Exactly 6 months.

And Christ, they've been horrible.

Ladies and gents, what few of you remain to read this, you have the rare pleasure of witnessing me at my worst. I sit before you... different. Not ashamed, not naked, none of that "clean" bs. I just sit here differently to how I would have six months ago.

I worked out a couple of things, though.

The first is that I am Content with Contact.

The phrase came to me after a long day. I'd been walking around and dishing out small talk more than I normally would. I realized I like it, I really do. I am content with the contact that comes from talking to strangers. I relish in it; being just a single part of someone else's life. Maybe I was the guy who smiled to someone, the guy who looked like he had something important to do, or the one played his ukulele from some unseen nook. Most likely, forgotten and ignored, but I don't think I mind- I just am content with contact.

The second thing I worked out is that Progress is in Progress.

I am so caught up with how I'm not there yet, as if there's this beautiful 'there' in the distance, and it's upsetting how freaking far away it is. In exciting moments, I can pretend as if I'm close, convince myself that I'm only a stone's throw away, but it's not true. So I guess the phrase is to remind myself that any kind of progress, and kind of great advancement in my life or in my thinking, is still going to take progress. Progress is in Progress. I'm generally a forward thinking guy, but I can't rush towards the unobtainable and get upset when I don't reach it. I just have to wait it out until I'm feeling better towards it, if that makes sense.

I cleaned my whiteboard, which originally looked like this:

Note that according to the board, I owe a lot of people. Stupid board should shut it's goddamn mouth for being a snitch.

It was due for a wipe. I hadn't touched it since September. It was covered in little keepsakes and quotes and madness, but now it's just peaceful.

The cigarette looking thing was meant to be like, a progress bar. Kinda stupid. It's labelled '14 and '15, as in- I've progressed, I really have, and ahead, there's a whole lot of I-don't-know-what. It could be anything. I think I'm more scared than excited, but I think this year has potential.

Too many fullstops. I'll add some question marks throughout the next few paragraphs.

I've been working on a lot of things. I wanted to do a huge post with lots of art and lots of pictures of school stuff, so I guess some of this will be like that? Let's have a look.

Last time I wrote was in August. Story-wise, I haven't written properly anything in what feels (and probably is) years. Sorry, guys. I've got some crappy poems/song lyrics, one tiny short story, and that's it.

Let's go with the story first?
I showed my little sister the old OC drawings Louis drew (more of that subject later on) and she loved the idea that she could create a character to live in the Skulduggery Pleasant world, so she did. Her character's name is "Ayra Icaraus", she's Israel's little sister too, and she's generally a twerp I mean, really cool.
So now if I go take my sister to the library, we'll sit and wait at a bus stop and start writing up ministories as if it were Israel and Ayra waiting for a bus, then show them to each other, developing the story at the same pace as real life.

"Man, little punk kids," Israel remarked, sighing wistfully at the sight of two skateboarding teenagers. "I remember the days of my youth were quite similar. Well, without the cussing. Without the bad looks. The skateboards weren't there either. Actually, I wasn't really a punk, more like a..."
"Could you shut up for like, two seconds?" Ayra sighed, nudging him in the ribs. "Seriously. We're on an important mission here. The sooner we find this guy, the sooner we can head back inside." She shook with the cold. "Brrrr. Knew I should have brought a jacket."
"Is that why you decided to steal mine?" Israel pointed out, rubbing his arms through his thin shirt.
"Did you say something?" Ayra began to retort, retreating within the huge overcoat like a tortoise. "I couldn't hear you over the sound of how I'm slightly warmer than you."
Israel shook his head and breathed onto his hands to try and get some feeling back into them. "Enough. I think that's our guy..."
Ayra peeked from the collar of the coat to check. "What, the hoodie guy? Black and red backpack?"
"Yeah, looks like," Israel said, reaching into the bag at his feet to check if his shotgun was loaded. He had chosen to disguise it within a short, collapsible umbrella.
"Okay, stay frosty now-"
"I am, it's freezing!"
"-it means 'get ready', jeez. Anyway, on the count of three we jump up and grab him before he gets on that bus."
"That bus?" Ayra pointed out to the vehicle slowly disappearing into the distance.
"Uh..."
"Cos it couldn't have been that bus. You were all 'frosty'. He couldn't possibly have hopped onto that bus while you were talking about being snowy or whatever."
Israel lowered his head. "Dammit. We were looking for that guy all day. I really needed his backpack."
Ayra yawned, stretching her arms through the jacket. "Yeah, why were we following him anyway? Did the backpack have a bomb in it? Illegal magical tech? Donuts? Why did you need his backpack?"
"Eh, I dunno. Something about it struck me as expensive. Looked like it would suit my jacket."
"Wait, what? We followed this guy all day so you could steal his backpack? Seriously, Israel..."
"Yeah, I haven't really had a lot to do lately. Oh hey, look! This other guy's got a pack too. Woah, that one looks great!"
"No, come on. I want to go home."
"Too bad, we're gonna follow this guy. Look, he's getting on this next bus. New backpack, here I come..."

-


So yeah, there's that. They're fun to do, but I can't find anymore on my iPhone, so that sucks. I've got one I wrote with her, though, following a prompt (I told her my name was Daisy). It features Razor, a guy that was mentioned in the first SP as a short, fat man who for some reason thought 'Razor' suited him:

I told her my name was Daisy, and she stared at me dubiously.
"Daisy?" She asked. "The 6ft man in the suit before me is named Daisy?"
"Of course. Don't you believe me?"
"Not in the slightest."
Damn. I wonder what gave me away? I stroked my beard and frowned thoughtfully past her.
"Uh, hello?" She asked. "Are you going to pay for your coffee or not?"
I waved her away. "Bah. Paying is for those with money. I prefer to complete trades with slices of wit as currency."
Her deathstare returned and I sadly forked over a $5, mumbling as I went to sit down.
"I'll call your name when it's ready, 'Daisy'," she called as I found a seat by the Starbucks window. Now, I thought, let's hope he isn't late this time...
Mere seconds later, a scream emanating from what could only be described as a portly man, came drifting inside from the sidewalk outside. I squinted my eyes at the overweight man staring and screaming at me from the other side of the glass window.
"HOW ARE YOU ALIVE?! I SAW YOU DIE, ISRAEL! I WAS AT YOUR FUNERAL!" The man squealed.
Ah, perfect. And he was right on time, too. I grinned and motioned for him to come sit across from me at the table. "Come join me, Razor!"
He eventually did, lowering himself into the steel chair with some discomfort and a red face. All the yelling had given him a workout, it seemed.
"You died," he said flatly when he had regained his composure once more. "Dead. Gone in an instant. That explosion consumed you."
"Daisy!" Called the lady from behind the counter, and I strode over to collect my coffee, much to the protest of Razor.
"Israel!" He shouted, almost bursting into tears. "Don't leave again! Please, I can't bear your funeral for the second time!"
I returned, sighing and seating myself once more. "Shhh! You'll blow my cover, man. I'm not called Israel anymore." I pointed to the coffee-cup and the name horridly scrawled across it.

-

There was more but it actually got deleted, so that sucks :/ I don't think it went anywhere else though. Israel ends up stealing Razor's van, I think? Yeah, we'll go with that.

Next up is another tiny piece which I wrote on the bus, not really knowing where the hell it was going:

You're trapped.
Invisible reptilian claws rake anxious furrows down your back as you stare frightened and lost at the crossroads. Hoards of unaware people cross as the little green flashing man mimes walking from the traffic lights ahead. Men, women and children push past your stock-still form to reach the other side, and all the while, you're trapped.
The flashing green man turns to a red standing icon, signalling for the walking to stop. Noone notices that you're trapped, so noone helps. The claws of anxiety itself find a way inside you and play havoc with your lower intestines. You want to move. You sense the coming danger and for all your worth you want to move.
A million tingling nerves scream for you to get out, as the cars start creeping forward. It all moves in slow motion, you reckon; bored and slightly distracted drivers press their feet to the ground, the last of the pedestrians cross safely, the inching of the cars accelerates as fast as your beating heart.
You knew what was happening the moment you felt trapped. The moment the anxiety set in, you just knew what you were in for. It had definitely happened before; when someone got mad at you or ignored you or acted as if you weren't there. It was as if your mind responded to this with determined irony. You weren't there. You were invisible.
The first car came towards you and you broke free. You were running, then, heading towards the safety of the curb on the opposite side. You faded back into visibility as the 'spell' of sorts shattered, and drivers looked stunned as they barrelled your way.
You make it, but just barely. Horns blare at you as you try to hide amongst the crowd and just move on. Just pretend it never happened; noone really noticed.
Except one.

-

So this one's actually not that bad. It was fun to write, the idea that someone could be invisible but didn't want to, I liked it. I could write a story with that, not just a run'n'gun action-type thing, neither. Like, what if the guy or gal meets someone they really like, but give up straight away on any kind of future because they know that they'll only be invisible? Like, imagine invisibility mixed in with a dash of the Silence from DW. People just start to forget him/her, and that's a lonely life indeed.

Sounds cool, but it's not something I want to write right now if that makes sense. I'll save it for a rainy day or two.

I'm thinking of other written things I can post here but all I've got is a crappy song thing. I don't exactly like it that much, but it's played on ukulele so you can all imagine that while you read the lyrics- which I've helpfully scaled down to a small font size because I don't want them huge and all over the damned place.

Dm   G         Em    C
Days tenderly melt,
A pondering svelte.
Forever it seems, 
This diurnal journey.
We’re forever turning

Come sit with me,
Hey let’s try and see,
A way through the loop,
Don’t wanna be another group
So fixated on learning,
Why this world’s still turning.

Diurnal Journey,
Don’t you try and turn me,
Into you scapegoat,
Or I’ll set myself afloat

Now that you’re near
My goals become clear, mind is yearning
I feel, I’m no longer turning,
Through this diurnal journey...

Diurnal journey,
You're not gonna find a way to hurt me
All these frauds wandering past
You just know the facades'll never last

Diurnal journey
Y'know I'm at your mercy
Day in and day out
Surely you've seen my doubts?
Things are getting a little blurry
With all this worldly turning...

Which reminds me- Thalia, you here? I didn't see you on the last post and I have no idea if you check the dashboard anymore ._. but you said on my birthday post that you also have a uke? I've been thinking, and something I'd really like to do is just Skype with a few people one morning (Sky, Raven, Kal, yourself, Mar, Lyd, Aria etc?) even if no-one has or wants to use a webcam/mic, I'd still use one. Could ukeuhmahlayley (totally legit, correct way to pronounce 'ukulele' trust me I'm a rat) the night away. Just message me about it or await a message about it, idk.
You asked what kind- I'm pretty sure it's a Tenor. Wbu?

Yeah, so moving on quickly before anyone looks too long at that little slice of unnerving memories, I have something else I wrote that's a little more real and less song-like. It's a poem thing, or maybe a memoire or I don't know, like an observation? Christ, I wrote it and I don't even know what it is. It's titled Redemption, I guess? Here:

I didn't write that first day.
Nor the next, nor any of the following.
It wasn't a shining epiphany that spurred me to write, when I finally did.
It wasn't boredom. It wasn't that the pain had gotten to be too much or that it had alleviated.
It was that I simply lacked an opening line.

It is a beaten path to redemption.
The path itself winds around a 'No entry' sign,
Cuts through a mound of packed earth,
And leads you where feet have trodden, many years before.
I saw this trail the other day, and did not recognise it at first;
How could I? I doubt any of the wanderers from before noticed it either.
My feet, wayward as always, planted themselves in the ghostly impressions left by previous people struggling with their minds,
And I was reminded of my shame. It meant something to feel in that moment that I was apart of some great collective, even if it was simply belonging to a group of guilt-ridden travellers.
I was among those that were failing and had failed to be good examples for their peers. I speak in the past tense, but I think there's no escaping this in the long term. Once guilt has clutched your innards and twisted, it will not let go. You can only forget, or punish yourself until you do.
I'm still in the stage of self-damnation.
So yes, it's a beaten and well-worn path to redemption. Of course it is; why would we make it easy for ourselves?
The beginning of a trail is when so many people have followed in each other's footsteps, and in the case of redemption, this is partly true.
But I think we are also carving the path, almost purposely deviating so that we have to endure fresh, untamed ground.
We force ourselves with guilt-wracked bodies to push on, not even convinced that our struggle is painful enough.
Once you've started on the path, you'll hate yourself until you're through. Or, as I think I am inclined to do, you'll hate yourself even after you've forgiven yourself.
You'll sit awake at 3AM and remember all who you have ever wronged,
Face a jury of one,
And give yourself the same sentence;
Strive for redemption,
Then damn yourself anyway.

-

Yeah. Shitey six months. I think you get the picture.

Been seeing a counsellor, but before I did, I wrote stuff like the above. I've hated little parts of myself for a long time, folks. How easily we fall, hey?

Next up is a few things I've been looking at that kinda help. Mostly poetry or in this case, wise words:

Desiderata
Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and ignorant; they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be critical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

Max Ehrmann, 1927

-

Holy Hell, guys, the Desiderata is awesome
I set this as a reminder on my phone through the last few months of school. It got to the point where every morning when the alarm went off, I didn't even have to look at the phone- I could recite it.
Just look at all that poetry. Beautiful. It's hard to pick a favourite line, but You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should pretty much tops the others.

He also wrote this other thing, a bit similar, called 'A Prayer', which I haven't learnt off by heart yet but I still appreciate just as much:

Let me do my work each day; and if the darkened hours of despair overcome me, may I not forget the strength that comforted me in the desolation of other times.

May I still remember the bright hours that found me walking over the silent hills of my childhood, or dreaming on the margin of a quiet river, when a light glowed within me, and I promised my early God to have courage amid the tempests of the changing years.

Spare me from bitterness and from the sharp passions of unguarded moments. May I not forget that poverty and riches are of the spirit.

Though the world knows me not, may my thoughts and actions be such as shall keep me friendly with myself.

Lift up my eyes from the earth, and let me not forget the uses of the stars.  Forbid that I should judge others lest I condemn myself.

Let me not follow the clamor of the world, but walk calmly in my path. 

Give me a few friends who will love me for what I am; and keep ever burning before my vagrant steps the  kindly light of hope.

And though age and infirmity overtake me, and I come not within sight of the castle of my dreams, teach me still to be thankful for life, and for time's olden memories that are good and sweet; and may the evening's twilight find me gentle still.

-

Seriously, this guy is amazing. He knows how to write some exquisite lines. The ones in bold are ones that stood out especially to me.
Now it's time to enjoy some Bukowski:



Bluebird by Charles Bukowski

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I’m not going
to let anybody see
you.

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he’s
in there.

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody’s asleep.
I say, I know that you’re there,
so don’t be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he’s singing a little
in there, I haven’t quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it’s nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don’t
weep, do

you?

-

Honestly, I could go on for years posting these beautiful poems to read, but I think the audience is a bit small. I'll post one last one, then move on a little.

Not Waving but Drowning
By Stevie Smith

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he’s dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.

-

I've been too far out, folks. If I wave to you, know that I'm not.

A song or two is up next. Listen to them while you read the rest of the post, I suppose?

Money Sounds

I think I found out the answer to How does a young man grow old?

Next, I'll chuck in some Tom Rosenthal, this demigod among men not only cos he looks like a babe but also because his voice is heavenly and he is a lyrical genius.

My favourite so far:

Take your guess,
Spurious at best
Can't you see it's all just chaos?

On a more lighthearted note, he also writes such gems as this:

Watermelon watermelon watermelon watermelon watermelon watermelon watermelon 

Aaaand, onwards.

So, lighter notes? I went and saw Derek Landy again when he came to Adelaide, but this time I took (and surprised) my little sister. I laughed, she laughed, Derek laughed, Derek's agent glared, and I got him to record an awesome voicemail which I'm not exactly sure how to upload so I'll just write what I got him to say for me:

You've reached Joseph Bullock's phone!

Joe's not here right now but I, the amazing Derek Landy, would like to wish you a very Pleasant day...mwuahahahah!

Complete with evil laughter tapering off at the end of the recording. If you'd like to listen to it, send me a message and I'll pm you my mobile number.

Just quickly before I go any further, I'll put up 3 photos from when I went to Avcon. Been meaning to put these up forever, but I never got around to it.

Someone came as Celty! :O The costume was on point.

This is what the character looks like.

:D Sat behind this guy in the auditorium. What a brilliant cosplay...

It was dark and the picture's blurry BUT LOOK AT THAT! There were a few Haruhi's but this one took the cake.

Moving on- remember my brother Louis? Well, he was sorting through some of his art books that are like 4 years old, and we stumbled upon some images which I never posted up here because he hadn't scanned them in.

First up we have a drawing of him by him in a weird style which I loved and he hated, so I took a picture before he scrunched it up.

Gah he was talented even back then I'm so jealous ;_; I wanted to show this because he drew a lot of his images (just look below) with completely unrealistic proportions. It was his style, and still kinda is (he's improved quite a bit though). So I apologize in advance if everyone here looks like Skulduggery himself or a Barbie.

The rest are old OC drawings that I never uploaded so yeah, enjoy :D

This is... Necros? I'm pretty sure it's Necros. Note that there's a buncha mistakes in the background- I think I was harassing Louis to draw things well and he just didn't give a crap, which is fine cos honestly I was being a jerk about the whole thing.

 I don't exactly know who this is- but I think it's Jodi? Rainbow clips, right? Either way, I think it didn't continue past the shoulders.

This! This is a completed one that he never scanned in and reworked ._. This is blessed be, Mary Hiashi! I actually really liked this. It's showing all the movement as she swings around with the... what're those things called? They're in Naruto.
Searched them up, they're called Kunai! Aaand there's a broadsword on her back, which looks cool as. I can't even remember if this is how she wanted the picture to look like.

All in all; sorry it's four years late, Mary xD

This was on the page with Bridget Whiplash, I just wanted to show the other vampire faces he included. I think it looks better in the final shot but these were interesting anyway.

Woah, look at that dashing fellow! All dressed up and being badass. Allow me to mumble something about how he only drew this to show me that he could draw Skulman better than I. Dammit, Louis.

y'know what's funny? This is like the chunkiest drawing of a guy he's ever drawn, and the guy just happens to be a skeleton. All the living people he draws are super thin, but the one thin guy...

Haha

Hahahahaha

oh lord, there's a name I haven't heard in a while. Shame he spent such effort on it. Don't really think the 17 year old Louis knew how to draw proportions though. Classy as always, Louis.


I actually saved the best for last. Man, I can't believe I didn't upload this sooner. I think it just got lost :S

Anywho, here's the best of all of them, even if it never got scanned in:

I think I'll scan it in properly for ya soon, Sky

Skyril Oblivion, folks. It was hiding in a freaking folder this whole damned time.
Look at all those knives, man. The scarf (imagine the purple), the tiny cat charm hanging from her belt. It's awesome. It's beautiful. Enjoy :)

That's that. Now I'm gonna post a few drawings of my own which were related to the Year 12 Art stuff that I had to do. There was so much work to be done, and I only barely managed, but I've got a couple of things to show for it. I'll go worst to best, I reckon.

First up was Major 1.

(Before we continue- some of these images couldn't be rotated. They had a fit every time I tried, so I just gave up. If they're going to act up, they can be displayed here in all their silliness so that they feel bad.)

I'll skip the months of hard work, all the times that I gave up and wanted to pursue a life of being homeless, and I'll instead cut to the chase; the final product.

I only ended up submitting it to youtube so that it could be easy for the SACE (South Aus Certificate of Education, the thing I was trying to get by finishing Yr12) board to review it. Sorry if the quality's bad, you can view it on youtube itself for a higher quality.

Anyway- the story goes that there was this detective character and he had a clock for a face. Everyone in the story did. It was a really cool idea based around 3 A.M, my favourite time of night, and how the guy had been shot by the bad guy.

Here's some art as it progressed:

More of the umbrella guy in a minute, guys.

I don't have many progress shots for my first major, but I have a few for the second one. Onwards.

Before I show Major 2, I want to just quickly show some shots from the Visual Study- it's like a mini project you have to work on, except it's not mini and it proved to be just as if not more difficult than the majors. It's 20 A3 pages long, each one has to be filled with information and then have pictures and artwork etc. basically it's a pain. Some pages turned out alright though. Mine was based on fear/darkness/nightmares:

Kids, I don't even know. I drew a girl cowering from the Godzilla thing and the eyes looked sassy to me.

Also- any and all written text in the Visual Study is to be ignored, please. Most, if not all of it, is made up jargon and filler words to make me sound intelligent to the SACE board. None of us had any idea what we were doing, and I honestly still don't.

This picture ending up resurfacing later, but it was a crappy drawing of Israel from that fic where he loses his arm. Look at his stupid face, looking all stupid. The ripped off sleeve looks alright, tho.
Anyway, I cheated and used this drawing to 'inspire' the ending of the VS.

> crab hands <

Israel saved me when I truly needed it. Cheers, babe.

Some Redon? Looks like. He does some really sweet stuff on cyclopes (is that the plural?)

I loved some of these, just being able to copy and work from these artists that focused on the foetal position. I'm all out of fancy art words to use to describe why I liked it, though. I like art cos scary picture make good.

Whole VS was just filled with these little pieces. I'll shush now and just put up a bunch of pages from it.

the box says 'hopes and dreams'

I liked this one. Most of it was just sketching with charcoal without reference. I had to pretend there was reference so I went back later and stuck all these little pictures in that looked similar ._.

Wanted to use the drawing of Israel in my VS so I made up some character that loses his arm to a nightmare in a fight, but he's a cop? I didn't know what I was doing, guys. No-one knew.

Here was the comic-thing that showed this character being chased, idek, and then going for his sidearm. It ends with the final page of the VS, like a "Look I used what I learnt in this study" kind of page.

This was like, the only good page.
Wait, no.
That drawing of Israel, the sleeve that got cut off. That bit was alright.

so lame
so cringeworthy

This was the actual last page, where I had to do a conclusion and basically just fit in whatever images didn't get used in the VS. It's also one of the images that stubbornly refused to rotate.

Before we get into the second major, let's take a break. Let me show you something my brother drew a few years ago that I recently dug up:

and now something I made during the last few stressful weeks of school:

did you say the words "waste of time"? I can't hear you over the sound of a tiny deep fryer cooking up another batch of tiny fries for me to eat.

Major 2.

The second major is often, in year 12, left until the last minute. Quite understandably, too, because we had spent all our energy on the first major. We were told to come up with anything we could, but make it look like we hadn't just come up with anything we could.
This was around August, and I'd been doing a lot of worthless artwork or copying song lyrics down in ways that looked good to me. Most of it was crap, but it was crap that needed to be put on paper.

I ended up making my second major be focused on the topic of me, I guess. Lame as, right? I didn't really have a name for the topic or what the major was called, but I knew what I wanted to do as the final product. I wanted to create a looping, spiraling design focused on someone sitting at a desk, cradling their head as the world fell apart in some apocalypse nightmare around them. I worked towards this using the images below as reference:

not only was this picture the embodiment of how  I was feeling, it was also the one I chose for reference later on

This was all the beginning of the idea; I kept coming back to dreams and the idea that it was some kind of nightmare, like the last six months were just something I needed to wake up from. It was a good basis for art, and I had an endless stream of scrawlings to draw from for backup.

So, my teacher grabbed me a huge roll of paper (like, 3m x 1.5m?) and I got to work, having no idea how this was going to go. I think I made up the backup as I was going as well.

Started putting down some basic figures using sepia ink. The first guy on the left turned out horribly so I kinda gave up fast.

So much progress- there's a lot here which you can't see, but the paper is now riddled with Salvidor's elephants, a lighthouse, some moons, some teeth that are doors (?) books, a 'Christ Chrysalis' as I called it, and the 3 A.M Clock guy from my other major.

After I had all the sepia down I started to go over with black watercolour- I wanted to have three different layers to this.
Although poorly drawn, the Albatross is indeed in this major.

The feet kinda descended into snakes- the idea is that it's meant to look sane at the top of the image and as your eyes travel down, more and more of the painting is revealed to be stupid/crazy/a nightmare.

the guy's legs + table legs, all done except for detail

Theeen I had to do the face. Just like anyone, I hate faces.

Soooo, I cheated. We printed out that image from before onto some scrap paper and-

-shaded the back of the paper with graphite pencil before-

-placing the paper over the painting and then heavily drawing over the lines.

This makes an imprint from the graphite that was sketched on the back. It's awesome, helped me out heaps.

All that was left was to paint the lights, darks and greys.

Almost done, but I didn't add anymore till later.

One of the feet snakes! I took a pen, drew scales all the way along it, then used light watercolour to shade in some parts. 

Woah, I skipped heaps of progress shots. All the snakes are done, and as you can see, the legs have tattered skin where the snakes are bursting through from. That was great fun to do, actually.

All the table's legs reach the bottom, and begin to-

curl together, mixing up. But what should I end the painting with? How does it taper off?

Of course. How could I forget my lighter?

eurgh

Ah, much better.

Finally getting the guy (do I call it 'me'? I mean, it is me. I guess I should.) to look a bit normal here. Shading in some more stuff, including the table/desk.

Ahhh, the moon! Beautiful. 

Sooooo, here's one of the last things I did. I wanted to have writing in the background, like the original sketch, so I used a candle to write words, then painted over the top with watercolour.
In my mind, this was a brilliant idea.
On the painting, it was not.

it begins

Huh, that turned out alright. Looks like chalk on a whiteboard.

oh
oh lord
why does the blue look so bad

urgh
why is it so ugly

some of the text has been wiped out from that arsehole blue
urghdssdlkjfogiklw

All up, this is what it looked like. It was just temporarily pinned up here against the art wall.

please

notice that I know alllllll the things that are wrong with it

all the incorrect proportions

all the rough edges

every

little

thing.

It turned out alright, but it could've been better.

As far as I can remember, the figures behind him/me represent weight and pressure, the moons represent some important nights for me that I spent staring at the night sky, and I don't want to forget. To the top left and top right of the figures, there are two tiny balloons which frustratingly don't look like balloons. They represented choice: I had two paths, both floating on, drifting just out of reach. I chose my father, because he was the most sane when I needed him to be. It's not as simple as that, but I'll pretend it is for the sake of whoever's reading.

The desk before him/me has a single piece of paper on it that he's staring at- it's blank, not even adorned with anything. I think it represented how no matter how chaotic things were around me, it was still the quietest, tiniest of problems that caused the downfall. It was the single piece of paper that made me really admit I was fucked.

The legs descending into snakeskin was me worrying about my own honesty and cowardice- sometimes, I'm not a truthful person and it gets to me. Feel like every lie is a snake, tying me down, I guess.

The Albatross is just referencing this blog, as well is the other boat to the right of it- The Good Ship.
Below, Salvidor Dali's Elephants make an appearance to reinforce how dreamlike everything was feeling. On the right of the elephants, a crudely drawn batsman gets ready to swing, with the words "One at a time, please!" written beside him. It's reference to a song by Unknown Mortal Orchestra. The lyrics stress that this guy is falling, being torn asunder by his worries and problems. He calls "One at a time, please!" begging his troubles to line up and take a shot, but at least go in single file for him to deal with it all easier.

Onto the right of the batsman is a lighthouse set upon a floating island. It's a reference to the video clip for this song which, listen to the song or not, has a pretty cool windmill-island-thing on it. I used this idea, swapped out the windmill for a lighthouse (referencing another song, the Lighthouse Tale by Nickel Creek) and painted more of the small islands drifting into the background.

Each lighthouse has a wooden contraption on the front of it. I wanted to combine some of these ideas I had in my art, and one of them was this old king being hanged, wrapped in bandages like a cocoon. Around his neck he had a sign which read "Trapped". He was little more than a skeleton in the original image, so I redrew him to be in a state of dead or dying as he was hanged from the edge of the island. I nicknamed it "Christ Chrysalis", I think.

On either side of the wrapped-up king are baseball benches, where a few figures sit, waiting in line to take the batsman's place. I just wanted to stress the idea that I could solve a problem with many different ways, using many different people, I guess. I can't remember what each of the figures represented, but the clock guy is in there, some guy with a blade for an arm is there, and Jayne from Firefly also is taking a seat.

On the left of the figures, swinging in beneath them is a stream of books- they're each titled a subject of mine, representing the stress I was dealing with during school. On the right, a curling paper roll, a receipt of all the insane expenses I went out of my way to purchase during school. Stupid, stupid things.

The doors that turned into teeth represented doors, and on the far left one of the doors is open to reveal a tiny figure- the umbrella man.

It all curls and feeds into the flame of my lighter, one of my favourite possessions.

The blackboard text written with the candle reads, during the top half of the painting, "I have to" over and over again. This is purposely written madly, representing the urgency I feel for having to do things- have to get a job, have to work out a career, have to get my life sorted.
The second half of the painting's writing reads "Wake up" again written over and over. This shows my wanting for this to be some kind of dream, just wanting to wake up and get out, get clear. Together, they read I have to wake up.

The painting itself is currently at school, along with my art folders. We were told to leave them over the holidays for marking, and for a few weeks into the first term of school so that the younger years can look at them.

Took me a long time to write this, and there's still a bit to go. Sorry if it's taking up too much.

I think the rest of the images here are just things that were in the backup for the art piece? Yeah, looks like.

Here we have lyrics from a Mumford and Sons song I love (especially that last line).

little scarf survivor guy is awesome

I started carrying around an umbrella in the rainy months. Then I started painting crappily with watercolour.

One of my friends made an appearance during lunchtime so he got a special place on the page

Look it's the Strife Specibus thing. I choose Umbrella-Kind, guys.

aaaand here's a hand holding a gun that has a teddy bear instead of a barrel. You're welcome, guys.

There's so many more things to cover, so I'll put small images to save your eyes. I'll run quickly over them just like the family car over our cat, Charlie worry not, he's still alive

I had my graduation ceremony, which had me looking like this:

look at that smug bastard

And me looking out at the world like this:

Cheers, you lot.

(took that photo like 10 minutes before I left to go get graduated
I just distinctly remember looking out, watching the sun not quite beginning to set, and thinking "Holy hell, I've almost made it through. I'm at the beginning of the end." And it was true- after graduation, there was only formal, Christmas, NYE, and then... now.)

Formal-

This is the design of a beautiful waistcoat my Nan made for my dad about two decades ago. It's still in one piece and still awesome.

Next step was to buy a bow tie. Good God, this is the best photo I've ever taken, and I wasn't even trying.
Seriously, though, this bow tie is brilliant.

urgh look it's that smug bastard again

There were a few other photos with other people but it wouldn't be alright to put them up without permission and all. Plus I somehow manage to look like a serial killer in all of them but this one (I guess, you decide if I do).

Then there was the afterparty, which I wore this old freaking thing that used to be my dad's too:

even my ukulele case matches my smugness

Then came Christmas and Moonta Bay, the place I go to for a holiday almost every year with my family. This time, it was only quiet and lonely. I'll skip through images as fast as I can.

I found the efforts of one brave individual manifested in a high-up traffic cone.

I got a couple of new hats

christ does this guy ever stop looking like a smug bastard

I had, like, one memorable bad day:

god...

...fucking...

...dammit.

 

But most other days were good:

This isn't mine, but oh how I wish it were.

these are totally mine though

At Moonta

I found Israel's leather trenchcoat!

and then found out how expensive it was ._.

Huuuuge second hand bookstore at Moonta

I bought some pencils for a friend and kept one for myself

Pineapple Man is coming for you.

I GOT PAID!

AND USED MY MONEY TO BUY A FANCY MUG

  

AND THEN

I GOT SOME MAIL.

Whaaaaaat these look awesome! :D

OH MY GOD IT'S HARUHI! YES!

IT LOOKS SO COOL :O

 thankyouthankyouthankyou Skyril for sending them :D Means so much to me.

Currently, these are the books I have to read. I should probably read them in the above order, starting from bottom upwards.

Buuuut it'll probably end up something more like this^

 I think that's all the images. You're saved for now.

I was going to put up a lot more regarding the progress of my backgammon board, but I think I'll save it for another day when I've actually completed the board.

Finally, I wanted to say that Sky, I watched the Booth at the End and loved it. Marathoned the whole thing in like a week and then freaked out because there isn't anymore. Why isn't there anymore??

All in all, ladies and gents, I'll stop with this huge post and let you get on with your lives. I will make a wager, though. On the last two posts I've done, there's been four comments each. What do you want to bet it'll happen for the third time in a row? :P

I'll see you when I see you, folks. Stay shiny.

Ciao for now~