Saturday, 2 June 2012

The Cure and life. A devine message.

There are some moments in life that seem too perfect and gargantuan and enormous and super to ever possibly be real. But they are. You may not believe it. You may not ever believe it. But they wouldn't happen if you couldn't handle it. Life brings you moments like this as a test. A reward. A challenge. An experience. You just have to be happy for it. It may be tough. Worrying. Overpowering. But it has been made for you. Just you. Your prayers have been answered and your wishes granted. So say thank you. For moments so incredible they may seem hazy and difficult to believe, but they wouldn't happen if you weren't somehow ready. This is the time. The time will never feel right. You will never be ready. But that doesn't mean you can't try. You just have to go and do it. You may not believe it at the time. You may not believe it once it's happened. You may never believe it. But in the moment it happens, nothing could be more real. In the moment that all you have waited for. All you have wished for. All you have hoped for. In the moment you dreams present themselves to you, in the form of reality, that moment will be life. It will be real. And it will be worth everything. You cannot control your feeling before and after but in the real moment, everything will work out they way you dreamt. 

Monday, 28 May 2012


The environment around me, ever a reminder
What is this? This inability to ignore you
How I can miss something I know will never leave
Jealous of the thing I have

Sunday, 27 May 2012

There was a fancy affair at The Tyneside Cinema a while back in celebration of our media coursework finally getting done. All our videos were shown and there were even awards given (we won Best Mise en Scene wooooooh!) there were nibbles and jokes and families and it was so wonderful. A truly emotional and fantastic celebration of our work. One of the greatest experiences of my entire life and one I hope to never forget. The stressful demands that media brought was ridiculous but I've ended up liking our video, which is good! The work I spent long, strenuous months drafting, planning, creating, filming, editing, analysing and evaluating was recognised and awarded and screened to an audience in a cinema that has shown my favourite film (Amelie) and welcomed the presence of a man who has worked with my favourite musician (Siouxsie and the Banshees member who worked with Robert Smith) and I hope to be eternally grateful and proud of such an opportunity. It was such a special night and has even unleashed some kind of inner emotions I never knew I had! Here's the video we did for The Futureheads' Sun Goes Down, I hope you lot enjoy watching it more than we did making it!

Easter time saw me and Elizabeth partake in a romantic day trip to Edinburgh. We looked at animals and tribal masks in the museum, had a picnic in the daffodils, fed some ducks, met a lovely Mexican man and got ourselves involved in some true Edinburgh street life when a gang brawl ensued. Jaime got arrested (possibly for stealing a phone) so his girlfriend started to cry as the girl in the blue trousers got gradually angrier, all we wanted to do was eat our Jacket Potatoes. It was an absolutely wonderful day! Here is some art:

The city sleeps as the birdsong guides us home,
Through closed of parks and lonely grave yards.
The smells of the night swim through the streets,
Like goodnight kisses.

A thorn-less rose with Oliver Tate's mum balancing on the petals
This began on Friday 25th November 2011

The Backyard

Various shapes of sunlight, rainbows and octagons, hide behind the stale clothes crucified on the washing line. Crumpled brown, they hang lifeless and awkward, shading the plants that relish in the memories of smoke. The backyard. A place where ladybirds once found refuge and machine animals ploughed through the concrete. Fixtures and folds of buildings survey the skyline, a swallows playground. The sky that envelopes our homes and jobs and lovers with colours and planets and storms. So far away, it never leaves. It will never leave until we pollute it with spray cans and crisp packets and packaging from novelty action figures we bought on sale for unknown in laws. Satellites and balconies and street lamps, the back lane landmarks, they lie still. They lie vertical above us as back doors creak and neighbours go on living. Washing the same towels and shirts until they know more of the outside world than those existing in it. Shadows of leaves dance upon a stage of grey that imprisons bikes from a life of freedom and real sea air. The spirit of a staircase painted on a wall of rust, with pots of deadwood climbing to the steps indoors. Above the sweet whisper of traffic and the breath of a birds wing, sings the enchanting choir of a distant ice cream van. The hymn of a paraglider traces the silence of the sky, as the sequined spots of light immerse the glass of the shade.