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This song is just particularly heartbreaking at the moment. I am not yet at the age where change and growing old and moving on is relevant, but I am at an age to consider the possibility of these things actually happening. And it frightens me. I am not very accustomed to change, but I do crave new projects and aspirations and adventures, so for my cravings to be completely fulfilled I am going to have to experience change. I wrote earlier on Tumblr about this song: ”You know when a song just has the effortless ability to reflect your thoughts? Yeah, well, that. This is breathtakingly beautiful. Every single word in this song feels like that painful bruise on your left leg that you’re never even sure how it came to exist, and while the bruise still lingers, it frustrates you, but when the bruise fades, you miss it a lot slightly. People always ask me why I care about small, insignificant, nugatory items - when in hind sight, they harbor hardly any value. But what is the point in value anyway? Surely history is a much more precious thing, the story behind it, the people who have come into contact with this item. So yeah, infact I would miss the patterns in my bed room ceiling, I would miss the ragged brush against my feet of my bedroom’s worn out carpet, I would miss looking in the mirror at the exact same position it’s been in for majority of whenever I purchased the mirror. And If I was offered something much more of use, something fancy and worth while, and it mean’t I would have to get rid of things like the above, I would gladly refuse. ” And I also wrote this in response: to leaving my house: I just realized that soon, in only a couple of years, I’ll have to say goodbye to the room I’ve lived in for all my life. I’ve had the most intimate moments of my life in that space, those four black and pink squished walls have literally been what i’ve classed as home - and nowhere else. Not only have I physically grown in that room, but mentally and emotionally, and whenever I evolved - so did my room. I shaped it up to contain so much history, posters, tickets, drawings, even small writing on the corner of the wall, even small cracks in the paint where I’ve scratched it, even splashes of eyeliner on the wall for when i’ve been carelessly flinging about my liquid - They are all memories and stories waiting to be told. I think about the people who have entered this room, all my friends - some may be distant to me now, some maybe even closer. I think about where they sat in the room, what we talked about, what age were we. I think about the patterns in the ceiling, how it reminded me of waves when I was a younger - And it gave me so much comfort to analyse each twist and swirl. I think about every time I’ve trotted up the stairs after late nights and collapsed on my bed and still not have been able to sleep, I think of the times where its rained ridiculously heavy and I’ve perched on the end of my window and reached out to feel it on the palm of my hands. I think about the view, how it changes every season, how the flowers grow or the leaves die; yet it still looks so familiar and safe. I think about the time coming when I have to close my door for the very last time, how my door will scratch against the carpet so it won’t shut properly and I’ll have to yank it until it slams. I think that I will smile at that very fact. ”
Both of these thoughts feel as true as they did when I wrote them - the only difference being with time, these thoughts have certainly become more real. So real I feel they are almost edible.
I hate those days when thoughts just seem endless. not endless in the way that they are endlessly spouting creative and interesting things, but endless in the fact they just don’t leave your mind, and you find yourself drowing in a pool of semi-coherent worrying thoughts that shouldn’t even matter.
I worry that the English language simply doesn’t have enough words to describe things. Like nostalgia for the future. What the hell is the word for that? Or the sinking feeling you get after drinking wine - not even the slightest clue. There probably isn’t one, and nor does one really need a word for that, but it worries me nevertheless that we have all these thoughts and feelings and we can’t condense them to one word.
I worry about all the forgotten thoughts people have and all that lost potential. Those real meaningful ones you get in the shower or just before you fall asleep - What if someone had such a life changing idea that could change the way we live our lives forever, but they just simply forgot it because it wasn’t the right time of day to write it down?
I worry that I never make enough sense for other people to think ”Hey, I think that too!” And that really isn’t something you should be striking to achieve but let’s face it, nothing makes us feel better then when our own thoughts correlate with others and people appreciate us for thinking them.
I also worry that I may be going slightly deaf, but that’s not really a pushing matter is it?
The Cigarette Duet - Princess Chelsea
I want to do a devise piece on this song. I think it would be cool to explore couples breaking up because of cigarettes.
I always wonder when I look at a person who exactly they like romantically. Not because I want to desperately know for my own satisfaction of knowing ”gossip” but because I want to try figure out what draws them to that person. Is it their smile? Their hair colour? Their lust for life, or their sheer narcissism for it?
I’ve also noticed how emotionally vulnerable people are about liking people, and how other people just accept this. Like, how on an exterior they will make out that their totally fine with their crush making out with someone or they don’t mind if they are just friends, but EVERYBODY, including themselves know that they are not alright, infact, they feel terrible about it. But, we as the bystanders, just go along with them.
I bet if somebody knew that there are no possible way of the person judging you they’d tell you every little detail down to the last drop of why they like the person they like. Its a real shame you can’t talk about it so openly, because I bet there are so many fascinating little anecdotes in the heads of romantically smitten people.
As a particularly chubby girl, I go through phases of questioning, worrying about, agonizing over this very state. It seems regardless to how far away I can distance myself from thinking about it and diverting my mind to more important or sentimental things, the negative connotations of being ”chubby” just creak back in my life one way or another.
It is hard to be fat and to like yourself. Or, at least, it is hard to be yourself and truly like your fat. Fatphobia, fat-shaming and plain old fat hate are so, so ingrained in our culture that people don’t even think twice about the fact they, instinctively, attach a lower value to ‘fat’ than ‘thin’.
The problem with our media is that it trains people to love things like curves, hips, big breasts and bums, but it doesn’t train you to love your double chin or your stomach roll or your chubby cheeks or even see being ”overweight” as desirable. You should only love the ”desirable” things, apparently. Not the whole of your appearance, just these things alone. There seems to be a real hypocritical attitude of ”Yes, embrace your curves! But get rid of those thunder thighs, they chaff when you walk.” Not too mention that magazines will talk about the ”real woman” that has curves and belittle other women of different sizes who naturally do not have curves, and very thin frames and no chest at all, claiming that these are not ”real woman” and imply they are ghosts, or creatures of some sort? And belittling this type of woman does not make girls of a bigger weight feel any better, either. if anything, it just makes a large proportion of people feel bad - because there are many a girl who have sizes that means they have no cleavage or they have a big stomach, but not many girls with hourglass bodies and a slender yet voluminous physique. We are not told to love our body, but to love only some parts of it. We are told what is desirable, and that we should accept what is desirable and what isn’t it. But then we are told to see ourselves as desirable - even after all this confidence crushing bullshit.
I don’t want to make anyone feel bad about their body, I don’t want to pronounce on what is, in general, an ‘acceptable’ size or shape. I want everyone and anyone and their aunt and their puppy to feel like it’s ok to be the way they are, and if they’re already happy with it, then that’s even more ok. And I am not advocating unhealthy diets, whether it be starving yourself or piling in excessive junk food - But I will advocate a healthy mindset before anything else. It doesn’t matter if you have a little bit of fat where you shouldn’t, or have flat out cleavage, you don’t have to go about forcing yourself to change. Sure, eat better, exercise, try be healthy but don’t do it to improve your body’s physical look but the way it will make you feel in your brain, the more healthier of a person you will be.
A healthier mindset/happier person is always more important, always.
I like this type of rain. This is Lucy Howell rain, the type of rain where everything is easy to sink into, everything looks darker but nice darker. The type of rain where the sky paints it self a nice yet sad color.
I just feel fucking terrible. I feel like the pureness of human being is constantly being questioned. That one is to feel bad because you want to oppose against something actually bad, in the most innocent and sincere way possible. But even those innocent actions can go wrong, more rabbit holes and badness is just swirled around in the original mix. I just feel like there is too much argument, too much bandwagons and opinions swirling around and no action being made to achieve the better world. But what actions is there to make? How exactly do we reinforce difference to this world? Are we going to be stuck in a constant world full of injustice regardless to what extent we go to? What helps? sharing money? thoughtful thoughts? social networking? I don’t know - Do we buy into the attraction of making ourselves feel better, not actually helping the world in any way possible? Is that a bad thing? I feel kind of lost in my own thoughts and others and in a way, mindless to the scary world. I feel like I’m in a constant struggle to ”seek the great perhaps” And every time I think I know what the ”perhaps” is I am thrown into another direction of thousands of perhaps, and you just have to pick one and hope for the best. I don’t know. I feel a lot of things, but none of them ever make perfect sense.
I think I just witnessed the northern lights on a very small Yorkshire scale. The sky was all ominous and green and flashy. Its weird, if I could lock up all the moments where I sit next to my window gazing out on all the different skies that are all painted different shades, often reflecting my very own moods and days, I would. I don’t know, I can never be fully alone when I’m accompanied by the outside. The view of 19A Alderton Rise. Its kind of reassuring to look out. Reassuring to look at things, look at how they are painted differently throughout the year.
I’m sad for silly reasons. Not reasons I can spill put to the internet, but I don’t know, it’s not just whimsical stuff - it’s actual sadness.
I still really love this video. I love the concept of taking a cartoon/children fictional characters, especially like The Muppets, and focusing on their back story off stage. I would love to make Kermit a lonely man who has depression, and he always wanted to be a novelist or a painter but never got the chance to - and his off stage persona is extremely melancholic and on the verge of suicide.
I seriously want to do this project, and I have an idea of how to do it, but I don’t know if it would work. I am organizing this year’s fringe festival (FESTIVAL OF THE ARTS!!) and I was going to open it up to film as well theatre, music, dance, etc - And see if anyone would want to film it as a short film like documentary style. There’s this kid in the year below me with a Cannon 6D, come fucking on. IT WOULD BE AWESOME. But like, I dunno if anyone would want to work on a short film because everyone who takes media is slack. (including me) And no one has that much patience in my school to work with puppets or do voice acting, or maybe they do, I dunno.
