i only wish that i enjoyed this class alot more than i did. unfortunately my teacher was a bit of a douche and made it not so fun.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
with a little help from sally
so for one of my assignments at uni for photography class i had to take some portraiture shots. i enlisted the help of my dear sally for this and we spent the day at the botanical gardens :) here are some of those shots.
i only wish that i enjoyed this class alot more than i did. unfortunately my teacher was a bit of a douche and made it not so fun.
i only wish that i enjoyed this class alot more than i did. unfortunately my teacher was a bit of a douche and made it not so fun.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
it breaks my heart
this world can be so ugly.
i am sitting in the library at uni and watching a video on child abuse (for those who don't know, i am studying social work) and it just breaks my heart that something so terrible like this can happen in our world. i think this is a huge issue that needs to be addressed in our community, and knowing that there is so much evil out there makes me want to cry.
So i want to show you a few videos and poems and examples of child abuse, and hopefully it will affect you like it did for me. and hopefully it will spark your desire to help out in your own simple way with these issues.
Sadly this is a big reason why i don't want to have children. its not that i don't love kids, but i just can't bear to bring a child into this hate filled world.
the silent child.
She sits alone in her room
and wipes away her tears
Hiding beneath the covers
so no one else hears ~
She wraps them tight around her
to shut out all her pain
Praying if there is a God
to make her safe again.
She snuggles deep into her bed
holding the covers tight
Cuddling her little teddy bear
she leaves on the light ~
She waits for the assurance
that all has gone to bed
Then settles into slumber
so she can dream instead.
She wakes at the sound of footsteps
walking down the hall
Then he stops outside her room
and opens up the door ~
She shivers with her childlike fear
as she starts to cry
Knowing what he has come here for
though she doesn't know why.
He tells her she is special
that she's his little girl
As he pulls back the covers
into her silent world ~
He says that it's their secret
the special game they play
For no one else would understand;
they'd just take him away.
She lay there in her silence
with her clothes on the floor
Trying not to think of it
as the tears slowly fall ~
She hears the clock ticking
as her mind drifts away
Her teddy bear beside her
where he also lay.
She wonders why he comes to her
in the middle of the night
When he should be with mummy
holding her so tight ~
She listens to him tell her
that she will be to blame
If anyone discovers
their special secret game.
She pulls up the covers
as he rises from her bed
Tweaking at her little nose
and kissing her forehead ~
She watches as he dresses
as he tells her once again
This is their little secret;
she mustn't say a thing.
She watches as he leaves her room
and closes the door
And listens for his footsteps
walking back down the hall ~
Then she cuddles up to teddy
and cries her silent tears
Beneath her soiled covers
so no one else can hear.
And as she lay in her silence
with her tear-filled eyes
Each time that he comes to her
a part of her dies ~
So she curls up in her bed
and hugs her teddy tight
And prays that he will never
come to her again at night.
poem by: http://www.polyvore.com/poem_silent_child/set?id=6068980
____________________________________
whilst the information on this video is American, i think the imagery speaks for itself, and is so powerful.
For Australia there are many different services available and information.
if you want to know more, please check out http://www.stopchildabusenow.com.au/
Pictures by various people, found through google search 'child abuse'
Monday, September 6, 2010
the caged gypsy
there is nothing i want more in this life, than to be a gypsy. to wander through the amazing world, and to experience everything that life has for me. not to get caught up in the monotonous capitalistic life that so many do. to not have to worry about things like money and to live in a tree in a jungle somewhere or in a cave, whereever it is that the wind beckons, i'll go.
to be free and fluid and like the water, stretching to every corner of the globe. to discover ancient ways. to try new things. to live free without worry. and take only one thing with me. my camera.
i am really yearning this kind of life right now. i know its not long until i go to south america, and it will give me a taste of what i so desire, but its not enough. i feel like a bird in a cage created by society, and all i want to do is spread my wings and fly out to nowhere in particular.
the only thing i want to do with my life is to live it.
photographs by http://larafairie.deviantart.com/
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
mod love and musings
so here i am, stopped at procrastination station travelling in the direction of assignment city. alas there is a fault on the train and i doubt i will make it to my final destination. such a shame.
u know what they say, when in procrastination village, do as the procrastinators do!! so, as a member of the town (quite frequently actually, i should really just move here) i decided to hit the sights.
perhaps some shopping??
alright, you twisted my rubber arm. shopping it is. i have stumbled across one of my favourite stores, modcloth.com. here i am in heaven. I think that when i finally make the permanent move to procrastination village, i will decorate my home in all the lovely vintage and retro styled knick knacks that i could buy from this wonderful place. and i shall dress in only the wonderful things they have, and drink from cute tea cups and read poetry and be in absolute bliss.
There will be lots of wonderful storms and adventures to be had, and it will be a dream come true.
It really is a lovely town with lovely people and anything i could possibly ever want. it will be a wonderful life.
care to join??
Alas, my train has been fixed, so i must depart the most wonderful procrastination village, and continue on my journey to assignment city. sad times.
i know we shall meet again, it won't be long before my next visit. but perhaps while you are in town you would like to check out modcloth.com ?
i am sure you will be just as amazed as i was.
Au revior! til we meet again.
Ruby xoxo
photographs by
1. http://tomatokisses.deviantart.com/
2. http://inessa-emilia.deviantart.com/
3. http://kittysyellowjacket.deviantart.com/
Thursday, August 5, 2010
the busker
AMAYA
Every morning is the same. The same routine. The same breakfast of vegemite on wholemeal toast, the same walk to the train station, the same people on the trains contemplating their monotonous lives, and Amaya was one of them. She used to sit on the trains and watch the people imagining the stories of those around her, the way she did when she entered an op shop and observed those old trinkets that had their own past. Amaya was known for her wicked imagination and was often off in daydreams and used to find comfort in things such as the rain (her name did mean ‘night rain’, after all) and the gaze of a stranger. Now, however, there were only the same people on the train every day and each one of their stories had already been whispered to her imagination.
Amaya’s life had become monotonous and the magic that once sparkled in her eyes had faded and now the days just passed her by, like a star falling from the heavens; without its glow. She was an empty shell of her former free spirited self.
She had seen too much trauma and hurt and pain in this world – the world that she once looked at with wonder and a sense of hope and freedom.
She studies social work and has seen how human behaviours can be distorted into pure malevolence, like a slash to the throat of society, exposing raw flesh and bone, leaving the insides vulnerable to infection and the likely chance of a painful death.
There was little optimism and working within the legal systems made it almost impossible to offer any form of antidote to those who suffered.
The world was ugly and there was no more hope.
TYNAN
He was a musician. He was a poet and the beauty he saw around him was transformed into metaphors and expressed by the soft music spilling from his mouth when he sang, and his guitar when he plucked skilfully at the strings.
Tynan told stories that remind you of fairytales and stories of the simple raw pleasures that life brings to those who are patient enough to enjoy them. He wasn’t wealthy and he only earned money by selling poetry here and there and by sharing his music on the busy streets of Melbourne city, busking for change. He didn’t need more. This was his passion and what he enjoyed the most in the world. He gets to express himself creatively and bring joy (or even a small smile) into all those who pass him, even if only for a fleeting moment. This is where he first saw her.
He watched her walk past him everyday. She had long raven hair, full red lips and these piercing green eyes that resembled the colour of emeralds or the green of a forest after it rains. She always wore quirky thrift store clothes which were slightly mismatched but that fall together nicely on her shapely body. The way she moved was like a dance – leaving an invisible spell trailing behind her, casting a glow around all those in her presence. He could see that she was blatantly unaware of her own unique beauty; beauty like the night rain. That’s what he decided to call her the first time he noticed her – his midnight rainstorm.
He knew then and there that she was the love of his life; the Juliet to his Romeo, the bright glowing stars to his night sky, the oxygen to his lungs, and the blood to his veins. He couldn’t live without her. He imagined what it would be like to be with her, to wrap his arms around her waist, to kiss her, and feel her smooth tender touch against his flesh. To speak poetry with her, and cook with her, have picnics with her, and dance with her.
He could see that she had a magical soul that was wounded and polluted by the world, leaving her lost and confused.
He wanted to give her some part of his soul, so that she could heal and find peace and beauty once more, so he began work on a song, spilling his heart over the sheets of music, working its way into musical notes, melodies and poetic metaphors.
AMAYA AND TYNAN
As every day before this, she pushed her way off the train and headed in the direction of her classes. Numb to everyone around her and her senses muted, she stepped onto the escalators moving up towards the exit.
She reached the top and something seeped into her empty mind and broke her from the familiar trance she was in. Music; music unlike anything she had ever heard before pumped through her veins, giving life to her recently sluggish beating heart. Her pulse quickened and she turned in the direction of the sound.
That was when she saw him.
His curly brown hair fell softly over his sharp Mediterranean features. His eyes were gentle and blue like hidden rock pools at the beach, and deep like the ocean itself. She could see straight into his soul where she sensed a spirit so wild that couldn’t be tamed. Inside there was also a thirst for life and adventure, and she recognised it to be similar to what she once harboured in her soul also.
He was wearing simple clothing, a simple black t-shirt that defined his soft muscular form, simple blue jeans that were ripped at the knees and old black Chuck Taylor high-tops.
He was beautiful to her, like a Grecian God and in an instant she fell in love.
He had provided the elixir for her soul and the music spoke solely to her, as if it had been written for this purpose. She stood there watching him with wide eyes, taking in all the senses that she closed off, rushing inside her like the opening of a floodgate.
He looked up from his guitar, their eyes meeting for the first time. Conversations flowed silently between them as people rushed passed them on their way to work.
They said nothing aloud and yet everything was said. She knew him inside and out and knew that she never wanted to be far from this beautiful individual. That’s when he stood up, wrapped his strong arms around her and kissed her passionately. Suddenly the world was once again beautiful in her eyes, and she could see the poetry in everything around her.
photography by http://hokwong.deviantart.com/
Every morning is the same. The same routine. The same breakfast of vegemite on wholemeal toast, the same walk to the train station, the same people on the trains contemplating their monotonous lives, and Amaya was one of them. She used to sit on the trains and watch the people imagining the stories of those around her, the way she did when she entered an op shop and observed those old trinkets that had their own past. Amaya was known for her wicked imagination and was often off in daydreams and used to find comfort in things such as the rain (her name did mean ‘night rain’, after all) and the gaze of a stranger. Now, however, there were only the same people on the train every day and each one of their stories had already been whispered to her imagination.
Amaya’s life had become monotonous and the magic that once sparkled in her eyes had faded and now the days just passed her by, like a star falling from the heavens; without its glow. She was an empty shell of her former free spirited self.
She had seen too much trauma and hurt and pain in this world – the world that she once looked at with wonder and a sense of hope and freedom.
She studies social work and has seen how human behaviours can be distorted into pure malevolence, like a slash to the throat of society, exposing raw flesh and bone, leaving the insides vulnerable to infection and the likely chance of a painful death.
There was little optimism and working within the legal systems made it almost impossible to offer any form of antidote to those who suffered.
The world was ugly and there was no more hope.
TYNAN
He was a musician. He was a poet and the beauty he saw around him was transformed into metaphors and expressed by the soft music spilling from his mouth when he sang, and his guitar when he plucked skilfully at the strings.
Tynan told stories that remind you of fairytales and stories of the simple raw pleasures that life brings to those who are patient enough to enjoy them. He wasn’t wealthy and he only earned money by selling poetry here and there and by sharing his music on the busy streets of Melbourne city, busking for change. He didn’t need more. This was his passion and what he enjoyed the most in the world. He gets to express himself creatively and bring joy (or even a small smile) into all those who pass him, even if only for a fleeting moment. This is where he first saw her.
He watched her walk past him everyday. She had long raven hair, full red lips and these piercing green eyes that resembled the colour of emeralds or the green of a forest after it rains. She always wore quirky thrift store clothes which were slightly mismatched but that fall together nicely on her shapely body. The way she moved was like a dance – leaving an invisible spell trailing behind her, casting a glow around all those in her presence. He could see that she was blatantly unaware of her own unique beauty; beauty like the night rain. That’s what he decided to call her the first time he noticed her – his midnight rainstorm.
He knew then and there that she was the love of his life; the Juliet to his Romeo, the bright glowing stars to his night sky, the oxygen to his lungs, and the blood to his veins. He couldn’t live without her. He imagined what it would be like to be with her, to wrap his arms around her waist, to kiss her, and feel her smooth tender touch against his flesh. To speak poetry with her, and cook with her, have picnics with her, and dance with her.
He could see that she had a magical soul that was wounded and polluted by the world, leaving her lost and confused.
He wanted to give her some part of his soul, so that she could heal and find peace and beauty once more, so he began work on a song, spilling his heart over the sheets of music, working its way into musical notes, melodies and poetic metaphors.
AMAYA AND TYNAN
As every day before this, she pushed her way off the train and headed in the direction of her classes. Numb to everyone around her and her senses muted, she stepped onto the escalators moving up towards the exit.
She reached the top and something seeped into her empty mind and broke her from the familiar trance she was in. Music; music unlike anything she had ever heard before pumped through her veins, giving life to her recently sluggish beating heart. Her pulse quickened and she turned in the direction of the sound.
That was when she saw him.
His curly brown hair fell softly over his sharp Mediterranean features. His eyes were gentle and blue like hidden rock pools at the beach, and deep like the ocean itself. She could see straight into his soul where she sensed a spirit so wild that couldn’t be tamed. Inside there was also a thirst for life and adventure, and she recognised it to be similar to what she once harboured in her soul also.
He was wearing simple clothing, a simple black t-shirt that defined his soft muscular form, simple blue jeans that were ripped at the knees and old black Chuck Taylor high-tops.
He was beautiful to her, like a Grecian God and in an instant she fell in love.
He had provided the elixir for her soul and the music spoke solely to her, as if it had been written for this purpose. She stood there watching him with wide eyes, taking in all the senses that she closed off, rushing inside her like the opening of a floodgate.
He looked up from his guitar, their eyes meeting for the first time. Conversations flowed silently between them as people rushed passed them on their way to work.
They said nothing aloud and yet everything was said. She knew him inside and out and knew that she never wanted to be far from this beautiful individual. That’s when he stood up, wrapped his strong arms around her and kissed her passionately. Suddenly the world was once again beautiful in her eyes, and she could see the poetry in everything around her.
photography by http://hokwong.deviantart.com/
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
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