A Short Story- Oak and Sycamore

It is a fact not commonly known to humans that trees can talk. They can move and interact with one another, growing to create or destroy. Although they may not have a heartbeat like you and I, they are alive. However, as the more observant of you may have realised, trees grow at an extraordinarily slow rate, and so likewise their conversations can take decades to finish. What may sound like creaks of branches and shakes of leaves to us, is the first formation of a syllable for them. There are those among us who have realised this, and have devoted their lives to listening to the communications throughout the forests. They will pass down the information through many generations, recording it through whatever medium is available in their era, pen to paper, sketches, videos, holographic scanners. Below is one such record, as collected through the Jefferson timeline, outlining a conversation between a Sycamore and an Oak.

Two small shoots appear from under the rich soil, desperately pushing their way through the mulch formed from layers of fallen leaves, marking the many autumns that have passed.

Oak: First!

Sycamore: That's cheating, you started before me!

Oak: Call it a draw then.

Sycamore: I suppose... Hey, check out my leaves

Oak: Pretty! Woah, look at mine

Sycamore: They're kinda weird, all wibbly and stuff

Oak: I can nearly see the edge of the forest from up here

Sycamore: How did you get so tall already?

Oak: Haha, it's because I stole all the water

Sycamore: Hey! Leave some for me, I'm practically falling over

Oak: It's okay, there's a stream over there

A thin oak branch twists away from the sun and extends toward a nearby brook, ending in a small, tendril-like blossom. Under the drying soil, the Sycamore roots spread out, reaching thirstily for the moist mud to the right.

Sycamore: Thanks. Hey, wow! That was a cold one!

Oak: What was?

Sycamore: That winter, never mind it's warming up now.

Oak: Say, what do you suppose that is?

Sycamore: Oh yes, I see it. Gosh it's rather large isn't it?

Oak: And shiny! Look, it's growing.

Sycamore: So it is, and getting closer to the forest. Smoke's coming off it!

Oak: Here, hold onto me. And send your roots deep, we don't want it knocking us over.

A branch learned out from each tree, growing and shaping themselves to reach across the space between them. Leaves sprouted from the thick wood, which stretched out in salute to the sun before curling up and falling down to the mossy land below. The branches still crept ever closer to one another, thinning as they stretched out to touch each other. Finally, they met. The thin twigs curled around one another, smaller stems creeping into crevices in the other's bark. 
CHOP!
And then the Oak tree was gone.

Sycamore: Oak? What was that crash? Where are you?.......Oak?

The Sycamore's leaves grew thin, tinged with spots of yellow and brown. The trunk became cracked, the brittle bark flaking off. The seeds all leapt from the sinking ship, spinning and gliding in a flurry, whipped away by the wind. The Sycamore was shaken and stripped until all that remained, was a tree.

A Short Story- The Brass Man

The people were bored. They felt like everything that needed to had been done. They had food, water shelter. They had fire, wheels, light. They had books, games, music. But they wanted more- they wanted everything. Most of all, though, they wanted company. Despite the millions of creatures on the planet, they felt as though they had nobody to talk to. They looked to the skies and saw a thousand eyes winking at them from the dark, and so they winked back. The people tried waving, but the sky did not wave back. They decided to bring together the worlds greatest minds to make them a friend. 

They dug the finest resources from the soil, and melted them together to form a smooth shining liquid. From this they formed contours and shapes, bonded with cogs, bolts, wires, nuts, gears that formed an intricate lace. Reverently, that shakily poured oil down a hatch then flicked a wheel that spun wildly, throwing sparks across the room. Slowly, the cogs began to tick, connecting the paths throughout the metal space. Once they were satisfied, they closed the front. Lightbulbs flickered on, shadowed behind ridged glass, and he raised his head. The brass man looked to each pair of eyes as they waited, apprehensive. The minutes ticked past, you could hear them faintly through his chest, but he would not speak.

He was alive inside, although they could not see it. He was self aware, noticing that it was himself in the mirror they held up for him. He knew of death as he could see the difference between the bird lying on the floor, and those chasing eachother across the sunrise. He knew if he hit somebody it would hurt them, and would make them sad. The brass man knew what sad was. He knew it when he looked into eyes and could see their disappointment. He knew it when they stopped talking to him althogether. He knew it when he looked into the sky, and couldn't wink back. Although, without someone to talk to, the people became bored, and left the brass man.

The trees started to shake, and the ground trembled. The brass man was moving to the end of the forest, as winter was coming and there was nobody to talk to in the winter. The robin that was perched on his shoulder fluttered its wings, shifting the twigs that it was weaving into a nest. The brass man smiled (for he could, even though nobody could see it). Rabbits scattered as he came wading through the grass, but soon were winding through his legs as he strode on. With each step he left a deep grooved footprint, stained with oil. A gentle wind blew, catching small particles of rust that dusted his shoulders and head. Small wires sparked as they caught on the undergrowth, spilling out from an empty cavity. His lightbulb eyes flickered, while his delicate hands twitched, and his hinges screeched.

He drew to a sudden halt, the final clang of his footsteps echoing around the trees behind him. Ahead of him was a sea of lights, shining and glittering from out of the dark. They seemed to rise and fall in waves over the sunset, small orbs of orange that were reflected on the clouds around them. He felt enchanted by the beauty of the town, as its clockwork ticked, and its engine whirred. The street lamps seemed to burn the skies, smoke filled the air. He felt petrified, it was a moving, metal monster come to eat him whole. It devoured the skies, a giant black cloud rising and rising. He could no longer see any lights winking in the sky.

The brass man was afraid of what man had become. He sighed and lowered onto the ground, where he sat with his head in his hands, and waited for them to make it better.

The End.

Getting to know you...

I've been on the bloggosphere for a little while now so I thought it was time to let you know some more about me. I've found some rather interesting questions on the internet, and will do my best to answer them honestly- here we go!

1. What is your name? April Turner (occasionally known as Ape, Apey and Turnip)
2. How old are you? Fiveteen, and I'll give you three guesses what month I turn sixteen in, but the first two don't count.
3. Where do you live? Britian, but no more details than that you stalker.
4. What are you favourite bands? My top two would have to be 'The Horrors' and 'Crystal Castles', but from there it branches out into all corners of the genre field including 'These New Puritans', 'Miss May I', 'Of Mice and Men', 'The Smiths', just to name a few!
5. What are your favourite films? I always go for the really deep ones with lots of open psychological interpretation, so 'Tideland', 'Fight Club', 'The Fisher King', 'War of the Worlds' and 'Amelie' would be my top five.
6. What are your favourite books? I was an avid bookworm as a child, munching through five books a week, but I havn't really the time to read now. Although when I find a good 'un I'll stick it out till the early hours of the morning, and the best of those have been 'The Wasp Factory', 'Interview with the Vampire' and 'The English Patient', all just as deep as my film choices. Also, some good adventure series' have been 'Mortal Engines', 'Gone' and 'Leo'.
7. Where do you work? I'm afraid I have no money making place yet, although I do volunteer at a swimming club for the disabled and their families. (brownie points for me!)
8. What is your favourite place? In my house I like to spend most of my time in my bed, or on the sofa with the family and a film. Nationwide I love Camden Market in London and make a point to visit every year on my birthday; It's where I was born, and feel drwn to the city like a magnet. Worldwide, I love the atmosphere in Rhodes Town as it's full of market stalls, cobbles and mopeds.
9. What are your hobbies? I shouldn't really include school subjects in here, but I do spend lots of my time labouring through (and sometimes enjoying) art and textiles. I'm a big lover of fashion and hope to work in film and theatre costume design one day. Another enormous chunk of my life is going to scouts. Many non-scouts think it's just for ten year olds who do lots of charity work and knot tying. But in reality it is one of the most amazing experiences anyone could ever take a part of. I just wish I could invite the entire world to a scout evening just so they could see how much fun it is. In an average month we will do rock climbing, kayaking, outdoor cooking and fencing. Plus there's all the little awesome bits in the middle like playing hide and seek in the dark in the attic, getting over exited about meat cleavers, getting chased by horses while hiking at two in the morning and playing capture the glowstick in the middle of the forest. Other hobbies extend to musical talents, and I have been playing the guitar for a year and a half now. I've recorded one original song and am currently in the process of recording a cover of 'House of the Rising Sun'.
10. What are three words to describe yourself with? Eccentric (I'm one of those strange ones), stubborn (but in a good, determined way...sometimes) and empathetic (I can be quite sensitive about other people, making me a rather selfless person, although sometimes I need to learn to just be selfish and say "every man for himself, you're not having any of my cake!")

I reckon that's enough to be going on for the moment, so turn off your computer and get some fresh air. I meet you back here in a little while, you bring the battenburg and I'll bring the writings.
 
 Lots of love, stay freaky! xx 

Where do trends come from?

Often you can begin to see trends in fashion emerging at the start of a season, and as quickly as the plague they spread to the entire nation within hours. But, much like watching a whirlwind forming in the desert, it's seems impossible to figure out from where, or whom, they began. It certainly suprised me to discover that trendsetting is an actual job.

One of the most well known 'trend forecasting' companies is WGSN (Worth Global Style Network) which was launched in 1998 and now has around 300 staff working worldwide. They will decide what colours, patterns, styles and cuts will be featured on clothing and accessories around two years before these products are put on the market. They don't simply choose whatever tickles their fancy, but base all decisions on the time of year (as weather will affect the type of garment) and the social, economic & political climate of a country. As strange as this sounds all you need to do is look through Britains history and you can see womens fashion changing as the country grows and develops as a nation.

At the start of the 1910’s, Britain was an increasingly prosperous country. The Titanic was built and ready to sail, air flight was improving every day, and women were gaining confidence in their individuality as the suffragette movement began. Trend forecasters knew that women would be feeling self-assured, rich and effeminate. Thereby they made sure that the clothes available were decadent wide brimmed hats, overflowing with decorations and boldly patterned dresses in bright colours.

This soon changed as after WW1 women had equal voting rights and there were less gender divisions after our work towards the war. We also had a better connection with America as transatlantic communication became possible. Their film and theatre greatly influenced the glamorous flapper style of the 20’s. Eccentric patterns and 'shocking' knee length skirts were helping girls express the freedom they were feeling in the era.

However at the coming of WW11 femininity went out the window to be replaced by tough working clothes. Hemlines went up as material was rationed, colours were plain, and materials were coarse but warm. Although lipstick sales did increase as women were buying it to cheer themselves up.

Now the era I believe changed fashion the most, moving it on from girlish dresses to the creative freedom we have today, is the 60’s. This era brought forward an artistic revolution as the modern world began to move forwards at an alarming rate. Andy Warhol influenced a pop-art movement, the Beatles changed musical opportunities and Twiggy became a fashion icon. Plus the pill was invented and so the micro miniskirt became a hit as women explored the sexual freedom that they had never had before.

Back at the trend forecasters, they are using all of these events to create clothing that is likely to sell well. They compile colour and fabric swatches, moodboards, designs and outfit sketches into a large booklet which is bought by clothing companies such as Tommy Hilfiger and River Island for enormous sums of money. This is why it seems that all of the shops are selling the same sort of clothes at the same time- they're all recieving orders from the mothership!

 

So I do hope that you now feel more informed as to why mainstream clothing seems to evolve and grow as one, like some enormous fabric covered beast saying "Buy me! You know I'm perfect because I knew exactly what you'd be wanting- even before you did." Sleep well kids.

Lots of love, stay freaky! xx 

Stereotypes that are actually true

I am a British citizen and countless times I have been told that I have a 'posh' accent. At first I was offended, and completely argued against it, deliberately emphasising my rough edges, innit? But I gradually came to terms with my London enunciation. I found joy filling into the English stereotype. I now own a top hat, talk loudly about scones and live with an inexplicable desire to find, and join, a queue. No matter how much you try to fight it, you will eventually become a stereotype of your country in some way or another- it must be something in the water.

Although a small majority aren't, most British people are extremely polite. (and if you don't agree, I'm so, SO very really sorry) I can't possibly be the only one who has ever apologised to a piece of furniture? Own up you know you've done it. I sometimes even say "ow" on their behalf if the chair or table doesn't imediately repond to my crashing into them. Unfortunately this side of a British personality can cause problems in an argument. If someone tries to insult me I will think "your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries!" But instead I'll simply agree with them, say sorry a lot for making eye contact with them, then bow and run away. As well as having politeness powers, this stereotype can make us very giving which unfortunately means we don't get a lot.

With regards to English personality, there are mixed opinions from varying cultures outside of Britain. Some would call us cold and snobbish. I will admit that I can understand why that might be thought, but most of the time it's just plain shyness. I am ashamed to say that around 75% of the time, if I see someone I vaguely know out and about I will pretend that I didn't see them. Now this may seem rude and stuck up but it's an instinctive defense mechanism that goes up. I am very sorry for creating half of a stereotype, but I'm just a scaredy cat when it comes to people. I've also heard other opinions that say the English are typically very friendly and enthusiastic. This has come from the extrovert half of our population, and I have had the odd adrenaline fuelled crazy moment where I will start talking at a stranger to make them be my friend- or else. But I'm glad of this generalisation as we are a rather amiable bunch, aren't we chums?

Finally I will cover the stereotype that most Americans find absolutely fascinating, much to most of our disdain, which is our 'cute' accent. For one thing, not all English people have the same accent! No offense meant, but the Essex accent doesn't exactly scream Aristocrat. What others might consider an upper class voice, is simply one that uses well good grammar like.( I will proudly admit to be a grammar nazi. ) To any Americans reading this- I am not posh. Against your voice I might sound it, but compared to Stephen Fry I'm an East London chav. Although I must admit that it could have its benefits. In America I could commit mass murder and they would let me off with a warning if I said 'pavement' for them in my 'adorable' accent.

I'd best be off up the apples and pears now my good fellows. My crumpets are getting cold and my monacle is misting up from all of the fog. Terribly sorry!

Lots of love, stay freaky! xx

What lovely weather for a rant together with you..

Picture the scene. It's a brisk winter morning and the skies are grey overhead. I'm sat here cosied up under a fleece blanket, casually scrolling through facebook. Suddenly I hear my family excitedly chattering so I heave myself up and go into the next room to find them with their faces pressed up against the window. They turn to me then point out of the window, speechless. I peer out, squinting before realising with a jolt that it's snowing. We all stare in stunned silence as the delicate flakes gently fall, slowly settling to create an ethereal wonderland. We then all prise ourselves off the pane, chorus "wow, snow!", and then wonder back to whatever it was we were doing- because after all, it is just snow .

I arrived back on facebook only to be bombarded with a sea of text that grew and grew each second I looked at it. "OMG SNOW", "hey guys look- snow", "snoooooow ahahahahaha". Do these people think I live in a hole, and don't have a window to look out of myself? The human race has a complete infatuation with stating the blindingly obvious. Repetedly. On the hottest day of the year, every other statement you hear is "hot today, isn't it?". Well no actually I was rather cold but now that you've cleverly pointed it out to me, gee it sure is hot today isn't it?

Now I'm well and truly into this rant, I may as well continue- why do British people ever complain? In the summer as the thermometers threaten to topple over the twenty degrees mark, all you hear is whining, moaning, and occasional screams of "global warming is coming! The end is nigh!". I'm very sorry that your ice cream has started to melt a bit, but in Egypt it's over fifty degrees right now and their faces are melting. It's the same in winter. The moment the first flake of snow touches the ground people start panic buying for the bare essentials; tinned food, water and marshmallows. My god, an inch of snow? I may never see the grass again. Over in Canada, their sneezes freeze in midair. 

Just stop complaining and you might start to see the amazing weather we have. Yes it's unpredictable, but that's the fun of living here- you get to experience all climates in small scale. I think Britain is fantastic and we shouldn't criticise its choices. Just don't get over enthusiastic or you'll turn into one of those people who say "hey look, it's raining! I love the rain," from under their umbrella while you're furiously dripping next to them.

Lots of love, stay freaky! xx

The Ups and Downs of Art

Today I spent an hour waiting for paint to dry. This is a weekly occurance that is apparently called coursework. Last year I decided to take on GCSE Art, but whether it was the wisest of decisions I am yet to decide.

 During an art lesson last week our teacher asked out of curiosity how long we spend on art a week. The boys cheerfully said, "about two hours", then went back to covering their hands in PVA (such fun). The teacher then turned to the girls who loudly chorused from their foetal positions on the floor "four hours a day!" However, in most cases the work produced by the boys is of the same standard. It's just that the girls in my class have a tendancy to be extreme perfectionists. The strange thing is- we like it.

If you enjoy art, then it makes the laborious hours of sketching and research worthwhile. If you only choose it for the qualification, then you'll face enormous dissapointment once you realise that it will take up most of your life. Although in that sense it can be used as a brilliant advantage. For example, a hideously mannered young brute invites you to dinner at the weekend. "Terribly sorry but I'm doing GCSE coursework then, and for the next two years." Alternatively, your parents ask you to do some housework and in response you can dramatically hold a paintbrush in the air with a look of terror in your eyes, screaming "The art! The ART!". 

Unfortunately it also means that you completely sacrifice your social life. The young year nines reading this may be thinking "She's exaggerating, surely it will never get that bad," as they sign their lives away on the options form. To shock you into reality, I plan my meals around my coursework. Paint has become more valuable to me than water. I don't remember what the sun looks like. (Okay, that last one was an exaggeration, but give me some artistic license.) But the sad thing is that I'm scared of finishing and realising how empty my social life is without it. "My art book is my only friend!", *hugs bundles of coursework*.

The honest truth is that I've enjoyed every minute of it. I love the drawing, coming up with original ideas, researching artists, explaining meanings behind work, presenting it in my portfolio, sneaking looks at what everyone else has been doing (while secretly deciding if yours is better) and going through old work, laughing at how bad you were three weeks ago. I've decided to drop it in favour of textiles at A-level and I am going to miss it so much. But boy will I be glad to have the free time to do art for 'fun' again.

Lots of love, stay freaky! xx