..Addict.

Just one last short post before bed.

I do honestly think that it is time I change the colour scheme and what not. Suggestions? Anyone? Please?

..And that's about it; I shall now head off to bed to further prove to myself how much of an insomniac I truly am.

Hello late night studying.

Peace and Love,

Torii.

And so they called it the Chicken Muff.

I've never really been one for short posts. But, frankly, I am tired and have not got enough energy to think let alone type and edit. Also, this post has been enacted for the simple sake of acquiring a password from a certain Fish.

Behold, Ladies and Gents, the Chicken Muffin:

This post shall now be pasted onto my new tumblr profile ( o-phrenic.tumblr.com ), which will automatically post it to twitter (@imtorii), which in turn will post it my facebook page.

And that's about all I have to say.

Peace and Love,

Torii.

..and I'm drunk up on your potion.

He walked into the dull, gloomy room and took a seat. Picked up his guitar. Began to play. His harsh fingers lingered on the fretboard- Dancing, jumping, kicking. The chords let out a shrill, followed by a cry of laughter. Gradually the room lit up. Even the night stars got brighter. The moon sang. The chairs flinched off the table. Feet tapped on the colourful tiles which gladly buzzed to the sound. The clock's hands swayed uncontrollably over the plate to which they were affixed. And before it was evident, time itself had flown by proving how unreal it truly was. The music, like all other things, came to an end. The feet stopped. The buzz died. The chairs squirmed back on to the tables. The lights faded out. The man left. The stars and moon got masked over by the cruel, cold, winter fog. Time froze over.

And all that was left were the faint remains of notes once strummed across strings once touched.

Peace & Love,

Torii.

Lady Madonna.

So I've finally gotten my muse back and hopefully this shitty block that i've had over the past few months has ended! I walked out of one of my classes today and started thinking. And then I started jotting what I was thinking down. And before I knew it 5 pages of poem were written. Well, I'm not quite sure if one could call this poetry but, frankly, I don't care. This is a rather post-modern piece. With the subjectivity and what not. But anywho I shall stall no further.
PS. Yes, it looks long. But it is actually a pretty quick read.


Upon entering there's a seat.
A smile waiting next to it.
A few words;
-I'm tired. It's too early-
Finally the main entrance.
Everyone stares. Everyone listens.
Pens in Hands. Papers on desks.
Then the alienation.
The silence.
A small nudge of elbows. Right on left.
And vice versa.
The slapping of books on tables.
The turning of pages.
Flick. Flick. Flick.
Thirteen.
Highlighters screech over words.
But underneath it all; the awkwardness.
A silence from both ends.
Its over.
The chair is pushed towards the desk.
And then a cold shoulder.
An empty right.
A hollowness inside.
A sinking.
Then some false pretense.
Some thinking. In solitude.
A flight of stairs leading up but walked down.
And then some more.
Blue walls. Minimal decor.
The shelves.
Philosophy. Religion. Science.
Language- Art.
Sheets laying dead on eachother.
Black on white. The facts.
A seat by itself. Surrounded by many.
The whispering.
The cold, piercing silence.

An after-effect.
Action - Reaction.
Or a lack from both ends.
Maybe it's just the morning.
The cold outside.
The wind stabbing cores of inanimates.
And animates too.
To animate.
Animation.
Animated.
Mate.
Mating.
That's what the book was about.
Added some oppression.
Freedom to and freedom from.
Hollowness.
Emptiness.
Feelinglessness.
In turn that too is a feeling.
The feeling of not feeling.
A shared glimpse upon passing.
Dead sentiments which lay buried in the mud.
Nolite te bastardes carborundorum.
But it still happened.
Carpe diem.
But the day died too.
Dulce et decorum est.
But only if it's real.
And then another glimpse.
Another set of eyes.
The butterflies.
But, alas, it is winter.
The cold. The rain. The shoulder.
Dulce et decorum est.
But is it real?
The legs march on.
A stuttering of shoes.
The stuttering rifle's rapide rattle.
But is weaponary truly necessary?
Parallell lines on a paper. Short. 3mm.
Followed by a closing parenthesis.

And then a clock.
Tick Tock.
But the tock stops.
And then an end.
A concluding line.
A termination of flow.
-It's late. I must go-

That's it. If you actually managed to read it all- Kudos to you! I'm not quite sure what it's about. You can look at it like a collage I guess. I just let the words write themselves. Anywho: I GO MAKE COFFEE, MENN! I just had to add that at the end :)

Peace and Love,
Torii xo

Who'd have known?

Like I said in a previous post, I've suddenly decided to make up for all the things I didn't post over the summer. It's not that I stopped writing. Au contraire, I wrote as much as I always do. It's just that sitting in front of my laptop doesn't provide me with much inspiration. I can't seem to figure out why, though. Maybe it's just the childish thrill I get as I move my hand across the grainy paper. Or the power of holding a pen. Pens are weapons too, you know! I can write anything I want about who, where, when or whatever I choose to. And no one can stop me. When I write, be what I produce good or utter rubbish, I feel free. As if I'm sat on a skateboard rolling down on a massively steep hill. It's like an adrenaline rush, I guess. And I can't stop myself. Most of the time I don't even think. I just let my hand manipulate the pen into releasing little loops, lines and splotches of coloured ink onto the page. I guess what I'm trying to say is that putting pen to paper is like a catharsis- One I don't reach when i monotonously type.

Anyway, enough of this nonsense about writing and how I enjoy it and what not. I'm absolutely positive that no one wants to hear about that.

I can not believe that in under two weeks summer will have ended, and school finally start. It's not that I haven't enjoyed the season. I honestly did. It's just that five months of summer vacation is a tad too much- don't you think? And, call me a nerd, I'm really looking forward to going back to school. I miss that place. You should see it when it rains- everyone packed like sardines in the Admin building during the short twenty minute breaks. And then scattering out like "men in fire or lime", as Owen (♥) put it, in hopes of getting to class dry. There are short cuts, of course. Halls you can pass through to lessen your time spent sploshing in the rain. But, I love the rain. It reminds of England. I remember frequently visiting London when i was younger. The dullness of the sky. The weight of the clouds. And of course the rain. And then the less obvious things, like fashion and the shows. The trips to London Zoo. And of course that time we drove to Scotland.

So, you see, I need this weather. It keeps me going. But, yet again, I have drifted from my main topic.

And to top it all off, I have forgotten what it is.

Peace and Love,

Torii xoxo

Babybird

So the other day I opened a fresh tab on my web browser and list of all things Google related appeared, as it always does. The only difference was that I bothered checking the links out. One of them led to blogger and here I am. Writing some random rubbish to make up for what appears to be the larger of a whole five months.

Well, for starters, school season has officially begun. About fifty thousand kids started school today, more will start throughout the rest of this week. The university Fresher's Week begins on Friday and many Post secondary schools start or have or have started this week. MCAST and ITS, however, have totally different school dates so I will not go into that.

As for me? I've decided to do another year of so-called 'Sixth Form' and just get more A Levels. I do have a dilemma, though. What intermediates to take? I have decided to move Biology up a level and study it as an A Level and I will also be sitting through another year of Wilfred Owen, William Shakespeare and the like, however I can not decide on my three intermediates.

Here are my current options:

Marketing- I already have an A Level passmark in it, so I figure Intermediate should be pretty easy.

Sociology- I just find it really interesting so I will, at least, enjoy studying it.

Home Ec.- I studied it at intermediate last year so I already know the syllabus.

Art- This subject I LOVE! I have been brought up in a house where art is really important so studying the history of art, for instance, would be pretty col. Plus, I love drawing and painting and all things arty so I guess that's a positive right?

Now the only question is which three?

Peace and Love,

Torii xoxo

And sometimes at night i dream of the most horrible things..

Do you ever think back to the past?
Either subconsciously through a dream, or from an old text message you read while deleting others.
Do you ever remember how it used to be?
Be it better or worse.
Do you remember how you used to feel?
Do you remember how you used to make others feel?
Do you ever feel what you used to feel?
Do you ever think back to all the chances you had?
To all the chances you lost, to all the chances you'll never get back.
Do you ever stop and stare?
Do you ever remember?
Do you ever wonder?


Sometimes questions like to wonder the page alone; just as clusters of words and nothing else. No meanings, no answers. Just question marks. That's why so many of them can not be answered. Or don't need to.

Peace and Love,
Torii xoxo