Ive just started back at uni for my third year and yet again the inevetable strikes! Im ill.
Call it freshers flu or whatever you will, the fact remains that apart from the end of the year, this is by far the worst time to catch something. We have new projects, new timetables and we have to get back into our uni routine. This can be unusually stressful, and is now even more so due to the fact that i feel like death reheated on a three bar fire.
I need to be enthusiastic about my work, i should be full of life, raring and ready to go, but im not. Im finding it difficult even speaking without my throat feeling like its had a wire brush rammed down it.
Tuesday 29 September 2009
Wednesday 16 September 2009
Six degrees of seperation from myself
Staring into those eyes full of life; confidence, mischief, lust and intelligence. Deep dark and sharp, yet no more three-dimensional than the paper they are printed on. A photograph is said to speak a thousand words, but are mere words enough to explain a person? An image can depict more than words ever can, I have a great faith in words, a love of them and their inflections, tones and meanings, but my feelings for images can be summed up about as easily as the images themselves, in short barely scraping the surface.
These people stare out at me from their captured moment, stuck there as a description of themselves, saying nothing but telling me everything. These people are nothing more than a wall of photographs compiled from the simplest of sources. They are singers, artists, actors, models... Ideas. People that i have grown up with, people that have influenced me, inspired me, shaped me. People say that appearance counts for nought, yet how is it that i find each of these images as important as anything else in my life? I see myself in these people, each of these photographs explains an indefinable fragment of my personality captured by someone that i have never met.
Everyone must surely feel this way, as if they are undiscovered by themselves, to not know yourself, to only know that you are a collaboration of hundreds of different people, images and personalities. If appearance does not mean anything then why does our entire culture rely on it? It does mean something, but people underestimate its importance. Your appearance explains you as a person, it is the only part of you that can be seen, the rest is simply actions that define you. How can I show all of these hundreds of different of people that are screaming to be released? I cannot, the judgement of this world has belittled my young confidence, and even though during my teen years i may have been rather outrageous, that brave person has cowered in the corner for years now, slowly trying to push its way out. I have now reached the conflict, I am everything; an indecisive planner, a shy slut, a smart mess, a suited punk, an ambitious layabout, scared and excited, man and woman, confident and paranoid, a liberal conservative, an unthinking intellectual, an emotional mess, Normal.
Saturn_
These people stare out at me from their captured moment, stuck there as a description of themselves, saying nothing but telling me everything. These people are nothing more than a wall of photographs compiled from the simplest of sources. They are singers, artists, actors, models... Ideas. People that i have grown up with, people that have influenced me, inspired me, shaped me. People say that appearance counts for nought, yet how is it that i find each of these images as important as anything else in my life? I see myself in these people, each of these photographs explains an indefinable fragment of my personality captured by someone that i have never met.
Everyone must surely feel this way, as if they are undiscovered by themselves, to not know yourself, to only know that you are a collaboration of hundreds of different people, images and personalities. If appearance does not mean anything then why does our entire culture rely on it? It does mean something, but people underestimate its importance. Your appearance explains you as a person, it is the only part of you that can be seen, the rest is simply actions that define you. How can I show all of these hundreds of different of people that are screaming to be released? I cannot, the judgement of this world has belittled my young confidence, and even though during my teen years i may have been rather outrageous, that brave person has cowered in the corner for years now, slowly trying to push its way out. I have now reached the conflict, I am everything; an indecisive planner, a shy slut, a smart mess, a suited punk, an ambitious layabout, scared and excited, man and woman, confident and paranoid, a liberal conservative, an unthinking intellectual, an emotional mess, Normal.
Saturn_
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