My boyfriend gives the most bestestest hugs. I was sad and I needed a hug and I got one and it was ahh.

This week has been not good. As was last week. I’ve been able to see him for hardly any time whatsoever and that time has been with others so it’s all like raaa. AND EVERYTHING IS SO FRUSTRATING!!!! asdfghklll!j492809)(*.

But I love Sarahface and Edface and Oliveface and Alexia… bum. :)

This is such a teeny-bopper post. I’m sorry. Sorryyy.

I don’t particularly like sleep.
Well no, I do. I enjoy sleeping well enough but the idea of it is something I can’t fathom. The simple feeling of lying in the darkness with the curtain drawn across skies that are undoubtedly beautiful. There is world passing out there and you’re willing to close your eyes against such things? It’s not insomnia if you’re unwilling to fall asleep.

I also find it amazing… can’t comprehend… nothing ever goes backwards. Nothing. Ever.
Time only ever continues. People keep moving forward – you might end up where you started but only because that place or circumstance has moved as you have. Maybe not with you but it has still been moving. Perhaps your paths crossed more than once. Perhaps it happened a lot.

Anyway, I’m moving off point. I just don’t understand why sleeping has to take so long when the day and the night… the lights and colours and shadows and characters waiting to be explored are waiting for you. The world doesn’t stop just because you shut a blind against it.

And also… how the hell can the world’s surface hold so much guff on it. I mean, I myself, a fifteen year old girl with hardly any life experience to date (kind of bullshit but you know what I mean…), I can barely hold all my own emotions inside of me. They spill over. All the time, like now. Through words and song and via tears – I have to overflow because I can’t contain so much pain or happiness or anything. But the world… it has so many people on it. So many people that are all the main characters in their own stories. They all feel just as much as I do. More. Differently. In different places with different extras of their own. Hell, I’m an extra as well in the big movie called “Life”. It’s inconceivable. And beautiful. I love this place, this planet. I love everything on it because we are all intertwined. Every single person – teenagers, clowns, mums, dads, biologists, murderers… everyone, everything, every tree, every brick of mud or clay, every blade of grass. How is it that we all see the same sky? Feel the same rain, the same wind, the same sun. how can that be? We all dance to the same rhythm… but then again, we’re all individuals. No one is the same as anyone else. How is it then that we shun “races”? we categorise, as a people, things that are foreign. But who the hell should decide what’s foreign?! Now I’m getting angry and this was supposed to be a nice philosophical piece of writing. So I’ll end it here.

Sorry for ranting so thoroughly.

Last week I began a journal again… But it’s kind of amazingly boring. Excruciatingly so. It’s strewn with the noneties and normalities of socially active teenager. News of proposed parties. Sex and debauchery. Good music. Friends…

If it was a script for a soap opera or something else similarly gross, it would be great. But it isn’t. It’s just boring. My writing used to be so intense… In a way I miss that. I’m not going to say I miss the darkness because I don’t. I miss the creativity. The fact that everytime I sat down to write, I would and I would mean everything I said. I’m so happy now though. Superficialities may have their highlights indeed… but I want some depth. I want a muse. Some form of inspiration so I can create again. Something other than these stupid little paragraphs that sound like I’ve sat here with a dictionary and pulled shit out of my arse.

Don’t get me wrong though. The other day, I was looking around, mentally taking pictures of everything when I realised just how blissful my life is becoming. I’d like to take this opportunity to throw in an Iron and Wine quote - My friends, they are jewels.

;)

boardface asked: I just watched this show on TV 'Destination New Zealand' and it was all about Dunedin and Otago :)
Looks prettyyyyyy

:D
It’s amazing. Seriously. I walk home after school and stop every five minutes and soak up the view as much as I possibly can because it’s so breathtakingly beautiful.

:) :)

The Steward Of Gondor.

atonyharrisonoutrage:

Home is behind
The world ahead.
And there are many paths to tread.
Through shadow,
To the edge of night
Until the stars are all alight

Mist and shadow
Cloud and shade
All shall fade
All shall…fade.

 I always sing this song, it’s so beautiful. I love when he sings it in the film, it’s such a moving scene. I used to watch Lord of the Rings when I was in Aus, missing New Zealand and I’d see the landscape and cry but feel better about being so far away.

Is it necessarily a bad thing that I’ve realised I’m not happy with being content?

Why is it that I believe myself above such normalities as mediocrisms…?
Why do I have to be in the depths of darkness, hidden by thick shadows, or otherwise soaring like some kind of addict above clouds of all kinds?

Over dramatised, exaggerated realism…

There’s this awkwardly present feeling in the pit of my stomach. Like… anticipation almost, although I have no idea what I’m expecting. I’m expecting change… an upsurge of comfort. I feel like some time in the near future, a rug, the colourful rug I’ve happily, blissfully been standing on for the last few months will be yanked from beneath my not-so-unsuspecting feet.

This is not good.

boardface asked: Why 'black creation'?

well… for starters, I plan to display some of my writings on my tumblog, and then paired with the fact that most of it’s full of darkness, it just seemed a suitable name. Also I’ve noticed a trend in the patterns of my writing; when I’m feeling dark and cloudy, words flow from my mind at unimaginable knots ;) But when I’m happy, I can’t seem to write a thing. (Hence the lack of recent updates.)

Lol, I’d return the question but I’ve heard the answer a few times :P

I don’t have much experience with bliss… but I have a fair idea of what it might feel like. And this… this is pure, uninterrupted, amazingly real bliss.

“The Forsaken Book”

Now I’ve regularly began writing this book - from the middle of course - about an art student who gets a kind of scholarship exchange to do art at a school in a beautifully small town. I’ve forsaken it an hundred times or more due to it’s more than apparent resemblance of Twilight… the love interest sometimes known as Andrew/Robert/John/anything else that crossed my mind - doesn’t breathe anymore ;)
He was a guardian of the estate that Eleanor/Scarlette/Willow was staying at and somehow it tied in that he used to be the gardener when the estate belonged to her dead Great Aunt.

So I refer to said book as forsaken for a reason, most obviously, it’s a shitty idea in more ways than one. The complicated plot I yearn to create just didn’t exist in this context.

Anyway, the point is that I often write scenes involving the characters. Because… These characters still have my heart though, no matter what name they may go by.

Follow up. I wrote it thismorning.

Everything seems so unimportant. So empty… but the emptiness is everywhere. It’s every day.

I go through the motions of getting ready for school – the firmly planted routine. On the outside I suppose I’m cool and calm and distant. How wrong the world is.

I had bad dreams last night. I dreamed of the one who I had tied so securely to myself – but without their knowledge. Surely someone can’t be oblivious to such attentions though. Surely he flinches every time I lob my energy at him from overseas… but maybe he thinks it comes from somebody else and he might think that that’s the answer to his dreams. In mine last night, I’d said to him I’ve been dreaming of you for so long. And he whispered in my ear me too.

First writing post :)

This afternoon’s trivialities still flew lightly through my mind as I waited for the bus. I felt oddly superficially contented listening to the shifty old lady beside me humming tunelessly.

Self-conscious as always, I clomped onto the bus. The boy was impeccably dressed. He had those thick-rimmed glasses on, paired with a perfectly tailored black and white blazer and black jeans shrouding his thin legs. I almost stopped to gawk – instead, I walked as elegantly as the suddenly moving bus would allow. This boy was beautiful and so damn familiar. The way he walked, they way he held himself, everything reminded me of somebody else. Someone far away from me in more ways than one. His gaze that slid past me, through me was imprinted on my eyeballs and threatened to smash my ill-repaired heart.

It’s not the same boy.

 I sat down and stared out the windows, at the back of his neck, and at my feet kicking the heater clad in black-leather lace-ups. School shoes. I had felt his flattering look of appraisal roam over me but I might’ve imagined it. My fingers tingled as I thought, not of the boy in front of me, but of the reason for my current state. The boy that lives far away. I closed my eyes on my tears. I don’t cry in public.

Make-over.

I’ve decided to give my blog a makeover. I’m going to use it to display and share my writing and things that inspire me. It’s not always going to be serious and a lot will be diary exerts - but I always write as if to an audience. Never fear. I hope you like it.