Grinning Bobcats.

After christmas, it seems that all I've done is eat chocolate and spend my money. Went to the sales yesterday, and wait for it... here comes my very first outfit post(-ish, the photo came out badly and you could see my filipino stomach so I thought scrap it, we'll have the one you can hardly see)! WHY?! Well, because I got a CAMERA! And it is beautiful.

Prepare to be amazed, this dress is from the deepest chavland of... Primark. For £5.00 it was definitely worth a trip in there.

The tights? Ooh, the tights! Black with red hearts, Miss. Selfridge, £7.00.

And all today I stayed in practising calligraphy and playing with my camera.

Not In This New Romantic Way.

Standing in the pouring rain, barefoot on the ice and miles from home. The thin cardigan with ankle swinging skinnies and holey shoes and no socks doesn't fair well to this weather. Watching them scream at eachother reminds me that I'm the peace maker, the one who hugs them and kisses them and hushes them out of their worries and into their sorries. But once my job is done and they hug eachother and makeup, bestfriends until next time, when I'll sort it out again. I can't help but think that I've got no one that'll be there for me at the end of the day. Through it all, no one has stayed through the worst, not even to turn their heads and hardly notice. I just want someone to hug, unconditionally, truth be told.

Flakes.

Yeah, I'm a bit late on the snow update, but HEY :)

Care, Just Fucking Care.

Rooting savagely through my wardrobe, I need a bag, a black woven bag with a gold chain, surely I've got one? Yes I have, I bought it this time last year in the Miss Selfridge sale. And yes, here it is, chain broken and weaving dismantled. How come it looked so pretty and presentable when I wore it every day back in Spring. A battered stick of Watermelon Chapstick falls out and the smell... well, here come the memories. Best friend, I told her everything, and I wonder if thats what she told me. But now I'm on my own, and I pass her every day, and she doesn't return my smiles. There's no longer a place for her in my heart. Wait, no, screw that, no one's coming in, I can't keep patching up the them-shaped holes they leave as the come and go, and my hearts not pretty while it's strapped in duct tape.

...& This Is Where We Fall.

Have you ever heard someone say something along the lines of "since your Father is your male influence, the people you'll fall for will be somewhat similar." I thought about this, and crap, my Dad's a northern guitarist/musicman, and shoot, there are a lot of hot northern guitarist/musicmen around (Father not included). Dilemma of the day, he's not northern, but hell is he a guitarist, and hell do I like him, and hell, he has the same name as my Father. What to do? He's hot, he sounds like Christofer Drew but he has the same frigging name as my Dad, surely this is illegal?

Bubble-Wrap My Heart.

We all love hot guys, it's the way that they're churned.

Mm, there's nothing that'll cheer you up like sitting on my wall on Southbank and watching the hot guys skate.

Wide Awake & Dreaming.

What is it that death has against me? I can only fight it for myself, play a mean game that will only let me live. Why is it that I can cheat death, but I can't do it for my loved ones. How is it that you can wake up "feeling funny" and ten minutes later you've died, you've disappeared. How at one split second in those ten minutes, every little piece of her body decided to give up?
... and there she goes. Dude, death sucks.

Go 'n' Steal My Heart.

My violin arrived this morning, I'm supposed to be getting it for christmas, but I got in earlier than my Dad got in from work, so it isn't hidden. Yep, it's sitting there in the corner. And it's making me feel bad that I can't wait to throw my blue three quarter to the side to gather dust in the corner of the study and get my mits on the full sized brown piece of heaven and play it.

If I Only Knew Your Name...

Well hello beautifuls, I feel like I haven't blogged in ages, so I just wanted to do a nice post, nothing deep or anything (for once?!), just an update. School actually factually owns me, I have so much art that I see my sketch book more than my mum and that's probably why I haven't done a post in over a week. Here are some picturloss i forgot to upload, or something. Noice.

Why to NEVER, EVER let Ronnie into your make-up bag/face. I'm not altogether sure about the Nutri-Grain box to be honest.
Yeah, that is my chin. I don't know why I like this picture, I just find it nice.

I can't remember if I did this picture already? It's a good picture though, even though it makes me look ma-hoos-ive.
This is a picture from way back when I had my amazing purple bug-eye glasses that I oh-so-tragically left on the tea-cup ride while dressed as a medieval person, as it goes.
...And finally, a painting I did at like Easter time, the only one I managed to picture before my camera got stolen in Kenya.

Muchos love, I'll try to blog more frequently from now on and also blog nicer shizz :)

Fill Me With Light.

Fire destroys. Flames can lick on our doors, but we said that we'd never let them inside. Tamper with my skin and burn me through, but nothing can destroy my deepest mind but a magician. Pictures, however, can be burnt. We can set alight to our memories and watch our happy faces decay into what we're feeling now, whatever urged us to burn our happiness.
Oh fine magician, please don't burn my happiness.

Falling, Falling, Falling.

They tell me that you can't catch a memory, not for your life. Yet here are a great deal of memories standing infront of me, personified into a handsome boy I've loved for far too long. How couldn't I catch my dearest memories when they're so close that it is all I can do to fling my arms around them, to never let go.
They tell me that the most agile and strong of us never can keep the memories they catch. not for your death. But here they are, between my clasp, so close that my lips brush against them.
They tell me that the weakest memories will fight and push you away, but I must have chosen a strong one. He held me back and listened to me whisper and cry and poke butterfly kisses on his shoulder.
Screw what those sucks told me, my memories are right here.

And Here Is Where I'll Stay.

Nothing is ever all it cracked up to be. The stony sky makes me cold, thats why I'm holding myself across. The icy wind is lapping at my sensitive eyes, thats why you might see them brimming over. There are so many excuses, because I am so far gone that I don't even want to hurt anymore. I want to walk in the sun, but that's never an option when it's November eighteenth already. I've wasted a while, but learnt a fair lot. I don't want to hear from this stupid boy who I've probably been wrong about this whole time; Of course he knows that he left me heartbroken, and I just kept on. I deleted his number, I erased his face from my mind. I don't even remember his eye colour, I tell my self. Today I'll move on. I'll smile at the fit boy who was flirting with me last week. That's a start.
But I always finish before the start line, because this boy has changed to "In a Relationship" too on Facebook.

You Belong Arm In Arm With Me Baby.

Darling, you don't understand. For everyday I've loved you with all of my heart, there are three when you've left me a raged, tearstricken mess huddling on the linoleum kitchen floor. Darling, I loved you first, but I was what, a countless member of your unattatchment club. I started full of love, all for you, a warm heart that your cold fist froze into delicate spindled glass. The way that the cracks shine when I let the light in is simply beautiful, I have done this once since I last saw you.

See me here, crying on the linoleum kitchen floor? That was you. Darling.

Those Were The Days.

Sitting here, checking your facebook, I can't help feeling like a stalker. I click on the link attached to "In a Relationship with." Its worse that she's absolutely beautiful. Even from her picture I can see her piercing blue eyes that fill mine with tears. It's horrible, how can I get the slightest, guiltiest piece of pleasure out of the situation by calling her a slut, a bitch, a suck, a ho or a whore if she's none of them at all? Not even the tiniest bit. It just makes me all of these words plus so much more. I go press Back, click next to "Write Something..." and type "IHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOU" and my mouse hovers over "Share." Maybe not today, but one day you will know.

The Smoke Will Soon Be Here.

I tell everyone I've moved on. Everyone. To be truly honest I thought I had, until seven days ago. Within my sickness I had a dream. A horrible dream, but so beautiful. And there you were with your fathomable eyes boring into me, while there I was, little old me, unloved by you, bewitched. I forgot what I'd do to make you love me, but nothing at all makes it happen,

Not even waiting, not even time.

Followers and commenters! I love you so, but my computers being a bitch and spazzing up when I try to comment you back, I'm not just being rude, honest.

Every Little Piece Love.

It's the first time since my birthday that I've noticed my breath curl out of my mouth in smokey whisps. There's hustle, bustle and a dog howling to the sky because the world is ending. All he sees are bright lights and bangs. This is entertainment in an evil name, the rememberance of evil, plotting, caniving Britain. This shows who we truly are. Beautiful but insane.

This is what happens when we order pizza.

For goodness sake, save our pizza delivery guys.

BTW, I don't actually look that bad normally, pulling a face and need fringe cutting in picture.

Second Chance Is Second Best.

Sorry about the last post, 'twas a bit full on.
Lets start again. My name is Natalie Rose Hill, the Nora came partly from my shortness causing baggy tights, but mostly after getting really drunk at a house party and telling gatecrashers that my name was Nora and I was the lodger, and the name stuck. I'm short and I'm scruffy, I don't brush my hair and have baggy tights with holes in them. My nails are permanently peeling off in different colours for every layer and I'm so unlucky sometimes thats its really quite funny. I say like, like, all the time, its really annoying. My voice is really posh and it mostly mumbles a load of sentimental stuff that eventually twists into a smile and blushes my cheeks. I love to write, thats why I have a blog. I'd like to do a few outfit posts every now and then because I love fashion, but my camera leads dead, my sisters taken the two good laptops with card-readers in to uni and my computer and laptop don't have a card-reader, but for christmas I've asked for a good camera with a lead. I need to get fit, if I run for a bus I'll get on, breathe heavily and then trip over in front of five really fit boys who will laugh at me. Happens at least once a month.

Looking Upwards, Falling Down.

So many things have changed in less than a year. Nobody really knew that I was so unhappy that I'd come home and scream and rip my hands to pieces with my own nails and teeth. I felt like the world wasn't on my side and because I have a past I had an excuse to act stupid and compulsively. I was SO wrong. I've been such a bitch, and I'm sorry to anyone who knows me for being like that. Looking back at all my old posts, I can see that I've changed so much. I've stopped caring whether or not the worlds against me, whether I wasn't meant to be happy, because it's probably true, and theres not all that much you can do for karma, you know. I'm tempted to start again, new blog, new me, but I'm not sure. I might delete my old posts up until August because if I don't want to remember, why should I inflict that on anyone else? If anyone feels bad as I did, as impossible as it seems, its so easy to stop. Smile, hope and open up and things will go right, if not now then eventually. Sorry for the ramble, I just want to prove that I've changed. Posts will be better from now on,
LOOK FORWARD TO IT!

A Flightless Bird.

I've found out that there is only so much lying in bed crying while listening to the playlist you made especially for these times before the sun streams through the curtains and stirs you, forcing you up and washed and changed and eating crunchy-nut clusters and milk from a plate before you can cry "I love him though!"

Cleo, Faye and me in the sunshine.

Yes, there is a point where you just have to go out, get really drunk on not that much and open up your heart, because theres nothing at all better than a tiny bit of sunshine at the end of October.

Bright Lights And Angels.

I have a theory, and so far it hasn't failed me, that if I don't look up into his great brown eyes, I'll never feel the terror of let down again. Sadly, this involves looking down, averting my eyes to watch somebody else, or preferbly his nose or his rosebud lips or his usually windswept hair while he speaks. Even his voice is alluring, leaving me beguiled at the end of our conversations. I sometimes wonder if he may be magical, but everytime I look up into his eyes, this sadness overcomes and drowns me, and I realise that hes just another awkward teenager who has no idea he broke my heart.

Could It Be Magic?

What say you and I grab our acoustic guitars and run away? Theres a wide green meadow stretching through my mind, the mist clearing as we enter it, just you and me linked at the palms, interlocked by our fingers. My best friend forever and always. We've escaped the ones that shattered many a vital organ. When they one day wake up and realise that it was us that they wanted all along they'll trek to our overgrown topia. By chance, we'll be sitting on a bowed branch siniging Meet You There in a beautiful dissolence on their part in realisation.
And to think, we thought we'd escaped heartbreak.

This Is Why I Love You.

Only one chat-up line has ever made me say anything more than "Fuck off, please" to a boy.
Lets set the scene, a disgusting grey sky is being mirrored and multiplied on every piece of glass down Liverpool Street, making an endless silver skyline. Sometimes I wonder if I just wasn't meant to be happy. This is what it does to you, the lonliness. I get so paranoid that I can't see through my wide eyes, my vision shatters into tiny little crystals, sending the great silver sky flying at salt-tinged angles of destruction.
"Excuse me?"
I have no idea why he was there, but he was. His soft voice broke through the mist and revealed him to me.
"Yes?"
"I think you dropped your smile."

If You'll Be My Star.

BRIT SCHOOL COURSEWORK AHOY!
I have so much, I'm not even joking, I no longer have a minute for a nice post or a social life, it makes me sad. I shall do a BIGBIGBIGBIG blog on Saturday hopefully, yah? Expect something beautiful with hopefully an embarrassing picture of Sophie Gresham dancing.
LARRRVE YOUUU ♥♥

He Was A Star Collector.

It started at the pit of my stomach, a deep full pain of two words I was too afraid to say. It was there so long that I named the butterflies inhabiting my stomach Voldermort and Tom. They came alive everytime the name was mentioned, the face was seen, falsely spotted in a crowd. They danced and battered their way up through the rib cage where so many breathes had passed, these words writhed scatchily through the throat that a last borrowed Locket wouldn't soothe. When they oozed down my tongue and spat out of my unwilling mouth. They fell, meaningless cinders upon the now empty room.

A Penny In The Rain.

I always thought there was some kind of onamatapoeia to heartbreak. Crushing an eggshell in your hand, breaking into hollow chocolate, dropping a thin china plate onto the floor and hearing the clash as it falls apart in the spilt second in which it hits the ground.
When my heart broke, none of these sounds applied. It started off with my texttone, two sharp dings. The pressing of some buttons. A raspy intake of breath in realisation. A knock on the floor as my knees buckled. "Crap," I whispered.

Things I Have Loved I am Allowed To Keep.

My friend, unofficially the biggest Twilight obsessive in the world (if you are offended by this, please read on and tell me you wouldn't regret this), is getting a tattoo on her wrist of a vampire bite. Crazy girl.
This is one of my sister's photography. I absolutely adore this one. I made the rose with my super-duper origami skills.

Photograph©LHill July 2009

I Will Wrap You In My Arms And You'll Know You've Been Saved.

When my Mother was five months pregnant, she got chicken pox. As a result of this I have a slight disformation in my hand, but people don't tend to notice I have two fingers missing.
When I was six years old, my piano teacher told me I didn't have enough fingers to play. As a child with an insecurity and thirst for scissors, glue and sellotape, I makeshifted myself two more fingers out of a forked twig I found.
On the 19th of September, this picture was taken in Sainsbury's in West Wickham. Christmas confectionary?! OUTRAGE.
As promised, http://wonderlander-bloggityblog.blogspot.com/2009/09/tick-tock-tick-tock.html

Photograph©ESimmons September 2009

Like The Stars, Those Pretty Lights.

I'm in love with a ballerina who is a foot and two inches taller than me. This sucks.
On a happier note, today was the day of celebrity. Not officially.

Jam, Jason, Ken Livingston, former mayor of London, Nats, Ellie. Ken is such a gee.

Leona Lewis and someother record industry peeps that the music kids were getting all hyped up about also popped by, but they didn't agree to pictures.

I love my school.

Suns In The Sky, You're Looking For The Sunset.

I've never noticed how quickly things change. How you can recognise someone by the retired glint of determination in their eye as they walk alone, past you without a first look of recognition. Excuse me, you dare to say, my name is Natalie, I think I once knew you; she backs away, shaking her head. Yep, the determinations gone. Shes not the edgier-than-an-octagon only Bupa girl I once knew. She has curves over her ribs and is wearing a sleeveless dress. I give up, like most things, this doesn't make sense to anyone but me.

photograph©FCallard, August 2009

Adventure #1; Brick Lane.

I have been to BrickLane many a time, but we never really took pictures. I have to say that it is THE single most coolest place in the world. Me and my art class at BRIT all hopped on the tube to Whitechapel (ignore TFL telling you to go to Aldgate East, that takes you to the crap end) to do some observations of buildings (:) and also the mega hot and cool people (:D).
Top picture: Me in the furry hat, doing observataions next to Ellie.

Bottom picture, clockwise from left: Catherine, Chahni, Kaya, Poppy, Maddie, me, Mina, Ellie, Safaya.

Photographs©DMarsh September 2009

Oh Darling I Was Blind To Let You Go.

Anyone under fourteen who is reading this, stay that age. Things are getting more and more complicated and you don't have as much time to sort them out due to the devils gift also known as COURSEWORK. If you think that you have problems now, because boys are smelly and shizz, keep that mantra.

I'm the one in the furry hat; TK MAXX, £16.59.

Photograph©SPomell September 2009

Standing Tears Apart.

Listening to Busted, crushing on Jackson Rathbone, staying up til 5am building up frets to hands, playing my guitar and painting my nails purple. Dude, this is what summers about.

Photograph ©VSmith August 2009

Like A Painted Ghost.

Today was beautiful. The sun shone as if it were going to burn out tomorrow while me, Cleo, Faye, Liane, Rhianna, Carys, Gabriel and Tom sat on the green in bec rec.
Accomplishment of the day? Well, that has to of been knocking a dusty cone out of a tall tree for a picture. With a little help from my big strong friend's cupped hands, we eventually knocked it off. Along with my shoes, one of which is still missing. All I know is that its near the tree in Bec Rec. I think. A shoeless tramp may well have stolen it.

Photograph©CSavva August 2009

I Love The Way We Glow In Ultraviolet Light.

Considering that I used to blog every day, I haven't blogged in a long time. I have to say that I have missed this, but I shall do a MA-HOO-SIVE blog tomorrow, as I have just been cancelled on by my friends, so my schedule is free as a bird. Apart from the blog promised. Heres something to keep you (more me, to be honest) going. Ignore the little girl at the front pulling her pants down. From left to right, me, Cath, Shivum, Lily, Olivia and Zoe in a fountain maze at the exact moment we took a wrong step and the water sprang up and enveloped us as we ran through the water like parched children. All I remember is dragging Cath through the biggest shooter, pushing a random boy through, not realising he had his phone in his pocket (foolish boy, foolish Nats), and finally Olivia running towards me with her arms stretched to enclose me in a drenched hug while prisms flitted off of each of her five solitaire charms and into my vision.

Photograph ©JPanesar August 2009

Its Like Catching Lightning.

Theres a rather large spider scurrying along the edge of the room, making me doubt the hygiene in my house. Though I'm ever so slightly scared of him, I name him Spencer. Theres something about the way he moves so gracefully on so many legs that makes him discordingly beautiful despite his ugly grey shell that is making me cower my legs up onto my seat.
Today me and my friends hid in one of their cupboards, so as to strike fury among parentals, but from the hours 12:00-21:00 no one realised. Aah well, it was a nice cupboard, plus I bagged a few Beanie Babies and an old Baby Annabel doll who I renamed Rupert.

We Can't Build Houses For Robots If The Pieces Don't Fit.

The meteor shower is so beautiful. It looks like the constellations are playing some kind of a game of hot potato, lobbing shooting stars across the sky in what seems purely for my entertainment as I sit on my porch step, hugging my pyjama-clad knees and listening to The Maccabees.

Forget The Sun In His Jealous Sky.

From my messy hair down to my peeling violet licked toes, I must be the most scruffiest person in this downbeat town. My panda-eyes haunt me from the past six nights of no sleep in the name of art and little red dots are creeping up as if they are screaming at me to eat healthier and go to bed. And you know what? I will. I want more than anything (or you know, most things, aside from word peace, and no starvation and a decent camera) to just not always look like I've crawled out of bed with last night's eye liner, a top knot, crazy smile and acryllic spilling down all my tunics that I wear with tights and chub-a-chub legs. I want to be glamourous, classy, you know the sort.
I love this picture, I don't know why, or what I'm sticking in my mouth, but theres something so charming about it that screams me.

Hiding Behind Rainbow's Wall.

Midnight. Theres something so serene just about the word that makes me want to stay up all night, casting spells or something other than sitting with my laptop and guitar trying to figure out the chords to Busted songs. It makes me wish I had magical powers, and yeah, I know it sounds stupid, but I'm a strange person. I have bright orange nails, natural bedhead, an interest in visual arts, hazel eyes and magical powers. I just really want it on my CV.

Like, um, her.

Like A Firefly Without The Light.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, there is an ideology forming where I'm wearing a big white lacy dress and the sun is streaming down n a kind of late-summer-evening as I run through tall barley fields with a smile on my face. In this dream, my messy hair fits and I have eyes like Tim Minchin, or my Mum, or my friend Conor, if you don't know any of these people, they all have insanely bright blue eyes. I don't know why this has come up, but this is really and truly how I want to be.

Sunny Boy, Long Time No See.

Twenty minutes past two in the afternoon and I've just woken up. The skys incredibly blue, wouldn't you say? I wish I had my camera now, so that I could tale a picture of how radiant my garden looks in the sun, but SOMEONE dropped it at Katy's party and it fell down her stairs, bouncing twice off of each stair until it landed and cracked into three separate pieces in Katy's porch. I also wish I had it so that I could take pictures of my more recent drawings. I just had a look back and saw that I'd really only put up Vickie and Eve, and that was under pressure, and they are both rather henious. And before you say it, my phone doesn't have a USB.

Look At The Stars, Look How They Shine For You.

It rained all night last night, leaving a jaded effect on the world as I can see it (my back garden.) I may go out and explore the world even further than my tiny mowed lawn. Again, I have nothing to do today so I may aswell just do what I did yesterday. I'll bring my pencils and pad this time so I could maybe have a hope of finishing the ship load of art I've got to do before the twenty-fifth. Nerve-wracking.

Life Is A Maze And Love Is A Riddle.

Today I went out on my own and listened to Razorlight's saddest songs so that I could mope around in the rain. I'm in the mood to fall head over heels in love, simply for something to do, but theres apparently a severe shortage round here. Problem is, even if there is someone I like, (and there IS) they never ever ever like me back. I'm fourteen years old and I am frigid. Which I don't mind, but other people seem to. Well, not so much mind, more just think its strange. But hey, I'm a strange person. Maybe thats where I'm going wrong. I want to be pretty, and thin, and to say witty things and not be so clumsy (as to not walking along southbank texting and not looking where I'm going and therefore walking right into the silver dude in a tutu (who is strangely fit) knocking him off of his box and landing on top of him), and not come out with my really weird insights to the world that everyone gives me looks for. I wish I could just get my point across.

Don't Say You're Never Gonna Leave Me.

Leave me, I'm stubborn, and perhaps nothing will ever change that. All I know is that I'll stick to my word, hell will I. Just believe in me, please, believe. That'll make one.

Makeover.

Makeover time? I think so.
Holly, my make-over godess is coming round tomorrow,
I'll upload pictures soon;
sorry for leaving you, love

Goodbye.

Somewhere in the horizon, I can see the shizzle hitting the fan. I need to start again, so that when it reaches me I have my thoughts to hide in. I will no longer tarnish my blog with doubt, I shall look up at the stars from a hospital bed and pray not to die.

Need To Be Needed.

I need to be needed, I'd love to be loved, but in the back of my mind, I know that being kind ain't enough. - The Switches.

I don't think I've ever found a lyric that sums me up this much. Its matters like these that bring me to tears, especially when walking home.

You don't understand, its not like I'm an attenton seeker, I just like to be the centre of attention. For at least one person, one person at least. I just have a tendency to get lost in larger groups.

Leave Me Your Stardust To Remember You By.

Last days of langley;

I'm suddenly realising random people that I'm going to miss.

I love you.

Every single one of you.

I'm crying.

How dare any of you say don't forget me? How could I forget any one of you? Even if I tried, I'd fail.

Every single one of you, no matter how small, made a huge effect on me.

Goodbye.