Forums → Art, Music, and Writing → The Hyper Hive

My first animation.
I would change the speed, but I don't know how to change fps.

I assume you're using Pivot, and if you are, you change FPS with the scroll bar next to the play button.

I'd suggest checking out this guide to easing to make them move more smoothly, and look less like robots. Also, the way the right stick's leg bends when he kicks looks rather painful.

However, considering that it is your first animation, I'd say that it's definitely alright. I'm guessing it would look a lot better with a higher frame rate too. You might want to consider bending their backs a bit when they hit/get hit/jump/do anything.

And one more itty bitty detail I noticed is that they seem to do some moonwalking before they attack and such. Keep in mind that if he's standing on one leg, the foot shouldn't move that easily.

If you haven't, you might want to take a look at the guide I wrote.

Keep practicing and you'll get the hang of it in no time. GLHF, etc.

I assume you're using Pivot, and if you are, you change FPS with the scroll bar next to the play button.

I'd suggest checking out this guide to easing to make them move more smoothly, and look less like robots. Also, the way the right stick's leg bends when he kicks looks rather painful.

However, considering that it is your first animation, I'd say that it's definitely alright.

You might want to consider bending their backs a bit when they hit/get hit/jump/do anything.

And one more itty bitty detail I noticed is that they seem to do some moonwalking before they attack and such. Keep in mind that if he's standing on one leg, the foot shouldn't move that easily.

If you haven't, you might want to take a look at the guide I wrote.

I did, and I noticed that's how to change the speed, but how do you save it that way?

"The opposite of love is not hate
It's indifference.
The opposite of art is not ugliness
It's indifference.
The opposite of faith is not heresy
It's indifference.
And the opposite of life is not death
It's indifference." -Elie Wiesel.

You feel naught inside, so cold and devoid
of emotion, a fact you can't avoid.
Indifference is all you can feel now.
Emotionless, you'll never break or bow.

The opposite of love is not hatred;
it's indifference to your heart, the sacred
feelings that course forever through our veins.
You cannot feel it, not fear, love, nor pain.

The inverse of art isn't ugliness;
it's indifference to all, the veiled blindness
that you try to hide, but it's clear to see.
You see nothing, not plainness or beauty.

The counter of faith isn't heresy;
it's indifference to the divinity.
Whether it's there or not, you look away.
Fearing what you could find, naive you stay.

And the opposite of life is not death;
it's indifference, while you take your last breath
or while you open your eyes the first time.
Indifference: not living though you're alive.

Trying something out in a Poe style this time, because I've just reread The Raven for what must be the twentieth time.

I huddled against midnight's chill, cloaked only in my iron will.
Thus battered by the driving gales, I felt myself pressed on the rails.
As into the abyss I fell, I felt a rage I could not quell.
Not for forever could I last, and into evil I have passed.

This burden that I could not bear, recall its weight I do not dare.
For fear that it might break my heart, to see that day you did depart.
I clear my sight for it is blurred, I see and hear what goes unheard.
I reach out ere it disappears, to leave me all alone in fear.

I tried to fight what could not die, the memory hid in my mind.
But soon no longer could I fight, the grief had sapped away my might.
And into darkness I did fall, no one to hear my anguished call.
In madness I am tightly gripped, my heart is torn and my soul ripped.

The memory of how you left, so of your presence I'm bereft.
Still I can see your pleading face, as you were grasped by death's embrace.
A moment burned into my eyes, that I cannot unsee or hide.
I still can hear your fading screams, the very sound that haunts my dreams.

Insanity was taking hold, my world now so forlorn and cold.
I saw no reason to go on, so I let go because you're gone.
The moment I could not forget, consumed by my grief and regret.
Among these things that I abhor, here I am lost forevermore.

Every time that I toss and turn, and when by lovers I am spurned.
When I am feeling good or bad, feeling sorrow, or feeling mad.
These demons whisper in my ears, that sound that I can always hear.
Words buried deep within my core, whispering "I love you no more."

My sad, sad attempt at prose. Although, technically, it does rhyme, so yeah. Not even prose. But still.

I open my mouth; no words come.
Muteness greets me.
I open my eyes; no sights come.
Darkness greets me.

I reach out my hand; no touch comes.
Numbness greets me.
I open my ears; no sounds come.
Silence greets me.

I swallow my food; no taste comes.
Ageusia greets me.
I hurt myself but no tears come.
Dry eyes greet me.

I fall down, but no blood will come.
Immortality greets me.
Years pass by, but I remain young.
Agelessness greets me.

Where is my voice, I ask of you?
Nothing greets me.
Where is my sight, I ask of you?
Nothing greets me.
Where is my feeling, I ask of you?
Nothing greets me.
Where is my sound, I ask of you?
Nothing greets me.
Where is my taste, I ask of you?
Nothing greets me.
Where are my tears, I ask of you?
Nothing greets me.
Where is my blood, I ask of you?
Nothing greets me.
What is my age, I ask of you?
Nothing greets me.
What is my name, I ask of you?
Nothing greets me.
Who am I, I ask of you?
Nothing greets me.
What am I, I ask of you?
Nothing greets me.
Nothing, dead or alive.
Nothing's there.
Not even I.

To speak but hear no words.
To look but see no sights.
To touch but feel nothing.
To eat but have no taste.
To listen but hear no sound.
To cry but have no tears.
To bleed but have no blood.
To be young but not grow old.
To live but never die.
To exist but not be there.

Calling out but hearing no one.
Reaching out but touching no one.
I greet oblivion.

Oh holy **** that last poem made me sound like an emo...I'm not, by the way.
Oh well. =(

Okay, so, in English we're required to memorize one poem per month, and this month I picked(out of the choices I had) Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost. It's an excellent read, though a bit short, and I would recommend it to anyone. Unfortunately, I've memorized it just now(today being the day we were given the assignment itself) so now I'm a bit bored with nothing to do. Therefore, I have decided to write a poem in the same style as SBWOASE by Frost, sort of as a tribute. Of course it will have my own twist on it...but hopefully it will be a little less "dark" and a little more profound. Let's try it, shall we?

I return to my home, now old.
To discover that it's been sold.
My bed, the only thing they kept.
I was let in, out of the cold.

I went to where he had once slept.
Still seemingly wet with tears wept.
I pulled the sheets over my head.
Recalling secrets he had swept.

Once hidden safely 'neath the bed,
secure from what they'd done or said.
He'd go to a Land far away,
and there his sorrows he would shed.

This Land where he would always stay,
was how he'd make it day by day.
A salve for pains that he'd been dealt.
For fear that he might disobey.

His father, drunk, would get his belt.
And deal the boy welt after welt.
Till his back was bleeding and sore.
But in the Land, no pain he felt.

I knew the boy who walked these floors.
But I do not belong here, for
I do not know him anymore,
I do not know him anymore.

Ahh...ermm...yeah, still a little depressing. Frost would be disappointed. Oh well. I have proven that I can mangle great works of poetry, first Poe and now Frost...if I could only get my hands on something even better...?! >

Nearly unrecognizable from what I originally submitted to the 50 Themes Contest.

Teetering on the glacier's edge,
black fingers clinging to the ledge.
So freezing cold and so alone.
Fingers slipping on granite stone.

BANG! Like a gun, ice is cracking.
Ice is breaking, snow is packing
into every crevice and gap.
Weight's building up, it's soon to snap.

Frozen solid from head to toes.
Can you feel it? Nobody knows.
Cold as ice, emotionless, numb
from snow packed tight, till you're struck dumb.

On everything are water stains.
Soaking it all, 'till naught remains.
Your own hunger you cannot sate.
Memories blurred, you're a blank slate.

Water runs on memories, sounds.
Distorting them, then they're torn down.
Once ruined, they can't be repaired.
You cannot feel it, cannot care.

Forgotten things are beauties lost.
Like buildings ruined by the frost.
By water, your thought's corruption.
Lost it all in one eruption.

Forgotten memories, lost thoughts.
In oblivion now you're caught.
A snowman on a sunny day.
Drip, drip, drip, you're melting away.

Poem I wrote a long time ago +1 pinch of humor. And dumbtarded double post is dumbtarded.

The light at the end of the tunnel
The peace at the end of the warfare
The end of the day, as the sun fell
With success at the end comes the fanfare

The goal that you have almost achieved
If you reach, you can nearly touch it
Now of this burden you're fin'ly relieved
In your arms you greedily clutch it

Which you have sowed, that you can reap
The work you've put in, effort and time
Well worth the price, though it was not cheap
To the peak of the mountain you've climbed

You've sacrificed much, you've worked so hard
You've felt the pain, yet you labored on
And that hard work has taken you far
You've fought your way to where you belong

You've paid the way, now you're reimbursed
In the end, there is always justice, you see
Now I tell you, for better or worse
No matter how hard the start might be

Or how difficult things might be now
And it will be hard, believe me friend
It will always be worth it, somehow
Because there's something good at the end

Okay, so this isn't exactly a new poem, but I would like to make this thread more of a repertoire than anything, really.

Sitting in the park, eating a bagle.
What's a "bagle"? Is it like a "beagle"?
Is it a made-up word, like "wihagle"?
(Wihagle: A wig-wearing bald eagle).

What's a "bagle"!? I simply must know this!
I'll pull out my hair and bite all my nails
until you tell me what a "bagle" is!
Is it possibly a bat with three tails?!

Oh, the humanity! What is this word!?
What's a "bagle"?! A bag for men named "Lee"?
Or is it a blue-and-red spotted bird?
WHAT IS A "BAGLE"?! The insanity!

Oh! I googled "bagle" and it did say
that "bagle" was a bad computer worm
that affects all of Windows; you don't say?
But why would you eat a computer germ?

A new anomaly has arisen.
What's a "computer worm"?! Why'd you eat it?
No! All these words have become my prison.
Evil dictionary...I can't cheat it.

Google says a "computer worm" is a
self-replicating malware compu-
ter program. This makes no sense, I daresay!
The search for words is eternal, curse you!

WHAT IS A "BAGLE"?! It can't be a worm!
But did you mean "bagel"? A round pastry?
Well, in that case, you have something to learn.
Remember; the "l" comes after the "e".

Triple endangered species...get ready to shoot, shovel, shut up.
The rarely seen iambic pentameter poem written by me. I usually prefer tetrameter.
And the even more rare sonnet, also by me.
And, if possible, the even rarer romantic poem by me. Very rare, these are. xP

As you tumbled from your perch in the sky.
As you fell from the heaven to the ground.
An angel revered to an angel downed.
Now your radiant beauty caught my eye.
Hands and feet bound by chains as down you fly.
Your cries allured me, deaf to other sounds.
Your face enticed me, blind to sights around.
In love, 'twas not you that fell, but 'twas I.

Ehh...it was okay.

Please! Believe in Jesus and His mother.
As long as you don't force it on others.
Also; who does the Vatican employ?
Rapist priests who like having sex with boys.
Mother Teresa; a sadist, not saint.
Suffer for enlightment...saint she ain't!
No mistake, feel free to be a papist.
But please just keep your nose where it belongs.
Also, do not cover up for rapists.
Let us live our lives, don't tell us it's wrong.

Meeeehhhhh...jabs at the Vatican are getting old.

Suffer for enlightenment...saint she ain't!