New Year

Resolution - As I face down 2009 with open hopes and wandering dreams, I'm a little anxious as to what this year will bring. I'm still trying to grasp my affirmations. I hope it will be a prosperous year, one full of potential. I sense a lot of fear will find my heart, when the end of my studies looms and the real world caves in on my head.

How will I deal with all the financial implications?
How will I accommodate the neccessity of finding employment?
Where will I be living come the end of May?
Am I to DARE, or not to DARE. Is that the question?

I have so much to do, and not the faintest grasp yet as to how to do it. Okay that is a lie, I can hypothesise as to what it will entail. I can put it all down in numbered headers in order to meet the expectations of a professional practice deadline. I can lay down dates as a foundation as to the path I shall walk, but as to it sinking into my frontal cortex the implications of all these plans meaning.

I am going to create an Animation.
I am going to create a damn fine Animation.
I am going to do this by May... or rather the end of April - yeah like that'll happen.

It is at this point that panic sets in. Awkward feeling at the pit of my stomach, like a hot air balloon I attempt to nudge it under my hopes and dreams. It balloons and swells in my throat, I choke on my own ambition. Where am I left? To close to the floorboard grain to see my horizon. I'm itching to return to the flight, to run against the wind of obligation and meet it head on, but I have to learn to balance.

Life / Work / Love / Art / Life

More on those thoughts later, right now I'm in Linlithgow revitalising the use of the old laptop. Once I return, I'll have access to my other art files and my graphics tablet - I'll be touching up some old work and posting it where and when I can.

If I don't post again before the turn of the worlds' axis - a Happy New Year to Everyone won't you.

Mindmap

Concept Development Inspired

Here's a preview of the Frogboy concept I'm working on - trying to nail down some details with a lesser ambiguous flourish of the pentel mech.

I started this sketch in Concept Development, a lectorial (lecture/tutorial apparently) taken by Belinda Langlands. Went fairly well and I've been working on it since - though I have been tackling with using my scanner thus the delay in posting this.

Honours Year is going more or less as I imagined, yet at the same time completely differently because I soon realise what I had imagined was very little. A lot of the academic side and involvement wasn't really taken into my consideration, and its coming as a bit of a surprise, though welcome.

Well, until I wake again, y'all have a good night!

Windows Live Writer??

I mean, what the hell is this?

This updating system is spectacularly irregular, it mimics the very style and visual representation of my blog - boundary by boundary, image by image. I get to see clearly the very construct of the blog itself - pre-publication. From an external source? Craziness yet it here it exists.

Uh... blogging, ah yes blogging.

Today was the first day of the rest of 4th year - Honours - Skadoosh. 12 o'clock surprise lecture - hurried walk into University up to the 3rd floor - which is now an open plan  madness. I'm trying to fathom how possible it will be to concentrate in an environment where you can have -anyone- walking passed your classroom at any given moment.

I'm liking the whole free thought roaming aspect, I'm digging that. I'm just weighing it in hand with the implications of student involvement. They will come and go as they please, they will more than likely make noise - maintain focus then, I ask you.

In other news - my Western Digital has fled inside it's shell and refuses to utilise its own USB 2.0 cable. It also nearly fried my computer...

I'm very wary of it now. Currently living in the irony that on the packaging for the MyBook it implicitly states "Put your life on it." And I did. If you evaluate that my art is my life, and my art is digital.

Having ordered a new cable, I await the farfetched possibility that it will work only when I have fed it a replacement lifeline. Time will tell on that one.

Moving Along

Time is passing, one beat and one moment trailing after the other - its pace is constant in so far as we wish to quantify and measure it. Yet retrospectfully it can travel by us, if we let it. Like a river from an indistinguishable source, it collides with us in rushes of tense action and then subsides as quickly. I feel like I'm caught in this rush again. Everything takes upon itself a surreality, as though moving fatally in slow motion.

I'm moving into another new flat - I haven't spent longer than a year in any one place for the last three years. Pretty normal for a student I'd assume though. However this is the first time that I will have been my choice to move, that is, it would have been if my landlord had given me the option. I assume, that he assumed, that I didn't wish to continue the lease. I didn't, so why still do I find a problem in this situation? I was not given the choice I'd sought for, but indirectly I'd made it in my silence.

Due to the move, packing has been essential. A life jigsaw - like 3 dimensional tetris, I've watched and been involved in the packing of my life into boxes. Neat, snug, ordered comfort. All the trimmings of home. There are the books I've yet to read, taken from the book case I've yet to move. There are the dozens of half filled sketchbooks to cart around - an essential collection. There is the console I hardly play, along with the tv I never have time to watch. There are the countless garments that have lost sight of fashion, and continued to haunt my carpeted floor. I keep forgetting what colour my carpet is.

We move on Saturday. We pay the money we don't have, to the friendly people we've only just met. So much trust is gathered in their plentiful smiles and polite demeanour. Benevolent Belvoir. Letting Life Savers. They hold the keys to the rest of our lives.

I can't wait to set up my new office/study/art room. Having constantly blended my surroundings into both recreation and workspace for the last 3 years, it'll be a change to have walls seperate these areas of my life. Plus I'll now have a lounge to lounge in, score.

That's about it for now - Uni begins in September - Honours Horrors commence after that. Hoozah.

Mainland Escape and Prelude Panic

Whoa there! How fortunate it is to stumble upon thee, I bid you stall for a moment and read on. Some adventures mark my words are not for the faint of heart, lest an attack prey upon thee. I've been been stranded by the MacBrayne skuttle boat for the last two weeks with little more company than sheep! Here I took a picture for you..



Of course I couldn't understand the locals that well. So then, I've spent the duration of 3rd July to 16th July in an offshore region of my own country of Scotland, taking in the sights, enjoying the motorhome routine of moving out of everyone's way just to get anywhere, and being witness to 3 generations of my other halves' Clan just 'getting along'. Frightful. Let me chart for you the course of my journeys...

Anyways with my Panasonic Lumix in hand, I tried to document the way there from waiting out in the Train Station in Perth for an hour for our connecting booked train up to Inverness, documenting our stops along the way.

Inverness was another play-a-wander-round, visiting places like the Victorian Market, which I didn't happen to photograph -_-. Very cool, quaint and had little shops in streets under a taller ceiling skylight. This otherworld was a neccessary detour for our search was driven by the hunger in our bellies. I found myself a bacon san'wich which lacked vital qualities like a taste... and nutrition. It happened to taste exactly like the butties from Aberdeen on Three Kirk street, and they weren't very good either. Unlike those to appear in my life later on! Skadoosh!

Skipping to the interesting moments now:

From the wake our ferry left in the scottish waters, we could spot the grellow smog rising from the mainland, and take lungfuls of fresh sea air. Spotting porpoises off the port side!

Windfarms on Lewis, is this the beginning?

I hope it is the end. No more, leave not the taint of modernity on the soils of our fathers. These leeching endeavours ruin the place which I've come to respect. Visitors remember and beware, the place is as it is for a reason, and wandering there you must remember that it will be, without our influence. Take only pictures, and leave nothing but footprints in the sand of the wondrous ever changing beaches.

The skies to welcome us in Lewis were magnificent, magical and mysterious.



Cliff saw fit to deliver unto us a sunset unique, and we stopped upon the Valtos Viewpoint which I remember well from my first visit.



Motorhoming Missile - Skaplow!



I spent After much pestering I finally managed to get a cycle run organised and it was - Amazing. I don't think Violet really understood why I wanted to. To me cycling presented a thrill, of exploring Lewis in a greater, more free sense away from the suggestion and insistence of parent control. It was quicker than walking, again more of a thrill, an exhiliration, it was a true joy ride. Picking up pace on the downhills, channeling focus into the uphill struggles, ever wary that a car might appear from around the next bend, the scenery, the sky above and all the pedalling one could muster. I have to say I didn't quite manage it all the way up the Cliff hill, but next year I will. Alone if I have to... it will be done. I want to cycle more, take just a day and a bike and go to places I've never been driven to, to see things I'll never see otherwise. I want to place more thought on what to do while there, with specific weather for them, so that when that weather comes, we can match up the activity... get it done, experience Lewis fully.

I have to say, over 2 weeks there were some points where I felt lethargic, and I did just want the comfort of sitting down and doodling, or jotting down some thoughts. All the activity was a bit overwhelming, and the indecision and choice there was staggering... that often I could not decide.

Calanais - standing stones. These were inspirational for the Dougie Maclean Project I've put on the back burner for way too long. I seen him by the by at the Uig Gala Day, but felt too intimidated to actually go up and say hi properly. Blah... here's a photo. I think my lens got splashed! Oh noes!

I'd like to invest in a tripod, I nice one that'll strap to my back so I can be kitted out and look impressive. It's a vain, naive little wish stirring at the back of my if-only list. Just to get a better focus on these images... sigh.

During the Gala day I'm reminded was a spectucular aerial display from a helicopter pilots' nerve. He held out, and was able to guide this daredevil to the hilltop summit.






On our walk to a rocky beach to go tresaure hunting for washed up wonders I spotted this lagoon of sorts, snapping it up while I could, and hurrying to catch up again.

And what were we searching for? Firewood, for a grand fire upon the beach, with help from a little lighter fluid of course. Extra toasty. We even managed to set the sand on fire for moments. Then someone had the bright idea to channel sea water down into the blaze to put it out... not an action I'd like to see repeated, the stench which rose up was amazing.

Dig, Dug, Dang!

I've been staying with Violet's parents over this weekend, so I've been forced to work in pencil only for the time being. Speaking of which I should mention my appreciation for a couple I met on the train to Haymarket. One Colin and Elizabeth, who bought from me a couple of quick portraits I done of them as a souvenir of their trip. I hope the castle wasn't too draughty!

I feel more like an archeologist than a pencil artist at the moment. I've unearthed a number of sketchbooks which have remained dormant on the discarded level of my bookcase in the corner. They hold dates like '2005-06' on them. This is history. Not only history, but my history. The evolution of my ideas and the lines my hands crafted once.

A great many of them are unfinished. And this is where my work begins, and the point of this entry finds itself. I must learn to finish what I begin. This is the lesson I have seeking to learn. I lack the patience to see a task through to its' completion. I came up with a character who is the personification of such a trait. He is the antithesis of all that I am.

If you have ever reached that point in an endeavour, where the interest wanes and your attention begins to split under the pressure, then you know where I'm coming. If you want to deal with this, then you're going where I want to be. So I've been going through these sketchbooks, and adding the lines which need to be there to achieve things like clarity, and lose the ambiguity of diminished focus. To some part of my mind this has become blasphemous. 'What are you doing!? These are snapshots of how you were at that time! Why the hell are you ruining them!' I feel like some heretic in the halls of my own making, scrawling on the walls, 'WRONG!'

I'm not doing it to all the drawings, that would be counter effective. Only those which deserve that something, that drive. This has led me to the creation of a To Do Folder. So much more than a list, it contains the items in question. They're not prioritised yet, they have no order, I jump between them. I'm wondering if this is a way of working which suits me. Project hopping, like a frog on electrified skittles.

So far I have finished 0/16.... getting there!

Something to share with you

Enjoy.

Flying the flags, invisible banners

I thought I would mention as an update that I was working on the header of this blog, the frogboy image that I crafted for my 3rd year end of year presentation. Hopes you all like it. Working on the trasnparency of it so it blends in nicely.. getting there I feel, see how it works out with more tinkering.

More updating to come I feel.

Which day suits?

I've been thinking. Should I pick a day in the week in which I sit down and write a blog post, perhaps twice weekly at most. That way I'll have an appointed date in which I -know- I'm supposed to update this. Then updated outwith that, with important information I feel is neccessary?

So which days do you reckon it should be? Cast your votes now?

Monday / Friday?
Tuesday / Saturday?
Wednesday / Sunday?

Who will keep the dreams?

~

Not many of you read this, this I understand. The world would not make sense if you did. I'm writing this from atop an art paint box slash pop up easel conversion, riddled from lidl for who knows how much. I got it at christmas I think, and I've hardly even used it. Now I have to worry about overheating the paint inside as my laptop struggles through almost tangible perspiration, to continue working.

So in the time between posting before and posting now, I've moved from one room to another, one city to another, one bed to another, and into better company. But since then, I've still been trying to look for paying work.

To keep me otherwise busy I've been modelling possible assets for this coming
4th year. Utilising my maya skills to conjure new and untested works, shown here.



This is Cadeaux, a metaphorical musician and one of the cast of the tragically epic inner workings of my mind. Now when I say, she is a musician, I mean she plays,



A cello.

Both of these models are still in the rough stages, but it is nice to feel like I'm motivating myself into using Maya for personal use. Once you get over the thought processes for creating what you see in your mind, it really can become quite enjoyable. The only thing I could compare this to is driving, even though I can't and never really have.

It would be a novelty to be able to animate Cadeaux playing the Cello, sometime during this summer, all going well.

I've been reading and following a book called the Artist's Way by Julia Cameron. It has an interesting creative endeavour and as I delve farther into, I would probably recommend it to any creator of any kind. I bought the book for Violet for her christmas, and it's taken until now for us both to seriously consider following it. I borrowed a copy from my university library for the moment, so any abertayers can find it there, once I return it!

The morning pages is a great way of kick starting the old kanoodle, and I end up writing down creatively in the latter matters of writing. Morning pages, for reference, are longhand thought streams you just write. Simply just write what comes into your head. Whatever is bothering you, or ailing you. Even just simple matters can be written out. It's a great way for clearing the mind, try it out. 3 pages, each morning.

Also today I watched the latter part of an inspiring film called Dreamkeeper incorporating a number of folklore, along with a moral tale of re-inventing the self. Walking the red road. Taking the journey. Self sacrifice. Telling stories, and the purpose thereof. It's about life. It's worth watching.

I keep getting the itch to paint again...

Value of Time, Worth and Money

It's already going on 2am, and it has certainly been a long day, but I thought I could punch in some blog time all the same. I was already in the car and traversing town before I'd properly woken up. By the moment of me rising from bed, I was already descending the stairs and into the seven seated courier to my latest 'job'. I've in honesty been putting it off, for one because of the weather and two to recover from something. Hands felt stiff and sore for a bit, but that's eased off now.

In the interim period however, I fired up maya and I've been modelled a test mesh for a character Cadeaux, whom will be one of the protagonists in future DoaM animations. One of the few female characters to feature so far! Modelling takes on a different nature when things run smoothly and things seem to work out, but I know I'm soon going to leave my comfort zone of familiar polygonal topology and I'll have to experiment with Maya's hair system. Feeling it'll be worthwhile though.

I'll post up test renders soon.

I've been thinking more on the point of earning money. Time as we know is said to equate metaphorically to money. This as Lakoff states is relected in our culture's system of paying employees by the hour. By this very pattern we can emerge at the comclusion that time is inherently valuable. However, everyone has time, not everyone has money. So the two 'matters' aren't an automatic translation, sadly. However if we invest our time, it may prove beneficial in finding a job...

I'm feeling these odd jobs are a method of building character and I'm learning alot about the way I think and how it applies to more areas than just my art. I have a tendency to reach the end of something, a task, a creation or a period of time and I'm reluctant always to finish whatever that might be in context. It always leaves me less than 'what could have been.' I'm yet to figure out, why this is, and why it remains ever prevalent in all that I do.

I could feel my drive depleting as I got into the latter stages of weeding today. I kept purposefully missing spotted weeds thinking, ah well she's not going to mind one or two remaining. It got to the point where I reached a plateau of expectation. What I thought was expected of me, and what I expected the reactions of my efforts to be. As it were, I was paid before I had finished and this I felt became double edged. I knew I could walk away at any point thereafter (within reason) but I felt then obligated to earn the money given. I tried to guage how much that amount of money would cover in what actions I then undertook.

More later I guess, I want to go read the Artist's Way.~

Working by Day, 'Real' Work by Night

So my life is as thus. Waking to the sound of my father arranging and seemingly re-arranging things around 'my' room, all the while huffing and sighing in a regular pattern regardless of what it is he is doing. Summoned over the phone by my mother to agree to paid work she's managed to organise for me, outwith my knowledge. So far it's been painting her fence, with a rather nifty power spray thing, and a whole lot of gardening re-discovering beneath a jungle of weeds and grass. Today is the back garden of the same allotted owner, and I'm timidly looking forward to this job ending. And then it's on to washing cars!

These fill my daylight hours. By night, I'm designing band logos and putting in some solid hours into playing the Xbox 360 while I have the chance. So far my playlist includes Spiderman 3, GTA IV and Lost Oddyssey. Which are fun, intriguing and highly beautiful yet lacking in real engagement yet, respectfully.

This is really making me consider the nature of the career I'm wandering into. Where my true interests at the moment are being reserved for later hours, and where my usual skillset isn't finding me the money I require. I suppose finding a job is easier if you're not specifically offering a particular service and are willing to work under the title of Lackey. I guess it's not half bad to be inexperienced and be learning new skills -while- you're being paid to do so. I know how to more effectively use a garden fork to better effect on soil and weeds, much to the protest of my palms. I really should have considering bringing old clothes, but who could have foreseen my mother's dexterity in finding work like that?

What is my time really worth either way? What is the value of time itself? It's rather dependant upon the one seeking your time, in context time is variable.

So it is on to battle dogs and rabbits in a bid to free a garden path from the onslaught of rabid dandelion spores! Yarrghh! Armed with a spade, and curved knife, gardening gauntlets and a fortitude to outlast weed kind. Suffer the slings and stench of the uprooted tyranny and reclaim the peace of a well kept garden, all to appease the neighbouring citizens disgust, from over yonder fences.



Oh and here is the logo I'm currently attempting to make legible, if any of you can read this lemme know what you think it is meant to say... I'm cautious about the ambigram-ality of it, and whether effective clarity is suffering. While the design itself looks quite cool, I can't tell if it is delivering the right message at the moment. However this is design 1 of hopefully many.

Also Tidan, got any more work on your minotaur yet!? Love to see it. :P

Boxes upon boxes, in the foritifed junk

I am sitting amid chaos, of the bric-a-brac kind. The floor barely visible, let along treadable to traverse my escape. This is the nature of a world of moving, and packing and taking one world into the next. All of these belongings, belong elsewhere to another one, and I haven't a clue how to make head nor tail of sense of it all.

It's also the reason for the diverted flow of energies and the lack of posting. I'm still doodling when given the chance, but otherwise I'm attempting to remain useful in a 'move this from here to there' kind of way. If only I were telekinetic...

~

I've been getting the sensations in the back of my mind to begin writing again. Maybe it's a summer thing, who knows but it's creeping back. I'd really like to know where to begin but I think that's like trying to figure out which shadow begins the darkness. Awfully pleasant metaphor there... Ah, metaphor. Of course. I plan on reading books about metaphor in my whiling away time down in Kelso, amongst the avid gaming and catching up with relatives of course. Both written or co-written by G. Lakoff, I'm hoping to further my understanding of the nature of metaphor, so that I can better write about it and make it the axis upon which my future works can spin.

There needs to be more 'where's' and 'what's' and 'when's' in the tale of metaphor. Everything begins with a dream though, where the Hatted Fool plummets in a spiral, ever quickening in his descent, racing toward... something. Perhaps it is an epiphany? Some moment of clarity and boom, suddenly there are feet. Hands. A train carriage. Discovery. Whispers. Strangers. Fear. 'Gators. Emptiness. Patiences. Fishing. A door. Bridges. And then.... a void of unknown, yet to be conceived possible potentiality...

Best get started!

Artage in the workage...

Here's some updatage on the two pieces I'm currently working on. The minotaur one was an impromptu challenge from a friend I couldn't pass up. Comments and feedback always welcome.

Now for something animated-ly cool.

Going Greek..

So today was a weird start. I woke up late, which is a result of going to bed late more than likely. But the day has begun slowly and has continued so until i signed into messenger and began chatting with Tidan, and he put to me the challenge of painting a moment from greek mythology, for my Vi asked him if he would paint any other figures from there like his interpretation of Pandora His choice was Theseus and the Minotaur. So I thought I'd post up my Work in Progress on that. This is it after an hour and half, including debates of a creationist nature with Dawkins, author of The God Delusion, and an Iraqi debate on whether the earth is Flat. Of course the earth is not flat. It has hills. Enjoy.

My Rock Got Small...

~



For Violet x

This is a idea myself and Vi came up with while walking, and it usually occurs that I would hint that it would make a really cool drawing but never get around to actually drawing it. Well nae mare!

Cats walking, Art talking

So on Thursday my current life ended and a new one began. I managed a couple of observed drawings of people while waiting in the bus station. Happenings began with slumping myself into a bus seat and waiting patiently for the world to move around me. It seemed Glasgow had arrived.

My bearings for a lot more fixed and I managed to find my way to Glasgow Central, or rather beneath the train filled station in a whole new world under the pretense of the arches. I had fallen into 'Fashion' and I was swept along in the tide of it. While creative, it felt like it had some inate surreal aura surrounding everything. Unlike my usual sketching/drawing compatriots, these people dealt with 'people'. As their medium. Art pieces became living things, people who breathed and talked, and looked back at you if your eyes became fixed too long. These artworks moved with a will of their own, pulled their own strings, were animate in a whim.

While I might deal with the illusion of life, these artisans sculpted with it. The bond between make-up artist and model is something I've never witnessed before. Add to that mix, the wandering camera wielders and this felt like a world with invisble rules I had to wing as I went. I spent the most part standing still as best I could, not being in the way. Sketchbook firmly placed in hand, I established myself as a visualist, or some such.

~

Returning to write this after midnight, it is technically still Saturday in my head. It might just take 20 minutes for my mind to catch up with time anyways.

I was recently amazed and in awe of a massive black artist El Coro, especially with his short introduction to his graphic novel, Bum. His storytelling and pacing is matched with his ability to capture light and atmosphere, while his courage to depict unsettling imagery heralds this as a great concepts, masterfully delivered. Well worth checking out.

I have a few sketches of my own brewing, but it'll have to wait til I scan them tomorrow.

Aci out~

Over the Edge, touching clouds...

~

And this marks the moment when 3rd year drifts in time, to memory and reflection. Like the ripples in a still pool, churning currents on the embankments. Build me a river, so that I may travel, not to anywhere, but to travel is in the reward unto itself.

I made my presentation. I didn't say a lot of things that I intended on saying, mainly down to nerves. It is true what is said about presenting. There are 3 presentations exist in the ether for every one you are tasked to make. The one you prepare for, all the images and the texts and the thoughts you have beforehand. The presentation which actually occurs, the minefield that it is. And the one which haunts you with hindsight.

"Haunted by Hindsight." or "Hunted by Hindsight" Things to think on.

And now the real test begins, time to pour out of my mind all the things which have been trapped. Time to unveil the thoughts and images which lurk. Time for time, to take and use. Please don't let me waste this summer.

I have to go to Glasgow today for an exhibition for my works with Sian Lidgate. Hope this opens up some doors or something. Work would be nice, especially the kind attached to moneys. Leaving at 3pm... long day.

Aci~

Presentating, Much a Making of a Fool

Having to present yourself, means you think you're worth presenting. This occurring in coincidence with you realising you've been sleep walking through life, and have finally now realised you're at the end of a period of time you can't reclaim. Makes you really question wtf it is you've been doing....

Here's the brief for what I have to do, for Jamie.

Dual of Worthy Note

~




Here's another progress shot of the Frogboy/Insediddle painting. Figured it would be worth showing my process... not that I have one. Less of a green sky now, I want to craft it so it adds to the drama... can anyone suggest how I might push the fish more into the background?

Aci~

Time, Thoughts and Hoover Holocausts

~
~
~



It took me several tries to get a fitting title, even when I thought I had it, I went back to re-edit it. What is the worth in the beginning of things? I seem to see a lot of it, but the energy gives way or the attention shifts.

Here's a WIP I'm currently painting of the Frogboy. Trying to work in a little redesign and thought into his character, as it has been evolving over the time of his being 'made-up'. Any thoughts and comments would be appreciated yo.

I'm rather crafted in interesting beginnings, but once the development begins, I sort of wane. Terribly wane. Okay I just suck particularly badly at finishing things. This is a recurrent fault of mine, like a fault line across my mind and soul. Or some such.

Considering the limitations of one mind and one pair of hands, I need to come to the terms of what I will be willing AND able to keep going daily. I think I'm going to collate all of the efforts I'm currently working on and see which are working and which are not. Which are worth pursuing and which will kick the bucket, at least for now. So that my time is more focused and therefore I hope more valuable/constructive. The results of this I shall probably post in time to come...

A BIG SHOUT OUT HERE FOR ANYONE WISHING TO BOTH LINK TO AND LINK FROM THIS BLOG. Happy to do so, I'll be checking out fellow art bloggers and seeing which I find fascinating. Perhaps a shout out to them each post, just as a means of being communal.

Also I think this needs to go down in some manner of documentation. Nasal hell was unleashed a couple days ago within the enclosed confines of my room. Dormant there for who knows how long, has been a festering reek fest in the hallway. It's alias, The Hoover. The moment the switch was pressed, both mine and Violet's eyes widened questioningly. 'What the hell?' The smell was a combination of wet mould, ash, dust and weed. What a legacy to have left behind. -shudders- So we emptied, dissenfected, ousted and frebreezed the jebus out of the damn thing and hoped for the best...

Aci out~

Metaphor

I recently bought a book. Many books. The different kinds of books come in. Some are full of words, and are for the filling of my head. Some are empty of everything but blank canvas pages, and a longing to be filled by my head. And one of these is Metaphor.

A Metaphor is a metaphor for, is for fondling ideas, carressing them into existence. It is for taking the 2 dimensions of print, and arranging them as portals in a page turning world. Linking images together by feeling, or colour, or intensity or just whatever feels right at the time.

It is for scrawling notes, and words and meanings all for myself.. to horde and savour until the taste makes me dizzy. It is for snippets of otherworldly matters, stuck in adhesively by glue sticks and spit, and sweat, tears and the odd pint of blood.

Metaphor is a journey, and the journey is life. It's 4am dammit.

Reservoir Flood Gates

What I do, and where I write is something not even I'm completely aware of. I don't switch places in an attempt to hide. I don't know what works for me. I'm never completely sure when I begin. I'm willing to try something out, perhaps even when it is half hearted.

I know I have a problem with finishing what I begin. It is not that I find the old things boring, it is not that I feel them inadequate. It is down to circumstances changing, it is about where my head is at the time. If I could do everything I set out to do, I'd have to first work out how to create more hours of every day.

I'm not good with time manangement. Never, ever have been.

I showed you when I was ready to show you. And yet you react like i've done something wrong. Maybe I have, who knows, but it's like you're judging me. Why are you judging me on this? What do I have to do? That's what I'm trying to find out. I'm making the mistakes I need to make.

Busy doing Nothing.

Why am I procastinating, am I nervous. Yes. Am I stessed? I think so. Is there any alleviation from these things? Yes, avoidance. What is the purpose of these words? To fulfil those evasive actions was content, matter, meaning.

I wish I held the reigns of my creative energies more firmly.

Ears, the Anti-Doorbells. And How!

Write something here you mugula snoot!

It appears as though the past version of myself wishes me to attend to his wishes. You see I opened this posting page in my browser the night before, so that when I returned to the laptop, it was waiting for me. A clever device and trap for myself to continue writing on here. It also reveals some level of my thinking at 3 in the morning.

As such though, this journal is more likely to be pre-events of the day, rather than an account of it. Unless of course I make two entries per day. This is all dependant on time though.

I've started posting things on Deviantart again. Seems like something to do. I'm a little less hesitant about putting up things from what I'm working on, even the strongest ideas and so forth. Because well, they're a vital part of my collective works, y'know?

So I now move onto the matter of who or what Mugula Snoot is.. well I imagine from the essence of the sounds inherent in the name that the chracter is left handed. He would shift from one foot to the other often, to distribute the energies spent by each limb. Is a research scientist or inventor of some manner, specialising in the elements and existential variables involved in metaphoral organ transplantation.

Due to metaphors being made of their own very essences, any part of them would contain themselves. This makes transplanting a volatile and unpredictable endeavour. Since the after shock and consequences of grafting 'fragments' into other beings are so unstable, many have fled from the very notion of it. Ridiculing Mugula for his persistence in a damned field. Mugula took this to heart, to the very idea of a heart, and began his lifetime study of it.

Perhaps he was endeavouring to reverse the deaths of metaphors? But this stumbles into theoretical territory now. And contradicts my notion that dead metaphors still function within the world. This is leading somewhere you know. My ears are still blocked and ringing, furk furk furk. I hope they're amended by the time I have to make my presentation.

My Ears have left me for Dead

Losing one of your senses is like removing a lane on the forth road bridge. Everything slows down. Communication and bearing is so dependant on being able to distinguish clearly the trajectory and source of sounds around you. Moving cars for example. My hearing has developed a lowkey humming to offset some hearing loss and I'm not sure why, but it happened -after- I cleaned my ears.

This has led me to thinking that cotton buds are evil, and I must seek alternative allliance. Trouble is, I wish to go to Boots but I'm a little nervous of venturing out in this condition. People might think I'm ignoring them... but this time it'll be unintentional.

It might be fitting to go to the library today? Book reading books reading books, writing stuff. I'd want to visit more often, I always intend on doing so. Life just seems to get in the way at every step. I think that's why people stress the importance of organisation, and routine and pre-planning. While I'm too busy trying to fly, I'm winging everything else. Scraping the tree tops, remembering they're there. Only to find too late, the mountain hovering over my back. Squulnch.

I bought glue sticks. Adhesive tubes for the sticking of inspirational two dimensional portals. A black bound notebook, will become the port and vessel for metaphor. A collection of gateways to the other world. The over(UBER) world. Or should that really be worlds? I wish everything I wrote in there, ended up here and vice versa. Digital and Analogue clashing, a frightful battle waging into the new millennium...

The book is A3, it swamps my words and lets me wade between them. There's a feeling of looseness, like the words though contained, can graze in the comfortable shadows of the closed cover. But what to write about... haha morning pages, written in the afternoon.

Painting

I want to paint something that is worth painting.

Time Damming

It feels like all my time is rushing to meet a gathering force, skuttling to bar the way. Sidestepping usefulness, and piling atop one another in a bid to crush me under the stress and irony of it all. 3rd Year is almost over, but then, I feel so am I.

Everything returns into the light after the 8th of May, which stands perched upon the wall of a lighthouse, itself leaning on the edge of a cliff. I am working, I know this is so. But everything feels hazy, sluggish, and evading purpose, to point, to lead and admire.

I know I want to create, but creating the time to do so, requires my mind's co-operation. And it is playing silly buggers with procastination. Hence this journal entry.

Affirmations.

I'm going to finish these illustrations today.
I'm going to start my essay.
I'm going to publish a book.
I'm going to get a job for over the summer.
I've gone to do all these things...

Testing

1.. 2 .. 3 Testing.