That new Six Pence None the Richer song?

Creepy. Oh, so creepy. I've got their first album, and it too, is creepy in a sort of devout Christian meets Pagan Earth Mother anti-abortion kind of way. That girl's voice seriously weirds me out.

(So, if you ask me why I want their new album, don't expect me to come up with a coherent answer. I might start babbling something along the lines of "The walls! The walls! So empty, make the walls go away!" C r e e p y.)

Oh. Now I remember. I forgot to do laundry.

Fork.

...and why is Windows installing new hardware for an 'unknown device'? Stop that!

I had something to say. Can't remember what, though. Must. Stop. Procrastinating. *dies*

"Honk if you don't exist."

I want that bumpersticker. That is all.

Sliced bread ain't got nothin' on this.

Poetry generator. Brilliant.

Dood. I'm seventeen now. *points to sidebar* Look, it's official!

Yes, this only just occured to me. I'm clueless, hushup.

I'm in a post-apocalyptic mood right now. Been reading some of these. Good stuff. Highly amusing. When I get around to updating vd (i did have to choose an acronym that also doubles as the acronym for venereal disease, didn't i?) I will link it and all related sites. Very good stuff. (Am now obsessed with Egyptian lore again. Still obsessed with space pirates. Borderline obsession with Osiris. Definitely in love with Ray. Maybe it's the other way around. Haven't decided yet.)

Still. "And we all know how hard it is to find TNT in a post-apocalyptic world..." May do sudden last minute costume change and do something different for my nanonovel. But this is the wrong journal for that.

Mordant and Solneki appeared in my idea journal the other day in a play format. I generally don't try to write plays- I'm bad enough at general writing. But I was in the mood to describe little details in clothing and scenery without having to worry about boring exposition. There was a room, and a rolltop desk, and three numbers scratched in red ink on the surface. How Mordant went from being an Abercrombie and Fitch reject with a flanel shirt to some sort of scruffy mercenary with a bandana (of course he has a bandana- how could he not have a bandana?) I'll never know. And I'm not even going to touch what happened to Solneki (whose name means absolutely nothing, I just like the way it sounds)- androgynous looking business man with glasses to...whatever he is now. I'm not sure what he is now.

Hell, he's not sure what he is now, and in general, my characters know more about themselves than I do, even the ones that pop into my head at random for a thirty second advertising spot.

Once again: still. Purple skies and shrapnel seas, oceans of once great cities laid to waste and made into endless tides of shifting ruins. Thunderheads on the horizon, with lightning flickering eternally from rotting cloudbottom to scorched plain, while the people burrow beneath the garbage, fleeing the darkness of the world above in favor of the darkness below. That's a darkness that they understand; a natural darkness caused by the simple absence of light. The darkness above, though- that's a shadow cast by something much more sinister, a shadow that survives even with the sun shining mercilessly upon it from above. Out of the debris rises new cities, new civilizations; empires built on ruin, built on graves and bones. Towering cities that cast very long shadows, indeed.

*shiver* 'Kay, that was overdramatic, overly wordy, and far too pretentious. Now I'm really in a post-apocalyptic mood. Post-apocalyptic with Eeevil, no less. I've got too many other stories on the line though. S'not fair, it really isn't! I've gotta write Boffo and Ocean Dreams and Song of Silence and a couple of other random things for my portfolio, which is due in two weeks! Don't have time for random post-apocalyptic worlds to pop into my head and demand demons and mercenaries and identity issues! Damn it!

It was a swirling hole in the stuff of reality; beyond it was darkness, nothingness, negative space. It bubbled and seethed, churning grotesquely in barely contained rage, an ancient, angry thing. He leaned closer to get a better look. It was the stuff of nightmares, and dreams, things that ate at men's souls.

It was beautiful.

"You get any closer and you'll fall in- and I'm sure as hell not going after you."

Dust swirled around the man's feet, the glow from his cigarette partially illuminating his heavily scarred face in an almost demonic light. He casually flicked the butt into the hole, which sucked it in and swallowed it up with a hiss.

Solneki smiled at him. It wasn't a nice smile. "You mean you wouldn't brave damnation and eternal suffering for me, Mordant? I thought you'd follow me to hell and back."

Mordant snorted derisively. His scowl was as nice as Solneki's smile. "Hell, sure. I've been to hell. Hell ain't half bad- I know where to get a decent cup of coffee in hell. But there-" he nodded to the blank hole. "That's negative space. That's some nasty shit that I am not getting involved in. Not even for you. Fuck, they probably don't even have coffee there."

His smile faded to a look of ordinary, anxious weariness as he faced the negative space again. "If you fell, I'd go after you."

"That's 'cuz you're a fucking idiot."

Solneki smiled again, a small, sad, bitter smile. "Yeah."

Mordant shook his head and lit another cigarette.

"Y'see, with engineers, it might not be exactly right, but it'll work, damn it."
"You need an actual technical degree before I can teach you the dark secrets [of oubliette folding]"
"Pancakes of Angst!"

Hmwahaha...

Suffering from cake overload...and a mild downswing. It's rather cold here, you know. And I am ridiculously uninspired, and very soon I will have to clean my room because it is disgusting. I know, you were all delighted to hear that.

You can tell, in most of my longer entries, where exactly I got distracted and did something else for an hour, before returning to my blog entry.

(Kev leaving tomorrow morning, and I am quite desperately wishing they would catch that sniper; the number of people who admire this person(s) for being so clever and "ha-ha look he left a tarot card gee wish I'd thought of that" disgust me. It's all different when people you know and care about are going to work or school in towns that have been hit.)

Still need another hundred words on that damn article. *takes out pliers, starts pulling teeth* Yup, this is much easier. *spits out a molar*

"Punctuations is for the WEAK!"

If that's the case, then I freely admit to being a weak and girly little girl, incapable of moving without the aid four manslaves in loincloths and a sedan chair, or at the very least a very large, knobby cane.

(I mean, I'm glad for the enthusiasm, but do they have to be morons?)

*sigh* I'm working on the Beacon. If you should, by any sort of freak of nature sort of chance, wish to view it, it can be found here. yes, Geocities. Bite me. And ignore the godawful graphic; I can't judge the proper size for these things when I have to make stuff on Stupid and transfer it to Lulu.

Oh, yeah. I'm also working on another damned health project. An article on racism. 'Cuz that's real pertinent at Franklin. "It should look like a newspaper". WTF? What, pray tell, does a newspaper look like? And she's taking off 25 points for lateness, just because of me, I'm sure of it. Evil woman. *sigh*

Also. Have a journal for my nanonovel, once I start seriously thinking about it. Not much of anything there right now. Just thought I'd make a note of it.

I had two Cokes today. I remembered why I don't like caffeine. But still. Two sodas. That's like, a new record. Also had pie, burnt crispy and full of carcinogens. This whole birthday week isn't looking that bad now. (Went shopping with Kev and laughed at ooogly ties. "You could make a Cloak of Ugly Ties out of them!" "Yeah, Cloak of Ugly Ties- minus five to charisma, but plus 6 to your AC because no one can look at you long enough to hit you!" "Ugliness of that magnitude should be illegal. Think they'd sell 'em to us at a discount if we bought 'em in bulk?" Thereupon I rubbed a perfume sample on him and was threatened with a booting, by my own brand new boots. Mmm, boots. Shiny black leather Tims that are, for the first time ever, actually comfortable. I have won a battle against my mutated feet.)

But now I have to write the stupid article. Stupidness. Blarg. *sigh* It's late and I'm tired...

I am not in school right now. *the opposite of glee* That's really all that matters at this point. My head hurts.

In other news...I really, really want my scanner back. Really.

Title Generator
Now if this isn't the best thing since sliced bread, I don't know what is.

Alright, maybe I can. A surprise phone call (thank you!), a bowl of oatmeal, and the first three volumes of Chobits later, and I'm feeling human again. More or less. *sigh* I still do need to stop thinking, of course, but there's not much I can do about that. I'm not sure what I'm going to do about the newspaper- or about school. I can't take a full day. I'm slightly annoyed- this is just like last year, and I told myself it wouldn't be. (Not exactly like, thankfully. No Edgar Allen Poe this time. No foetal positions on the bathroom floor. A great deal more anger and resentment, but nothing quite so disturbing as last year. *sigh*)

I swear my winamp player is clairvoyant. While trying to beg mom to let me off school tomorrow, it started playing Wishful Thinking. I don't expect a sense of irony from my mp3 player, thank you very much. (Now it is playing Scar Tissue, which I also find faintly ironic. Very faint. Practically unconscious.)

I think I'll make a separate journal for my nanonovel, now tentatively titled Kiss of the Rainbow because I think it sounds cool. No plot yet. (Suddenly I'm very tired...gee, wonder why...)

Fuck it, I can't do this any more. I NEED TO STOP THINKING.

I am now greatly desirous of that screen shot from The Real Folk Blues part II with Julia and the birds...it would make a kickass winamp skin, or a wallpaper or...well, anything.

I'd had my suspicions about the ending, mind you, but I wasn't quite expecting what happened...and since I missed part I, I really don't know what was going on. Still. 'Tis done; I believe I've watched every episode now, save for #25, and I'm almost positive I have it on tape somewhere. (I am rather annoyed that last night's YYH did not have Hiei in it. Genkai is amusing enough to make up for that, I suppose, but it's just not quite the same. Also, am attempting to finish watching El Hazard so as to return it to its rightful owner- I got through two more episodes last night. All I can say is- yeesh. I wish my teachers acted like that. Cross dressing and lesbianism and giant bugs, oh my! Such silliness, such overwhelming silliness...)

I'll have to see what is brought home from the con that I might borrow or keep...if anything is brought home at all, that is. I'm okay, really- it's the weather, and hormones, and the fact that it's my birthday (I don't really have a birth day as such...I have a period of time extending about a half-week in either direction around the actual day during which several mini-not-quite-celebrations occur, depending on who's around. If anyone is around, that is.)

I'm feeling sorry for myself. I apologize. I have no right.

Blarg. Other things that I've forgotten: that sniper, down around Washington? The last victim was in Fredericksburg. That's where Kev lives...and currently, Krista's area is in a panic, and her school has guards around it, and I'm more than a bit worried.

So, anyone, if you happen to be reading this, know that I care, and I worry, and I love, even though I tend to forget to remind people of this. Any of you. All of you. Unconditionally.

Kev's here. *glee*

I am a moron. But that's beside the point.

Arxi and Zela (the girl who clocked him) are sort of in-between on the whole plot thing right now- either he's a pirate king or an acountant named Jonathan Arxette, and one of them is insane while the other doesn't exist. (At the moment I'm thinking it's Jon...) Zela's a fun character; she's the only person ever able to stare down Arxi, and no matter how hard he tries, he can't get the better of her. It's amusing, especially since she booked passage on his ship in exchange for a small fortune, but she's thusfar managed to avoid paying him so much as a brass squarechit. I'm not sure where I'm going with their story, but I'm going to hand in the first chapter (as it stands) for my creative writing portfolio...which I should be working on now. Due tomorrow, you see.

You know, that thing down there, that mutated not-song not-poem with an inconsistent rhyme scheme and an incomprehensible format for each stanza, it wasn't meant to be anything particularly good. It really isn't, in fact. There are a few good lines, quite a few bad lines, and the whole thing doesn't quite convey what I wanted it to convey...I think I just dislike it because I was being honest, and I dislike being honest when writing poetry. It always seems more believable in that form, and who really wants to be believed when they're telling the truth?

(Still and all, I'm glad and mildly amused that several people decided to comment in one way or another. It's more or less finished, though, so unless I decide to edit and whatnot, there won't be any more, I'm afraid.)

I'd like to satisfy your curiosity
I'd like to satisfy your need
I'd like to indulge your generosity
I'd like you to make me beg and plead

I'm just another girl
Caught up in your self-centered world
I'm just another face in the crowd
Of the people who love you and aren't you proud
You've got yourself another girl
And wouldn't you know it she's just like
Everyone else.

And maybe I want to touch you
And maybe I want you to make me scream
And maybe I'm just tired of being
The person that I want to be
Maybe it's all just a dream...

So what if I don't want to be a cliche
So what if I never mean what I say
So what if I feel like being the good girl gone bad
So what if everything I do makes you mad
You're just another god for the masses
You're just trying to screw with my head
So I'll lie here and bleed until the feeling passes
And when I wake up maybe I'll be dead
What's it matter to you, after all I'm just a girl
Fuck me over and leave me, you'd like it I'm sure
And maybe I'd like it too
But really, what's it matter to you
What's it matter to you?


"Yeats once said that prose is our battle with the world, but poetry is the battle with ourselves. Who are you fighting?"
my luck, to be living with someone who majored in Yeats...

"Hey, Arxi, wake the hell up, eh?"

He squinted his eyes against the bright light, confused, aching, and tired. What was he doing here? Why was the room swaying? What was that awful taste in his mouth? And who's legs were those wrapped around his-

"Arxi...if you don't wake up I'll bite you..."

Purple eyes. Who had purple eyes? They certainly were a lovely pair of...eyes; he gulped and tried to keep his own eyes from straying towards other lovely pairs, with a minimal amount of success. The owner of the eyes smiled.

"There we are. It's already midmorning; if you don't get out of bed and boss the crew around, they'll start to think you don't love them. Come on, Arxi. Time to get up."

He blinked; they were on a ship. That would explain the rocking, and probably had somethign to do with that awful taste, but it didn't explain who this woman was.

"Uh...this probably sounds a little strange," he began; his voice sounded odd to his ears. Hoarse, as though he'd been breathing smoke. "But who's Arxi? And who are you?"

The beautiful purple eyes woman stared at him blankly for a moment. Then, moving almost too quickly for him to follow, she snatched up a lamp from off the floor and hit him neatly over the back of the head. He felt a momentary dull pain, then cool blackness enveloped him in a shower of stars, and he knew no more.

Wondering...

why flowers smell better on the bush than in the vase...
why ice cream tastes better when it's half melted...
why birds don't just fall (kersplat)...
how much wood can a woodchuck chuck...
what happens to a rainbow when the rain goes away...
why clouds only rate silver linings...
why a movie makes me want to cry...but real life just gets me ticked...
why do we park on a driveway...
how I ever ended up in this place...
how I'll ever get out...
what makes cuckoo clocks tick...
where does the white rabbit come from...
is the hokey pokey really what it's all about...
what is 'it', anyway...
it's all smoke and mirrors in the end......

I find it strange that so few people write coherent emails...a few of my friends do, but several of the highly intelligent people that I know can't write in complete sentences to save their soul. Maybe it's because I missed the whole chatting function of the internet; I occasionally lapse out of capital letters, or personal pronouns, but I generally try to use proper grammar and capitalization. I hate writing lol. Hate it hate it hate it.

See, the reason we have grammar is so that people can understand what you're trying to write. Without the proper use of commas, periods, and other forms of punctuation, not to mention such elements as sentence structure and the proper application of phrases, I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK YOU'RE TRYING TO TELL ME.

So, even when it seems that all you need is a quick, slapdash note, remember, I can't read your mind. Even if I could, I wouldn't much want to.

Uh...Toad the Wet Sprocket has a song called "Hobbit on the Rocks".

*check*

That was the sound of me adding another six CDs to my list of music that I want.

And Italy is doing the Nano! *cheers*!

Hmm...Duncan Sheik is being called John Mayer's older, wiser brother. This amuses me.

"On a High"
I'm on a high, I'm on a high
there's nothing more to it.
We are the sea and the sky
and the blue that runs through it, yeah.

and there are some who say there are so many things I need
so I run or I fight and I crawl or I scream and I bleed
I bleed, I bleed

well, it's a lie it's a lie - don't you believe it.
if you're fine then you're fine - it's all how you see it.
oh, there never will be no conspiracy of happiness.

I'm on a high I'm on a high
and there's nothing more to it
I have the sun, it's a star
why should I refuse it

and there are so many reasons I could give you why I should be down
there's not enough money or time and my love you're not around
around, around

but it's a lie it's a lie - don't you believe it.
if you're fine then you're fine - it's all how you see it.
oh, there never will be no conspiracy of happiness.

you're alive you're alive - how else could you hear me?
you are fine, you are fine - there's nothing worth fearing
'cause there never will be no conspiracy of happiness

I'm on a high, on a high
we are the sea and the sky
I'm on a high, on a high
I'm on a high

It's a lie, It's a lie don't you believe it
'Cause I've tried and I've tried, and I can't really see it
Yeah, I'm trapped inside my conspiracy of happiness
said I was yours, you were mine but I didn't really mean it
and I lied and I lied
and I wish you hadn't seen it
'cause I'm trapped inside my conspiracy of happiness
I'm on a high, on a high, there's nothing more to it, yeah.
-Duncan Sheik

Am wanting Daylight muchly. Am wanting Whispers and Phantom Moon as well, but am mostly muchly wanting Daylight right now. Am avoiding doing health homework now. Am resenting assignment. Don't want to write about friendship. Am quite bitter and cynical about the whole deal. Am not in the mood for introspection. Am in the mood to sleep. *sigh* Am very muchly in the mood to sleep...

Eating chicken with spicy eggplant right now. Fortune cookie forthcoming. Yes, it's 2 AM. Yes, the funky Chinese eggplant is quite good. Yes, the Chinese food and the Coast Guard were the highlight of my day.

Fortune cookie is stale. As in "oh, wow, so damp I can unfold it and remove the fortune" stale. "Your courage will bring you honor" (in bed). *Giggle*

Addendum to other whining that has occurred elsewhere:

Today at South Brunswick, the Coast Guard Band came and marched. At the time we thought it was just the marines, but we found out afterwards that it was the Coast Guard. This was, of course, an opportunity for much squealing from me, nevermind that Eugene graduated four years ago (ye gods, it's been a long time...and he's getting married next year! *cheers*) and I no longer know anyone in the Guard.

There's all of thirty two people in the band...but they started off with a trumpet soloist that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. There is absolutely nothing like a good trumpet soloist. Makes you shiver, makes you hot, makes your eyes go half-lidded in amazed ecstacy...even though he was facing the other direction, some hundred odd yards away, he was still incredible...and after this beautiful, mournful sounding soloist, the rest of the band joins in...playing the main theme of Star Wars.

I screamed.

One must understand that I truly am something of a geek, even though I prefer the term dork. (It soudns better rolling off the tongue, though it's probably less correct in context.) But the music from Star Wars has been some of my favorite music ever for a long time- and it was the Coast Guard band playing it (never mind that we thought they were marines). It was just the combined coolness of the moment, following that absolutely incredible trumpet soloist- I couldn't help myself. And I wasn't the only one cheering when when they started out with those three notes- I was the only one, however, to shout in a broken, squeaky voice, "Yes, I am a DORK!"

It amused Shannon, at any rate. And I think, that were this any other year, I wouldn't have done that. Maybe it was because of my anger and general bad mood- but maybe I really just don't care what people think about me anymore. I'm developing a thicker skin- and I'm not going to be afraid to be the person that I want to be anymore. For the most part. Some things are, after all, better left unsaid. Still, I'm not going to be ashamed of the fact that I like Star Wars, or of the fact that I am squeaky and ineffectual and in general annoying- it's part of who I am. I'm not going to restrain myself for anyone else's comfort, not when it comes to those things.

I am, of course, being somewhat hypocritical and am lying in several ways- but that's okay. I mean what I say, even if the sentiment isn't entirely unobstructed. But, oh...when they played Duel of Fates and The Imperial March I nearly fell off the bleachers...Utter coolness. *squeal*

*zombie* Braaaaaaaiiiiiins. *drool*

Oh, wow, Smallville is such a silly, silly show. *dies laughing*

I mean, really. Did Clark have to give that girl such a look of smouldering jealousy when he found out Lex was getting married? Was that an aching look of hurt on his face? Why, yes, I think it was. *dies laughing again* Iesu, do they have to be so blatant?

I've got to seriously start working on ideas now- like I don't have enough to do already. But last year I signed up the day of the signup deadline, and I was completely unprepared for the nano- this year I want to go in knowing what I'm doing. I'm thinking Song of Shadows would be a safe bet, since I've got so much backstory and random ideas floating around for it. No plot, of course, but lots and lots of wack backstory...you know haunted prep schools, unexplained phenomenon, pretty boys in various states of angst and undress...(none of which will actually be appearing in Song of Shadows. That's the prequel, you see.) I just need to start thinking...and we all know how great I am at that...

Maybe this year I'll actually finish something...several somethings, hopefully.

Oh, God of Words, please don't get pissed off at me this year.

Here we go again!