Journals84
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I couldn't sleep last night
5 min read
Once upon a time, in a distant uncharted land, an old man sat in a rocking chair on the porch of his 3-storey ranch house, a stone in his left hand, a walking stick in the other.
He judged the long, thin trees splintering his view of the ocean, from under his bushy eyebrows. He inhaled, and cast his eyes back, and his mouth crept open to reveal yellowed teeth. Sweeping his thumb across the smooth stone in long, undulating circles, and the trees were pulled from under the earth to a reasonable distance.
He blinked himself back to reality, and without taking his view from the ocean, pocketed his stone and went inside.
The old man spent the next days staring endlessly at the ocean from his living room window. The trees dared not to move back. The stone became heavy in his pocket, and he resigned himself to a stroll, thinking of the ocean all the while.
He came to a highroad, presumably older even than himself. He stood in a gap in the bushes, watching carts and horses pass. He obsered them from beneath his eyebrows. At dusk, posessed by what he had seen, he retired home.
Waking each morning for the following weeks to watch the passers-by on the road the old man became irritable and frustrated.
And then it all started to go wrong.
'DEMONS!' He would yell, stood at the curb of the old road, an old angry man, and beg the passers-by to leave. They barely noticed him, before they were promptly consumed, slipping into the earth in a flurry of dirt and torn flesh.
Days later, and the old man became increasingly angry, screaming and collpsing frequently in his home, sobbing endlessly for hours and exclaiming scornful things at nonsensical things. The trees soon moved back to obscure his ocean view, and his stone felt light. the passers-by continued to walk the old road, but none ever came the same way again, the old angry man banishing them to the earth.
One such day, and the old man was seated in his lounge, staring at the floor in front of his feet amusedly, listening to a radio. Upstairs his bathrtoom mirror splintered, seperating into a thousand pieces, crashing to the floor, and a thousand more. Outside the trees snickered, vertical orange streams flickering between them, gasping and laughing wildy at the scandal. A rat walked into the sea, and didn't come out. The old angry man cringed, and stood to inquire as to the sound's origin. There was no answer.
That night, whilst preparing for sleep, the old man noticed in his kitchen window, a face. More of an expression, or presence- but it was there, and it was horrible. in an instant he hadsnapped shut the door, refusing to go back inside his kitchen, wracked to the temporary image in his peripherals. Time gave him courage, and he took another stride into the room, refusing to glance rightward toward the window as he went about his nightime routine. The old angry man busied himself with making a sandwich, though by this point not even he knew quite why, perhaps for the sake of granting something for his hands familiar. At some point he went into a trance, not by any definition magical, merely one of exhuastion and a rudimental task, such as you might get form working on a field for the long hours of the day.
But then he turned, and was arrested by the sight of the figure, as it were before. Yes, the figure- for it had shoulders beneath it's very circular head, it's mouth a curled non descript grin- the old man's sight of the thing completely locked by it's own insistent gaze. It must have been 8 feet tall to stand halfway up the window given the house's foot high foundations, but no thoughts or images occured to the man of the creature's body, merely it's perfectly circular head, and terrifying eyes that seemed to peek inside you and strangle your scream in your throat. The man's lips parted again to reveal those yellow teeth, but no sound came out. The figure vanished in an instant.
The following night saw the man truly lose his mind. No thoughts of the ocean or the road came to him, instead haunted by that other presence.
The old man was rocking with his legs in his arms in the corner of his bedroom, beside his low bed. Opposite, there was a window, that didn't face the ocean. He knew it would appear. But there as nothing more terrifying than it, and he was immobilised by the empty window, anxious for it's iminent return, incapable of standing up or closing the blind- for fear of seeing it again.
Then it came to him again. Eyes arresting his own, pulling out the scream from his throat before he could even exhale-
The old man died that night. No one walked across the highroad again. The trees have grown taller since. No one knows if the old man is still in there.
He judged the long, thin trees splintering his view of the ocean, from under his bushy eyebrows. He inhaled, and cast his eyes back, and his mouth crept open to reveal yellowed teeth. Sweeping his thumb across the smooth stone in long, undulating circles, and the trees were pulled from under the earth to a reasonable distance.
He blinked himself back to reality, and without taking his view from the ocean, pocketed his stone and went inside.
The old man spent the next days staring endlessly at the ocean from his living room window. The trees dared not to move back. The stone became heavy in his pocket, and he resigned himself to a stroll, thinking of the ocean all the while.
He came to a highroad, presumably older even than himself. He stood in a gap in the bushes, watching carts and horses pass. He obsered them from beneath his eyebrows. At dusk, posessed by what he had seen, he retired home.
Waking each morning for the following weeks to watch the passers-by on the road the old man became irritable and frustrated.
And then it all started to go wrong.
'DEMONS!' He would yell, stood at the curb of the old road, an old angry man, and beg the passers-by to leave. They barely noticed him, before they were promptly consumed, slipping into the earth in a flurry of dirt and torn flesh.
Days later, and the old man became increasingly angry, screaming and collpsing frequently in his home, sobbing endlessly for hours and exclaiming scornful things at nonsensical things. The trees soon moved back to obscure his ocean view, and his stone felt light. the passers-by continued to walk the old road, but none ever came the same way again, the old angry man banishing them to the earth.
One such day, and the old man was seated in his lounge, staring at the floor in front of his feet amusedly, listening to a radio. Upstairs his bathrtoom mirror splintered, seperating into a thousand pieces, crashing to the floor, and a thousand more. Outside the trees snickered, vertical orange streams flickering between them, gasping and laughing wildy at the scandal. A rat walked into the sea, and didn't come out. The old angry man cringed, and stood to inquire as to the sound's origin. There was no answer.
That night, whilst preparing for sleep, the old man noticed in his kitchen window, a face. More of an expression, or presence- but it was there, and it was horrible. in an instant he hadsnapped shut the door, refusing to go back inside his kitchen, wracked to the temporary image in his peripherals. Time gave him courage, and he took another stride into the room, refusing to glance rightward toward the window as he went about his nightime routine. The old angry man busied himself with making a sandwich, though by this point not even he knew quite why, perhaps for the sake of granting something for his hands familiar. At some point he went into a trance, not by any definition magical, merely one of exhuastion and a rudimental task, such as you might get form working on a field for the long hours of the day.
But then he turned, and was arrested by the sight of the figure, as it were before. Yes, the figure- for it had shoulders beneath it's very circular head, it's mouth a curled non descript grin- the old man's sight of the thing completely locked by it's own insistent gaze. It must have been 8 feet tall to stand halfway up the window given the house's foot high foundations, but no thoughts or images occured to the man of the creature's body, merely it's perfectly circular head, and terrifying eyes that seemed to peek inside you and strangle your scream in your throat. The man's lips parted again to reveal those yellow teeth, but no sound came out. The figure vanished in an instant.
The following night saw the man truly lose his mind. No thoughts of the ocean or the road came to him, instead haunted by that other presence.
The old man was rocking with his legs in his arms in the corner of his bedroom, beside his low bed. Opposite, there was a window, that didn't face the ocean. He knew it would appear. But there as nothing more terrifying than it, and he was immobilised by the empty window, anxious for it's iminent return, incapable of standing up or closing the blind- for fear of seeing it again.
Then it came to him again. Eyes arresting his own, pulling out the scream from his throat before he could even exhale-
The old man died that night. No one walked across the highroad again. The trees have grown taller since. No one knows if the old man is still in there.
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I'm so delicious
1 min read
Look at my pictures bitches you'll regret it if you don't
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likes and other things
3 min read
Things I like desu ne:
I like speaking in spanglish, even though i can barely speak spanish
I like biting the chocolate off malteasers and then biting them open and feeling the honeycomb dissolve
I like spending enough time with people that you can sit and hang around comfortably in silence
trying to write patterns in corduroy and materials by rubbing it in different directions
listening to interiews with James arnold taylor and Paula tiso and Tara strong while lying in bed trying to sleep
smelling turpentine... chocolate limes yay
walking someplace and finding an alley and just walking down it to find out where it leads even though it can make me late to places
when you find out something new you and a friend have in common and you have a moment
listening to a song you used to love for the first time in ages and feeling really notsalgic
listening to old people's stories
listening to voices of idols like marlene and imagining meeting them and what they would look like in person and how they would gesture with their hands and small details about them that you could never get from a photo
listening to people who use proverbs a lot in their speech or colloquialisms like my old food tech teacher
people who wear odd clothes that look weird together and feeling embarrassed for them but also proud of them for wearing whatever they want without conforming to a look or clique like those emos that are all about being individual when there are millions of them
listening to an awesome track and imaginging dancing to it really well
findind out litlle details about my idol's lives and finding links between them like if they met or anything 
being outside in the summer or spring with grass and sun big open expances of light and crisp air and feeling close to my nan even though she's usually upwards of 5 miles away, and taking the time on a walk to look at a spider spinning it's web or to feel the bark on a tree or feel sun or look for shapes in the moon though my bedroom window in the middle of the night or look for aliens in the distant sky and listening to the wind and imagine all the other people listening to the wind and the rain and being drenched by it and towelling off and the towels are coarse
reading a book and finally understanding the title in more ways than the obvious ones
reading something and finding a sentence or a group of words that are just so brilliant and are all linkes and so perfect
erm yeah
maybe I'll write more when i can be bothered or i think of something more
have fun guys
have a nice saturday!!
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NEW: the cure and the cause
1 min read
yay
It's better now~
Deus ex machina: The cure and the cause ;
documenting the struggle betwixt the super ego and the ID, with the characters lady sane and little sister respectively. It's going to be gorgeous, and I feel a lot more at ease now, so s'all good~
let's just relax and do some more coursework hmm?
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some more shit
2 min read
fucking hell it's one of those moments
I wake up just to go back to sleep
I act real shallow but I'm in to deep
And all I care about is sex and violence
And a heavy bass line is my kind of silence
Everybody says I got to get a grip
But I let sanity give me the slip"
so muchh
I love music
When I'm listening to music, that's when I'm closest to her
hmm
I wanted to do a transcription of the ex. of lady j.g for ages
but I can title it the execution of lady sane
it's about the consummate ID possessing us, and trying to preserve our non-criminal self by separating our super ego in the form of lady sane
but then she's executed by the crazy ID
ONCE again, I will tell yo guys how much of a genius I am
Lady sane would have to be me though, otherwise it'd be roles reverse, and I would get mind fucked by mewtwo urgh
oh, it works out don't worry
dual personality, dual conscious -> split personalities, separate consciouses. That word was spelt right fucking spell checker
In which me, with two perspectives and two identities and the harmony of the ID and the SE is split into the lady sane and something else
depends on who LS will be playing I suppose, if it'll be her as the ID or her as the lady sane o.o
Something to come to at a later date
fits in with deus ex
oh wow
composition ideas
fuck
oh dear lord
so much ideas
I need to start drafting compositional sketches ready for the next time I completely change what I Want to do
This is why Deus ex is gonna be fucking huge
There's gonna be so much imagery and topics and shit discussed in it
it's gonna be faaabulous
Also, "FiN4l b0sS"
and also, "I wake up everyday it's a daydream
Everything in my life isn't what it seemsI wake up just to go back to sleep
I act real shallow but I'm in to deep
And all I care about is sex and violence
And a heavy bass line is my kind of silence
Everybody says I got to get a grip
But I let sanity give me the slip"
so muchh
arttt
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