Hit the road, Jack.

Being a girl of her word I personally dedicate this post to Luke Galea, who asked me to write his name on my blog. Well, there you have it, Luke. Your name. On my blog. Happy now?

I know I'm not. To be frank, it's not that I'm not happy- I am just stressed. I've got a deadline that needs to be met and portfolio which is still empty. I have no inspiration what so ever. Something which I, so readily, blame on the horrible weather. Most people, of course, find this weather beautiful. The sun, the warmth, the freedom. But I beg to differ, as usual. How am I supposed to study when migraine so constantly injects itself into my head and stabs me with its sepulchral claws? HOW?!

Bits and Bobs under portfolio material speculation.

Yes, yes. Very egoistic of me. I am very well aware of that, but all I ask is that this country actually has seasons. March should still be bursting with rain and all this sun should be preserved in a black garbage bag until further notice. Certainly, I can not be the only one to feel this way about the weather..?

And finally some advice from the very person who asked that this post be made- "Half a bottle of Vodka".

Unfortunately happy water is currently not at my disposal and I fear that even if it were, it would only lead to an aggravation of my current situation.

And with that I shall abandon this post.

Torii out!

xoxo

But darling, what did you expect?

Finally, A new background!

A bit about it-

The picture for said background was taken at school during a Biology experiment where we got to use pink dye. Our teacher was kind enough to let us mess around with it and ergo- colourful hand! The stain remained on my hand for about four days but, seeing as pink is one of my favorite colours, it didn't quite matter.

Et voila! Another short, dull post. This is what A Levels do to the human mind.

And that's about all I have to say.

Peace & Love,

Torii.

..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