Wednesday, September 29, 2010

A Moment Through Her Eyes.

Introduction to Audio and Video Editing. That would be the title of the class that I'm sitting in at the moment. It's a long period day, so we typically sit here for about an hour and a half, wasting time. Giggling and getting shouted at by the teacher for our shenanigans. Or rather, "People in the front row, please be quiet!" I'm sitting in the second row. /shrug.
We have a substitute today. Our instructor is at the hospital, sitting with his wife who just gave birth to his... third child? I believe.

It's cold in here but my face is really hot. I either have a fever again or the emberassment that was my last class is still running its edge off. We had to pull together a script and act out a seven to ten minute long play. The assignment was given to us last week but due to different little things, we had only been able to even discuss our plans together twice. Both times, well. We didn't exactly do much as far as productively speaking.
When it was our turn to go up, I opened, setting up the scenes, etc. "The Solar System that we know now has failed. Earth has died and Saturn is the only remaining planet in our known system that still flourishes with life. Every four years, the queen brings forth a group of select visitors..." It was shoddy and jumbled because my teacher's husband had come in and was starting up his computer as I spoke. The noise was distracting.
Excuses, excuses~.
We ended up failing horribly. Well, in my eyes, at least. I dropped my accent halfway through, simply because I couldn't stop laughing. Two out of the three guys in my group were literally crying from laughing so hard. Every time I mustered a straight or otherwise in-character expression, it was dashed away by Shaniel's gibberish language. The spoon, too, couldn't fail to bring me into a fit of giggles. I was directing people, pulling them into the scenes with a flash of my eyes or a not-so-subtle wave of my arms.
At least the class enjoyed it.
"Tyrone, I love you!" They embraced. Students literally slid onto the tops of their desks and leaned in to hear better and see if they would kiss.
As poor as our acting was, I suppose I'm proud enough. Mrs. Gage titled me the "Puppet Master" because I was 'pulling the strings of the group.' It was amusing to hear her pull up a very old and long-buried nickname of mine. Nostalgic, almost. Eh~. And again, at least we portrayed what we were supposed to. Some of the groups sort of.. strayed, if you can call a complete miss that much. Amusing, amusing still, they all were~.
We actually thought one of the plays was about a student x teacher relationship, until they clarified at the end that the boy had actually been playing both parts with little distinction between the two.

The class was Theatre, if you haven't picked up on that yet.

Before that, what did I do~? I think I slept through Economics for the same reason that I'm blogging in the middle of Audio-Video. All too caught up with no busy work to toss my way. Hm, and before that was Astronomy. We did station work. The entire chapter is on Telescopes, which inevitably leads to a lot of Galileo this and Galileo that. Some Newton here and there. My point being, I did a project on Galileo the first two weeks of school for the same class. Again, I'm al too caught up.

Is school really this boring when you're actually doing your work? And I thought it was grueling before...

I've been tired lately. Tired all of the time. I partly blame it on my house--there's something about it that makes your eyes heavy. The dim, natural lighting, the cool leather couch... I'm tired just thinking about it. And yet, when I go to my room at night, I'm wide awake but I know that I can't just go back in to flick my computer back on. This morning, I woke up an hour too early. Went back to sleep, then woke at 4:25. Showered and returned to my room, where I slept for another hour or so. Woke at 6:10. Got dressed and laid on the couch, half-asleep for another twenty minutes.

-- Gods -damn- it. Do you know what is tirelessly annoying? When someone texts you. Twice or thrice a day. "Hey" No puncuation, nothing else. No "are you busy?" or anything of the sort. Just. "Hey" Repeatedly. Every day for the past week or more. And I don't even -respond!- Please, please tell me that you would get the hint after a while? Leave me alone, boy! I'm not going to respond. =u= --

I lost my train of thought... Are you ever tired? Tired emotionally, physically? Maybe it's jsut more so as of late because I've been unwell.

Je souhaite que je pourrais parler français. Je peux comprendre, sinon la plupart, quand la lecture de elle et de moi peut indiquer les mots assez bien, mais l'I can' ; t le parlent. It' ; s le plus ou moins même pour l'Espagnol, seulement je peux parler un peu de lui aussi bien que le comprends. Deux ans de valeur des leçons et moi pourraient très probablement seulement vous indiquer un marché ou dire qu'un femme a un mauvais travail de colorant.

Ah, thank you babelfish for that awful translation. (Does it not recognise conjunctions? Apparently so.)

Oh, oh, oh! It is time for an extremely uncharacteristic nerdgasm. Prepare for emoticons and rambling and possibly poor grammar.

Finally! OuO Finallyyy, I have a tablet again. My old one was uber tiny and didn't pick up on the pen tip when I stabbed at it half of the time. Rest its poor soul but be damned, I have a new one! OuO It was cut down to 89$. I was a psycho and paid like... 20$? Speed shipping. So that I could have. Right then and there. So now! Now, now, now, I have to practice--which I plan on doing as soon as I get home ouo--and I will fcking -own- that amasing little piece of machine! And I will pump the best damn commissions that any of you ahve ever seen! And Alanna/Vixen will color them for me and I, I, I--I can't wait! @u@ It's an Adesso Cyber Tablet, Model 7... something or other. It is. So. Pretty. I love it. ouo Lanna gave me a link to download some.. Gimp. Or whatever. Some free program that's supposed to be like Photoshop--because no one really -buys- Photoshop--and gahhh, this means that we can actually work more on our projects now and finally our comic won't seem so distant and. /fizzles.


You know? The funny part of it all is that I don't even -like- to draw that much. I do it and it passes time. It's a way to get my name out and a small source of income, but other than that, I honestly.. Well, I hate it. Not so much that I'm disgusted by the thought of it, but... I think that the reason I enjoy drawing --when I do-- is because it helps me to release some of the things that are birthed in my skull. If I had no way to let some of this clusterfuck out of my brain, I would most likely be even more insane than I already am.
Now, when I say insane, let me define that word a little bit. To me, insane and eccentric, they all mean a different way of thinking, if you get down to the bone of it, right? To me, when I trigger myself with a label like that, I'm noting on the fact that I do not think in what is deemed a "conventional" way. All of us are a little bit wacky, but not all of us are totally insane. And then, of course, there are those people that are quite literally blithering mad and so far lost into their out-of-the-box train that they can no longer be connected with the current. Or mayhap they can and we jsut don't know how to decipher it.

I think it is a stroke of genius to express a feather of madness.

Hamlet, Hamlet, Hamlet~. Do you think that possibly, he could have driven himself to madness while in the act of it? The death of his beloved Ophelia and the murder of Polonius. The fear in his mother's eyes in that scene which has made many coin him with an Oedipus Complex. The battles with those he had called friends and his father's ghost. I think I would have begun to tick a bit strangely at the moment my parent's tormented groans had come to me from below.

I'm reading Grendel by John Gardner. It's one fo those nifty volumes where you get to see from a fresh viewpoint, though you are told the same story. Personally, the shoulder-hacking of the Danes was not quite so much in my area of interest, but this book delves into a different philosophy each chapter. If you'll know anything of me, know that anything having to do with the psyche deeply interests me. Yes, there are points where I cringe but dearest, I am entranced when they mistake him for an oak spirit, his blood for sap. When he roars out his pains and he finds his own beliefs in the Dragon's words. Could you call this a coming-of-age tale? Mayhap, if you tilted your head this way and thus whilst you examined the plot.
" Balance is everything, riding out time like a helmless sheep-boat, keel to hellward, mast upreared to prick out heaven's eye. He he! (Sigh.) My enemies define themselves (as the dragon said) on me. As for myself, I could finish them off in a single night, pull down the great carved beams and crush them in the meadhall, along with their mice, their tankards and potatoes--yet I hold back. I am hardly blind to the absurdity. Form is function. What will we call the Hrothgar-Wrecker when Hrothgar has been wrecked?" Chapter 7.

I love it.

Question of the Day: Should I write book reviews? I move through them so fast and am left with no one to expend my thoughts on afterward...

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Break the Skin.

Exasperating. Exasperating and infuriating, at times. That is all that I could possibly sum it up to.

I can not tell you how long I had fought and attempted to return to my home--especially after I had actually found it--and then all but suddenly the very same people that had brought my here some years ago were leaving. As simply as that. In fact, they're most probably in their metal tomb of a vehicle right now, fleeing from this putrid state of existence. If they are not, they will be soon. With them, my two younger brothers sit, dragged along with my niece—a rotting apple if ever one had fallen from more dead a tree.

The entire reason that I am in this place now is leaving me here like a piece of spent tissue. How should I feel? How, how, how should I react to all of this? I am struggling and I am fighting for a wisp of air and they’re complaining that they have to live with a two-year-old. Do you know, for as long as I have comprehended the concept and mayhap just a bit longer, I have fed myself on the dream that some day I would be attending a college and controlling my life for myself? What a pleasant clutch it is to have when one can announce with security in their thoughts that they will some day become some one worth noting.
Because when you are eight and you have already realized that your life is swiftly being encumbered along with the dredge of society? That is when things have become bad. Have become worse than bad. That is when a child must take control or they will lose all good that could be waiting for them. That is when a child sheds that layer of innocence which keeps us so healthily moist and warm in our pre-pubescence.

College is a tricky subject. It’s difficult. You will either float or you will undoubtedly sink. Most traffic the latter of the options.

I think that what upsets me the most is just how much people seem to take their wealth for granted. Not monetary wealth, no, though that may be the case with a few. If we all had a million dollars each, oh what would we spend that precious sum on? Everything and anything? or perhaps as a dragon with glittering ruby scales would, we shan’t take anything more than our own, hoarding our personal wares, unkind and ungiving.

Before a blinking screen, this age is rapidly speeding by. Time is no longer the sluggish morn to eve schedule that it was hundreds of years ago. We wake—if we do wake at all—and travel, travel until our energy is wasted. There is no set clock, only hundreds and hundreds of blinking screens. They call us the digital age. I am trapped in my own era, hooked on an era behind mine and maybe even before that. When they belch or they growl out some hideous remark, I can only cringe. When they pull a fist of condoms from their pockets, I can only shake my head.
I am no angel and I am far from superior but why? It is pleasure. Everything is pleasure. We have become a distinctive philosophy; Nihilism. Nothing is real, nothing is worth anything unless it is built up of matter. God is dead, heaven is only a reaction to the stimuli fear. The only thing worth knowing is where to touch your mate to make them blush, to make them squirm. Society is only about what we can keep, what is our own. Is that why we focus so much on our image? I’ve said something that before.
“I don’t like material things!” So I focus on my physical self, my mental self. Because even when I have long gone, the only thing that will ever take that away from me will be the children of the earth. Her sons and daughters in their lowest forms. Perhaps I will be reborn as the very maggot that is brought up in my rotting corpse. Perhaps as I am devoured by a bird or a rat, I will return as the sperm that will become their offspring.

Sperm do not have souls…

To be driven and countered, as cattle to fate. Are we here to be eaten or are we here to eat?
What of our spirit if we step just once too late? Are we here to find the rhythm or fall to the beat?

Eggs. We begin in cocoons of something wet and smelly. The moment we are free, no longer restrained, our fascination dwindles then becomes disgust. As we come closer to dying, we despise anything that might resemble our birth. Yet, we produce, we produce. In factories with dust-filled columns of sunlight spilling into our vision, we produce our daily ventures. We produce vaccines for God’s touch. Why do we busy ourselves? Is it because when we are bored, we have time to think and we are afraid of our own thoughts?

Is it so horrible to feed our brains? We only use ten. The rest starve while those ten get fat on what is unnecessary.

What do the other 90 do while we push them aside, like the young man who killed his fellow students?

There was a shooting on the UT campus today. I came into the bathroom to wash my face. I realized I looked sicker than I felt, then tied back my hair. A girl came rushing in with tears in her eyes. Disregarding school policy and with little intent to hide herself, she dialed a number onto her phone. Her sister was her primary concern. I don't know if she was okay. I left without a thought.

Question of the Day: Are you afraid of what others are capable of? Anything in particular?

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Saturday, September 18, 2010

That's What You Get.

Let's see.

No free time to actually get a real job.
College is swiftly approaching.
Christmas is coming too...
Ah, and I'll have to worry about a car soon-ish!


So, I honestly don't have much more than a scanner
and some awesome .5 straight lead pencils.
But, that's better than nothing, right?

Do what you can with what resources you have on hand, I say~.

Simple pencil drawings? Psh. I can do that!

What's that?
"I said~ Why aren't you doing it, Rabbit!?"

Ahh, I'm getting on it now!! D:

I look forward to doing business with you!

Question of the Day: What is one instance where another
person's perceptions have altered your life?

Where Is Your Boy Tonight?

On that note~ continuing from my last blog...

Forgive me for the coarse language, but. What a dumb bitch.

What did I expect, though? This is the south. Analytical skills obviously fall behind knowing how to cut a cow up for dinner. Yes, yes. In the professional world, we will rarely please our client on the first try. However, I feel I deserve this opportunity to truly just tear her down. --Him, her; It's arguable as to what 'she' is. Apparently there's an Adam's apple involved..-- I think I would be wholly amused if she found this blog somehow.
Though, I almost doubt that she knows how to navigate the interweb...
She's been putting off uploading her ezine since the beginning of summer. Maybe I deserved a response such as hers, for I did truly only pull together that little entry in the culmination of two hours or less. Still. Easily enough, you could understand what was written? Yes, it was lacking certain plotted points. Details. Etc. But that was the point and the dolt didn't seem to be able to comprehend that.
I must have asked her countless times over the phone when we first spoke with each other. I wrote her emails and responses that were in plain, simplistic english. I even stroked her ego once or twice for good measure--because all employers like a lap dog right?--and still. I don't think I would be quite so upset and frustrated about this whole affair if not for the fact that she couldn't even respond to me. She had someone under different initials respond to my latest email. And they couldn't even use proper grammar?
The entire thing was unprofessional from the start. I'm seventeen and I understand that much.
Still, I acted as amiably as I possibly could have. Because it's the courteous thing to do.


What, I wonder, would mine so few viewers do if I were to purchase a book on proper etiquette and create little narrations of some sort instructing one on how to establish a respectable air in public or in a social situation? I could make it amusing and get help from the cherished Miss Lanna and so scandalous Rin~. Fenrir might enjoy lending me a hand too. Hum, hum, hum~ /taps chin.
Ha. And now I stray from the plotted course.

Question of the Day #3: What would you like to see from the british-accented--or maybe not so accented?--Rabbit in the future?

Purely Metaphorical Intentions.

Gently fading light peeked through the tangles of moss that hung from branches above. The waters pressed against the grassy bank as if they would shove it aside and swallow it up if only they had their chance. A sweeping fog came from somewhere beyond my line of sight, ever advancing, deliberate and ravenous. With it came a moist chill that seemed to seep into my flesh, eliciting the hairs there to prick up attentively. The uncertain colors of night drug invisible claws through the sun’s setting trails.
In that momentary pause where one song fades out to make room for the next and headphones dull to mere pieces of shaped plastic in your ears, I heard it. The something that sets you on your guard, not quite ordinary but not entirely threatening in its simplicity either. That something that coils in the back of your mind, feeding a strange paranoia that we’ve all experienced. It’s the something buried in our brains like a dragon sleeping in a cave, just waiting for us to stumble inside.
It was getting late, I reasoned, rather than accept so childish a fear of the unknown, and decided to depart.
As I stood up from the solitary bench, I gave the river one last lingering gaze. This was my spot, my place to think and to breathe, and that fact alone assured me of how foolish my unexplained apprehension had been. Rough rocks shifted under my sneakers, stressing to adjust to the sudden weight that gravity had forced on them. The area became less splintered farther down the path, trees grew closer together here and yet all pulled away from the beaten path I traversed.
Friends had told me it wasn’t safe lurking these hidden trails all alone, bottled up in my silence. Friends, family, others… All of them said the same things, over and over. A track forever on repeat. Was it so horrible that I thought my obligations lay not in their laps but closer to home, in my own hands? Why wouldn’t I come to this one place where I felt truly at ease?
“Demons grow in pairs,” I breathed, the air condensing at the base of my lips, forming a fleeting cloud of white which was swiftly battered away by a scoff. They had said that once. I couldn‘t remember who exactly. I never put much thought into it. Still, something was unsettling this evening, I had to admit. There hadn’t been as much to follow with my wandering mind--or maybe I was just more distracted as of late.
The boughs of an old trunk to my left seemed to quiver as I passed, unnoticed. Behind me, they swayed and creaked, strung along by invisible chains. In the quiet of another transition, the surrounding canopies rustled, shaken by turbulent winds that didn’t seem to reach my level. Some cultural sensation sang into my eardrums and I forgot the sound with his words. I bobbed my head with the beat, moving my lips to the syllables lazily. None of it stood out or struck me as odd.
I was oblivious. That is, of course, until something quite literally and physically struck me. I gasped in surprise, stumbling forward a few good steps. Pivoting on my heel, I found nothing behind me, and still I swore that it had been two hands that had pressed against my back. An enemy without identification clung at my soles, lurking out of reach. Then it happened again, still from behind me. I pivoted and there was nothing.
The dragon tucked away in my brain was beginning to stir, his presence a fiery haze dressed in a frantic heart’s beating. My eyes darted about the landscape, searching shadow after shadow for the missing assailant. All at once, everything that should not have been was animated, caught in some rhythmic dance. I couldn’t catch the beat, it was entirely random, and everything seemed as if it would lift into the night and flap away.
The goose bumps, the thumping in my chest, the ethereal performance of forced activity. Every element stacked onto the next and before the thought had fully crossed me, I was running full tilt, back to the bench. It had all gone wrong when I left, when I opened myself back up to this insanity, the chaos of this life. My headphones were lost in my sprint. There was no way of telling if they hung from my pocket still or if their shape in my farthest peripheral vision was actually the tail of a nameless monster. Drops of rain like molten lead slapped into my face, blurred each step ahead. I slipped. No, I tumbled.
I could see and yet I couldn’t. Whatever had pushed me, whatever had birthed my fear, surrounded my trembling frame. Beady balls of shimmering black glinted from behind the straggling vegetation. Those hands smashed into me, holding me down to the ground and swarming each side of me. I fought to stand, to crawl away. If only I had something to protect myself with. It grew cold. It was the coldest cold I had ever experienced and it whipped at me, wiping everything clean and coating it in white.
For a singular moment, I watched as my limbs were spent by a raw ache that painted my fingers a blistered black. The violent ink dripped up my arms. I screamed, scratching and rubbing away at it. My voice pierced whatever else had flooded my ears and it was all that I could hear. Howls of wild dogs, guttural snarls and distinct yaps mingled in my sorrow. The hands stopped. I crawled, grasping at whatever I could the moment I felt I could.
I was drowning in a river of oil. With each sheet of rain, another layer of my existence was cleaned away. I lost focus.
When I came to, a hurricane of voices whirred in my throat; they choked me so that nothing could come free of me. They circled with worry in their irises, concern pinching their brows. Relatives I was close to and relatives that I hadn’t seen in years. People I didn’t know and people I had known all my life. They were all here. With me in this obscure hour.
They spoke but there was no sound to be heard. It was all muted, nonsensical noise. Was it a horrible a dream or a long awaited nightmare that I was witnessing? I sank into the soil at their feet, my clothing shed in my descent. I lay in formal attire, a chic black, firmly pressed for just such an occasion. I could feel the weight of makeup on my cheeks, oppressing any fault in my appearance that there may have been. The beating of my heart was slower now, almost nonexistent and yet it overwhelmed my senses.
Progressively, I was emptying out. All that was left on the outside was a thin layer of paper skin and my insides were following suit. They stopped lowering me, leaning closer to inspect my visage. Who was this person that they buried with all but forgetfully dry eyes? Had I not struggled for them? Amongst them? How could they seem so collectively bemused? It was like they had never even known me at all. I was a sheet of parchment dried beside the river in a sea of burning sands.
I searched the tight congregation for some sign of familiarity but all I could see were skeletons as hollow as myself. Body after body, piling onto the next in a cycling genocide, down to the youngest spectator. They had no names or outstanding features. Adjacent to my tomb, at its very tip, stood the shadows that had danced and leapt at me. The dragon in my heart lay himself to sleep and all the universe lost my name in its sighing. Soil served as my final cleansing shower.
A distant baby‘s wail echoed in my cavernous skull, and one concluding flutter complained beneath the earth.

Question of the Day #2: Do you get it?

Girl, I Can Make You Feel Okay.

We can be horribly cowardly.

I’m speaking entirely in generalities, of course. But as a whole, don’t you agree?

The other day in my Theatre Arts class, a boy was speaking with me about… Goodness, I don’t even remember. To put it in simple terms, he was flirting and I was trying to evade the topic. When that failed, I gave him my true feelings toward dating. It was one of those moments when you know that you’ve felt something for a while now but you’ve finally found the words to express it. It has a name now.

I think dating is pointless. Now, now, hold on a moment. I’m not saying this because I’m oh so distraught and heartbroken or anything of the sort. Hear me out; why do I think that dating is pointless? Because ‘dating’ isn’t even an accurate term for the whole thing anymore. ‘Dating’ is an excuse that is widely used and sadly, accepted by many, if not all.

How nice it is to have someone to go to for physical warmth, to know that someone is thinking of you. We all crave something. ‘Dating’ is our excuse to dip our hands into the cookie jar without worrying about an escape plan. Maybe it’s only in high school. Maybe it isn’t. Maybe I’m somehow just not seeing the exceptions. But how much easier is it to jump to the words; “Well, we were dating for a month, so it was okay!”

Right, honey, and you were engaged too, right?

No one seems to actually date anyone anymore. I don’t even think people ask each other out anymore. It’s just automatically assumed when they’ve been spotted making out in the corner more than once. Hell, I can’t walk to class with someone without it being major headlines that Rabbit finally has a boy/girlfriend! And I don’t. But that doesn’t matter.

Why did the definition of such a common social term get lot in translation when we never swapped languages? Dating, at least to me, is when you ask someone to go somewhere. You eat dinner, you watch a movie, you spend time together with the sole intention of spending time with that person. What is it that they say in Texas… I’d never heard it before I moved here. It’s some ridiculous word for dating. A pet name or something.

Either way, all I see is a bunch of underage kids and their friends with benefits.

This blog hardly had a purpose beyond that short, distracted rant; Have some poetry.

Innocent Knowledge

She leaned forward to the tempting green

Only to fall back with a perspired sheen

The sun did not reach, too gone and tired

All of her frustrations so carefully misfired

Dampened by tears with the ache of time

Comes the woeful song she’s made of rhyme

Bells of the above ring, a sweet melodic gong

As all she’s known is suddenly, fretfully wrong

Trapped are her wounds; the blood of a martyr

Weakened, if only to be one moment smarter

Destiny has slain the once curious feline

Its graces no more than a smoothed brine

Out of the tunnel and high above her well

Stood her Father, the mistaken king of all Hell

“Forgotten, you are, my daughter,” he mourns

And the proverbial trial swiftly adjourns.



Crinkle thy reputable brow

Thou deigned demons of ‘how’

Turn up thy bloodied pig nose

And torment singular she of those--

Child of the mischievous Fae

Creatures of sinned night and day

Set her throat in an iron noose

And finally, finally cut her loose.



Question of the Day: What is the highest that your GPA has ever been?