::the world through two orbs of fire and ice::
[Sunday, April 08, 2007]
getting carried away
yes getting carried away animating the feet O_o taking a short break now... pretty zonked out. i'm supposed to be doign key framing!! O_O but yes. getting carried away with the bits. well what can you expect righT? I'm animating my Bits after all. They want to do this and they want to do that, or why not do this or do that....? BLAalalblbblblblblblaLBAlalalalbbBBaaBB!!
ok and on with the narcissism
[Tuesday, February 06, 2007]
Came to my house one day
with all his animals
and then he took me away
My camera exploded. Yes, with a loud pop and a great white flash, it happens. I dont always use it, but still it's quite uncomfortable not having it there ... since it took a trip to repair shop and probably won't be back till 2 months after. Warped batteries, said the lady, Look!
Wells. Ok, I'm just posting for the sake of posting today. Stomach flu yesterday, felt pretty uncomfortable today till the long thing stuffed me with VitaC sweets, which sort of helped, but of course nothing beats proper food after almost 2 days without real food. (I puked up my only meal of yesterday, ate a small maggi mashed potato today) .. the worst bit's not having coffee today. I even contemplated drinking teh, cos it's not so dehydrating... according to Trina.
Oh ya, here's a photo of my most anal piece of work on a wall.
Boring post. Right, I'm going to sleep now.
[Wednesday, January 17, 2007]
The Last Gathering
There was a little black bird that flew down
all the way down from Cloud City,
to find that the evening Gathering had already begun.
Reports, laments and tales from little ones
who had seen everything and sometimes nothing.
Now this little black bird, he was in a great great hurry,
For there were matters that couldn't tarry.
"Brothers! Sisters!" Cawed he, wings a-ruffled,
With the dust of Cloud City still fresh on his black black wings.
For three days did he fly,
With the sole purpose of telling the tale,
The great unfortunate news,
told him by a lesser King, one about to die,
like the hundreds who have been dying
so that they might be born again,
as they must, as we must.
"Within the next forty," he says, breathless,
"Within the next forty Gatherings.
The Kings will die for the last time,
the lesser before the greater.
Hence the tears, hence the tears,
as you have so asked, my brethren."
No more Gatherings? No more Kings?
Are we no longer needed by the Kings to watch?
They ask in voices like a shower of pebbles on stone.
Quoth the old Raven, "Nevermore."
A thousand thousand obsidian eyes turn
towards the dark Monarch,
the only directly decended from Cloud City.
"Listen ye to the little black one. Leave the Walkers.
Few may yet have sense
to pay heed to our language.
On the even of the morrow, our last Gathering we shall hold,
Ere we return to join our falling Kings."
So it followed that on that day in all the trees of Gathering,
for the first time, the Watchers were silent.
The Walkers who noticed huddled closer together,
But most kept their heads down,
They went on a Tuesday, quite like any other;
But if you looked up at the sky that day
at precisely 6 in the evening,
You'd see them returning;
A majestic flow of black lace over blue satin,
spiralling, spiralling home
before the Kings come down for the last time.
Then will the forty days of Flood begin all over,
This time without a single deserving Noah.
Ok, finally a post that's not drowning in emo. I wrote this on the bus home, after a Grande cup of coffee (low fat milk, topped with whipped cream. Talk about self-contradiction.) and aimlessly wandering around orchard in the first day of proper heat, accompanied by the usual evening orchestral gossip of the mynahs in the trees at 6 in the evening.
Well it has been raining alot, hasn't it?
[Monday, January 15, 2007]
As it is
Under satin sheets and between over-coloured curtains
I have not tried, I have not tried.
Taste is but sawdust in my mouth,
Moldy old sawdust, unwanted, unneeded...
Like a sunset through tinted glass
and a path famed trodden but not.
The mask that peels off after the first act,
and pieced back together, like
it was meant to be,
supposed to be,
true as the beam within which the Harlequin stands.
I am a golem,
half completed, half constructed.
Used on occasion by one such as myself.
[Thursday, January 11, 2007]
Aah! It's one of those.
Over the fence and through the ditch, you see a beaten path which you thought was the path less trodden. A puff of white so faint to the eye flashes past and through; What that was, no body knows... Into the trees and beating back the eyeless creatures with teeth thin as pine, you stumble upon the puff, though it's not quite a puff but rather a red balloon. How you saw it as white, Nobody knows... Excuse me, dear friend, have you seen the rest of the herd? It squeaks. The herd? You ask. Oh yes, the herd! You know, a big bunch of others looking just like me! There's 99 of them if you want go all specific.
Aah, one of those. You think to yourself. Can't believe I have.
Oh. Oh well... I'll just have to keep looking, won't I? shrugs the balloon, and floats away humming a particularly familiar tune.
Along comes a circus with their freaks and their humours, spewing oodles of noodle-like streamers peppered with pixie dust and red-lipped grins. Their gabbling language you understand little, and with starry eyes you dress in spots and spandex topped with a swirly cushy cone hat with tiny hands waving out from its victorian windows. Rapunzels, rapunzles drowning in fuzzy coloured hair as you recite the poetry of their existence while dancing with the fat lady on a tight rope. With the speed of flying cake and a 10 men-full child-sized fire engine they fade away and while you stand in all their pixie dust covered in streamers and spandex. Somewhere in the sky a red cloud passes you by. The streamers peel away as easily as burnt skin, and they fall to the ground like confetti at a wake, leaving the behind something unrecognizable, indistinguishable. With smearing feet you wander on the beaten path, your song trailing in your prints tuneless to your deafened ears, when a red balloon floats down in front of you.
Now this is the part where you wake up, try to go back to sleep, determined to finish the story, but instead wake up again half an hour later only to realise to apocalyptic horror that you're half an hour late for reality.
[Tuesday, January 09, 2007]
this pic probably summarizes my whole dec.
Ok, I took that shot just after training. It was raining. Cold to humid, my lens fogged up. But I liked that it fogged up. so there. Took 2 others before the batt died from trying to focus on the fog. carthiel.multiply.com
[Thursday, December 21, 2006]
hello and hello again.
I cant afford to slip into emo-ness. Well it's true that shooting's probably the thing keeping me away from being all emo and stuff... i've got to snap out of it if i'm ever to shoot properly again. cos right now it's pretty much screwed up... i tried that day, but it was like being 2 people at the same time. that was probably the worst of it... didn't bloody know what I was doing with the gun though I sort of knew. exactly like watching things happening from within a stained glass box. no time. monthly shoot's on sat. got to snap back. got put that thing back in the box, lock it up tight, and paint it over with 10 layers of paint, with a lead wall around it.
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