Everybody has done something they regret. I know I have. Some people, it's only minor regrets, wishing you'd revised harder for a mid term assessment, a bad choice in hair, make up, or clothes. But a lot of the time the regret is a lot more serious to you, maybe not terribly regretful in someone else's eyes, but in your eyes it makes you ashamed.
I've just realised how much I regret one thing in particular, I should have been regretting it for months now. I went against my own morals for someone else and it just hit me today how sick it makes me feel. My stomach is turning, and I'm just so angry at myself. As this blog isn't anonymous I'm not going to post exactly what it is I regret, but I can still talk (i.e vent) to you about this feeling of regret.
Yes, I do have minor regrets, only they're very minor. I tend to try and live for the moment. Emphasis on the 'try'. Unfortunately, I'm the kind of person who will always, always, dwell on the past, no matter how hard I try. I find it incredibly hard to let go of emotions I feel at certain points in my life because I naturally want to cherish them, no matter how painful or upsetting they are. I only let them go when another emotion replaces it on reflection, and lets face it, sometimes the emotions brought on by reflection can be even worse than the original emotions in the first place.
I tried to let go of some very painful emotions today, and all I felt afterwards was shame. I'm incredibly ashamed of what I allowed myself to do under the influence of another, it went against my morals, and for now at least, I feel truly disgusted in myself.
I'm going to try and wash myself clean of the whole affair. Literally, I'm going in the shower now.
P.S: Don't worry, it isn't anything illegal that I'm regretting, just things in general that I allowed myself to be influenced into doing :)
Tuesday, 8 November 2011
Thursday, 27 October 2011
I 'hate' you
First off, let me say that I don't like to think that I 'hate' anything, hate is such a basic word that because of its simplicity, makes a bigger impact than more complex words, such as 'resent'. I resent things. I resent some people. But I don't hate. I'm not a hater, I like to think I'm above that.
But you know what ticks me off, annoys me to the bone? When people say they 'hate' something with no good reason, they hate a band, they hate some people, and yet they can't justify it. The people who I see do this most, especially towards people, are girls. Specifically, the friends of girls who have just gone through a breakup. Young couples break up, and you're never going to find true love at sweet 16, that's pretty much a fact nowadays, and a lot of the time couples will break up because it isn't working. That's fine, that's nothing to hate each other for. You may be upset (girls, I'm talking to you) but he was probably honest and decent about it and it'll work out better for the both of you in the long run, who knows, you could even end up being friends. But don't listen to your friends when they say that they 'hate' him for splitting up with you; that is not even a halfway decent excuse to hate someone. Like I said, if it wasn't working, then it was better to split up than keep at it, there would be more pain in the long run.
But what if the boy (lets face it, it's easier for me to write this from a girl's perspective, much love for the few lads who read this blog <3) had been a complete ass in the relationship, not putting any effort into making it work, dragging the girl along to be there when he pleased and not when she pleased? What if he had started physically or mentally abusing her, before getting fed up of her and then dumping her? That, my friends, is when it's Ok to hate someone, when they've been a complete and utter disgrace to their sex.
Remember, dumping someone by itself is not a bad thing. Treating someone like an object or toy or something without a real unique identity (just another girl friend/boy friend) is. Hate them for that.
Or, even better, resent them.
But you know what ticks me off, annoys me to the bone? When people say they 'hate' something with no good reason, they hate a band, they hate some people, and yet they can't justify it. The people who I see do this most, especially towards people, are girls. Specifically, the friends of girls who have just gone through a breakup. Young couples break up, and you're never going to find true love at sweet 16, that's pretty much a fact nowadays, and a lot of the time couples will break up because it isn't working. That's fine, that's nothing to hate each other for. You may be upset (girls, I'm talking to you) but he was probably honest and decent about it and it'll work out better for the both of you in the long run, who knows, you could even end up being friends. But don't listen to your friends when they say that they 'hate' him for splitting up with you; that is not even a halfway decent excuse to hate someone. Like I said, if it wasn't working, then it was better to split up than keep at it, there would be more pain in the long run.
But what if the boy (lets face it, it's easier for me to write this from a girl's perspective, much love for the few lads who read this blog <3) had been a complete ass in the relationship, not putting any effort into making it work, dragging the girl along to be there when he pleased and not when she pleased? What if he had started physically or mentally abusing her, before getting fed up of her and then dumping her? That, my friends, is when it's Ok to hate someone, when they've been a complete and utter disgrace to their sex.
Remember, dumping someone by itself is not a bad thing. Treating someone like an object or toy or something without a real unique identity (just another girl friend/boy friend) is. Hate them for that.
Or, even better, resent them.
Friday, 21 October 2011
See! I can draw! Kind of...
I think I mentioned this in my opening blog post, but I do like to dabble in drawing every once in a while. Admittedly, I'm not the best at drawing, but its something I enjoy and I have improved on since I started. Well, I thought I'd take you through the process I go through to get a picture done. No, this isn't a tutorial, this is done through days worked on the picture. So, without further ado, I present to you the making of Beneath the Surface (obviously didn't take inspiration from the Dream Theater song ;P)
Day 1- Sketching and Line Art
I tend to chose a pose from Posemaniacs, a really great website recommended by art students and illustrators alike to make sure that you get your proportions as close to reality as possible. I tend to add my own twists to the poses depending on the character. For example, Lila is a quite athletic character with small breasts in comparison to the model on the website, so you do have to adjust things accordingly. Then you clothe them and line them so that the scanner can pick up on every detail you want clear, and I tend to add little notes there and then on the picture, just to remember everything. Although, as you'll see towards the end, I will stray away from these notes. A lot.
Day 2- Basic colouring: Body and Clothes
I'm a very messy colourer. You know when you're told as a child to colour inside the lines? Well, I was always the one who coloured way too far over the lines then rubbed them out afterwards to make sure that I got the colour everywhere I wanted it and more. I also have a habit of colouring skin darker than it will be in the final picture. It just gives me a wider spectrum of colours to use for shading I guess. As you can see in comparison to the Day 1 sketch, I'm already playing around with the line art and adjusting it so that it looks better. Also, I always got for a background in a colour a world apart from the other colours I'll use in the picture. I know, I know, purple is quite close to pink...But they're still very different colours!
Day 3- Tidying up the lines, detail, and more skin.
You see, if I had started keeping the lines prim and perfect earlier, then I might have missed out little sections of colour. Believe me, it would be just my luck to miss something like that. I added a woolen texture to the cardigan by crisscrossing rapidly over the layer, different sections of crisscrossing for different sections of the cardigan. I think it's quite effective myself, but bare it in mind that this is the first time I've really attempted to add texture to clothing...Normally I have a habit of trying to pass off all fabric as silk or cotton. whoops :') Also, getting started on the neck, putting in the basic shadows and shapes.
Day 4- FACE.
Lets not focus on the hands for a moment. They're just there to be there at this point. But yes, the face! It isn't even finished in this stage, I adjusted it later on anyways. I always put the coloured features: eyes, lips, and blush, on a separate layer so that they wont be effected when I start adjusting the skin tone- lets face it, those eyes are light enough as it is. As for the other facial shading, I finally figured out how to do it properly (kind of) with this one. It's so glaringly obvious now that I think about it. All it is is putting highlights in the same manner as you would make up. So L shape on the cheek bones, a few lines on the forehead, chin, nose, and corners of the mouth. I feel so stupid now.
Day 5- Hands, Face, Skin and Hair
So first off I realised how unhappy I was with the nose of the last picture, it looked incredibly flat and, well, it just wasn't very well done. So I got the help of my friend who studied art to give me a lesson in nose drawing, and viola! Decent nose! Then comes the hands. No-one can help me with hands, and even now they look incredibly stupid, I'm definitely not happy with them, not one bit. It's getting the shape right that's the problem! But once I was (very loosely) satisfied with the hands, I could finally start adjusting the skin tone- See how the facial features stand out better now? After the skin tone comes the hair. Honestly, that's my favourite part of drawing people, doing the hair!
Day 6- Click here for the final piece :P
Yes, I'm doing a cheapskate 'go here for the rest of the story' thing. So shoot me :P
Day 1- Sketching and Line Art
Day 2- Basic colouring: Body and Clothes
Day 3- Tidying up the lines, detail, and more skin.
Day 4- FACE.
Day 5- Hands, Face, Skin and Hair
Day 6- Click here for the final piece :P
Yes, I'm doing a cheapskate 'go here for the rest of the story' thing. So shoot me :P
Thursday, 13 October 2011
Fan fiction for....English Language homework?
Yes. We got asked to basically write fan fiction for our English Language homework. Technically, we had to pick a book we enjoyed and add an imagined extract to it in the author's style of writing to prepare us for our coursework, where we have to imitate a writer's style and produce a commentary on it. Anyway, I chose Anne Rice's Interview with the Vampire, enjoy!
The vampire looked down at the boy’s limp form, a smile lacking of any real humour crossing the rose of his limps. The luminous green of his eyes focused on his lifeless body for a second, before flitting to the tape, reels still turning slowly. He could hear them. He could feel them. He settled back in the chair where he had sat all night, as if nothing had happened, and cleared his throat.
“You see, there was one thing I forgot to mention. Well, not forgot, but simply neglected. There was a long gap of time between tonight and my parting with Armand. I say a long time, it simply feels like the slow ticking of a clock to me, a day an hour, an hour a minute, each minute a second. But I suppose it has been a while, well over twenty years I do believe…How time flies when you’re having ‘fun’”
He paused for a second, as if expecting the boy to stir and interrupt. Another short, slightly exasperated intake of breath before continuing.
“Now, it was one or two years after Armand and I took our leave, and I came across one of the most curious things when I was stalking the streets. I didn’t care to feed that night, I had left early and sated my thirst. It was unusually quiet for the time, midnight was when the latest generation of drunks and vagabonds tended to flood the streets after a hard night on the ale or wine, or whatever took their fancy. I was going nowhere in particular, following in the footsteps of my feet before me, when I heard the most achingly familiar noise. The streets were narrowed and winding, the sound resounded off the stone walls that surrounded and towered above me, house built upon house built upon house. It was the sound of a child crying, a little girl crying. The scent was fresh, and I was filled with the aching of a longing which I had numbed for what felt like a millennia. I followed the sound of loneliness, and for once I felt the naivety of what once had been, the aloofness of my youthful days return. My legs began to ache with the effort, pacing through the winding, desolate backstreets, the smell of rot and scum and a long forgotten death flooding my senses. But then there was the sweet, powdery smell of youth, the aching wails of a small child, it encouraged me, it made me stronger, more alert more…alive.”
He shook his head at the irony, a low, hollow laugh passing through the flushed lips. The boy remained motionless on the floor, though his breathing was becoming audible. He would live.
“I found her eventually, hidden within one of the dozen crooked, neglected stone houses. The rotten stench of death twisted in the air with the torrents of thick dust that circled around with each step, fading as it settled. In the centre of the first room I came to was an aged chair, the fabric torn and mangled, the wood marred with chips, dints and scratches. The tiniest of footprints lay imprinted in the dank dust, reminiscent of the snow of a European winter, a painful memory. I could see the child quivering behind the chair, the worn, dull fabric revealing hints to her form: soft skin that glowed within the darkness of the room; dark hair, glossy and thick; one beady brown eye behind a curtain of curling lashes. For a moment, I had the strangest sense of déjà vu.
“ ‘Come out little child, I wont hurt you.’” I called, lowering myself onto one knee, the crisp black of my suit sullied by the white flecks of decay and waste that littered the floor. The child peeked around the chair, her heart-shaped face rounded and fearful, tear tracks caressing the flushed cheeks as my hand had caressed dear Claudia’s. The child paused for a moment, before rounding the corner and dashing to me in a clumsy way that almost took my by surprise, wrapping her soft arms around my neck. ‘I lost my mummy mister, they took her away and then they took me away.’ I didn’t say a word, but drew back to look into the dark brown eyes, wide with worry and fear. There was the ache for that softness, that warmth, that innocence to corrupt and steal, and the echo of reminiscence. With soft thick curls of dark bronze and skin pearly and peachy, she embodied that which I loved in Claudia. The sweetness, the purity, the plump, childish beauty. I could do now what I couldn’t Claudia. I could leave her, let her own life without the pain and torment that Lestat and I inflicted on the last innocent who crossed our paths.
“I stood and turned to walk away, but she held onto my trouser leg, the stifled sobs rising up again in the back of her throat, begging me not to leave her. I wanted to protect her, claim my past self by claiming this child for my own. But I didn’t. I shook her off and left her, as I should have done Claudia.”
The vampire rose slowly and looked to the window, the sun’s heat beginning to burst through the murky clouds that littered the New Orleans’ skyline. One long white finger stretched to stop the twisting reels of the tape recorder, another outstretched to grab a heavy overcoat and hat, to place over the slender shoulders and the slick black hair. Green eyes bore down on the boy once more, and the minimalist lines that formed the pale, stark skin shifted slightly into a wry look of pity. “It was wonderful to speak with you, I can only hope it wasn’t all in vain.” with that, the tall and slender vampire vanished from the room, the slamming of the door being the only indication that he hadn’t twisted into smoke.
The vampire looked down at the boy’s limp form, a smile lacking of any real humour crossing the rose of his limps. The luminous green of his eyes focused on his lifeless body for a second, before flitting to the tape, reels still turning slowly. He could hear them. He could feel them. He settled back in the chair where he had sat all night, as if nothing had happened, and cleared his throat.
“You see, there was one thing I forgot to mention. Well, not forgot, but simply neglected. There was a long gap of time between tonight and my parting with Armand. I say a long time, it simply feels like the slow ticking of a clock to me, a day an hour, an hour a minute, each minute a second. But I suppose it has been a while, well over twenty years I do believe…How time flies when you’re having ‘fun’”
He paused for a second, as if expecting the boy to stir and interrupt. Another short, slightly exasperated intake of breath before continuing.
“Now, it was one or two years after Armand and I took our leave, and I came across one of the most curious things when I was stalking the streets. I didn’t care to feed that night, I had left early and sated my thirst. It was unusually quiet for the time, midnight was when the latest generation of drunks and vagabonds tended to flood the streets after a hard night on the ale or wine, or whatever took their fancy. I was going nowhere in particular, following in the footsteps of my feet before me, when I heard the most achingly familiar noise. The streets were narrowed and winding, the sound resounded off the stone walls that surrounded and towered above me, house built upon house built upon house. It was the sound of a child crying, a little girl crying. The scent was fresh, and I was filled with the aching of a longing which I had numbed for what felt like a millennia. I followed the sound of loneliness, and for once I felt the naivety of what once had been, the aloofness of my youthful days return. My legs began to ache with the effort, pacing through the winding, desolate backstreets, the smell of rot and scum and a long forgotten death flooding my senses. But then there was the sweet, powdery smell of youth, the aching wails of a small child, it encouraged me, it made me stronger, more alert more…alive.”
He shook his head at the irony, a low, hollow laugh passing through the flushed lips. The boy remained motionless on the floor, though his breathing was becoming audible. He would live.
“I found her eventually, hidden within one of the dozen crooked, neglected stone houses. The rotten stench of death twisted in the air with the torrents of thick dust that circled around with each step, fading as it settled. In the centre of the first room I came to was an aged chair, the fabric torn and mangled, the wood marred with chips, dints and scratches. The tiniest of footprints lay imprinted in the dank dust, reminiscent of the snow of a European winter, a painful memory. I could see the child quivering behind the chair, the worn, dull fabric revealing hints to her form: soft skin that glowed within the darkness of the room; dark hair, glossy and thick; one beady brown eye behind a curtain of curling lashes. For a moment, I had the strangest sense of déjà vu.
“ ‘Come out little child, I wont hurt you.’” I called, lowering myself onto one knee, the crisp black of my suit sullied by the white flecks of decay and waste that littered the floor. The child peeked around the chair, her heart-shaped face rounded and fearful, tear tracks caressing the flushed cheeks as my hand had caressed dear Claudia’s. The child paused for a moment, before rounding the corner and dashing to me in a clumsy way that almost took my by surprise, wrapping her soft arms around my neck. ‘I lost my mummy mister, they took her away and then they took me away.’ I didn’t say a word, but drew back to look into the dark brown eyes, wide with worry and fear. There was the ache for that softness, that warmth, that innocence to corrupt and steal, and the echo of reminiscence. With soft thick curls of dark bronze and skin pearly and peachy, she embodied that which I loved in Claudia. The sweetness, the purity, the plump, childish beauty. I could do now what I couldn’t Claudia. I could leave her, let her own life without the pain and torment that Lestat and I inflicted on the last innocent who crossed our paths.
“I stood and turned to walk away, but she held onto my trouser leg, the stifled sobs rising up again in the back of her throat, begging me not to leave her. I wanted to protect her, claim my past self by claiming this child for my own. But I didn’t. I shook her off and left her, as I should have done Claudia.”
The vampire rose slowly and looked to the window, the sun’s heat beginning to burst through the murky clouds that littered the New Orleans’ skyline. One long white finger stretched to stop the twisting reels of the tape recorder, another outstretched to grab a heavy overcoat and hat, to place over the slender shoulders and the slick black hair. Green eyes bore down on the boy once more, and the minimalist lines that formed the pale, stark skin shifted slightly into a wry look of pity. “It was wonderful to speak with you, I can only hope it wasn’t all in vain.” with that, the tall and slender vampire vanished from the room, the slamming of the door being the only indication that he hadn’t twisted into smoke.
Sunday, 4 September 2011
Grief, and how it alters your perception of religion
Now as you may or may not know, I am a staunch believer in nothing. As in, I believe in no God, no heaven, no hell, and that there is no Devil. In other words, I'm an Atheist. Me and most of the internet, I know. I've believed in my none belief for a long time, probably five or six years now (which is a long time considering how old I am, and the fact that I used to go to Sunday School), and I've pretty much stood by that belief through thick and thin. There is no afterlife, and although the idea that people who do wrong in life will be punished in the next one is an interesting concept...It's just that. By my beliefs, religion is an invention of man, as is God, as is heaven, and as is the Devil because man kind simply cannot cope with his human instincts. We do 'sin', but it isn't our fault, we can't cope with the fact that we killed a man or that we upset our parents, we were possessed by the Devil, he gave us his urges to tease us. He leads us to temptation. We also cannot cope with the idea of losing our loved ones, they pass on into the afterlife where they will be happy, where we will reunite with them once more. I can understand why people believe that. Religion is a coping mechanism, but not one that I've had to or wish to turn to.
Well, recently, my view on this has changed a little. Not long ago, one of my closest friends passed away at just 15, weeks away from her sweet 16th. It was sad, incredibly sad, and my belief that there is nothing after life offered me no comfort. I want to believe that she is looking down on us, her friends and family, I want to think that she can still guide us and communicate with us because she cares, and can still care...But I can't, because I don't believe in the afterlife. When you're dead you're dead. And that belief doesn't help me in the slightest. Recently, it's hit me again that she's passed on (passed on being a phrase generally associated with the afterlife that I can't help but use) and I've been trying to communicate with her. Not your Ouiija Board and your sitting in a circle kind of thing, but sending her (and I know this is incredibly pathetic) messages through Facebook and Msn, because it gives me comfort that I'm sending some form of communication to her that can't be read by others. I know she can't read it, I know she never will and it hurts having to think like that, but I do because it's my belief and despite how much it wavers I'm stubborn and it holds fast. I can see why people turn to religion for comfort at this kind of time.
Anyway, I just posted this because I felt that this is something that I needed to say for myself, maybe give you a bit of insight into the personal beliefs of a hormonal teenage girl, going through her first real experience of grief.
Well, recently, my view on this has changed a little. Not long ago, one of my closest friends passed away at just 15, weeks away from her sweet 16th. It was sad, incredibly sad, and my belief that there is nothing after life offered me no comfort. I want to believe that she is looking down on us, her friends and family, I want to think that she can still guide us and communicate with us because she cares, and can still care...But I can't, because I don't believe in the afterlife. When you're dead you're dead. And that belief doesn't help me in the slightest. Recently, it's hit me again that she's passed on (passed on being a phrase generally associated with the afterlife that I can't help but use) and I've been trying to communicate with her. Not your Ouiija Board and your sitting in a circle kind of thing, but sending her (and I know this is incredibly pathetic) messages through Facebook and Msn, because it gives me comfort that I'm sending some form of communication to her that can't be read by others. I know she can't read it, I know she never will and it hurts having to think like that, but I do because it's my belief and despite how much it wavers I'm stubborn and it holds fast. I can see why people turn to religion for comfort at this kind of time.
Anyway, I just posted this because I felt that this is something that I needed to say for myself, maybe give you a bit of insight into the personal beliefs of a hormonal teenage girl, going through her first real experience of grief.
Thursday, 25 August 2011
GCSEs and the Grading System
The GCSE results came out today, and I was more than happy with most of them. 1 A*, 6 As and the rest of them Bs (let's just not go into what I got for AS German, it was very poor >.<!). But when telling some of my online buddies about my results, I realised something. They're American/Canadian, they have completely different grading systems, and they didn't know what was good or bad. So I translated them into Hogwarts Grades.
Outstanding= A
Exceeds Exceptions=B
Acceptable=C
Poor=D
Dreadful=E
Troll=F
As for A*? Well, you can just lump another O on there for good measure. As soon as I explained my grades like that, they understood. Maybe the Hogwart's grading system is Universal, because so many of us have grown up on Harry Potter or read it to your children, maybe it would be better if we just adopted this system of grading, just because it makes sense to the generation of Potter fans.
Plus, I think 8 Outstandings and 5 Exceeds Exceptions sounds better. It makes me feel like a wizard.
Oh, and us girls beat the boys again, they really need to step up their game!
Outstanding= A
Exceeds Exceptions=B
Acceptable=C
Poor=D
Dreadful=E
Troll=F
As for A*? Well, you can just lump another O on there for good measure. As soon as I explained my grades like that, they understood. Maybe the Hogwart's grading system is Universal, because so many of us have grown up on Harry Potter or read it to your children, maybe it would be better if we just adopted this system of grading, just because it makes sense to the generation of Potter fans.
Plus, I think 8 Outstandings and 5 Exceeds Exceptions sounds better. It makes me feel like a wizard.
Oh, and us girls beat the boys again, they really need to step up their game!
Sunday, 21 August 2011
I'm a pretentious A**hole
I've managed to get myself another summer project, this time entering a competition for Absolute Radio. All you have to do is write a project on something that you enjoy. Being stuck for ideas and deciding to do something a little bit different than most of the entrants, I decided to write mine about Progressive Metal, mainly focusing on my three favourite bands (Dream Theater, Opeth, and Pain of Salvation...If you didn't see Dream Theater coming up then you really haven't paid attention to the six posts that make up this terribly abandoned blog)
I decided to look back at what I'd written so far today before I did some more work on it (as I have a horrible habit of abandoning a project for weeks before returning to it) and couldn't help but laugh at how pretentious I came off as. In the first few sentences I had already slated 'romantic' song Grenade by Bruno Mars, and pretty much all of the Death Metal genre. Well done me.
I then go on to talk about how Progressive Metal has cojones. No real reason why I used the word cojones over the other words in my vocabulary, I just wanted an excuse to work cojones into my writing. At the same time I described Progressive music as being viewed as pretentious by many outside of the genre.
And if I'm entering a competition for a radio station that plays mainly mainstream and classic rock, then goddamnit I'm going to come off as a completely pretentious arse and do my 'pretentious' genre proud.
Fuck yeah.
I decided to look back at what I'd written so far today before I did some more work on it (as I have a horrible habit of abandoning a project for weeks before returning to it) and couldn't help but laugh at how pretentious I came off as. In the first few sentences I had already slated 'romantic' song Grenade by Bruno Mars, and pretty much all of the Death Metal genre. Well done me.
I then go on to talk about how Progressive Metal has cojones. No real reason why I used the word cojones over the other words in my vocabulary, I just wanted an excuse to work cojones into my writing. At the same time I described Progressive music as being viewed as pretentious by many outside of the genre.
And if I'm entering a competition for a radio station that plays mainly mainstream and classic rock, then goddamnit I'm going to come off as a completely pretentious arse and do my 'pretentious' genre proud.
Fuck yeah.
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