All Hallow Even.

 



 

 I recycled an Alice In Wonderland dress, and transformed it into 'Alice In Zombieland'.

Even though I'm clearly celebrating Halloween here, do any of us really know the reason as to why we celebrate this fright evoking evening? I fear (no pun intended) that Halloween is simply another money making, consumer crunching festivity, with no meaning behind it at all. Yes you could go onto argue that Christmas is one big commercialised celebration but at least we are all aware of Jesus and the meaning (although the majority of us, including me, don't allow that thought to enter our minds as we're ripping our presents open and gorging ourselves on chocolates and Yorkshire puds!)

The truth is no-one knows the true origin of Halloween.

Aren't the frightening events of everyday life ( especially featured on crime watch) enough to scare us constantly ? So why do we continue to do it? I suppose you could argue we still feel the need to watch horror films.Despite all of this for me it's just an excuse to get gothed up and stain my skin red for a week with fake blood. But does it actually mean anything to anyone?




Adam , my sister boyfriend dressed up as Count Dracula.

 



Ian, Adams dad dressed up as a generic zombie .



Life moves pretty fast.If you don't stop to look around once in a while you could miss it.

Following on from what I said in 'Half term Horrors' the builders had finished the driveway ,it's Saturday so I should get an uninterrupted lie in right? wrong, again. At 8:55am the squeaking started. My dad must have some serious vendetta against my sleeping, he stood directly outside my room and began to clean my windows.It didn't sound like he was making an attempt to be delicate about it either.


why?why?why?!?!

The sheer, splitting squeaks only lasted about 10 minutes then were replaced by the muffled sound of my elderly next door neighbour.As soon as I strained, in my sleepy state, to make out the words 'how was your holiday?' fall from her frail mouth ,I knew a storm was brewing. My parents recently went away to Australia for a month, leaving my twin sister and I to fend for ourselves. At first we were just getting by, but towards the end of the month the temptation got too strong and we had a few 'gatherings' and one event you could class as a 'party'.

Anyway I'll cut to the chase, a few people were sick outside the front of the house and my neighbours complained, threatening to tell our parents as soon as they got back.So, at 9:05am the stink bomb was dropped, contaminating our parents prestine image of us. My initial thoughts were 'bitch, absolute bitch, we're young, let us have a good time!' then I began to empathise. They're retired, trying to enjoy the last of their lives together, the last thing they want is some terrible teens disturbing their sleep. Then I felt really guilty and just wanted to go back to sleep a pretend the potential bollocking we would later receive was just a horrible dream.

I just couldn't settle, I started thinking about life and ,as dismal as is sounds, how short it is. How is it fair that young people get to have all the fun? If middle aged people go out clubbing, you know what all the young'uns are thinking 'what the hell are they doing here?' but it shouldn't be that way. It's the middle aged people who are working, dealing with more stress then we probably ever have, who probably need a good night out to take their minds off work and the harsh reality of adult life. Yet it's the underage (usually) teenagers , who have the least amount of money ,probably borrowing it off their middle-aged parents in order to go out and have a good time. Something seems a little wrong. Surely your life should keep getting better so you die at your happiest?


But I guess like most things, life is a cycle, vicious as it is. We're born crying, complaining, and dependent on others to meet our basic needs. And for those of us who become frail, aged, and easily annoyed ,that's how we'll leave, in a similar state to how we came.

This post is a little morose but I suppose the only way in which we can accept death is by accepting life, and that takes an entire lifetime in itself.

''Dream as if you'll live forever.  Live as if you'll die today.'' - James Dean

Half term horrors.

So after 6 weeks of extensive work (yeah right!) in my first half term of A-levels, I felt like I'd earned a well deserved rest. well that's what I envisaged my week off to be, sleeping eating and more sleeping.

However,this morning I woke up to a deep low vibrate, I genuinely thought we were having an earthquake (as rare as they are in England).I peer out of the window to be greeted with a trio of builders bottoms and rowdy banter.Trust my dad to stick a spanner in the works, or more so, a digger. Out of all the opportunities they've had this year they decided to get our drive dug up and re-laid this week! So this  morning  I've woke up with a banging head due to the banging outside. The worst thing is, my bedroom is on the ground floor, and I have blinds. Enabling the workmen to peek through at me in my unsettled slumber.

Unaware that they were starting work this morning, I went to bed with only my underwear on, leaving me completely and utterly trapped as I knew there was a slight chance they'd be able to catch a glimpse of my semi-naked body emerging from my cocoon.So I crawled through my duvet and found myself on the floor, I then crawled to my sofa to grab some jeans, and in the most awkward position ever, I attempted to pull them up, not to mention it's nearly November and my wooden floor was like an ice rink.

It's not just the 8am wake ups that are irritating, it's the fact I have a mound of coursework to get through and all I can hear is the low hum of the digger and the smashing of bricks. I guess I won't be getting the rest that I didn't really deserve anyway.

James Dream

what a masterpeice.

Interpretation.

This evening my mother (who is deaf) and her friend Shirley (who is also deaf) roped me in to interpret for them at my mothers local Pilate class. The hall in which the class was taken was as humid as hell and my choice of clothing was anything but practical.I wore black skinny jeans and biker boots with a grey hoodie. Initially people were looking around as if to say ' why is she wearing that for Pilate's?' blissfully unaware of my true intentions of being there.My mother is always quick to embarrass or in this case, to brag. Excruciatingly embarrassed already sitting beside the instructor my mother felt the need to draw even more attention to me by exclaiming' we have an interpreter here this evening' .There they were , 48 total strangers looking at me with an almost  bemused expression.

Although I may have had the reddest face in the room at the beginning of the class, ten minutes in I was faced with rows of sweating and struggling seniors.Certain exercises were more , lets say, awkward to execute. I had never seen so much middle-aged VPL and squished scrotum's in all my 17 years of life and didn't really ever want to be put in that situation again. There were many times in which I wanted to just look up and laugh, but I refrained 'I must focus on interpreting' I told myself.Luckily the instructor had a cold and didn't want to strain her voice too much, so she hardly spoke throughout the entire hour.

It's strange how people look at you in a new light whenever they recognise the fact that you can sign.At the start of the class I could almost hear what the women were thinking ' why does this young thing need to come to Pilate's? she's already skinny, putting us 'past-it' ones to shame' but as soon as I settled in at the front and began to sign, they looked at me with admiration , almost as if to say ' wow, she's young but knows sign language, that's impressive'. I'm not going to lie, I love the attention, thrive of it even. Sometimes, even when my mum doesn't need me to interpret I will, I just love it.

Anyway, when I was sitting there, in skin tight jeans, unable to participate but not needed to interpret I was able to think. Not just any superficial thoughts like ' what shall I wear tommorow' or ' I wonder what dad's making us for tea' but real, serious thoughts.

I was staring at my mother and her friend for quite sometime , thinking about friendship and what it means. They say we pick our friends, but I don't think that's entirely true. In school or at work , you may not class yourself as friends with certain people , but you'll always be courteous and 'friendly' towards them. What  makes people real friends? Is there ever a friendship that is completely equal, both people appreciating each other the exact same amount? As cynical as it sounds,I doubt it.

With social networking sites governing 'friendships' and allowing us to make ' friends' so easily you'd think we'd all learn to accept each other more as we are exposed to so many people on such a regular basis. But this doesn't seem to be the case.I'd be contradicting myself if I said 'you should never go on social networking site' because I'm a self confessed addict and know the practicalities of being able to contact people, for free, all over the world. I just get frustrated often by how superficial it is all becoming.

 Anyway, I was looking at this synchronised sea of bobbing people, performing the '100' Pilate's exercise and I thought ' If only it was possible to know everything about every single one of these people'okay maybe 'everything' is a bit unrealistic, but basic facts, or exceptional experiences in which we could look at in awe.If everyone knew just a smidgen of information about everyone else, maybe we'd learn to respect each other more .Certain people see other people as investments, they have to be impressed by the initial encounter in order to invest their time and care into them. Admittedly I'm probably one of those people and I find this side of human nature very sad.

If we all shared more, talked more, and cared more I think the world would be  a rather pleasant place.

Bourne to be there.

Like the coast, my mind is always changing.Although sandy, my trip to Bournemouth today really cemented the idea of going to University there.

I really did save the best til last , Bournemouth being my final University open day visit. The 3.5 hours journey was definitley worth it, not only to spend a good few hours solely with my mum (which is a rariety these days) but also to get some driving practice in!

So now I know where I want to go, all I have to do is work my little bum off in order to secure a place on the 'Scriptwriting for Tv and Film' course.

Zante 2010.

This July we went to Zante ( the family and I) but as I didn't have a blog then I'll have to fill you in now. AS-level exams were done, so we followed the sun. A week of extremes, extreme highs (water skiing, snorkeling, olive grove walking) and extreme lows ( projectile vomiting for 6 hours, due to being spiked). The last thing you want on holiday is to be ill but I always have to be ill at the least convenient of times. Whether it be Xmas or my birthday I'll always have an illness brewing, maybe the excitement triggers it, or maybe I'm just bloody unlucky, probably the latter. Anyway here are a few holiday snaps and a short video.

Zante 2010 from on Vimeo.

blog off ;

It's been 4 days since I started blogging and I have to admit I'm already awfully addicted.
Despite the distinct lack of comments and followers I'm getting, the ability to post something, entirely constructed and crafted by myself,and the fact it will always be here is exceedingly exciting.

I've noticed that blogs carry a heavy weight of stigma on their cyber spines. As I browse through the random 'next blog's I find page upon page of knitting nerds,cupcake crazies and proud parents. I may be wrong to assume this but by the looks of it they're all middle-aged and middle-classed , is there any other young people blogging? Are all blogs really just for companies which can't afford proper .coms? Are they really just for ex-writers or Junior writers clinging onto their last strand of success or trying desperately to find success and recognition? But most importantly are they really just for pretentious people who think their opinion is superior to everyone else's?

 I really want to prevent my blog becoming just another conceited citizen's diary of everyday rants. Why should I assume people actually care what I think? Why should I assume that anyone is even reading this right now? I shouldn't. I see this blog as a great place for me to vent and record and if my venting resonates within some people, then that's just an added bonus.

If only we could dive into baths.

Baths is an experimental music maker from Los Angeles who creates

''blissed-out electronic music that occupies a middle ground between cassette-happy chillwave and bedroom-pop nostalgia''

This has to be my all-time favourite of his tracks.


Baths - Aminals from Emmanuel Donate on Vimeo.

UC*AS *ankissmy

To defer or not to defer? that is the question.
Okay so the novelty of the prospect of university has wore off. With the deadline looming and friends of friends already recieving offers and interviews, its all never felt so real.Do I really want to spend another year walking around Walsall just wishing I was somewhere else, somewhere vibrant and full of life? Do I really want to work for a year, gaining vital experience and more importantly vital income? With the horror show that is the budget pressuring us even more to get to Uni as quick as possible I've never felt so unsure. I've always been indescicive but daily mindsets lead me to change not only my choice of University but my entire course. Even though I started researching Universities last September, I still don't think we have been given enough time to make this life changing desicion.

The walls have ears.

'This year is the most important year of your life' is the all too familiar phrase that trickles out of hopeful parents, teachers and acquaintances poised pouts. What appears to be the leaning tower of paper Pisa sits on my dining room table calling me, craving attention. With all this work to do , you would think I'd just get stuck in, the sooner I start, the sooner I get it done right? Wrong.

It's getting dark outside, there's a full moon and the devil weighing on our generations scrawny shoulders has come out to play again.Facebook.This new yet familiar world of cyberlife is slowly ruining civilization, that  may appear slightly strong and awfully assumptive but the ropes of this relentless roundabout of communication have latched onto our generation and are practically strangling younger generations. To avoid rope burn and even worse ,social exclusion we satanically sign in, for most of us, every night.

Isn't it odd that you can be 'friends' with someone, know every location of their current and previous display pictures yet struggle to describe their beliefs, their morals, the core human beneath the layers of photoshopped perfection and superficial scribbles on their 'wall'. That's another thing, conversations aren't even conversations anymore they may aswell be forums,meticulous messages are posted publicly on 'walls', with the intention of being read by every newsfeed onlooker. I am convinced there is a correlation between the amount of hours spent on facebook and the level of self esteem you have. If I were to do a study I would predict that when time on facebook goes up, self esteem goes down.

This level of unlimited access to information may seem harmless but given the right circumstances it can be soul destroying. Everyone can see photos of where you've been, or where you haven't been and ultimately will result in people feeling left out or uninformed, unloved .It may also correlate with jealousy , especially amongst girls. Girls, should stop agonising over 'awful' photos that have been uploaded, luckily I like to look at the bigger picture (no pun intended) and often detach myself, for a brief moment, from our cyberworld. None of it matters, like profile pictures, people will change, what's 'Top News' on Facebook today will be at the bottom of some soul searching scroll tomorrow.

As easy as it is to get sucked in , I think we all need to take a step back, to mourn. Mourn the days when you could bump into someone you hadn't seen in years and get on like nothing had happened in between without having images of their past years bombarding your everyday life, informing you of every little change. This constant informing will only inevitably lead to people not inquiring, people not worrying. No mystery will remain, no curiosity, no human nature. The ironic thing is, it's called a 'social' networking site.

However, chances are, without Facebook you wouldn't be reading this now.