting into most of my jeans.
Then there was all the bullshit with the group project from hell and the stupid bitch who made us spend an extra week on it (because she hadn't done any work and needed an extension) and then bailed at the last minute anyway. And now all of my assignment due dates are messed up and I don't have enough time for anything.
I was going to get my licence so I could start using my car. I totally did that! Hooray! No, wait, then I completely trashed my car just around the corner from my house less than a month after getting my licence. Nice one, dipshit.
With the 48-hour game making challenge looming, I am so far beyond my stress threshold that I don't even know where I live anymore.
And I don't think I even really want to make video games for a living.
More as it comes to light. |
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| Words |
[Sep. 23rd, 2009|10:28 pm] |
Something I wrote a while ago and remembered today. I'd squirrelled it away to finish later, but I think this is as finished as it's going to get.
These words get tangled and confused, The words we cannot stand to lose, The words we know that have no place, Which bring our lips and ears disgrace.
The things we said in other lives, The lies which for a truth-ring strive, The spaces in-between each time We speak - the dialogue's ending line.
Half-rhymes are a half-truth's tone, Whispered into chalk and stone - Symbols into meaning made Complexity for safety trade.
Speak not - speaking has no sound, Formed in ghost-like motions round The places that were never named Cannot by human tongues be claimed.
Mischief through disaster spills, To waken dormant cipher stills Cryptic in their methods, hence Distil the meaning; not the sense. |
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| Still working on assignments |
[Sep. 14th, 2009|12:43 am] |
| [ | Tags | | | poetry, writing | ] |
| [ | mood |
| | sleepy | ] |
| [ | music |
| | You Can Call Me Al - Paul Simon | ] |
Have some more poetry. Sort of unfinished.
It is a slipknot of desire that draws us here It tightens and we feel it A stopper to rational thought
Our tethers are cast out like nets Set adrift on the slow breath of a rhythmic tide
It pulls us into each newly-defined dawn, Sending us back with the nightfall
Have you seen the city's silhouette? A still image burnt onto the sky's cornea
When it fades we work by the yellow light thrown From the windows of passing trains Which scuttle blindly along their bridges overhead |
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| Things I have learnt |
[Sep. 4th, 2009|01:59 pm] |
Another bad poetry interlude, because I don't have time for a real post at the moment. Currently beating my head against Maya trying to not suck at CGI modelling. It isn't working yet. Here's a thing I wrote.
Growing up is not about finding yourself - Or, it is, But in all the wrong ways
We grow up to find that we are liars and fools That the world is all shades of dirty grey That every moment is an in-between
We grow up into madmen and whores Vile bitches and arseholes with acid tongues
We grow up to find that we are not heroes That no-one can be saved That we will never do anything right
We grow up to make mistakes and hurt each other And destroy ourselves And burn and writhe and twist with the agony of our lives in each passing second
And
And we grow up to find out what love is
And we grow up to know what it is to forgive and be forgiven
And we grow up. |
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| Honourable in Victory, Gracious in Defeat |
[Aug. 9th, 2009|11:31 pm] |
I am tired and I've just handed in an assignment which I wasn't happy with and I'm beginning the ramp up into the uni semester stress right now, but this is something worth saying that needs to be said before it becomes tomorrow:
Today it is two years to the day since I joined Prima Spada. Since that first Thursday, I've acquired a blue sash, a rapier, a copy of Academie de l'Espee, a whole strange array of Renaissance bits and pieces and a head full of useless historical trivia, to name but a few things.
But more importantly, I discovered some of the most amazing people on the planet.
So this is a message to my fencing friends: I love you all so very, very dearly. You are my family and the place where I belong. I value your words, your wisdom, your wit, your company and your complete and utter silliness. I am honoured that you are all part of my life. I am sometimes amazed that you continue to put up with me, but I cannot express how very glad I am that you do.
There's so much I could say here, and maybe I will try to post something more coherent when I am less tired and muddled, but for now I'll just say that the last two years have been a wonderful strange rollercoaster journey, and it doesn't look like it's going to stop anytime soon.
Here's to hopefully many more years fencing, friendship and joy (and maybe eventually a silver sash!) in the future. |
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| Change |
[Jun. 21st, 2009|09:43 pm] |
I've been thinking a lot lately. Well, I am always thinking. Recently, however, I've spent a good deal of time contemplating the general state and direction of my life (I know, yawn, right? Feel free to stop reading here).
( Wall o' text begins here )
I have been trying to prove things all year, and mostly for the wrong reasons. Right now, I need to prove, to no-one but myself, that I can cope on my own. That I can be self-aware and responsible and creative for nothing but my own amusement. I hope that, for once, this is a good reason.
This has been your late-night introspective rant, fuelled by red wine to which I may or may not be allergic. |
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| The circle of bells |
[Jun. 21st, 2009|09:12 am] |
I wrote this last night on the edge of sleep. It's not particularly good and a bit disconnected, because I was literally falling asleep when I wrote it, but here it is anyway.
Within the circle of bells I am filled with strangeness and the thoughts about people I cannot express
These bells - what are they? They ring above us in the grey light of every sky
They toll - telling, Describing places and names, inscribing them in air
I am not spoken for - I speak. My voice is a chime woven in melismatic chorus
Each word sounds a secret-hold, locked into broken earth, dissonant and unresolved
I hold against - precious and wicked, each piece I have known. Crystal-like, thousand-faced, not shattered, but shattering. Things hidden split within them - shards opened into spaces
Stood and standing, my hollow-self does not know bells
Her chime is charm-like, ringing into the head, bell-brought and known of no happiness but that which is instinctive - passion-like (which love in all its forms is made to name)
I am not spoken for but self-spoken
Life, unsung crafts its singers
- and I am one. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 17th, 2009|12:42 am] |
I had a fabulous day today (well, yesterday, technically, as of 42 minutes ago). A simple, pleasant, fun, good day, spent in the company of good friends (in person and then via the interwubs).
I am feeling good today - and generally improving in mood lately. More... Free? Independent? Strong? Alive?
I don't know. I'd like to make it last. I think I'll have a good day tomorrow too. And then Thursday. And then I'll be on a roll.
More thoughts later perhaps. Or possibly I will just drink beer.
I kinda like these holiday things. |
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| Something begins... |
[Jun. 14th, 2009|08:44 pm] |
I had been drifting in endless cloudform for a thousandyear-and-one, when I hit upon a word: quill. It stuck fast, and, where it held, formed a cliff-face with stone steps. I alighted there and moved upward on the new-made path; and that was how I walked the First Journey.
- excerpt from the Writings-of-Chalk-and-Stone (What Was First Read) |
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| Erwachte |
[Jun. 9th, 2009|10:29 pm] |
It is morning
and we move sluggishly swathed in the inexperience of nature
Dark circles anchor us to sleep - our dreams do not compel us to desire waking consciousness
It is morning
and the sun lights only a cold and distant world
Warmth does not reach our toes and fingertips encased still in the glassiness of yesterday's fatigue
It is morning
and we are embittered by a black sap that beats sweet-hot under our bark-rough, unshed skin in effigy of blood
A passionless energy drives us - bleak furnaces burning in hollow faces
It is morning
and lovers shift apart warm handprints soon forgotten
Skin is from skin removed - closeness broken by the ritual of waking
It is morning
and I see a beauty that belongs to no-one in the pauses and pulses
of the still-unstilled world beginning |
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| Head in a vice |
[May. 30th, 2009|11:44 pm] |
My brain doesn't work. Ever ever ever. I have been doing a lot and dealing with a lot. I will continue to be doing a lot for the following week and then suddenly everything will be finished and I will collapse into more of a quivering snivelling heap than I usually am. Anyway here are some song lyrics I wrote, which are not finished.
There is a tune for them in my head but no chords yet.
Enjoy. Or not. Whichever:
Left the decision far too late To tell if the right thing was mail or plate To protect my needs from the vision squared For the one I knew and the soul he bared
There's a bullet in my brain And I don't feel right Is the cat still screaming In the fire at night? Well, my hands get hot But my skin won't burn So the pain stagnates And I never learn
The only truth that I ever heard Was about how a spider could catch a bird But I swallowed the spider to catch the fly Me home with the birds, though I can't think why
There's an arrow in my eye And I can't see straight Are the brakes still screaming Can they take the weight? Well, they sharpened the blade But my skin won't turn So I just can't break And I never learn
In other news: My head hurts and I'm going to bed. |
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| Thingy things |
[May. 6th, 2009|10:04 pm] |
Trivial post!
Have been snowed under with uni, work, things, etc. Surprise. Anyway, I am currently working on a concept design project, wherein I and a partner have to break down a scene from a story we've been given and develop concept art for it - the story we have chosen is an excerpt from H Rider Haggard's 'She', which, by the look of it, I really need to read. Here are two speedpainty things I did in photoshop (discovering, to my delight, that I can in fact speedpaint), to get a feel for the colours and tones I want to use in these environments:


I kinda like them. Will be doing more of these. That's all for now. |
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| The words fall from my head |
[Apr. 23rd, 2009|11:46 pm] |
| [ | Tags | | | thoughts, writing | ] |
| [ | mood |
| | contemplative | ] |
| [ | music |
| | The Performer's Mask - Vince Conaway | ] |
Here is... something. There's a lot of strangeness here. Don't look too hard in it for meaning - it is mostly emotion, rhythm, and, well, nonsense. This is how the words fall when I do not hold them, pull them back, bind them up and burn what is not needed. Probably the most visceral self-expression I can give in words.
~
We carry them with us these modern spirits of wantslashneed carry them in our pockets and handbags heedlessly whither we go in used tissues the crinkle of plastic money, curled up tight in the tobacco of our cigarettes, abandoned in corners and another sip from the wine glass, clinging to our shaking hands.
We throw them into the fireplace with crumpled newspaper and roll them up in towels with the dirty laundry asleep they fill our thoughts in the folds of time and they are naked and nameless and screaming and this is how we define ourselves.
There is a period of self-flagellation my many, my
thousand lashes pin-sharp poison tongues biting into the skin of my back relentless, burning, clawing away my flesh in the shape, the form, they – where they pull free they leave handprints.
Thus marked we claw our eyes out for the birds and whisper 'Him, him. You. Love is the bearer, borne deathless, hollow-boned.'
We, he he falls asleep in corridors, doorways, subways ticketless and unmanned, pilgrim-like work late, wake early, when the dead arise they will integrate seamlessly into the population.
Chalky dead-living filth under my fingernails from the skin of every person I have ever touched and you wonder why I am so afraid.
I clamp my tongue choler rising instead to fill the space between myriad names they are
ungraspable, they witness and fall fountained black bile ink-like wrenches them into unforgiving being and voices are thousand and thousand screaming in chorus, an echoed echoing vision.
I thus marked I bite my tongue, bloodied burying words in sand for the birds, the birds, smile and whisper 'Borne in it we are defined deathless, bright, hollow-boned. Love, love. Love is the bearer'.
~ |
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| Snowsong |
[Apr. 7th, 2009|12:38 am] |
I have no useful words today. Here are some I prepared much earlier, on a snowy day in Nozawa Onsen. They help keep me calm and clear-headed on fuzzy days. I hope you like them.
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The cold air is never still here - it is tempered with the quickness and sharpness of those whose lungs it fills - scurrying along narrow streets and exhaling vapour.
Thoughts fill the air like snow flurrying, fluttering swirling, unique, and meaningless.
Our heads are only clear when the sun strikes a path - arrow-fallen - into the valley below.
Clarity is a brief, pure tone in white pitch-bright and sun-sounded until the clouds close and soft thought-fall returns.
The world is muted grey-white - our shadows, half-forgotten and cowardly like untruths, follow us through the ice-feathered pines.
We rise slowly to the mountain heights and unveil deceit, beginning our descent wraith-quick, scattering down the slopes.
A crow catches the ghost-trails we track across the mountain face - catches them in his beak and weaves them into songs.
Our shadows, too, are caught for a spell frozen, inhaled made into nests to hold half-formed ideas carried by the wind.
We leave them behind in the white-grey cold, steam rising from our shoulders and hands where the snow-thoughts touch on our bare skin.
Without shadows our tongues become stone shrines to silence
We do not speak, but listen to a song-sharp language, unknown, yet familiar
We taste its words soundlessly and the wandering downward paths of thought ring like frost-hung bell-tones in our minds. |
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| Just smile and nod. (She can be a bit slow sometimes) |
[Mar. 11th, 2009|08:57 pm] |
So for those of you wondering about my previous post, I just had a bad day yesterday. I was working on something out at uni and it took longer than expected and didn't go as planned, and, overall, came out looking not as good as I had hoped.
I was tired and then I forgot to eat dinner and it all piled up and I got frustrated and upset. And then I got more frustrated and upset because this time it only took me 9 days to go from 'optimistic about the new semester' to nervous wreck. I don't want to be stressed, but it's just the way that I deal with things. It's not a good way of dealing with things, but it happens that way anyway. I am trying to change this, but it won't happen overnight.
At the moment I think I'm still getting used to working 16 hours a week, plus 14 hours of timetabled classes and 20 - 25 hours of study, as well as 7ish hours of fencing training. And then there are social events and general hanging out or occasionally even relaxing.
Oh, and sleeping. I do have eight hours timetabled in every night, but I'm not quite getting all of that.
I'm still suffering from uni course doubts. I know I'm not in exactly the perfect course, but it's the only one that covers a) multiple interests, and b) the industry I want to go into.
So that's all. Just balancing a little precariously at the moment. |
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| Not dead |
[Mar. 4th, 2009|10:19 pm] |
Just making excuses. Creativity fail, I know.
Um um. Lots to think about at the moment. Sorting myself out for uni etc. Starting at new job tomorrow. Lots of hours. Hope I don't crumple.
Starting a band. Getting software and equipment.
Class readings, lots of study to do. Musn't neglect homework and assignments. It's what my Sundays are now officially for. Since I do fuck-all else on the last day of the week.
Maybe less uni social stuff this semester. Maybe less social stuff all around.
I'm a bit jittery, excited about some things, but frustrated and annoyed about others. On and off. Trying to manage things, trying to not get worked up about things going sideways and pear-shaped.
I need sleep though. Sleep now.
GON OUT BACKSON BISY BACKSON D. H.
PS if you get that reference then you're as childish as I am. |
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