Hey, I've got a new idea...save that it's creepy and disturbing and based far too much in reality for me to place bits of it here.

An angel's love, after all, can only be so universal.

*wicked grin* Yes, I am disturbed...

Hm, I've found a new favorite music group. Finnish metal bands...well, I never did claim to be normal. Nightwish...heh, the band member bios amuse me. The music is very pretty, sort of Loreena McKennit meets Offspring, only not. *kicks winmx* Download, damn thee! I want new listenins.

*beware the cheese*

Appalachia declares war on Norway for the infliction of severe constipation!
(Mmm, free cheese! *three weeks later* Uhhnnn...)

*innocent look* Whowhat? No, of course I didn't order that three hundred pound block of cheese sent to that particular politician...why would you think *I* would do something like *that*?

Charlie's Lazy Angels, maybe? Gad, I love scouts.

Ah, so. Random Character Spotlighte time, because I can't think of a damn thing else to write.


Name: Kieran Ellis Black, ne Kieran Ellis
age: 24
story: Glare
appearance: Kieran's dead sexy- but kinda funny lookin' all the same. He's of average height, no more than 5'11" but no less than 5'7", which makes him almost tall, I suppose. His eyes are very very dark grey, but most of the time they're blacked out, especially when he's POed or feeling particularly intimidating. By blacked out I mean just that; no pupil, iris, or whites, just empty black holes with little sparkly glare spots in the corners. His hair is long and spikey over his right eye, colored dark dark brown. On the left side it spikes upwards and outwards, colored orange at the roots fading to very pale yellow at the tips. Kinda funny looking; occasionally he gets wisecracks about Halloween personified- usually the people who say things like that either know they can get away with it or receive an ass kicking soon after. Kieran isn't exactly built- he's muscular, but not overly so, and he moves like a cat. His nose is very small, and his eyes are somewhat slanted. Occasionally, his eyebrows fork. But only on Wednsdays and other days of the month beginning with the letter "f".

Kieran lived a very unhappy childhood in the care of his great uncle, Ellis Black. Ellis was a very rich, very old, very evil man. He had a hand in nearly everything illegal you can think of, and he didn't think twice about involving his nephew in these things at the tender age of four. Kieran can't remember anything from the time before his uncle died beyond very hazy memories of pain, knives, and needles. He suffers occasional flashbacks when he's been drinking- that's why he doesn't drink. Ever.

Nineteen years after Ellis' death, Kieran suddenly finds that he's inherited all of the old man's empire- most of it has degraded and has been taken over by other people, anyway, but certain areas of the old bastard's master plan are still working quite well. A small building in the slums is part of this; nobody really knows what Ellis was doing with all the medical equipment and such he had there, but everyone knows it wasn't good.

Kieran doesn't know why he inherited, as opposed to his sister, Clara. Clara is an evil bitch, a woman after their uncle's heart. She, however, has no flashbacks and repressed memories. She was the lucky one. Doesn't mean nothing was done to her...she just has no unpleasant memories of it happening. So Kieran goes to visit this small, dingy building in the slums, and finds something he didn't really want to find.

Not the most stable of people under normal conditions, finding holding tanks full of half formed children with his mother's face and a little, underdeveloped girl/woman named Chiara who is his clone caused poor Kieran to snap. And now he has vowed to take down everything that is left of his uncle's legacy and see it burn.

Of course, his sister is rather bitter about not inheriting anything...and she never liked Kieran much, anyway. And she's got her own clone/avatar thing named Sinclair, or something similar to that.

So it's diabolical evil versus insane vigilantiism. Don't mock my spelling.

Kieran is very nearly insane for the most part. He is obsessed with destroying everything that ever had anything to do with his family's past (which is rather complicated and hasn't been thought out quite yet) and he doesn't care who he hurts in the process. He will, however, protect Chiara at all costs. It's sort of creepy, actually. Kieran is nothing if not creepy, however. Creepy and dangerous- he does go to any length to stop his sister and her diabolical plans...any length including and certainly not limited to bribery, murder, arson, torture, and the use of some rather illegal and frightening medical procedures. You know, the ones that give you extra appendages when you sneeze and the like. Only not quite. (Can you tell I really haven't thought about this much?)

When not being creepy and dangerous, Kieran's actually a very nice guy- sensitive, caring, the whole nine yards. He's just rather damaged in the head, you see. Severely abused as a child, and now the whole mess with his uncle's empire (it needs a name...)...He's rather shy, as a rule, and he doesn't talk much. But he's bloody intelligent, inhumanly strong, and has absolutely no control over his emotions whatsoever. Or rather, he does have control over them- his idea of 'control' is to simply ignore them, which leads to periodic messy breakdowns in which he is reduced to a quivering puddle of trauma. Generally only Chiara can bring him out of these- she's also the only one who can calm him when he's in one of his violent rages.

Uh...of course this is disorganized. He only walked into my head a week ago. I didn't know his story until four days ago, and I still don't know everything about him. I think I am vaguely disturbed by this whole thing...disturbed, yet intrigued...

width="300" height="150">

Which Angel would you be? By Angel Falls

Dreamer, give me your hand, I'll chase your nightmares away...

I've mentioned how much I love GS before, haven't I? You know, the fact that our conversations degenerate into discussions on dyslexic bovines and the lack of grey matter in our heads...or the Itty Bitty Titty Committee, of which Liz-beth is a president, Kath an honorary member, and I ought to be a part of, but they won't let me? I mean, damn.

"No difference!"
"Aw, damn."

"...You missed."
"Wait, wait, was the safety on? Did you forget to load the gun again?"
"Oh, I knew I forgot something! So, which one's the safety? ...OW!!"
"She's a natural blonde."
"Sick, dear, just sick."
"...I don't get it?"

It was all so much funnier at the time...funny how we degrade into talking about livestock, sex, kinky sex, and of course, Jesus.

"I wasn't eating Jesus...just nibbling."
"Snacking."
"Munching."

"So, now it's time for blasphemy, right?"
"Wait, we've done violence, we did sex...shouldn't we do drugs now? Or is it rock 'n roll? I get these things so confused..."
"You can do sex and drugs and rock n roll at the same time."
"Blasphemy too- Jesus statues."
"Depends on what you're listening to."
"Depends on what you're doing."
"I repeat: Jesus statues."
"...I don't get it."

For the record, my cat actually isn't Jesus...but she might be pretty close. I love scouts. I really, really do. Happy day.

Mm, getting back into the swing of things- I keep on forgetting that "You learn to write by writing." So, here it is, in all its unedited, awkward, incoherent glory. And Kieran is a sexy psychotic bitch, which is why I keep him around and why I'm most likely going to write a good deal more about him 'n Chiara. The lunch scene...I'm a sad excuse for a dork, I know. And the poem- means nothing. I kind of like the way it sounds. There. That is all.

And she screams:
But who will hear
The sobs of lonely mothers,
When everyone is too busy
With the concerns of others?
sigh sob sigh cry;
Is this what we are left with
When we fall to the ground to die?
There is nothing more to hear

And she screams:
But who will notice
The blood upon the floor,
When the sight is hidden
By the light from underneath the door?
Bright light bright red;
Is this all we are left with
When everything has been said?
There is nothing more to see

And she screams:
But who will care
That she is all alone,
When all we see
Are the seeds of hatred sown?
hate love hate pain
Is this what we are left with
The cold, the lost, the sane?
There is nothing more to feel

"O fortuitous day!" They were sitting at lunch, in their usual places. If Judgement Day were to come, and all five of them were to be swept away in a beam of light, (unlikely, seeing as they were all either atheist, agnostic, alleged pagan but really agnostic, and other) you would be able to tell who sat where by the lunches in front of their seats. Or, in one case, the lack thereoff. The one with the peanut butter and jelly cafeteria lunch always complained that the peanut butter tasted like paint thinner. When told to shut up and buy something else, he would usually whine even louder. The other one always bought something hot, if not the daily special, then a cheeseburger. The next one had fries. Just- fries. With salt mixed in with the ketchup. The one after him, the lone female, always brought a slightly squishy, flattened sandwich wrapped in tin foil, and a bottle of water. The last of them didn't eat lunch, unless you counted the one day he brought in a bag of slightly stale Italian bread.

"You mother finally kicked you out the house and you leaving this school?" Peanut butter and jelly was always ever so cheerful, and always spoke with such an atrocious accent.

"Nah, guess again." French fries needed to work on his enthusiasm.

"Tell us, tell us, tell us!" Cheeseburger needed no help whatsoever with the enthusiasm. None.

"I have had a great deal of good fortune dumped in my lap."

"Good Fortune gave you a lap dance?" Tinfoil and water had already finished her sandwich.

"Oh, yeah. And she was good, too. I got a visit from the anime fairy."

This announcement was greeted with immediate disinterest from PBnJ and Cheeseburger, though 'Burger did bounce a bit hyperactively in his chair.

Tinfoil and water looked condescending. "Honey, the anime fairy doesn't exist."

"Then I guess this isn't the Cowboy Bebop movie in my hand, is it? And these aren't the first three disks of Kenshin?"

An astonished silence settled over the table. PBnJ and Cheeseburger, not having any interest in anime, looked bored. But Tinfoil and water and No lunch stared in shock. "D-duuuude," No lunch choked out.

Tinfoil and water's eyes were round. "Sh-she does exist?"

"Yup. The anime fairy is real, ladies and gentlemen. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise." French fries looked disgustingly proud of himself.

"Amazing. So did the Cafeteria Lady Gnome give you those fry for free, or you have to buy youself?" As always, Peanutbutter spoiled the mood. For his trouble, he received both a kick and a thwapping and several balls of tinfoil to the head. Life went on as usual.

The end.

------------
The really sad part is that this more or less happened. Not in quite so many words, but this, my dear friends, is what lunch is like for me. I WEEP. I never got a visit from the anime fairy...

Take the "Which Anime pet are you?" test!

Now this, I like. Mrow.

Take the test here!! Made by Jenna and Robbie.

Well, I don't think I quite agree, but since I took the test three times and I kept getting this one at the top...it must be true, right?

The Band Quiz By Rahel

Blah. But I hate the clarinet...:)

"Mr Black? If you'll come this way, sir, number 37 is ready to see you."

Kieran ran a nervous hand through the black half of his hair, brushing it out of his eyes long enough to get a good look at the anonymous intern who waited in the doorway. She had nice legs, he decided after a moment, but those were probably the only asset she'd used to get the job. Easy secretaries were a dime a dozen in this building. He stood and followed her down the narrow hallway.

It's been nineteen years since El died...and I find out only a week ago that he left it all to me. All of it. Every illegal bribe, every mistreated child, every dark and dirty little secret had been dumped on his head, and now he had to deal with them. And he was starting here, with the darkest and dirtiest secret of all. But Uncle El never wanted these kids to be mistreated...kids. Hah. They're all at least as old as me...

The intern held open an antique wooden door leading into a tiny, cell-like room. A girl- no, a woman, sat at the tiny tinted window, watching the world go by outside. Kieran felt his stomach clench in horror. She was swaddled in layers and layers of clothing to protect her from the cold and to keep her delicate skin from bruising. Her eyes were wide and pale and her pupils were hugely dilated; the lights in the room were off and the window was tinted to protect her sensitive sight.

"Chiara Ellis, number 37. I'll leave you here to speak with her, Mr Black." The aide closed the door behind her, leaving Kieran alone with the subject.

"Hello." Her voice was whispery soft and hoarse. "I'll be seeing you again, won't I?"

He nodded, his mouth dry. She didn't look surprised. "I've seen you before. When I close my eyes. And I hear your name when I sleep. I hear it spoken by the dead and the living and it makes my head hurt to listen to it. I know who you are."

Kieran felt very, very cold suddenly. "Who am I?"

She placed a gloved hand against the clouded window pane. "My brother."

He froze. So the project was a success- how old was I then, four? No older than that, when they came after me with needles and knives. And they never told me I'd helped them create this...this thing. They'll pay for this. Fuck Uncle El's wishes, they'll pay for doing this to me- and to her... "Chiara, does the name Ellis Black mean anything to you?"

Her pale eyes took on a dreamy quality. "He showed me the stars...but I can't see them so well anymore. He told me to wait for you, that you would take me outside again. I would like that. Will you let me go outside?"

Kieran nodded decisively. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll get you out of here. It might take me a little while, but I'll get you out of here." I'll get us both out of here.

Why is it so much harder to see the stars here?
It was a silly question; she knew why it was so difficult to see the stars. There was too much interference, too much artificial light shining up from the ground. It created a glare that made viewing the much dimmer stars that much more trying. But she wasn't thinking about that while she leaned her forehead against the cool, blurry window panes and stared up at the sky.

Her mind wasn't really on the stars, anyway. She could pick out the constellations and name the brightest stars in the sky on a good night; but tonight all that were visible were the brightest and most familiar. Orion was standing on the eastern horizon, marching at the head of winter's mad and ravening armies.

There would be snow soon, she knew it. It was in the sharp bite of the air as she inhaled, and in the pattern of fog her breath made against the chill windows. There was snow in the air and in the sky, written across the far horizon in lines of sketchy clouds. It was in the trees, bare and shivering, and in the eyes of the children that walked past her window every morning on their way to school.

She looked up at the sky and thought about snow. Maybe this year, they'd let her open the window. She wondered what it felt like. Once, long ago, so long ago she couldn't even remember when it was, they'd let her outside. The sun hadn't been out, but it hadn't been nighttime yet, either. Stormy, the skies had been, looking bruised like her arms when she woke up. Looking like her eyes after she'd been crying; swollen and dark, dark, dark. She remembered feeling the wind, the world exhaling a breath of air. It had felt nice against her cheeks, warm and wet.

They hadn't let her stay outside very long; she'd been very small, and they'd been very afraid. She wished they wouldn't be so afraid; maybe then they'd let her outside again.

A car drove by, its headlights glaring, and for a moment her eyes were too dazzled to pick out Orion's jewelled outline. It only gets harder to see them, every night. I wonder if I'll still be able to see them, tomorrow?

She settled herself more comfortably against the window sill, and watched the silvery grin of the moon climb across the sky. Across the city, more lights flared up, until the glare became too unbearable. Orion had long since marched beyond her sight when she finally went to bed. Tomorrow, she promised herself, tomorrow she would stay up a little later before the glare grew too strong. Tomorrow.

Boffo-esque Babble:
Will there be a sequel when (if) I finish it?
Well...no. Once the story is done, it's done, and the only thing I might be able to write about will be Dei, and honestly, he doesn't do anything that interesting afterwards. He acquires a significant other and the live a happy eternity alternating between New York, Paris, somewhere in Canada, and San Francisco. Opal and Tyler spawn a couple of brats, who may or may not be interesting, but they probably aren't. *shrug* I, personally, am just not that interested in what happens to any of my characters afterwards. I hate to spoil the ending, but it will be a happy one. Reasonably happy, anyway. As happy as these things get...

I won't do a sequel, but I may do a prequel; I would like to write Jubal and Radueriel's story, and the angels' story. It'll be my attempt at writing political tension and backstabbing and all that other jazz. I've created another monster with this one- how do you document the history of creatures so old they've watched galaxies spawn? And then there's that whole non-linear time thing to deal with, too...meh. Needless to say, when I finish Boffo, it'll probably be a while before I do anything more with it beyond revising; I'll need a break.

I really really really want to get Kev one of these for his birthday; I also wanna get somethin' similar for Mark, since his birthday is...Friday. My, how time flies. Only problem is, it's ebay, and dad is out of town (and he just got back from Highpoint on Sunday! *laments*), which means that I can't get it because he won't be back until thursday and mom is all "eh, the internet. no." Grr. Time runs out in less than a day! *laments*

I mean, it's a sushi maker. How effin' cool is that? I want. But I wouldn't be able to do anything with it, so I'll give one to a brother, and make him make me sushi. Mmm, sushi. Gah, I am frustrated. It would be a perfect gift for either of them...*sigh*

Oh, and I am happy- somebody did a picture of that damned fountain...and he got it better than I have. :) Happy day. (My only objection is that, in my mind, Jubal looks hella more girly than that, but...he certainly would sit and say something like that.) Joyousness, and stoof.

"You can get teens to buy anything as long as it comes in a leopard print."
I love Gilmore Girls. It's a shiny thing.

Death rode up in a fancy car
We flocked to him like a movie star

...dammit. I had the perfect, really long, Emily Dickenson-esque sort of poem going yesterday, and now I can only remember the third verse. Fork.

Half watching K-Pax while getting yelled at by parents to get off computer. I like K-Pax. That is Billy Bob Thorton, in'it? I'm putting that man in my harem. Or, you know, whatever. Along with Nathan Lane, Ewan McGregor (only for the part he played in Little Voice, mind you. And maybe for the coffee guy in Black Hawk Down), and Kenneth Branaugh. Comment on the contents of my harem, and you shall receive a thwapping.

My clarinet has given my thumb a complex. It's peeling and nasty. *pokes thumb* I weep. But now I watch K-Pax. And possibly eat more cookies. (Chocolate- it does a body good.)

Ah, nothing to cheer the heart and soul like cookies and girl scouts. 'Specially when you mix the two together, add a piano, and make Kathy behave. I am reasonably content.

"Having trouble with that water, there?"
"Must-not-make-sudden-movements-cup-too-full!"
"Yeah, don't speak too loudly either, the water might hear you and run away."
*strangled noise*
"Oh no! Look, it's running away, it's escaping! Water on the loose! Go after it, go, go!"
*intermittent pause*
"You made it come out my nose!"
"Yeah, that water, it can be brutal."

"Hm, life changing experience...Well, I used to be a fundamentalist."
"And then what happened?"
"See, that man, you know, Mr Bush? They made him president and I lost my faith in god. Now I'm an atheist."

"Teeming masses of sexually frustrated and represssed teenagers, unite!"
*watches teeming masses unite*
"Eeew, that's gonna take forever to get out of the carpet..."

I am tired. And if anyone tells you that model un is a fun, enlightening experience where you really learn to compromise and work with other people, don't believe a word of it.

It's all just conniving and backstabbing, lying and bullshitting, whining and asskissing, and it leaves you feeling drained, betrayed, and physically and emotionally dead. Once again, if you need to find me, I'll be over there, kicking something. But not a person. I don't think I can stand to be around any people right now.

Oh, you know, I've just got one or two issues with people to work out right now. Namely, that I hate them all.

Excuse me, I'll be over there kicking the wall. *breaks down and cries*

I have chamber pot today. *twirls finger* Joy. Wish me luck; I don't want to strangle Christine or Erica today...I really don't.

*dusts off soapbox, sets up stepladder, climbs up*

Okay, I know this has been said many, many times before, by many, many people. But I'm going to say it anyway. "Goldfish" is not a term of endearment, honest! And, you know what goldfish are? They're carp. Which means, in my twisted version of the English language (English being your native language, dear fanfiction writer, though the shadow of doubt is cast upon that fact by the huge, glaring, and incomprehensible grammar errors you have committed!) you have just insulted someone! You have just called them a carp, thereby calling them the equivalent of a piece of shit. I seriously don't think that's what you meant to write, dear fanfiction writer.

So, please, unless you're writing about a koi pond, stop using the word "koi" in your stories. Please. (And by koi pond, I do not mean a pond full of mer-bishounen...) *climbs off soap box, trips on the way down, hits the dirt* Aw, carp- I mean, koi!

Oh, that latest play at McCarter? Fucking disturbing. Like watching a poisonous snake. Gave me nightmares about abuse and bugs and other things like that. Not fun.

The acting was incredible, naturally. But it wasn't Edward Albee; it was a Bogosian, and it was intense. I'm never looking at a cell phone the same way again...

Supposedly, it was scheduled to premier (world premier, no less) at the beginning of the season, but 9-11 made that impossible...you'd understand that better if you'd seen the play, but again, it was intense. I don't normally get nightmares from McCarter. *sniff* I wanna see Design for Living again...(mmm, threesome. *giggle*) Or School for Scandal; no, wait, The Midnight Governess. That was some witty repartee. (Sucks that I can't quote it...I'll find the script somewhere, because the English lesson must be heard/read to be believed...woo!)

I'm tired of angst for the moment, you see. I'm tired in general, but a happy play at McCarter would've been just the thing to end third quarter and the season. *sigh* Guess we can't all get what we want, eh? (Meh, I've got to start getting ready for Run-a-Muck. Bleerch.)

Just a note: women with hips are so much more fun to draw than your typical "attractive" American woman with sticks for legs and a waist that is indistinguishable from her ribs and hips. Plus, they're easier to draw; obviously I'm a bit more familiar with the female figure than the male (because I'm a *girl*, you retards. quit sniggering like that.) and I like drawing things when they're over-exaggerated or out of proportion. (Actually, I just can't ever get the arms and legs to be the right length, but sh!, don't tell anyone that.)

Because, you know, I draw naked women in my free time. *rolls eyes* Honestly, what did you think I was going to say? (Anybody wanna pose nude for me? Male or female, I need to work on my figure drawing...) Oh, quit looking at me like that. You're coming very close to earning a thwapping, the lot of you.

I suppose I should find it a little disturbing that I write in this thing (and all of my other journals) as though I were speaking to someone; I think I would do that even if I knew that no one read this thing. (Oddly enough, I know that people do, and you've no idea how weird that feels. Shouting in the dark...) Some people think that talking to yourself is a sign of insanity; others say that it's no problem as long as you don't get into arguments. So then I just sit and think, "Well, damn, I guess that means we're screwed, doesn't it? Of course we're not, quit being such a pessimist. But-"

At which point I usually start laughing at myself, which just earns me even more strange looks. But, as I've said before, it's far more important to be able to laugh at yourself than to be considered sane by other people. It really is. Granted, it's nice to not have people avoid meeting your eyes and crossing the street rather than walk past you, but hells, if you're gonna go all out, go all out.

Wait, wait, I didn't just write that. Only I did, but I didn't mean it. Sanity (or what the average Joe considers "normalcy") may be overrated, but it has its uses. Not being a complete social outcast wherever you go, for instance. A little bit of kookiness goes a long way, after all...and no matter how much they annoy/frighten/piss you off, if you keep on pushing people away with your antics, they will reach a point where they won't come back.

Just a little something to keep in mind when dealing with the masses. Individuals, on the other hand, are easy. Just figure out exactly how much weirdness they'll take at any given moment, and start pushing the envelope. Raise the crack-rabbity tolerance of the people around you; make them prepare for the unexpected. It'll do everyone a little good in the long run.

This post is getting rather long winded and off topic. Shall I go back to naked women? *grin* Nah, they're overrated, too. Naked men, on the other hand...or rather, half naked men in leather pants. (That yummyummy picture of Apollo Ohno, anyone? Lickable, indeed...) That's a topic I could put chocolate syrup on. *wink*

Don't mind me. Seriously. I can write whatever I want here and suffer few repurcussions- the weird looks, I'm used to, really. And we're all friends here. Even you, mysterious reader whom I may or may not know. Friends by blogassociation. It works. Obviously you must find me at least a little amusing if you're still reading this. Or maybe you aren't; maybe I am just talking to myself.

But then again, maybe I'm not; does it matter?

No amount of apologizing will help; I've always known that. I would apologize every second of every day for the rest of my life if I thought it would help...but it wouldn't.

Iesu, I think I need a break from all of this.

Meh. It's so cold in here...Can we open a window, maybe? Let some heat in? Gah...

What is your meaning of life?

But I already knew that- that's a post for another day, I suppose, but really, I already knew that. *littlesmile*

Ah! I'm not going to forget this time!

I was at Walmart a few weeks ago, for some reason or other- I think to pick up envelopes or something (you'd expect them to be with the stationery and such, wouldn't you? No, they're by the party favors. Why, God, why?) but in the end I got a pack of those delightful Pentel RSVP pens that I love so dearly. (Mmm, sketchy, leaky thin lines...yum.) Anyway, I walked into Walmart directly behind a man.

Obviously, this isn't a particularly revelating fact- the Walmart that I was at is located in a place that we usually refer to as The Land That Time Forgot (that also refers to the northern midwest, in case you were wondering). This man was very tall, with something of a sketchy beard, a very long pony tail, and cute little oval glasses. He was wearing a floor length black leather trenchcoat, a black leather vest, a blue gray dress shirt, black pants, and shiny black shoes with buckles. He was also wearing a black cowboy hat.
...
You don't understand- I took one look at him and the first thing I thought was that he'd wandered off a movie set. The second thing I thought was "IRVINE!" because really, they could've been brothers. (Shut up, do not mock my dorkiness, just accept the fact that I saw the brother of a video game character in Walmart.) He did not, however, have a drawl. But the woman and the little girl he was with were both wearing their Sunday best- heels and a rather short black skirt for the lady, white mary-janes and frills for the sprog.

It was weird, that's all. And highly amusing- I didn't think we had people like that in New Jersey. I just felt that I had to mention it, because it really was funny. (But since he looked like Irvine it was also crazy-nifty, since I'm a dork like that. But still.)

Neil Gaiman talked about slash in his blog. 'Scuse me, I'm gonna go over there and fall over laughing hysterically.

Damn, I love that man. (An' what's so mindboggling about Good Omens slash, hm?) *giggle*

what's your battle cry? |
mewing.net | merchandise!


Come on, who called it? Somebody must've...Gee, who's surprised?

I've got PoP rehearsal til 10 tonight...weep for me, for I shall be highly irritated. Meh. Fortunately I get to scarper off for at least half an hour if not longer for MUN- another thing I don't feel like doing today. Meh.

How the bloody hells is it only Wednsday? Jesus, this week has been far too fucking long. I'm ready to throw in the towell and hit the weekend already. Why is it only halfway done!?

*sigh* I miss my scribble...it'd better come back, lest I be forced to pout. I had most of my entries backed up, but not any of the more recent ones...suckage. Major suckage. Least I've still got blogger. *hug*

And I also give you art:
Foxy, Blaine, Silver, and Lucky. Geez, I think I need to rename some of these characters...they sound like a bunch of poodles. Here Lucky! C'mon Silver! The two sketches of Silverlock are crap, so here's a much better one. Without arms and legs, of course. Without a shirt, too, but with the collar. And I'm fairly sure he's got at least six more tattoos, but I couldn't figure out what they looked like, so that's all he's got.

I can't believe I created a whole race with a bondage fetish...oi. I didn't mean to at the time, honest! But Silverlock really does look rather freaky-scary, and he's a royal pain in the ass to draw. hn. Still can't figure out what he does with his hair...

*drumroll* Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you...
Ralph the Roman Toga-torso! (Nevermind that there isn't a toga in sight...)
Thank you, thank you, I know you're all amazed- any cracks about K-Mart will earn you a thwapping, just so's you know. Stupid Urmeel, being stupid in general- that damn thing was a lot of work. And it got the same grade the sticks and rubber band catapult did, which isn't exactly fair, but I won't complain too loudly. It was fun. *shrug* I know, I put far too much effort into things that just aren't worth it sometimes...

"Wow, I just went from Crazytown to Elvis in 1.2 seconds. I' m better than a BMW."
*patpat* of course you are, dear, of course you are...

Oh, hey, car doors. Mumsy returns! (Now I just have to figure out why I'm calling her mumsy...) And she is rather ticked. *sigh* I didn't mean it, honest...

Hum, it's raining...possibly why I'm feeling paranoid. (Only it's not really raining, it's just pretending to rain. Bloody weather.)

Okay, so scribble's still being a bitch...and I'm home alone with no fucking clue where mumsy dearest is. This would not normally be a problem, mind you, but I stayed after today and tried to call home for a ride but the phone was dead...so Kurt gave me a ride...and when I got home there was no one here. Again, not normally a problem. But someone had been home, about five or ten minutes before I got there- groceries on the counter, sink dripping like someone was in a hurry to leave...and that was near on an hour ago, and since I have the cell phone, there's no way of knowing where mumsy went. It's just a little odd, that's all...if she's waiting in the school parkinglot and I didn't see her on the way home because we took the long way, I'm fucked, 'cuz she'll be pissed as all hell. But it's not like her to just go shooting off to wait for me without getting a call, at least not before three- and that's about when I got home, so it doesn't make sense. That's why this is a problem- it doesn't make sense, and the weather is making me paranoid. rrr. *nothappy*

which "monty python and the holy grail" character are you?

this quiz was made by colleen


Whee! "A newt?"

Oh, wait, there is a method! Lots of wasted paper, lots of muttered profanity at the paper, the pencil, the pen, the desk, the thing that I'm drawing, and the people poking me while I'm drawing, lots of snarky glares, and a great deal of frustration. I yell at my computer a lot, too. And Photoshop- Photoshop earns the Glare of Death repeatedly, and that's how I draw.

Aren't you glad you asked? (what, no one asked? aw, shaddap...)

I feel like talking about art right now. Why? Because, that's why. And it's my damned blog, and I will talk about what I want to. So, nyah. Or something.
My absolute favorite artist is Van Gogh, I think. I absolutely love post-impressionism art, even moreso than I love surrealism. Of course, I do not attempt anything even remotely post-impressionist, since my last art class was freshman year, and I'm not interested in becoming that sort of an artist. The class still helped me quite a bit...my artwork improved a great deal after that.

Of course, it hasn't improved that much, and anything that you see at vera dicere or even here probably took me several hours to weeks to finish. It takes me a very long time to get something right; all of y'all who see me every day know this, and have seen me cursing at my notebook or my stack o' paper day after day. The picture that I'm currently working on has been a work in process for the past three weeks, I believe...maybe longer. Probably longer.

I have a process, you see. First I come up with an idea. Actually, that's a lie. There is no method to my madness. First I sit around and doodle all over every availible blank space- occasionally this blank space happens to be a sheet of white paper, and when it is, and I like the way my doodle looks, I'll dig out either a pen or a marker and I'll ink it. Then I'll either clean it up on the original sheet or I'll trace it. This is where it starts to get difficult. I don't have a light box or anything else, so I'm forced to either ink with thick, messy lines that I can see through the new sheet of paper, or I can tape the thing to a window on a sunny day and work at a bad angle, or I can dissassemble the shadow box on my wall and balance the pane of glass between my knees over a table lamp minus the lampshade. I don't do that too often, because it's just a Pane o' Glass, sharp edges and all, and by the time I'm done it looks like I've gone through a cutting session all along the inside of my thighs or on my hands. And since I'm really not into that sort of thing, and since it hurts but it doesn't bleed, I usually just eyeball it and use messy lines.

Once I've gotten a clean copy of my drawing, I'll forget about it for a day to a week and a half, before deciding that I ought to get off my lazy ass and do something with it. I usually scan it in and ignore it for another day or two; I don't like using colored pencils, because quite frankly, I suck at using them. I have only just recently come into the possession of flesh colored markers, but I suck at using those too, and I don't have the proper paper for markers or paints. (I do now, actually, but I'm afraid to use it.) And anyway, my red marker has developed some sort of strange fungus that was there when I got the thing, and now it has grown, so I just keep that one capped and try not to aggravate it; I'm rather afraid that it's going to take over my desk one of these days. And I ask you, what's a girl supposed to do without a red marker, hm? Nothing. I like red. I especially like the shade of red that the marker is, but I'm not about to use it when it might object loudly and hold a grudge. So, I scan my outlines in and color them in photoshop.

I have Photoshop 4.0, but I may be able to get 6.0 soon due to a certain felon in my family. I can spend anywhere from two hours to two weeks coloring something, depending on how neat I want it to look and how much detail I want to put in it and how much time I spend getting side tracked.

I don't draw much fanart, simply because I'm really not a very visual person- I can hear something much more easily than I can see it. You've no idea how long it took me to visualize my own characters in my own stories that I've had bouncing around in my head for ages; trying to visualize other people's characters is twice as difficult. Fanart for games and anime is different; I don't see too much of a point in doing that. And there are always other people who are so much better at it than me, and I can never get things to look the way the ought to...plus it requires too much thinking. Thinking requires too much effort, and we all know how lazy I am.

Fanart for other people is a slightly different story- I'll draw that if the mood strikes me, more or less...as I said, there is no method to my madness. Of course, if you ask me nicely, or even if you just say "Hey, you, yeah you, draw me something" chances are I'll do it. Nothing is more flattering than a request, in my opinion. Of course, it might take me weeks or months or years to finish it, but if you ask, I'll draw you something. What can I say, I'm easy. (Wait, I didn't say that. Honest. ;)) A detailed description always helps, of course...and if you give me free reign to draw whatever I want for you, I'm not guarenteeing that it won't be vaguely disturbing.

So, there you go. I'm done talking about art for the moment, i think. Who knows. *shrug* doop.

"I'm gonna eat seafood tonight- I figure I'm close enough to the shore that it should be fresh and I won't get food poisoning. I've got that really important interview tomorrow, and food poisoning would suck."

Y'know what? He got food poisoning. He got really bad food poisoning. Oh, the irony. (Should I be sympathetic or should I laugh and say 'I told you so'? I already laughed rather loudly when I found his wallet after he cancelled all his credit cards and got a new driver's liscence...so I suppose now I should be sympathetic. The thing with the wallet was funny, though...) Cross your fingers that he gets the job, though, 'kay? Hippity hoppity hope...

Yay. The stress is almost over. I just have to make up a bibliography. Rejoice, would you? 'Twould make me happy, and since I'm dead tired falling over exhausted to the point where even Job noticed, being happy is about all that's keeping me awake. Must...not..stay up...'til...two again...*falls over*
But I want to so badly...
And scribble is being a bitch. Be my bitch, dammit! Mine! I wanna journal properly...

In other news, I have a book. I have many books, but now I have a funny book courtesy Kristen, and it is Good. There are Twinkies. And the Muffler Man. It is good. *happy dance*

Hey, guess what, all? I'm gonna move to New York and apprentice myself to a starving artist, so I can be sure I get it right! Whaaat?

And Livejournal is being a bitch, too. Stupid bitch. Hn.

"We were having a domestic moment."

"There was a girl in my dorm named Prudence Fink."
"Oh, god, was she traumatized?"
"We were traumatized. She was scary."

"Now, if you cats don't cool down, we're not gonna play anymore."

Hm. Interesting. Very interesting.

Mm, new obsession: Michael Moorcock's "Eternal Champion". *drools* Oh, blessed All, the storytelling! His characters are a little bit distant, but the storytelling is effin' in-credible.

All writers have their strengths and their weaknesses; some of them can't make you believe a character to save their soul, but their stories and plots are intricate and well thought out enough that we don't care. And others get their dialogue to be so snappy and witty and perfect that we don't mind their plotholes, and some, the rare, the genius, get it all. The characters that are sympathetic and human, yet still heroic and stately, the plots that wrap you up in their bondage-like twists and turns, and the sort of storytelling prose that you'd expect from a bard. I think I've found one of those- and it's fifteen novels long. *dies of happiness* I've only got the first two, and I've finished one and am making headway into the second and I am in love.

It's the sort of epic fantasy/sci fi that's up there with Tolkein in the scale of it's sweeping grandeur and complexity- at least in my opinion. (Not that that counts for much, you know, but still...) Beautiful prose, wonderful story...*sigh* Yay. And I *heart* Renark von Bek...just because. And Asquiol. Even if his name does sound like "a sqeal!". Sh. Let me giggle fangirlishly about a decidedly unfangirlish bunch of books, 'kay? It makes me happy. *happyhappy* I have Books. Let there be joy.

"So, did you hear about the study that says that it's okay for cousins to marry? There's nothing genetically risky about it- and that's a good thing for all of us from Louisiana, 'cuz we're all inbred down there. I guess that's no excuse anymore- must be something in the water. Hey, but I've had crushes on some of my cousins for the longest time- I think I'll give 'em a call..."

Er...thankfully, that was not one of my relatives. (Although it is true that some of my cousins are pretty hot...but dammit, they're all so annoying! And weird. And, in most cases, frightening.)

Ah, it works! *hugs blogger* Now, don't you ever do that to me again, 'kay honey? 'Cuz then I'll have to thwap you.

discover what candy you are @ stvlive.com

Mmm, lemony goodness...

"Of course I can kick you for being annoying. It's in my job description."
"No it isn't. Your job description is "squeak". Loudly, often, and with the highest possible level of annoyance- ow! Stop kicking me!"

"I got drunk with your brother the other night. He's a pretty cool guy."
"Yeah, and he's twice as much fun when he's drunk. The only problem is, all conversations eventually degrade into discussions about nipples..."
"Whoa."

*_*
*gibber*
*falls over*

Okay, I'm done. For ever. Seriously. *falls over again*

Oh, and I'm sorry, I didn't really mean to be creepy...today has been an odd day, you see.

Erm. "Tfu tfu"? Dude, I can't even pronounce that...yeesh.

Ah, so I feel the need to clarify a few things, since I've been getting questions and odd looks at school.
I'm really not obsessed with guys in skirts, darling. It's all Mr Novak's fault, really- If I didn't think Mr Novak= David Foley, I never would have thought Mr Novak = guys in drag. I mean, the first day of school, I knew he reminded me of one of the Kids in the Hall crew, so I had to find out which one. I go digging around online and I find a write up about each of them, and when I get to David Foley, *bam!* it's Mr Novak, and the little write up things says that's he's the one who "looked the best in a dress". And so it all began.

I suppose it's also partially Crystal's fault during marching band; she'd been showing off her drum majorette boots and complaining about how the skirt always got wrinkled, and I said that we should be able to march in skirts- the pants are damned uncomfortable, you know. And, of course somebody had to be a smart ass and say "what, everybody? wouldn't that be a little odd?" So I said no, not everybody, just the guys in my section- really just Sam and Drew. Pasquale could wear a jumpsuit. (Don't ask- it was random and seemed funny at the time.) Now, why only Sam and Drew, you ask? Because they're both tall and gawky and would look damned silly in a skirt. That's all.

It's purely an amusement factor thing, not a kink, to be perfectly honest. Well, mostly- some guys would look pretty sexy in drag, but that's just me. I read too much yaoi and I'm too much a fan of the girly-boy look. But anyway, half the words that come out of my mouth are said purely for shock value and to get a reaction from other people- I mean, take a look at half the stuff I've written here. I love to prod people until they squeak; possibly this is a form of revenge for all the prodding I've received...

And I'm really probably not going to see Sorority Boys, simply because I don't want to see Michael Rosenbaum in drag; whenever I think of him, I'll think of Lex Luthor, and him in drag just doesn't work. See the thing with Sting below; some guys just should not crossdress for reasons of dignity or what-have-you. *shrug* Now if it were Tom Welling, on the other hand...even though he would look absolutely awful in a dress, I have an easier time picturing that than picturing Michael Rosenbaum in the same situation.

There. Now you know more or less the truth of the matter. As I'm sure you cared, since you seem to- I wonder, does it bother you? I'm hardly the person you seem to think I am. Hmph. And now I'm more pensive than anything else, and it's late afternoon again.

If I were Empress of the Universe for a day, I would outlaw late afternoon. Mid-afternoon, too, while I'm at it. The sun would stay in one place until six o'clock, at which point it would spontaneously jump to about halfway below the horizon to finish the sunset. *grr* Stupid sun.

The secret to dying Easter eggs properly is in understanding your dyes, and how they react with the egg. Now, your typical dark colors, blue, purple, green, do not, in general, do well if let soak for a while. They get streaky, and I have yet to get my purple eggs to actually come out looking nice if I keep the egg submerged for more than thirty seconds. Purple is an icky color to dye with, anyway; if you want purple, dip in red first, and then a quick dunk in the blue. It'll look better, I promise.
Yellow and orange will come out beautifully if you drop the eggs in and just leave them there- if you do a quick dye with them, they'll come out pale and nasty, so keep them in long for optimal colors. Red's a bit trickier; if you're lucky, you can get it to come out dark and intense, but if you want pink, that can work, too.
Any way you dye 'em, they're still a pain in the ass, though; and who actually likes hard boiled eggs, anyway?

I realize now that the naked laundry comment down there probably seems mildly perverted and vaguely wrong, especially when you consider the fact that I was talking to my brother at the time...but he started it. "Naked people have no influence in the world. And when you have no influence, nothing you do matters to other people. Ergo, other people's opinions just don't matter." This only works when you're naked, apparently. Maybe I should try it?
Whaaaat?