failure

Failed the maths mock. Totally bummed it.

This is what no revision gets me. I mean, what did I fucking expect? Being brutally honest; I'm bright, but I'm in set 1A. There ain't no place for laziness or slackers, of which I am both. I deserved what happened today, and I also know that my maths teacher has every right to moan at me on Thursday when we next have maths.

I'm 6 marks off an A* on my overall score. 6 god damn marks. This test was only a mock, but if it had been the real exam I'd have fucking screwed everything up.

It means too much to me to mess around, far too much.

When I was a kid, I had to go to a maths tutor because I was that bad at maths... she literally had to teach me everything from the ground up, and I was in year five. Luckily, I went to her long enough that she turned things right around and I nailed my SAT's in year six. I also nailed it all through high school, and without her I'd be on a C right now, but I'm not. I'm sat on an A.

Maths never came naturally to me, and that's why I want this so much. I had to fight for it, and I can't give up now. It's the real damn thing, what I do with the rest of my life depends on the grades I get at GCSE. I can't slack now.

I fuck up my GCSE's, and everything is screwed.

So yeah, I've had a major kick up the butt. All the teachers graphs and statistics and shit say that I'm supposed to get at least an A in EVERY SINGLE SUBJECT.

They say I can make it, my parents say I can make it, my brother says I can 'kick their asses' (translation; nail it). I want to make it. I NEED to make it, for my own god dang sanity. I didn't work my butt off all this time to slack up now, no way.

I want A levels. I want a degree in something that sounds insanely complicated and sophisticated. I want to achieve my dreams, the dreams I actually have the ability to reach. But can I? That's the million dollar question.

Anyway, one mock down this week, one more to go. It's Art & Design, and it's on Wednesday. Fuck me if I'm not going to fight tooth and nail to ace this one.

There's a song from Step Up called 'Im'ma Shine', and it's kind of my motivational song right now. I want to shine.

Im'ma shine,
K x

le bonheur

It's Monday again tomorrow! Wahoo. 

It's going to be a busy week for me I guess; I've got loads of mocks (including art, geography and maths), it's Citizenship day tomorrow (ohhh the joys), going to see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1 with the other seniors straight after school on tuesday, and uhmm... uhmm... well, yeah. There's more stuff going on but I seem to have forgotten, which is immensely helpful. 

FUN FUN FUN.

...Not. Well, apart from the Harry Potter bit, haha.

Also, GOOD NEWS! I got a letter back from Sir John Deanes asking me to go for an interview at the college to discuss my subject choices. Insert Mini-spasticated-happy-dance here! I just hope all goes well. The interview is the week after next, on Thursday 2nd December, so... it's not exactly long off. 

Eeeeeeeep. Happy! Happy happy happy days, guys. S'all going good for me right now, really good.

Only bad thing is that I've eaten too many cookies, and I feel well sick now. Oopsie. It's my Mother's fault, she left the tin open on the side...

Life is good,

K x

Imperfection

I took this on a geography trip to Rhyl ages ago, and just stumbled upon it in a random file. I think it's pretty cool.

P.S; please click on the image for the full view, it was squished down in order to fit on here. 

simplicity

Something occurred to me today, and it was this; beautiful things are often extremely simple. It's not a new realisation by any means, and it's probably not even remotely interesting to many people... But the more I think about it, the more I realise how true it is.

The art room at my high school. That's something beautiful.

The floor is chapped linoleum, covered in splatters of acrylic paint and scuff marks from peoples shoes. The tables and stools are scratched, chipped, and more often than not they creak like hell when you lean/sit on them. Muddy streaks cover the draughty windows, and the sinks are always clogged with disgusting gunk that's probably a mixture of drawing ink, PVA glue, paint, and god only knows what else. There's two store rooms; ones full of A1 sheets of card that are almost always arranged in a precarious looking pile atop an old dented filing cabinet (which is stuffed with pastels, fine liners, charcoal and graphite), and the other is chock-a-block with peoples artwork, very much like a cave of treasure.

It's messy. It's almost always noisy. Every time I go in there, I come out with at least one new splatter of paint on my uniform (sorry, Mum).

But, to me, it's beautiful. It provides an escape for me like nowhere else. I can go in there, grab whatever I want, and do whatever I want. If I spill bright yellow acrylic on the table, so what? The teacher barely bats an eyelash. My friend throws a pot of glue at me, misses, and ends up splattering the cupboards with PVA...so what? The teacher doesn't give a shit, she just carries on searching the draws behind her desk for a roll of masking tape.

Trust the mess. That's her motto.

My Nan's garage. That's something beautiful.

During the winter there's sacks of potatoes that my Granddad has grown lined up against the wall, under a lopsided shelf brimming with paint pots and other random bits and bobs. There's three freezers; yes, three. Two stood against the same wall as the potatoes and another against the back wall. The floor is dirty and the air smells musty, but it's cold and crisp. Fresh. At Christmas, Halloween or bonfire night, when everyone is crowded inside the living room, I sneak out and sit cross legged in the garage. Just to breathe. There's a trap door on the ceiling that leads up into what used to be my Mum's room in the attic. My Granddad built it, so she could get out if there was a fire.

I can breathe there. I can look at the mundane things around me, draw patterns in the dust on the window ledge. I can sit with my eyes closed and feel the cold seep through into my skin.

It feels as though that garage emanates a sort of calm feeling. Zen. It's peaceful.

The field across the road from my house. That's something beautiful.

It comes alive in the summer, when the sun shines across it. The grass shimmers in the wind, turning silver and undulating like the sea.

The smiles on my best friends faces when I say something stupid. They're something beautiful.
The sharp crunch of an apple when I first bite into it. That's something beautiful.
The relentless waves on Perranporth beach in Cornwall, wild and unforgiving. They're something beautiful.
The whispered conversations I have with my boyfriend late at night on the phone. They're something beautiful.

Beautiful things are often extremely simple.

art perv

We all do it. Some perhaps more than others. What am I talking about?

Art perving, of course! As usual I've been lurking around deviantart.com, and I just wanted to link some peoples work. Some of the artists out there have amazing talent and are extremely gifted.

Right, so... Guess I'd better just state that; I IN NO WAY CLAIM THAT ANY OF THE FOLLOWING WORK IS MINE, OR BELONGS TO ME IN ANY WAY.

Wahoo. :) 

Alright, I'll stop spamming now. But seriously, go and have a nosey around that site. You'll be surprised at some of the stuff there; I know I was.

Anyway...

I went to this huge shopping complex thingy today, called the Trafford Centre. It was pretty damn amazing. I've only been there once before, and that was years ago, so it was great to see it all again. It's beautiful inside, and if you live near it and haven't been GO AND CHECK IT OUT. 


It's sexy. ;)


I didn't buy anything since I'm poorer than the tramp outside my local Tesco right now (I've mentioned him a lot recently, haha), but whatever. It was still fun. 


I'm off to watch one creepy film or another... probably be back sooner or later to have another natter.

Chillax,
K x

blinding illumination

It's cheesy. I KNOW.

It's an oxymoron from a poem in the 2008 Anthology. I KNOW.

But I just had to use it as a title, and I thought it was pretty damn fitting considering I've had a sort of... epiphany recently. About myself, and about someone very close to my heart.

I'm in love.

It's crazy. Totally and utterly crazy, and it knocks me for six. Just like he does, every time I think of him. I don't want to say his name on here, it'd make it... fake. Unreal. It'd ruin it.

But he's amazing. So amazing, I feel practically transparent next to him. Every word he whispers to me makes me fall for him more... but I'm not complaining. It's like his voice is a spell, wrapping around me, tighter and tighter. But it's a good feeling, an insanely good feeling.

Hell. I sound like a lunatic now.

But if this is what it feels like to be insane, then I'm ever so happy about it. It finally feels like I've sort of grounded myself, like things have stopped spinning and I can finally see through the 'fog' or whatever. Even school feels good.

I want to declare how I feel to the world, shout it from the rooftops so that even the tramp who sits outside my local Tesco knows what's happened to me. But... I also want to lock it away inside me, gather it all up and wrap it around my heart. Keep it close. I want it to stay there forever.

I pray to God it does, whichever God decides to listen. I'm a firm atheist, but what's the harm in trying? I pray he'll stay with me forever.

I don't want to let go of him.

K x

existing

A human needs three things; oxygen, food, water. 

That's it. Well, technically. That's what a human needs to exist at the most basic level anyway. They're machines; their bodies repeating the same processes day in day out for their entire lives. They all breathe, respire, blah blah blah. 

That's where the simplicity ends though. After that it gets very complicated. The choices each individual makes every day set them apart from everyone else, so that just like their DNA, they are truly unique.

Some choices are simple. What colour socks should they wear? Which cereal should they eat for breakfast? Should they leave the cat out?

But of course, some choices are the total opposite. Should they confront the boyfriend who was recently found snorting cocaine about his addiction? What should they study at university, if they go to university at all? Should they take their dog to the vets to have it put down since it was diagnosed with lung cancer?

And then there's the emotions.

Love. Hate. Loneliness. Anger. Jealousy. Spite. Anxiety. Joy. Happiness. Confusion. Sorrow. Pride. Courage. Disgrace. Shame. Humiliation. Curiosity. Hope. Horror. Surprise. Wonder. Envy. Gratitude. Euphoria. Frustration. Guilt. Desire. Contempt. Disappointment. Grief. Affection. Lust. Rage. Regret. Remorse.

Often they're all mixed up, tangled and interwoven. 

It's these emotions that lead to discussions, which lead to arguments, which lead to violence...which leads to war. And everyone knows what war leads to; Death.

You could remove the emotions, the decisions and choices. You could strip every single living human being of their identity, white wash them with paint. Rid them of their uniqueness. Take away their personalities and feelings.

Doing all of this would indeed save them from their ultimate self-destruction. Because, inevitably, that is what will happen.

But why? There's no point. Either way, the human race would be destroyed.

Remove their identity, saving them from themselves; they might as well not exist. 

Leave them be; they'll destroy themselves anyway. Then they really won't exist.

It's an interesting conundrum.

Perhaps you should decide which ending is better yourself.

I've already chosen.