Hello!

In the five or so months since I last posted, I've discovered that I despise melodrama. That's why I'm about to purge my blog of it. I also feel like summarising my absence for some reason. But that will have to wait until later. I'm watching a movie =O

Proof that I think too much

"There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,

There is a rapture on the lonely shore,

There is society, where none intrudes,

By the deep sea, and music in its roar:

I love not man the less, but Nature more."

On the very top of the list of films that changed my life, I place 'Into the Wild'. The film (journey? Experience) opens with this quote from Lord Byron's 'Childe Harold's Pilgrimage', which I'm not familiar with, but now desperately seek out. Without ruining the story (because that is an unforgivable crime) I'd like to give a brief synopsis.It begins with young Christopher McCandless graduating from college, then throwing away the $25,000 he saved to explore America. The breathtaking scenery, fantastic characters Chris AKA Alexander Supertramp meets and the interesting take on camera angles and production all added up to make the second movie ever to make me cry.

By the time I had finished watching the mesmerizing two-and-a-half hours of the movie, I felt that life was just a complete waste of time. That may not sound like a good thing, but it proves just how powerful this movie is. I urge everyone to view it. Throughout the movie I found myself thinking, "This should be me! I want the things the Supertramp has. Perhaps I should just take off." In fact, by the time it was over and I'd recovered from my weeping fit, I had the strongest urge to bolt out my caravan door and see the world. But I didn't. Instead, I poured my heart out onto a pagev at one in the morning:

"I have found the meaning of life, and it is happiness. To find happiness - pure, idylic, perfect happiness - is what I know I must now strive for. But where can it be found? In everything I do there is a feeling that I am wasting my life, but what activity or person or place can I discover that seems worthwhile?

Perhaps happiness is in my head. Man never ceases to be unsatisfied, and I'm not foolish enough to believe that I'm so different. "Happiness" is a state of mind that brings contentment in everything I do. If I can't get to that place in my mind, then bliss is a lost cause. But does that mean that I should find fulfillment in mediocrity? I need to discover things, to explore, to 'live'. Cultural norms and niceties are holding me back. To be happy, I think I need to throw my life away, and just see what happens."

Conclusive proof that I must be institutionalized, before I hurt myself.

I Loathe the Despicable Lord Henry Wotton

Stop poisoning Dorian, you evil, evil man! Can't you see what it's doing to him? It is your fault that the boy is presumably immortal; you sewed the idea of eternal youth in his head, you abhorrent creature! However, your philosophies are terribly interesting and you have a wonderful sense of propriety.

I was just about to break down in tears when Dorian left Sibyl when she lost the ability to act. How could he do such a thing? Her loss of ability was a tribute to their love! She didn't need to be Juliet, or Beatrice, or Imogen because her own life was finally taking form. She was hiding in her poetry and plays, blinded to the world outside. But then Dorian showed up and cast away the veil, then found that he only loved the blind girl. The scene in the dressing room after Sibyl's epic failure was utterly heart-rending. Moreso than when I found out about her death.

Poor, poor Sibyl.

Oh, my! I'm not sure whether to rejoice or lament now that a hint of the supernatural has wound its way into Dorian Gray. On the one hand, it is interesting to think that the painting will age and show emotion, and eventually become a skeleton, while the picture-perfect Dorian Gray will remain youthful forever. I'm happy that Dorian is immortal, but I can see that his happiness won't last. No doubt he'll grow tired of youth and wish to grow old with his friends and probable future wife. He'll realise that, to rather awkwardly quote Stardust, "Youth? Beauty? None of it matters anymore; my sisters are dead!"

I only quoted that because I love Stardust too much.

I'm so enraptured in Dorian Gray. Can you tell?

I 'Get' Classical

Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray is just super. I have to say, the scene when Dorian lays eyes upon Basil's work and envies the painting profusely is just fantastic. I especially loved it when he said he would kill himself when he shows signs of ageing. Stupid Sir Henry tainting his porous mind ;__;

I also love the Duchess, for some odd reason. The scene at Aunt Agatha's (who I've taken a fast liking to) was simply lovely. I adored how Harry became so enconsced in his own speech that he didn't notice when he just started babbling.

To conclude, I love Dorian, and I love the Duchess. And Sibyl. Why, everyone is just unspeakably lovely. I don't particularly like Henry as a character, but he has some interesting philosophies and he links everyone together beautifully.

I can't wait for Henry and Basil to meet Sibyl at the theatre!

First truly classical book. Huzzah.

Losing My Motivation

Hey there, non-existant blog-readers. Haven't talked to you (myself) in quite a while. I'd like to say I was busy with exams, but I didn't study; I could lie and tell you I was out making the most of my life, but nobody really does that; I might just say nothing and continue with the post, but I'm going to tell the truth. I was on Zelda Universe.net, mindlessly skimming over the pages of idle, pointless chatter in the OoC Thread and everywhere else.

My two-year anniversary is coming up, and the summer holidays. I have to say I'm looking forward to both (the latter, infinitely more) but the first I find also a cause for contemplation. How has ZU changed my life?

I'm secretive. My parents don't know that I devote so much of my time (well, the process of writing, which I like to think includes conversation with others). They don't know that my fantastic marks in English don't come from the sub-par, meaningless time I spend in class, but from my perseverence in ZU's Dome and the Amphitheatre as a whole. Zelda Universe shaped my writing ability, undoubtedly, and for that I am grateful.

My parents don't know that I hide from the real world - the boring, disgustingly monotonous real world - in my writing. In there I can wisk away to somewhere so much more fun and exhilarating; somewhere that lets me forget that I have how many weeks of school left, or that I am sixty-eight years away from my expected age of death. In the same respect, however, RP'ing is much too demanding. Sometimes the world, is perfect, blissful, picturesque. I could be doing nothing with my friends, or on holiday, completely satisfied with my life, when the niggle of a waiting RP presses into my head. This is one of my biggest issues with ZU.

I'm lazy. Sometimes I just want to sit and watch television, read a book, or listen to music, but I can't, because some role-play I don't give a damn about needs me to post. I have to go and start up my computer, research someone's character I don't care about, then write something using the actions of only one charcter. Writing needs perspective from everyone; it needs flow, reality. To describe the actions of only one participant just because the other writer believes you are acting 'out of character' is aggravatingly frustrating. I couldn't care less about 90% of the characters I read, but trying to write without including them is impossible. Writing with them just leads to endless annoyance and confusion.

Off topic. Don't get me wrong. I genuinely did enjoy my two years here, but it's time to take the next step into the world of writing. RPs were like riding a bike with stabilizers: safer, more controllable, but ultimately a deflated experience. Writing a novel, a novella, a short story or anything that uses the mind in its complex, creative, unstabilized brilliance is where the real passion in literature lies. I will be so sad to put the fantastic experience of being a Councillor behind me, but I think it has to be done.

This sounds like a eulogy. Ironic, isn't it? Eulogies for a non-existant audience.

P.S. I'm feeling surprisingly emotional about this whole thing.

Flee to the skies we will,

Wielding word with unmatched skill,

Words of darkness, words of pain,

Walk this world I shan’t again.

I'm in love with the poetry of ZU's Preservoir. Dark, brooding and oh so emotional, it is inspiring (and heart-rending) just to read. Mulling over P.'s latest effort (the fantastic Starless Country) set me in the mood for writing poetry of my own, so I flicked into my little book of writing, and found a half-finished piece of blank verse. I feel so inspired by P. that I'm going to stop blogging now, and start writing poetry. Wish me luck!

The Darker Side of Inspiration

Here's a little tip, never go to see someone as talented and creative as Jonathan 'Juke' McErlean in an improvised AS Drama production. You will be captivated, enthralled and ultimately ensnared. From the very moment he walked on stage I was under his spell. Sporting a loose black shirt with ripped satin under-vest, gravity-defying obsidian hair, and accessories that would put Cher to shame, he truly was the devil's right-hand man. Now, Juke (his nickname in reality, not the name of the character) had a cohort whose name I didn't catch, but she was equally mesmerising. A dark, volumised tu-tu lay snuggly under the traditional silver studded belt that hung sensually from a close-worn leather jacket.

Now, the devil's two main men boasted more than spectacular costumes. They were, dare I say it, leagues better than some of the professional actors in show. Being only seventeen, it was inspiring to see how amazing they were, but also quite frightening since I'm already booked into GCSE Drama. I don't know how I can compete.

Anyway, both demons had a sort of habit. Juke played the contortionist unbelievably: the way he walked, almost like a slither; jumping (or rather, a continuation of walking, as the case was) from impossible heights and landing smoothly without the slightest bend of a knee; and finally, a sickeningly freakish backwards flip down a tiny flight of stairs, with his back arched into a perfect circle. I can't imagine anyone doing a better job of the role.

The girl would almost be at home with a travelling circus. Her prop of choice, a perfectly spherical (heavy!) crystal ball which she unceasingly rolled around her hands. She must have been practicing for months, it was that good. She caught the rules of physics by the throat and thrust them aside.

All in all, they were the two of the finest, darkest, most alluring characters I've come across, drama of literature. What's more they were fantastic actors. It must have helped that they were best friends, because their roles were so sensual, so mirrored, it was like listening to two halves of the same person. Words can't even do them justice; I should have recorded it.

So! Juke and his friend are the inspiration for my latest BA duo that should come about in a few months (Rosalie is still in the works =O). I can't wait to get my hands on them and contort them into something unbelievable.

Distances

Very vague and mysterious for a blog post, no? Sadly the content isn't nearly as mystifying as its title.

Recently I've been noticing that I'm drifting away from some of my closest friends, and becoming more 'popular'. Now, I'm not going to claim that I have mastered the social structure and befriended everyone in the school, but I've handily made my way around the place. Unfortunately the popularity seems to come at a price.

This price was really only visible today, walking home from school with my close friend Megan (who, incidentally, was my cohort during the V-Day catastrophe =O). We began with small talk: discussing the horrid state of affairs at school, the general pressures teenagers are under; then, suddenly, things became a lot more personal. We both agreed that we had been drifting apart, and something had to be done about it. This is where the crunch came.

If I can be so bold as to conduct a brief interlude, I need to tell another small story. I've been friends with another girl, Hannah, for about two years now. We've never been nearly as close as Megan and I, but we're spending more and more time together, even going as far as to visit each others' houses. That may not seem so strange, but it was only months ago that the mere concept of an out-of-school meeting was laughable. So, we've began hosting little meetings at out houses every Friday night, where two other friends also join and we watch a movie.

Back to the current story, Megan and I had been trying to remedy the distance between us, when suddenly I remembered the last time I had visited her house. It was shamefully several weeks ago. During that euphoric (I need help v.v) meeting we decided to visit each other every single Friday. Now, that happened before the Friday Night Club initiated. In essence, I'm caught between a rock and a hard place. I would have lots of fun in both cases, and in both my friends are liable to get hurt if I don't show up.

So I'm in a bit of a dilemma. Best case scenario I work out another day for Megan, but her brother is absent only on Friday nights, giving us a chance to play the fabled Playstation 3 =O

I have lots of female friends. It's quite worrying.

An Attempt to Capture Fleeting Thoughts

Courtesy of Selah, I've decided to start carrying around a notepad and a pencil. There are always so many ideas for stories, and more importantly poems, that always dangle themselves in front of me then float away. This way I'll maybe be able to recollect my thought train, even if the inspiration died by the time I get back home.

Anyway, I'm going to take my dog for a walk now. I'll consider it a test run for this ground-breaking idea =D

Shiny New Blog!

So this post does what it says on the tin. I fixed up my blog and made it nice and optmistic (sort of). Have fun.

It hurts the eyes more now =O

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

You'll have to excuse the mad ravings of a smitten fanboy, but Buffy is incredible. I've watched five episodes in twenty-four hours, which probably isn't healthy. I'm just so glad my DVD Boxset containing all seven seasons arrived; it took twice as loong as it should have!

I hate the postal service. "No. Don't bring it back to the post office if I'm out. LEAVE IT WITH A NEIGHBOUR."

Other than that, I've been pressing onward slowly but consistently with The Pure Land, a fascinating historical novel set in 19th Century Japan. The type of writing is odd, yet enchanting. Alan Spence writes with such fluidity that I can't help but be wrapped up in his untimely emphasises.

This is where The Pure Land's biggest problem lies. Although the writing is excellent, enrapturing, and endlessly delightful, I find myself being swept away bt the pretty words, unable to truly comprehend the actual plot of the story. He focuses on things like the way things are done, instead of the actual event itself. I find myself so lost in this delictable sea of adverbs that I become completely ignorant to the point of the chapter.

But alas, I'm really enjoying it. Who cares about the plot when you have pretty words and phrasing?

My Handy Tool of Procrastination

Enormous history project. Six days. EEP.

That is all, since I should actually be doing the thing instead of complaining.

I Would Like to Submit a Complaint about the Weather

I went surfing yesterday, with the full knowledge that my coast is a frigid collaboration of the Irish Sea and Arctic Ocean. You do not know cold until you have ran, swathed in nothing more than a flimsy wetsuit, into the Arctic Sea (see what I did there?). At first I didn't think it was too bad. My feet were instantly numbed by the water and things were going well. Then I came across my first wave. Trying to keep my head dry at all costs, I threw myself and the board over the wave, my entire torso getting covered in liquid ice.

My first (MIND BLANK, SMALL WORD WARNING) try at getting on the board was laughable. I was pushed swiftly by the freezing foam, and began the swift ascent into the standing position. Somehow I lost my balance, fell, and was completely engulfed in the water. It was like I had been struck by a thousand brain-freezes as I madly tried to decipher which way was up. Finally, I breached the surface and wiped my eyes, just in time to see my vertical surfboard crash down before me. I barely had time to glance before the thing smashed down on my head. I fell into the water again, feeling even worse than before.

To sum up the next ten minutes (hypothermia would have been the outcome if I had stayed any longer >>;, it consisted of vain attempts to get aboard and fretting about my purple hands. In the end it was just too cold, so I came out. That wasn't the end of my troubles, though. Carrying the light-weight board was more difficult than you could ever imagine. If I turned the board just the tiniest angle from the direction of the wind, it grabbed the board and tugged so much that I just felt like letting go. To add insult to injury, it started to hail millions of tiny icy bullets on my frigid, stinging face. I got into the car and sulked and cried for a little while.

Something out of American Suburbia

So, my friend got a basketball net today. Both of us are pretty hyped about the game (since we've been playing it during P.E. and school) so we had a little one-on-one tonight. He kicked my ass - my alibi being that he is like two stones lighter than me and can actually shoot the ball. I don't care about the score, because it was really fun. By the way, that happened at 11:00pm tonight for whatever reason. We've made plans for a little rematch tomorrow.

Moving on, I'm ashamed to say that I haven't been reading very much. The Pure Land sits idly on my bedside cupboard, and I haven't taken a look at the poetry book I'm supposed to read for my literature club. The one good piece of news is that is that I have ordered George R.R. Martin's A Game of Thrones from the town library. They didn't have it, so it is coming from forty miles up the road in Belfast. From my experience, the journey should take several months.

Finally, I'm heading up the coast tomorrow. I'll be gone until Tuesday, in which time I hope to buy a surf board, receive a lesson and get on the waves once or twice more. My sources tell me that the weather will be miserable, but they said that about today and it was heavenly. Silly weather office seems to be getting it wrong every day now.

It's 1:12am; should I go to bed or something?

Indian Summers and Forgotten Blogs

Well, I hadn't actually forgotten about my escape from the brutally real world, but I kept on forgetting to write in it. Regardless, the outcome is the same.

So the weather in Northern Ireland has been, dare I say it, good for the past few days. I can actually feel my faith in Summer returning again. The ironic thing is, news reporters predicted frost and clouds yesterday, when in fact it was nothing short than the glorious return of Spring.

Huh. I have forgotten all the stuff that was cooped up inside me. Well, this post has served it's purpose of reviving my blog.

Ciao for now!

*Kills self because of terrible pun*

A Half-Advertisement

I have deviously and informally taken Selah's place as Councillor on Heretic-Gamer, but the website has hit a small snag: we have next to no members. So if you enjoy writing fiction and interacting with others I strongly urge you to click this link. There may be cookies :3

http://www.heretic-gamer.com/forums/forumdisplay.php?f=19

Venting Out the Anger

The inability to acquiesce to the simplest of requests is mind-boggling. If the people at Manchester Music Exchange don't got their act together soon I'm destined to fail my Grade 4 Viola Exam. Twice - twice -have they sent me the wrong music. The first time, perhaps, it was my fault but the second was inexcusable. Expecially since they paid no heed to the emphasis of the request.

But now I have a reason to complain angrily down a phone - always a joy. And there were will be extra emphasis this time on the composer. And a refund, I'm sure of that. Regardless, my music teacher will be furious.

I'm calm again, even if the daunting prospect of a near-due English project lurks mere hours away. My tranqiul state of mind seems to have sprang from nowhere; I'm sure anyone else in my situation would be livid.

I believe this post has served its purpose of procrastination grandly. If only mother would hurry eating her dinner, doesn't she know I have things to do?

After-thought - What is the point of blogging? I am near certain that few people (if anyone) read this things. I suppose it is just a modern and more high-tech version of a diary, except boys and girls alike keep them. Or perhaps I am using my blog wrong? Should I be advertising?

Yours,
The Comma Whore

Something of a Diary-Entry

After Kimmy's (rather laughable) attempts to not disturb me while she slipped out to Church, I managed to read 100 pages or so of New Moon, gladly welcoming Alice and the Cullens back into my life. Thus, did this marvel of a book end happily (after reading another 200 at home) and I'm now itching to start the third. I actually have it sitting right beside me, but 300 pages of a book in one day is more than enough, no?

Aside from that, a welcome jaunt to the coast left me with only minor bruises and breathing constrictions. It was still wonderful though, and I decided upon my future car (truck)! It's nothing too snazzy, so I should get it for a reasonable price in four years.

My love for Edward has been renewed. Am I not sure what to feel.

I have not watched one second of TV. Fabulous.

Morbidity seems to be the theme to my life

After delving on this ever-so-touchy subject for uncountable months in bed, I've confronted death for the second time today. I feel guilty about writing this, but I'll persevere. Jared Griffis (AKA Duke of Clubs) has passed away, and I want as many people as possible to know of his greatness.

http://www.zeldauniverse.net/forums/battle-arena/73002-r-i-p-duke-clubs.html

Perhaps that count scratch the surface on what a fantastic person Jared was, and what an unbelieveble shame it that he is gone. I just can't get past using euphemisms to hide from the truth.

But that's all I have to say. You don't know what being speechless is until you're felt it.

First Post - Celebratory?

Yet another subscription that I doubt will stay alive for a week. But I'd may as well give it a go, right? My intention is to post her every week about anything and everything that catches my attention.

A new band? An awesome film? Catch-up on this week's Desperate Housewives? How madly in love I am with a fictional (vampiric) character? Yep, and more.

Every now and then I probably will give in to the raging sentimentality within me and blether on about my feelings of how the world is inadequate when pitted against my expectations, but hopefully that won't happen too often.