Edgar on "Baby Got Back."

*dies* Oh gods...pimp daddy Edgar? No, bad thoughts. Very bad. Never mind my tendencies towards the obscure; this is just ridiculous.

...Juva recognized all my random sketches in school today. Or rather, he recognized Setzer and Sephiroth, and that's more than most people can manage. He draws like Jhonen Vasquez, which amuses me. Of course, he doodled in pen on my Sky and Dark poster sketch...*_* (That would be the Clyde/Setzer thing that I write late at night when extremely tired and feeling random. Because anything involving Setzer is random; he serves Lady Luck, whaddya expect?) I liked the way those sketches came out...even if Clyde's hair was too long. Juva amuses me; he is, in many ways, very much like a male version of me, only he loudly protests that he isn't gay and is too involved in political things. And he's very Jewish, but that's beside the point.

Actually, he isn't really anything like me, but we get along fabulously anyway.

We're reading King Lear in Shakespeare now, you know. Job keeps bringing up the concept of love; it makes me feel distinctly uncomfortable. The other day he asked us if we knew how many people we loved unconditionaly. The bitter, cynical, and angry part of me that seems to get so much more screentime than the rest of me around Job said there weren't any. After giving it a moment of rational thought, I realized that 'unconditional' is a pretty redundant modifier. Doesn't 'love' already imply that you'll forgive them for stupid things? I've always thought of love as being an absolute, I suppose. And I love a great many people, though I would never tack 'unconditional' onto that love, simply because the thought of feeling anything 'unconditionally' feels wrong.

It gives me a headache, thinking these things. It truly does. *sigh* The moment I think I might start to discuss things rationally, intelligently, and thouroughly, I stop. Someday, I'll figure it out. That's what life's for, I suppose.

...Downloaded Open Canvas t'other day. So much nicer for coloring things than photoshop, oh yes it is indeed. Did a headshot of Tanavir, may upload it later. I imagine painter works somewhat the same, with such increased brush sensitivity. Mmm, swooshy. I'd like to do something metallic and bitter...but I shouldn't describe pictures with taste adjectives, they'll make me hungry and confused.

So, a while back I mentioned that I had strippers living in my head? Right. I did, it was months ago, you can surf the archives if you don't believe me. Evidently the world they live in is connected to the world of Seventh Hour, because Marcus has decided to become a chain-smoking, pyromaniac, ex-priest exotic-dancer-type-person. He has a foul mouth, too. Got kicked out of the seminary for pimpage. *d'oi* "That's Marcus fuckin' Aurelius t'you, wolf-boy. On your knees in the Lord and Lady's presence." Ye gods. Good thing he's only a minor character, because I can't even comprehend the property damage a sociopathic Marcus would do. He still lights fires on his fingertips, but he only uses them to light his cigarettes and he still sings the hours, but coming from his mouth now, they only sound obscene.

Bah. Minor character. Minor character. The main characters? One very confused young man (I seem to have a weakness for them) and one not-so-confused younger man with a wolf bite and a wolf smile (I seem to have a weakness for them, too). Plot? What plot? At some point people will start dying, and it'll be Jays' job to find out what's going on before they kill Z'ev, even though Z'ev is almost impossible to kill, him being some sort of elder god in denial.

Wait, wait, I've used that plot device before. No, Z'ev is just irresistably cute. Marcus lights his fingers on fire, Z'ev makes people want to screw him, or at the very least pat him on the head and give him shiny things. He sees the future occasionally, too, which makes him hard to kill. That, and his sister and adoptive family at Aurifex would kick the ass of anyone who tried. Jays is one of those rare people without a talent, or so he thinks. He's very good at finding trouble, though, and lost car keys.

I dunno. The characters interest me, especially the minor characters. One of them is a stray from the Boffo universe; Radueriel's sibling, Judecca. Works in Aurifex and calls himself Jude. Looks like a junkie, is joined at the hip to a guy named Duane who has a two year old daughter and four jobs, including one at Aurifex. May or may not still retain demonic powers. Hasn't told me yet. Don't know anything about Duane beyond the fact that his ex-girlfriend was a complete and utter waste of air, and he's much better off with Jude. ...Thus far there is exactly one straight male in this story, and he's a bartender. Wait, sorry, there's two- Marcus, who occasionally goes into Pimp Daddy Marcus mode, but not around Aurifex, as Joe (bartender, owner, stamp collector) would beat him with his own diamond studded cane.

Yeah. The characters please me a great deal.

I started the story on a whim as a sort of joke that I never expected to go anywhere...and it hasn't gone anywhere, yet, but the characters are creating their personalities and I'm unable to ignore them. The fact that it has decided to become a strange cross-over murder mystery detective story in addition to the original silly romantic thing I'd had it pegged for in the beginning is a moot point; I may never write beyond what I have now (some five or six pages, mostly dialogue, and shitty dialogue at that) but the characters have decided that they're alive.

My imagination is too vivid for my own good, sometimes. :)

Gene on "We Don't Need No Education". Oh, Iesu, now that's appropriate.

*sniffle* In the House of Tom Bombadil is only half there. Same with Beauty and the Mess. *double sniffle* Out of the Woods is all there, but that song still makes me want to cry. *waaaaahhh* Ah, well. *sigh*

Saladin on "Iron Man". Makes me wish I were Korean.

I so desperately wish there were a con in the area this summer. Shojocon is gonna be in upstate new york, because some idiots assaulted a girl, and now for security reasons the entire thing has gone out of state. bastards.

I really just wish there were a con so i could cosplay someone. anyone. Lina Inverse, maybe. I could get a red wig. Or Shippo. I could still get a red wig. ...the temptation to cosplay Setzer is very great. Sadly, that would be one annoying and difficult costume to make; a trench coat does not normally have a collar that will stand up like that on its own, and i'd have to find an appropriately ruffly shirt, as well as cool boots. I'd have to add spangles to everything, find a long silver wig, and apply ridiculous amounts of face paint. And I'd have to learn card tricks.

But, oh, would it ever be fun to be Setzer...hoorah for obscurity! There was a Shadow and a Terra at Shojocon last year. *sigh* Hmm...I could always do Amelia on account of my being small and loud and annoying...I could be Hiei on account of my being short and grumpy. hmm...or...heh. I could be Nagi and threaten people with my super jedi mind powers! ...I mean, telekinesis and evil Schwarz affiliations. I'd do Farfarello in a hot second if I thought I could stand the eye patch, or if I thought I could pull off an Irish accent. Vampire Hunter D? Nah. He's got a cool hat, but the hand thing...not so much.

It's fun to just think of these things...I would dearly like to see someone cosplay Ashley- or Sydney, but I realize how completely unlikely that is. I've heard tales of an Ashton, complete wity Gyoro and Ururun, and that's kinda nifty.

...winamp? Stairway to Heaven? Folken? *dies* Speaking of Folken...now that would be a wonderful bit of cosplay- easy, too, if you just made his silly cloak and got a wig. But then you could always go in depth with it and reproduce the badass Zaibach uniform and the wicked cool metal arm.

If I were a giant rat, I'd cosplay Freya. But I'm not, so alas. If I didn't think he were irritating, I'd cosplay Zidane. But he is, so alas. Vivi! i could always do Vivi- in fact, that would be absolutely perfect- unless I were White Mage. *snicker*

Maaaaaan. I wanna go to a con. *sigh*

Farfarello on "Another One Bites the Dust"! *cacklecacklecacklesnigger*

...why yes, I am going to do a running commentary on my winamp player for the next three hours. Then I'm going to go play Ragtime, but I'll still probably giggle randomly between songs.

Wow. Winamp just pulled Wasshu on a song by Spock's Beard. *snicker*

...And it's a pretty fucking cool song, too. Random Shite! *splees all over keyboard*

Hah. I just dripped tabouleh on a student loan express form. Oops. That's what happens when you go eastern for two days in a row; wednsday was yummy yummy lebanese food (kibbeh for me and kabob for mum), yesterday was indian, from the place behind mcdonalds. the father and i shared some sort of vegetarian thing, a chicken thing, a sizzling thing, soup, and lots of bread. he kept threatening to fling the mango custard about with a spoon- it was the perfect consistency. had to restrain him and force him to eat his rice pudding quietly. my clothes still smell of curry, including my jacket, and must be thouroughly scoured now.

speaking of scouring...our house is clean. like, squeaky clean. it's bizarre. ...Oh, look, winamp pulled Jack on Rest Stop. (It sounds like I'm speaking in some sort of strange, cryptic code, doesn't it?) That's not really appropriate, but hey, why not.

...actually, it isn't appropriate at all, but Rest Stop is one of those songs that has a special place for me- all of Mad Season does, really, but Rest Stop, Bent, and The Burn in particular. Why? Mmm...hard to say. Bent was the one they played on the radio all summer, and that was a summer to remember though I can't remember why. I have so many intense musical memories from that year- so many songs just played in the background all the time. Bent was one of those songs, and it made me want to throw back my head and scream in ecstacy. It made my spine want to wrap around my skull and squeeze. ...just thinking about it makes me shiver- but after hearing it often enough, I eventually became immune to its mind warping properties...heh.

I remember waking up the first day of orientation for band camp, shaking nervous. So I listened to Rest Stop on repeat play, and it...didn't exactly make things better, but it put them in a different perspective, I suppose. It's a soothing song, almost, if you ignore the words.

Otherwise, it's another 'me' song, for obvious and not so obvious reasons.

Here are lyrics:

Just three miles from the rest stop
And she slams on the breaks
She said I tried to be but I'm not
And could you please collect your things
I don't wanna be cold
I don't wanna be cruel
But I gotta find more
Than what's happening with you
If you'd - open up the door

She said - while you were sleeping
I was listening to the radio
And wondering what you're dreaming when
It came to mind that I didn't care
So I thought - hell if it's over
I had better end it quick
Or I could lose my nerve
Are you listening - can you hear me
Have you forgotten

Just three miles from the rest stop
And my mouth's too dry to rage
The light was shining from the radio
I could barely see her face
But she knew all the words that I never had said
She knew the crumpled-up promise of this
Broken down man - and as I opened up the door

She said - while you were sleeping
I was listening to the radio
And wondering what you're dreaming when
It came to mind that I didn't care
So I thought - hell if it's over
I had better end it quick
Or I could lose my nerve
Are you listening - can you hear me
Have you forgotten

She said - while you were sleeping
I was listening to the radio
And wondering what you're dreaming when
It came to mind that I didn't care
So I thought - hell if it's over
I had better end it quick
Or I could lose my nerve
Are you listening - can you hear me
- "Rest Stop", Matchbox 20

...gah. It pulled dancer on Building a Mystery. I could do things with that. (Some day I'll write a dancer fic, someday...)

Water isn't blue, but it reflects the sky and thus seems blue.

...I wonder why that never reached the surface of my consciousness before.

So anyway, it's been awhile, but I blame Ragtime. I blame Ragtime for lots of things, but mostly for the fact that I now hear the music in my sleep.

Tried to sleep last night, without any other music playing. It didn't work. I can not fall asleep in my own bed without music in the background, or some sort of white noise. Can't do it. It didn't work. Had to turn on Jason Mraz, and I was out before he got to The Remedy. I think. I don't really remember. I was sleeping.

Dreamed, but I can't recall what I dreamed, only that it frightened and disturbed me, and the same frightening and disturbing monologue that was going through my head at the twilight of sleep was still there in the morning, while I washed my hair and brushed my teeth.

No details, not here...but it disturbed me a bit, because it was my voice impersonating someone else and doing it rather well. How odd. How curious. How strange. I should have written it down, but it didn't feel like something that could be written down. Maybe pieces of it will appear here, at a later date.

So now, I give you Crowded House:

Walking 'round the room singing Stormy Weather
at 57 Mount Pleasant Street
Now it's the same room but everything's different
You can fight the sleep but not the dream

Things ain't cookin' in my kitchen
Strange afflictions wash over me
Julius Caesar and the Roman Empire
Couldn't conquer the blue sky

There's a small boat made of china
Going nowhere on the mantlepiece
Do I lie like a loungeroom lizard
Or do I sing like a bird released

Everywhere you go you always take the weather with you
Everywhere you go you always take the weather
Everywhere you go you always take the weather with you
Everywhere you go you always take the weather,
Take the weather, the weather with you
-------

Because yes, the lyrics very rarely make much sense, but we love Neil Finn for them anyway, even if he was a bastard and broke up the band before I could rediscover them and even if "Hole in the River" could have been a much cooler, spookier, deeper song if he'd ommited the word "auntie". This song, though, I like. The lyrics amuse me, and the whole concept of the song pleases me. Especially the loungeroom lizard...:)

I'd put John Mayer here too, if it didn't seem sacriligious to place him anywhere near Crowded House. Not that Mr Mayer doesn't have superior song writing skills (though I base this only on the little that I've seen and heard, my modem isn't fast enough for me to download any great quantity of CH and it's literally impossible to find any CDs outside of large stores in New York, or Norway.) but it would just feel wrong to have the two in such close contact. So I'll save "Neon" for later. Because it's a good song, but not one that complements Weather With You very well, in my mind.

Woo.

Family Tree (by request)
aka a bit of Boffo Babble after all this time...

Catenus-Leala= Caralynn, Jance
Catenus-Caralynn= random menials (don't go 'eeew incest!' on me- they're demons, it doesn't count)

Karolus (RK)-Aislin= D.E.I.
Karolus-Leala= Tyler (halfbreed)

Jubal-Radueriel= Opal (Nephilim)

Opal-Tyler= none as of yet (I haven't even figured out whether or not they can have children. Either way, neither of 'em particularly wants kids, though Tyler might like a few some day. Opal has issues with kids (in the rewrite, she has little siblings and emotionally abusive parents, and her family situation gets a bit more screen time to explain things like her issues with kids) and feels she's too young anyway. Sensible child.)

Dei-?- ? (This meaning that I'm sure he'll produce progeny at some point, if only to have someone to leave that damn sword to in his will. Opal and Tyler can't touch it; he really should've left it as a lawn ornament, but no, he couldn't just leave well enough alone...*wink* I have vague sidestory/sequel-ish thoughts in my head. Very vague.)

I think that's everyone...well, actually not.

Lucifer-Lilith= Radueriel, Judecca; Israfel, Dis (among others)
Lilith-Radueriel= Raueriel, Barbariccia
Shateiel-Leila= Sariel, ? (lost in the Inferno)
Sariel-Leila= Uriel, Catenus

But the Celestial's genealogies give me a headache, and most of those names don't make an appearance. I suppose Judecca might, now that Len (Radueriel) is free, but probably not. ...might be interesting to introduce him/her to Dei, I suppose...but Dei isn't overly fond of any demons, on basic principle.

Whenever he wasn't going out of his way to avoid seeing Tyler and Opal, he was in the Bahamas, futilely working on his tan. Some people are just meant to be pale. :) Not a big fan of cold places, after the situation with the doppelganger...

Aaaaarg, laziness sapping...will...to...live...

*hits keyboard snoring*

If I turn my head slightly, I can smell summer being carried in on the back of spring. It frightens me.

Listening to Koop right now. Mmm, jazz. Have a thing to write for Schmeid; top 10 achievements in school and the communtity, and how have my academic pursuits enriched my life and caused me to grow?

...Mmm, jazzy flute. *sigh* And I still have math homework to do. Need to get off lazy ass and get dressed. Let's all hope that I don't run anyone over in the parkinglot at school, hey? "I swear, officer, I didn't do it on purpose..."

In a further burst of manic creativity...

Human-Dragon-Man-Thing-Guy

New coloring technique, sort of. I like it. (I still haven't decided on a style, can you tell?) The screenshot doesn't do it justice...and I just no realize that his chin is most definitely in the wrong place. *sigh* I have issues with perspective. I still like it, though. Especially the eyes.

Of course, being a silly child and whatnot, I go and look at This Person's Art while finishing up my paltry attempt, and it makes me feel pathetic. How do they do that with a tablet? I don't understand...

Some day. Probably when I'm 80, blind and arthritic and unable to appreciate finally learning to use a tablet properly. Ah well. At least it's fun.

"I still don't get the shepherd thing- I mean, what do people keep sheep for? To breed them, exploit them, sell their children, and eventually eat them. What kind of a god wants to eat his followers?" Jubal and Radueriel had invited them over for dinner and Tyler wasn't wasting the rare opportunity to heckle his brother. Jubal had allegedly been forced to hit Dei over the head with a dictionary and kidnap him.

Given that he'd seen his brother only three times in the past five years and hadn't gotten a single birthday card since turning 18, he could easily believe that his father-in-law had to resort to kidnapping.

"You wonder why we haven't spoken in so long when all you do is attack my ideals and beliefs every time we see each other." Dei leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of his wine. "Quite a few Native American and African deities demanded human sacrifices. Christianity has always used symbolic cannibalism, which only makes the 'shepherd thing' make more sense. Jesus wasn't a vegatarian." He shrugged.

"But he didn't require his followers to shear themselves," Tyler countered. "Unless you just happened to miss that memo. But you'd look pretty stupid with a shaved head." They were all well on their way towards getting drunk, which only made him more inclined towards making silly remarks.

Dei gave him one of his famous level stares that never failed to make anyone uncomfortable. "New inmates always had their heads shaved. More than one of my peers remarked on the attractiveness of my skull."

Tyler twitched uncomfortably, even further unsettled by his brother's stare. Opal shook her head at their antics, having wisely chosen to stay out of the discussion. "Okay," Tyler amended. "Fine. You can keep the sheep-keeper symbolism. But what about the homosexuality thing? I don't see how you of all people could possibly adhere to any set of beliefs that preaches any sort of intolerance-"

"What exactly are you trying to imply, Tyler?" There was absolutely no inflection in Dei's voice, and his stare had gone three shades more flat.

Tyler flushed. "Nothing! I mean, you haven't had a girl friend since high school- or not one that you've told me about, you secret keeping bastard, but I mean whatever you do is your business..." His wine sloshed wildly in its glass as he gestured violently with it.

Opal chuckled and rescued her husband's glass. "Give it a rest, Ty. He's laughing at you."

Tyler glared at his brother accusingly. Dei's mouth twitched, and he relented, lowering his eyes. He saluted Opal with his glass and took another sip. "It's too easy to get you worked up about things. But in answer to your question- 'To love another person is to know the face of God.'"

"That's Les Mis, not the Bible."

"So? Same principle. Read the Gospels, or Saint Paul's letters to everyone." He shrugged. "I tend to ignore most of the Old Testament anyway, as it's mostly history and inapplicable laws. An interesting read, but not what I'd base a religion on."

"You can't just pick and choose!" Tyler protested.

"Why not? Henry the Eighth did."

"Because you are not Henry the Eighth, damn it!" Tyler was waving his glass again. Opal sighed and let him gesticulate. It wasn't worth fighting for.

"Thank God." Dei rolled his eyes. "Just because you're a violent, evangelistic atheist doesn't mean I'm going to listen to your half-drunken, faulty arguments against my own beliefs."

Opal giggled at Tyler's blank expression. "Either those words were too big for him to handle, or he's still trying to get past 'evangelistic atheist'. Give him a minute and he'll come up with something else."

"I can hardly wait." Dei's tone was dry enough to rival a desert.

Tyler recovered and glared. "At least I don't go around like some bloody sheep-"

"Again with the sheep!"

"-saying 'God is good, God is great, God is everywhere-"

"Let's have cake!" Radueriel and a large, wobbly construction of chocolate and excessive amounts of sugar materialized on the table. The angel looked obscenely pleased with herself, causing the air to hum with smug contenment.

"Amen," Dei intoned solemnly.

"Amen indeed." Jubal entered the dining room through the usual way- the door. He set a mismatched pile of plates on the table and wiped a smear of chocolate off Radueriel's nose. "She made this herself, you know. From scratch, no magic. She set the kitchen on fire twice."

"I thought I smelled smoke..." Opal gently removed the serving knife from her mother's hands and patted the angel fondly on the head. Radueriel purred and held out a plate. Opal obligingly cut a hefty slice of the cake and smiled when her mother presented it to Dei, beaming bright enough to blind.

He looked from the cake to his wine glass with a wistful expression. "Nothing you do can ever make wine and chocolate work well together." He took the cake with a small sigh.

"Snob." Tyler, no longer the center of attention, had resorted to sulking. Opal gave him a piece of cake, and served the rest of them.

Dei raised an eyebrow and took a bite of the cake. "But that doesn't stop us from trying," he finished serenely. "And it's worth every inadvertant blaze, my Lady." He managed a half bow in Radueriel's direction.

The sourceless background music went from smug to ecstatic. "You say the nicest things," she cooed. "Your much nicer than he is." She jerked her head in Jubal's direction. "Stay with me! I'll give you his room and kick him out on to the street and we can spend our days making beautiful music and eating beautiful cake..."

"The music would be beautiful, at any rate." Jubal eyed his own slice of cake with a rueful grin. "And she wouldn't really kick me out. You'd have to share my room."

"I would so! He beats me, you know." She spoke to Tyler in a stage whisper. "Would you like to move in, too? I have extra cake."

"Where would I go if Tyler moved in with you?" Opal wondered.

"You can stay with me on the street and we can sit on the corner and sing for money while plotting to take my house back and change all the locks to keep her out." Jubal wiped another smear of chocolate off Radueriel's nose.

She beamed again, and for a moment a tinny looking halo appeared over her head. Then she winked and looked positively demonic. "You can all stay! At least until we run out of cake." She looked at her plate thoughtfully. There were only crumbs left on it, the cake having been inhaled in the pauses between sentences.

Dei smiled fondly at his dysfunctional little family and shrugged. "Why not? I haven't got anywhere else to be."

Opal rolled her eyes as Tyler leaned forward in his chair, glaring once again. "Now you've done it..." she murmured.

"Haven't got anywhere else to be? Really? Then I suppose you had somewhere so much better to be at graduation, and at New Years, and at our wedding reception..."

Radueriel obligingly refilled Dei's glass as he continued to eat his cake, oblivious to Tyler's ranting.
------------------------

I couldn't help myself. As soon as Dei brought Les Mis into it, I had to write it down. As usual, it didn't make the translation into words as smoothly as I wish it had, but there was no cake in my head.

Radueriel's a little crack monkey, isn't she? Jubal doesn't really beat her, though she deserves it after setting the kitchen on fire twice. The first time was an honest accident. The second time was on purpose, though she'll deny it from here 'til Armageddon.

Haven't written for them in a while. They were feeling neglected, and I'd begun to miss them, the crack monkies.

Excuse me as I continue to spam my own creative thought journal.

Why the sudden influx of entries here? Dunno. Probably has something to do with the fact that it's a Tuesday and i have nowhere to go tonight, and nothing to do but watch Gilmore Girls and Smallville, and god help anyone who tries to stop me. Probably also has to do with the fact that I have nothing else to do this year but graduate, now that prom is over with.

I got mad at Mr Job today. It felt good. I should get mad at people more often.

It's rather liberating. I feel...inspired. :)

"...dance with me, 'cuz if you've got the poison, I've gots the remedy..."

Sometimes I feel
Like I don't have a partner
Sometimes I feel
Like my only friend
Is the city I live in
The city of angels
Lonely as I am
Together we cry
I drive on her streets
'Cause she's my companion
I walk though her hills
'Cause she knows who I am
She sees my good deeds
And she kises me windy
I never worry
Now that is a lie
Chorus:
I don't ever want to feel
Like I did that day
Take to the place I love
Take me all the way
It's hard to believe
That there's nobody out there
It's hard to believe
That I'm all alone
At least I have her love
The city she loves me
Lonely as I am
Together we cry
Chorus
Under the bridge downtown
Is where I drew some blood
Under the bridge downtown
I could not get enough
Under the bridge downtown
Forgot about my love
Under the bridge downtown
I gave my life away
- Red Hot Chili Peppers, "City of Angels"

Love this song to pieces, only just got around to downloading it. ...hadn't realized what they were actually singing at the end; rather morbid, but still. I like the way it sounds. It reminds me of someone, can't figure out who...maybe they haven't been created yet. Dunno. Someone in a trenchcoat and fingerless gloves, however cliche that happens to be. A man with dark hair and a distant look in his eyes as he looks up at the skyline and runs his fingers along the cracks in the bricks...

Song images, city-skyline gray and muddy-water black...hmm...

Oh yeah, who is drooling over the yummy yummy concept of multiple Agent Elro- I mean, Smiths? Yup. That would be me. *drools* I realize that I'm quite slow on the uptake and should have stated this before, but- we all know I'm rather slow on the uptake, so stop acting so surprised.

Can not wait to see The Matrix. I'm going to drag everyone, including Oliver's family. They will have no choice. We will take up seven rows in the movie theatre! *Weird Al song call, aisle five* "Because I'm fat, I'm fat, you know it..."

Hugo Weaving more than makes up for the fact that Keanu Reeves can't act. His very presence makes up for it. Even if all he did was stand in the background and look badass, the entire movie would be made worthwhile by his presence. *bliss* He played a drag queen in Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, you know. ...Yeah. I had a hard time with that one, too. But I suppose that it isn't that far of a leap after watching Lord of the Rings, and it's certainly not as difficult to comprehend as seeing Wesley Snipes in To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything.

Wesley Snipes in all-out drag is a sight to behold, and really isn't for the faint of heart. It's a good movie, though. I'm not sure who originally rented it, or why we ended up watching it four times, but it was amusing every time. (I think dad rented it originally and we watched it, then Kev rented it so he could show it to his friends, and then for some reason everyone kept watching it...my memories get a bit surreal at that point, as the movie itself is rather surreal- like when they decorate the hotel room. *shakes head* Makes me wish I were a drag queen, sometimes.)

...anyway. I've already seen X-2, but a bootlegged version that really just didn't do Nightcrawler justice. I adore the new Nightcrawler. *fangirl* Still can't stand Jean Grey; Wolverine's been getting on my nerves (blasphemy, I know); Scott's always been annoying; Storm irritates me as well...there really aren't many characters in this movie that I adore, other than Professor X (I worship Patrick Stewart and everything he does) and Magneto (Sir Ian "You can call me Serena" McKellan! *fangirl!*). I'm quite fond of Pyro, however. He's wonderful. Rogue, however, is worthless (further blasphemy, please forgive me) and Bobby- why?! Why would they focus anything around Bobby Drake, of all people? Never mind that he's ridiculously popular- he's spastic and annoying and I have far too many ingrained prejudices against him and his spastic self because of the one Iceman comic I've read...and therefore I shall never respect him as a character again.

His actor's pretty cute, though. I'm much more fond of Pyro, however...and Nightcrawler. *fangirl* Mystique doesn't radiate evil the way she should...she was relegated to the position of 'lackey' in the first movie, and that makes me sad. Mystique was always quite cool, and while she still kicks ass, she doesn't do it with the same...style that I think she should.

But. The bootleg dvd, courtesy of Mark, had black spots in it and it was pretty fuzzy. So I would love to see it again, as to better squeal at the good parts (lots of explosions, Nightcrawler, Magneto...) and boo at the bad parts (Jean Grey, Cyclops...) and just to see it on the big screen to say that I have.

Am currently reading The Drawing of the Three, Stephen King's second book in the Dark Tower series. Gunslinger was deeply disturbing. This one's much better, if only because of the Screaming Temporal Doom With Cheese. And the lobstrosities. Heh. "Lobstrosity." *snicker* Go on, say it. It's fun. Lobstrosity! ...Stephen King frightens me, and I'm not even reading one of his horror books. This series is a complete and utter mindfuck, though. It's great.

I'm very fond of Eddie, and Detta/Odetta are growing on me...and of course, Roland is wonderful with his flashbacks and stoic sensibility. Lots of death and dying and drugs and schizophrenia and other fun things like that. Not bedtime reading at all, but a good book nonetheless. The foreword amuses me to no end- King basically says to the reader, "I have no idea what's going on in this book, the previous one, or any of the following books. Ask me again when I finish the series- in two hundred years."

I think I could like Stephen King quite a bit, if I let myself. I think I have one more Dark Tower book after this one, then I'll have to find other things to read.

Must remind the father that I want a copy of Parachutes and the Chantal Kreviazuk CD he has. Perhaps I can convince him to buy Evanescence and copy that for me, as well. It might inspire me to write Song of Shadows snippets that i can actually use...I do love that song, "Wake Me Up Inside". Reminds me of some of my Nightwish stuff, only without the funky Finnish accents. :)

Wrote a scene in Foxbird's notebook the other day...I now keep a pile of notebooks by my bed (not in my bed, as I tend to lose notebooks that way) to write in before going to sleep. It's only worked semi-well, but I'm hoping to get more written tonight, for something. Anything will do.

...And that's where I stand thusfar. Still listening to Jason Mraz on repeat play because he makes me happy (though it doesn't take much), still working on the Yrkai picture I started a few days ago (using a different coloring technique, one that involves excessive use of the smudge tool...I rather like it), and that's about it. Still obsessed with Weiss Kreuz, though not with the same intensity as before. Have just finished a bottle of Diet Vanilla Coke. Feeling rather proud of myself for that- I've never finished a whole bottle of soda in four days before. I may become a Coke junkie, yet. (Not that kind of coke, the other kind- never mind.)

Whee.

Uh, yeah. My characters, they do some weird shit when I let them get away with it. *shakes head*

Ah, well. At least they're consistent. Like chocolate frosting. Mmm, chocolate.

:)

His shirt was a bloody mess of tattered rags; Von dropped it in the sink and shook his head sadly. He'd liked that shirt. Fortunately, his skin had fared somewhat better than his clothing; the scratches stung like a bitch, but they weren't serious. He was more worried about the puncture wounds on his shoulder that had almost hit his neck.

Sensible we are not, without a doubt, he thought sourly, cleaning the scrapes he could reach with dish detergent. Shouldn't have let that bastard get so close, not when we knew there was something wrong with him...

"When I knew there was something wrong with him, you mean. If you'd let me handle them, you wouldn't be hurt."

Shut up, he thought viciously at Umbra. The Shade curled into a ball in his subconscious with a faint whimper. He hated the way her voice echoed in his head like a mournful wind. He hated her presence, hated the way she insisted he depend on her, hated everything about her- and he wanted absolutely nothing to do with her or her magic. The only way to keep her out of his life, aside from a full exorcism, was to keep her beaten into submission.

It had worked so far, but he knew that the sidelong glances he was getting from Zyn would turn into oughtright anger if the boy knew what he was doing. He sighed and slumped against the sink, elbows resting on the metal rim.

"Von? Did you just get back in? I-" He heard Zyn stop short behind him. "What happened?"

"A murder of ravens and a flock of crows." His mouth felt dry, and his vision was going slightly fuzzy. "And three supplicants with a lesser servant, but nothing I couldn't handle. Aren't you going out with Cata tonight?"

Careful hands took the bloodstained dishrag from him and began cleaning the wounds on his back. They still stung like a bitch. "Yeah. She's coming to pick me up in fifteen minutes. Von, you've got bite marks."

"Tell me something I don't know? Ari'i's on her way over to deal with 'em. They missed all the major veins and arteries, I just need her to get rid of the poison and I'll be fine. Where's she taking you?" Breath hissed through his teeth sharply as Zyn plucked a shard of claw out of his back.

Zyn sighed, sounding much older than he was. "Some place called The Wheel." He acknowledged Von's unspoken request to avoid asking about the fight with a slight shake of his head. "I wanted to ask you if I could borrow something to wear. I don't have that many clothes to begin with, and what isn't in the laundry or full of holes...well, I'm wearing it right now." Von knew without looking that Zyn was wearing an eye searing Hawaiian shirt and a pair of ragged shorts, picked up gods-only-knew where. Completely inappropriate attire for a club like The Wheel.

He was surprised that Zyn had dared to ask. That was good; the boy was progressing from 'scared shitless' to only 'moderately uncomfortable' around Von. Cata had helped a great deal in that respect, no doubt. "No problem. Leave off, would you? Ari'i will put me back together. You make a crappy nurse, and she's cuter than you anyway." He straightened, wincing. Zyn gazed at him with calm, sad blue eyes, and Von looked him over with an appraising twinkle to his eye out of habit. "But not by much. Check the back of the closet, on the right, third hanger over."

"Thanks."

He didn't watch as Zyn went to raid his closet; he busied himself with filling the sink to let the remains of his shirt soak out the blood, then pulled a beer out of the fridge. His head hurt, and if he turned his head, he could see the red lines of poison and infection racing beneath his skin, radiating outwards from the bites on his shoulder. In an hour, he'd be dead- if he was lucky.

Ari'i would come soon, and she would be able to cleanse the poison. That was her gift. Cata would show up, too, to take Zyn and make him smile. That was her gift, for as long as Nocturne and Moero kept them. And my gift...curse...is an even greater skill at pissing people off than I had before. His head hit the countertop with a muted thud and he hovered on the edge of unconsciousness until Ari'i came and gave him a gentle shove in the right direction.

He slept for a week.
---------------

This was not what it was supposed to be, but it will do. The rest of it will come later, maybe.

Still trying to download that Evanescence song they're playing on the radio lately. 'Tis a very Cata/Zyn song, very Song of Shadows in general. Good screaming song, too.

Blah.

Blah. Blah.

Blah blah blah fuckityblah.

The moment I start to feel vaguely inspired, mom insists that I go watch a movie with her. I'm not up to any sort of social interaction right now, haven't been all day, and certainly not with her.

*sigh*

I actually started thinking about Waking Pandora a few days ago- somehow the Seven Deadly Sins have crept into the story line, only I can never remember all of them. Lust is a waitress. Sloth and Wrath are high school students, unless Wrath is actually Envy. As usual, I'm not too clear on the details.

It's evolving into an interesting concept, which pleases me. However, i don't know that I'll ever write it, since it's too similar to Song of Shadows, genre-wise. If it were anime, it would be superhero/magical girl meets mecha, with extra Biblical imagery for shits and giggles.

Still. The main character's name is Dorabelle Farra, but if you call her adorable, she'll smack you. Her best friend and co-conspirator is Nina Reynard, the laziest person on the planet. No, really. She's sloth, and she plays her part perfectly. It's a good thing they have Tristan (no last name) and (somebody else) to carry her around, since she does occasionally get too lazy to walk.

Need to work on concepts and things.

Have had random Song of Shadows snips running through my head; mostly Gavin centric, or involving Sable and Aleks. The plot doesn't interest me so much as the characters do. I'll never write the actual story, I'll just write little bits and pieces of character interaction. It amuses me more.

I'm drawing again, but I don't know how well it's really going to work...trying to draw one of the Children of Bahamut from a fanfic that has been in progress since I was...six. No, really. And no one will ever read it, ever, so don't ask. It's interesting to see how very bad I am at drawing morphs...eh, whatever.

Have to go watch movie now. Blah blah blah, and all that jazz.

Okay, so, Dawn Upshaw? Has an incredible soprano voice, sings opera and the like, takes interviews while scrubbing the kitchen floor. A diva, of sorts.

I've got this CD of her singing all sorts of tunes from the 50's- a lot of Sondheim stuff (yes, I had to look this up, since I hadn't had a clue) and jazz-ish stuff. It's lovely.

Unfortunately, too many of them make me think of Von/Gavin from Song of Shadows, because he's a Drama Queen of the highest degree, and he was secretly a drama major at Mikrell. I think he might have done musical theater for a year before switching into...whatever it was that got him into law school. It's the sort of thing he would do. (Cuz he's a crackhead with too many issues, you see.)

Anyway. "The Saga of Jenny" makes me want to create a music video of sorts, so you should all be glad that it's a fairly short song and that Song of Shadows exists only on paper and in my head. If it were an actual movie or anime, you can bet I'd be whining until someone taught me how to edit video clips. I'll write up something like a script for it later.

I'm having issues with finding lyrics. I will prevail, however. Just not right now. I have homework to do. *sad*
;)

Who really has lips like rose petals? I mean, honestly, who does? And who would want to- sure, they're soft and smooth and altogether delectable, but they taste pretty awful. And they're cold. Flowers are nice, but they're cold.

Eeew.

See, I understand that with anime and video games we're dealing with already stylized representations of people. I get that, I really do. It's all just fiction. And I can excuse it in fanfic, to a point. We're amateurs. But when you get to books- to actual literiture, or movies or things like that- can we stop it with the stupid metaphors? Or can we at least think before we use them?

It pisses me off when people are written in such a way as to be perfect- because people aren't perfect, mind, body, and soul. They're flawed. Any writing FAQ will go on and on and on about how good characters have inherent flaws, because perfect characters are boring. How come no one ever assumes that characters with perfect bodies are boring too?

Newsflash: naked people never look as good as they do with clothing on. They just don't. They shouldn't in literiture, either.

And don't give me any of that "Life approaches art" crap, either. There's a time and place for perfection, but otherwise, a little variety would be nice. *grumbles* Why do we never see a slighly overweight heroine, or a valiant knight with a big nose? Why do they always have "smooth, creamy skin" when we all know that's not possible, not unless you've lived in a bubble or have a full time CGI artist covering up those chicken pox scars, or the mole on the back of your knee. And freckles don't count. Freckles are "cute"- but they very rarely come in "light dustings" and they also really only work if you've got a snub nose, a sunburn, and pigtails.

I mean, it's bad enough that we deal with the media making Meg Ryan look like she isn't in her forties and well past her prime, but do we have to deal with perfect looking people in our books, as well?

*sigh* This was quite pointless, and I apologize. It's also slightly confused, and is really just me grousing about yaoi writers who wish they were writing yuri but are in denial, and Mercedes Lackey. *yech* Still. Stupid metaphors. Stupid overused, unrealistic metaphors.

Dreamed, Friday night. Oh, such dreams.

It was an amusement park, of sorts, with animal shows and rides and such like. And there was a boat ride, and there were seals, and there were monsters of all sorts- and there were all the demons of hell, putting on a circus show. We were not allowed to leave, but somehow we tricked our way out of the show. There was colorful cotton candy, and on our way to the seal show there was a boat ride that involved little flat boats that sank. My shoes were soaked thoroughly, but I did not fall into the water as some did. The animal trainer was a demon in disguise, but so were members of our own entourage; people whom I had gone to school with, teachers and classmates and the like- one in particular was half demon, and he alone was slated to escape unscathed. Fortunately, I got off with soaked shoes and little else before fleeing the ominous vibes. Others were not so lucky, though they were too far underwater for me to hear their screams.

And it was much like the band trip, in that they fed us in groups and herded us in droves, and hypnotized us by the handfull. So I ate chocolate cake and carrot cake and sat by my friends (A few of you were there, most were others, like Jess, and perhaps Rebecca, but I can't quite recall...) and when the Demon King of Myth and Nightmare stood on his stage and gestured, I turned my eyes away, and the dreams dissolved around me...

Only to find that I was he, that King of Myth and Dream, driving my mother's Toyota van through the bleachers, and into the sky. There had been a falling out of sorts between my Lady and I, and she needed to be found before someone got into trouble; mischief is common among gods.

Though this was a different dream (and I think I knew it at the time, for all that I was clothed in red and black and harlequin diamond and was quite definitely male- there was a quality of lucidity to these dreams that I found ever so disturbing...) there were remembered bits from the first; the seals, and the boats. But I drove past these, not bothering with the steering wheel, using only the power of my mind. The radio is a bitch to adjust when you aren't using your hands; the car doesn't handle half so well, either.

Creatures met me in the sky, and I asked them for directions (perhaps I wasn't quite as male as I thought, after all...) but none had seen her. There was another, lost like I, without a name or a place. His memory was gone, his home destroyed, ground into white dust and whiter ghosts until he alone was left. He was a Warrior, and he called shotgun until we reached the ruins of Kiev, at which point we had to abandon the Toyota and continue on foot.

There was an opera house there, with elaborate and beautiful frescos all across the walls; the visages of great men looked out from the walls in unfaded colors against the blinding white stones. It had been foretold, however, that if I ever set foot on those brightly colored white flagstones, the last standing remnant of that great civilization would fall.

Kiev was white stone and white dust and white sand and white walls; the sky was blue but it was a white sort of blue; everything was a brilliant, mutli-hued shade of white, save for the ocean which might have been green; the sand tics, which were a proper sand color; and the skeletons, which were a rusting iron red. The only things living were the sand tics, giant clicking things with little pinchers and enormous stingers that gleamed like steel. Each tic was the size of my hand (and my hands were rather long-fingered and elegant; I was a King, after all) and they scuttled across everything. As we walked through the city (the Warrior and I) we could look out over the walls at the beach, where the remnants of fortifications rose up from the sand. Scattered across the sand were what looked like statues, rusting metal statues with their arms upraised, rusting swords and shields in hand.

There was one sword not rusted into uselessness; it reeked of evil, but the Warrior took it anyway, claiming it reminded him of home. So long as he didn't go crazy, I didn't really care. Kiev was once a human city; now it was dust and ruin. I said to the Warrior, "In two and a half years, my people could make this place great again." I was lying; for all I knew, I was the only one left.

We approached the Opera House, and true to the prophecy, the entire great building sank into the stones as I stepped forward. Didn't crumble, didn't collapse- just sank into the cobbles with a cloud of dust. What remained were steps leading to a wall that looked out over the water.

I heard voices, and hid myself in the pale shadows. A self-styled little goddess was calling for her keeper- she called herself Melnipon, searching for Velnithan, her Lady. Velnithan appeared at the top of the wall, clad in the sea green and blue weeds of a Wraithling Nymph- but I knew her, knew her to be my own Lady, Queen of Myth and Dream. She did not see me, but spoke to the little goddess, questioning her. Kiev was a recently ruined city, and she knew the prophecy of my coming to the opera house as well as I did.

The Wraithling goddess had no answers, and my Lady grew angry with her. Melnipon gave up her treasure, then; a relic of Kiev, a shining theatre mask of green satin and sequins and feathers. When my Lady put it on, her eyes when white like the stones and glowed like the pale hot sun, and she spoke words I could not understand. I remembered them, though, for someone would know them, somewhere. The mask disappeared when my Lady took it off, and then she was great in her rage.

"You are no god, puny creature! You seek to trick me, sea spawn- but I know you, I know that it is nigh to feeding time, and I shall feed on you myself!" In a wave of water and skittering bubbles, we were all washed away- but my Lady saw me and my companion at the last, and saved us from the depths.

(Now the dream took a pause, and I was no longer the King of Myth and Dream with his red and black cape and pianist hands- I was the Lady, his Queen- something like Titania to Oberon, only we were not nearly so petty, nor so...exhibitionist.) We left the now-underwater city of Kiev; the car was gone, but the Warrior and his new sword went with us. We travelled to other ruins- the ruins of his home. In the outer city, little gods dwelled, small gods, old gods, dying gods, confused gods- even little Melnipon, the sea wraith with delusions of grandeur. My Lord had no knowledge of this place, and no place in it- but to these sad relics, I was Velnithan, the Rose. The visions I had seen beneath Kiev's Mask had led me back to this place, the home of the surviving deities- my Lord had been too busy searching for me after the fall of our little Circus to notice the way the world fell apart around him. A rather annoying, if mildly endearing quality in a man. He still tended towards being infuriating, of course- but we were gods. It was what we did.

In the center of the Warrior's nameless home (for he was out of time and place and mind, and was made sad by the grey ruin of his home) was a sanctum of sorts- none of the little gods ventured into it. The Warrior had been a king here; this was his home. This small, mean stone hovel, the home of a great king- for there was no doubt that he had been great. He found a scabbard for his evil sword in his home, and remembered a little more of who he might have been. Not his name or his people's name or the Truth behind the end of the world, but a little. Enough to know how to call back the memory of his past to let it wander in the air around us. There were little vials lined up on the windowsill (the empty windowsill; as Kiev had been blinding white, this place was slick silvery gray; the sky, the sun, the walls- everything) containing arcane things and drugs. He took grains of stone from one vial and swallowed them, the pressed his hand against a tile that leached color into the air; all was gray, multi-hued gray, but this was undeniably fuscia.

And then he drew us, my Lord and I, into his dream, or he drew his dream into the air, and spirits walked around us. "It is not Truth," my Lord noted. "But it is true for being the memory of the thing, if not the thing itself." And we watched fantastic creatures waltz around us, and we watched the Warrior weep with longing for what had been lost- and then it crumbled apart around us, and we were alone, the three of us, in the tiny little room.

"Again," I commanded, and he nodded. There were answers here, and there was a Truth behind it, somewhere. Again, he swallowed grains of cloudly garnet and touched the tile that had his name writ on it in a language none of us knew, and again the visions rose up around us. I had seen them before, when the Mask had been upon me, and there was an afterimage of what they had truly been beneath the new images, ones like cartoon scribblings of gods. There was color in the memory, bright color scrawled across the walls; the graffitti of the gods. There were no people or creatures this time, only the brightly colored tiles that had been used to worship their odd gods. (Some of them looked like the silhouette of a punk Mickey Mouse; others, like Joe Boxer smilies- the original tiles had had incomprehensible signs on them, but these were different and we knew it.)

There were two doorways; one led back the way we came, and was dark; the other, on the far side of the room, led to a brightly lit hallway. The Warrior tried to walk that way, but we knew that death, or worse waited for him there and we tried to stop him. We would have failed had a noise from the entrance not startled us. A loping, hunched creature crawled in; it's skin was mottled shades of gray and green and its eyes were heartbreakingly sad. It mewled pitifully, crying for a mother, any mother.

I am no mother; I am a Queen and a Lady and a Goddess- but not a fertility goddess, and not a mother goddess. I am a death goddess, a mist goddess- entirely useless when it comes to dealing with the crying children of dead eras.

The Warrior, however, recognized it. "It is the representation of the Future That Is To Be," he said, and tossed the ugly thing an even uglier looking fruit, conjured out of dream and madness. It ate, and turned somewhat happy eyes on us. In its own way, it was rather cute.

If we were to find our Truth and save our world from subsuming into white and grey as the cities of the humans had, we would need to nurture our Future That Was To Be, and so we did.

The Warrior remained with the creature in the place that had once been his home. My Lord and I took a librarian and a guardian from the archives- not real people, but real memories of people, and we went to search for our answers. The librarian, a girl, led us to the boats where much of this mess began, and we began the next part of our journey. Our new companions, however, grew quickly distracted, and insisted that we return to the Park, not to the place of the seals and the sinking boats and the demon children, nor to the place of amusements and rides and treachery, but to the Library.

It was imperative that we avoid that place, but they were most insistent that we visit its brightly colored buildings. And as we climbed from our skif onto the floating docks beneath the stretched canvas awnings-

I woke up, because it was Saturday morning and 7:30 and mom was yelling up the stairs to get ready because we had to leave in an hour and it would take me forever, anyway.

I wrote it all down in greater detail and with less drama in my dream journal, but that was how it went.

I drew the Lady last night, standing on the walls looking over the ocean, wearing the Mask. She looks lovely in blue and green; her hair is blonde and full of whispy snarls. The Lord is tall and dark haired with a tiny goatee; he wears dark red and black and can cut a sinister figure when he chooses. I didn't get a good look at his clothes, not the way I saw the Lady's dress when she posed as Velnithan the Rose, a middle goddess of water. Shimmering irridescent sea colors- blue and green and seafoam pearl. Beautiful. I didn't get much of a look at the Warrior, either, though I did see his sword and the scabbard he found for it in the inner sanctum of his nameless city.

The Future That Is To Be really was rather cute, in a pathetic and long necked sort of way.

I am disturbed and delighted, however...and writing this down has brought back the memories of countless other dreams that I've had and remembered at some point, which is lovely. I'm not sure what it is that causes these periods of intense dreaming; the past few days have been full of dreams, though Friday night's was the only truly imperative one. It could be hormonal; I'll have to keep track of these things.

The amusement park was deeply disturbing, but Kiev was amazing in a way I can't even describe- amazing and terrible, for it was full of death and insects (really nasty insects, too- they looked able to take your head off if they chewed long enough) but beautiful in that it was so amazingly detailed...and the skeletons among the ruins on the shore were awe inspiring.

I love dreaming.

Maybe I could be the one they adore
That could be my reputation
It's where I'm from that lets them think I'm a whore
I'm an educated virgin

Sleepwalker, don't be shy
Now don't open your eyes tonight
You'll be the one that defends my life
While I'm dead asleep dreamin'

Cupid, don't draw back your bow
Sam Cooke didn't know what I know
I'll never be your valentine
The sleepwalker in me
And God only know that I've tried

Let me in, let me drown or learn how to swim
Just don't leave me at the window
I could be the one to be your next best friend
You may need someone to hold you

Sleepwalker, take this knife
You may see someone tonight
You'd be the one that saves my life
When I'm dead asleep dreamin'

Cupid, don't draw back your bow
Sam Cooke didn't know what I know
I'll never be your valentine
The sleepwalker in me
And God only know that I've tried

I'm in your movie and everyone looks sad
But I can hear you, your voice, the laughtrack
But you never saw my best scene
The one where I sleep
Sleepwalk into your dreams

Now, sleepwalker, what's my line
It's only a matter of time
Until I learn to open up my eyes
When I'm dead asleep dreamin'

Cupid, don't draw back your bow
Sam Cooke didn't know what I know
I'll never be your valentine
The sleepwalker in me

Now, the sleepwalker in me
Now, the sleepwalker in me
And God only know that I've tried
-"Sleepwalker" The Wallflowers
-----------
It's a good song. I rather like it.
Fuck, I'm tired.
-----------

...I had a very long, very pointless snippet from Song of Shadows to post here, but it frustrated me so I deleted it. *yawn*

Zhela Udachi- Good luck (thank you!)

Would make a good name...could change it to Udacha, and she'd be Anya's second cousin, or Leto's sister.

Oi. Haven't thought about that story in a while. Maybe I should.

Nrrg. Had a brain drizzle that ultimately ended in nothing but mud puddles. *scowl*

So tired. Wonder if the computer lab still closes at ten?

Oi, oi, oi.

I am so going to flip a coin when I get home- and then I'll do whatever I want, regardless.

On an unrelated note, I still can't really pronounce hiatus, misanthrope, or misanthropic. Yet another reason to add to the ever growing list of reasons why I hate to talk.

Mrrg. This is getting frustrating. *yawn* Should've brought a notebook. Will attempt to steal paper, so I can draw. I'm in the mood to draw.

Antsy. Itchy.

Like sand under your skin. Like thirty gauge wire wrapped tight around your nerves. Not like ants crawling all over, not quite- more like there's a thousand tiny threads attached to your eyelids, toes, fingers, ears- everything, down to the littlest hairs of your eyebrows that are being pulled taught, all at once, all over. You can't sit still and and it doesn't do any good to stand up, because all you do is pace, and twitch. Any sort of movement, anything to distract from the way your body seems to be crawling away in twenty different directions. It's not nerves, there's nothing to be nervous about. It's just an invisible tension that shouldn't be but is, and more than anything you want it to go away.

More than anything you just want everything to go.

Tripod, don't pull this shit, yo.

Mn, just a note, that last scene follows the previous Song of Shadows snippet chronologically...and the first snippet with Zyn happens not long after this one.

Von and Ari'i have an interesting relationship...Von, rather obviously, could use some serious time with a therapist. Ari'i may be the only sane one of the lot, which is useful given that she's host to the really psychotic shade.

The story is divided into...three parts, so far. The Prelude is the story of Binzel and the shadow masters and Mikrel Academy. It basically explains the history of Imbrium and Umbra, and how they're connected to Nocturne and Moero. Aleks gets to be the main character, with Gavin as primary support, and Giselle and Sable as important minor characters. Sable is a bit more important towards the end, being the one who gets to kill everyone.

Hey, she's an assassin. It's her job.

The second part of the story is centered around Cata (Sable) and all the drama that is her life, especially once Zyn (Aleks) enters the picture. Imbrium and Umbra are shadows, not shadow masters, which gives them less power but more freedom. So even though Zyn is tied to Moero, whose element is fire, Imbrium can still use Zyn as a host. Imbrium makes Zyn do some evil stuff, Umbra makes Cata her new host and resurrects Nocturne, then finds Von (Gavin), who should have been her host to begin with. Somehow, Von and Cata, with Ari'i (Giselle), manage to get Imbrium out of Zyn's head and into Ari'i's, where he belongs, and to resurrect Moero. Things probably don't happen in that order. I haven't worked out all the plot points of the Theme.

The third part is basically dealing with the aftermath (ie the previous scene) and involves the original purpose of this whole mess; I wanted to write a super hero story. Naturally, I had to create such a crackheaded back story that I couldn't even give the actual story any thought until I worked through the Origins of ______. It was supposed to be just Nocturne, catsuited fighter of justice and whatnot, but now there's a team of them. I'm sure Von will come up with a catchy name for the four of them.

Mrr. Babbling. Stomach hurts. Spoke to the brother...had self esteem lowered. My self esteem doesn't even have an i. But no one will get that joke, because we're all english majors.

head hurts, too. Bloody parents. *sigh*

Warnings for frequent mentions of sex, ownership of a bong, and gratuitous...grilled cheese. Von and Ari'i skirt around their Issues.

----------------

The kitchen filled with that strained, guilty air of people who have just had sex when they know they shouldn't have. Von scrambled noisily through the kitchen cabinets, looking for a lighter. The cigarette clamped firmly between his teeth bobbed slightly as he chewed on it. Ari'i rubbed at a hickey on her collar bone absently while watching the way his hair fluttered in every direction as he moved. The coffee maker hummed in the background.

She looked up when he slammed another drawer shut and muttered something uninteligible beneath his breath. She scowled. "You're not actually going to light that, you know."

He stared at her, still chewing on the cigarette. "Why the fuck not? We just screwed on my living room floor, Ari'i- with the kids barely a room away. I'm entitled to a cigarette." He opened another drawer and slammed it shut a moment later. "Should we separate them yet? Do you think they've got their clothes on?"

She rolled her eyes. "If you weren't so easily distracted, you'd know that both of them are fully clothed, and that Zyn is asleep. Cata is standing by the window, talking to Nocturne. Put the cancer stick away, Von. You're not smoking while I'm here."

He slammed another drawer with a flourish. "Did you look? Naughty, naughty, Ari'i- Cata doesn't like having her privacy invaded. What do you have against my cancer sticks, anyway?"

She pointedly ignored his first comment; even if she wanted to explain the constant emotional feedback she received through Imbrium, he wouldn't listen, or wouldn't understand. Ari'i couldn't figure out why he remembered so much of the past when he had such a bad relationship with Umbra. "It'll rot your lungs- and I'm elementally opposed to them, anyway." She leaned across the counter and pulled the slightly soggy cigarette out of Von's mouth. She tapped it against the countertop. "Earth and fire combine to create air. You'd get the same calming effect from insense, but I'd still object. Rather, Imbrium would, and I prefer to keep him in a good mood."

He pouted for a moment, then grinned. "I've got a water pipe in the closet. Would that please Imbrium?"

"A bong?" She snorted. "I'm not at all surprised. I always figured you were a stoner, or a crackhead. It's beyond me how you got through law school."

"I shagged my professors for good grades." His grin was pure evil, and Ari'i suspected it wasn't far from the truth. He ducked below the countertop, and his voice floated up above the clatter of pans. "But seriously, the bong was actually a graduation gift from my aunt. My father's side of the family is Lebanese."

"Which explains why you're blond, of course."

He dropped a cutting board on the counter with a thunk. "Come on, Ari'i. How well do you know me? I don't even remember my natural hair color."

"Really." She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. "Your hair doesn't feel dyed..."

"You'd know, wouldn't you? Nearly pulled half of it out back there..." He rummaged in the fridge and came up with a tomato. "I'm hungry," he stated, "and I'm going to make something to eat."

Ari'i raised an eyebrow at the apparent non sequitur, then shrugged. Air-head. "You can't cook, Von. I've seen you go for days without solid food, unless you count butter and Miracle Whip."

"I can so cook. I can cook exactly five meals." He pulled a very sharp knife out of yet another drawer and began cutting the tomato with careful, vehement slices. "There's the 'let's get to know each other' dinner, which is a fairly simple afair; vodka penne with chicken, and a nice, expensive wine. Then I can make the 'we're going to fuck tonight' dinner, which is a huge pain in the ass, because it's basically seven courses of finger food, most of which require things to be cut up into really annoying shapes. I serve champagne with that one. The last course is chocolate covered strawberries, naturally. It's a useful cliche and they fall for it every time." He wrinkled his nose and grinned, gathering more items from various places around the kitchen.

A loaf of bread, a stick of butter, a tub of margarine, three different kinds of cheese, capers, and three glass bottles of unidentified green things appeared on the counter next to the neatly sliced tomato. He shaved thin slices of cheese into a heaping pile and continued. "My favorite is the 'morning-after breakfast'. I've got this waffle recipe that tastes amazing if you let the batter sit in the fridge for a few days. So I whip that up before I get started on the 'fucking tonight' dinner, and then I just have to get up early enough and voila! Instant breakfast in bed. They always find the fresh squeezed orange juice particularly impressive." He dropped a frying pan on the stove, and Ari'i wondered if he realized how careless he was with the things that belonged to him. For some reason, the thought disturbed her. "The easiest thing to make is the 'let's just be friends lunch'. I used to do a variation on the 'getting to know you dinner', but after someone tried to rip out my eyes with a fork, I switched to plain sandwiches. No cutlery necessary. Lemonade is optional, depending on how long we were sleeping together."

Ari'i shook her head, both disgusted and impressed. "You're such an evil little whore, Von."

"Funny, that's what most of them said." He lapsed into silence. Von buttered both sides of the bread while the skillet sizzled, and alternated layers of cheese and tomatoes with a liberal sprinkling of capers and what looked like dill between each layer.

"So, what's the fifth thing? That was only four."

"Grilled cheese. Would you like some?"

"No catchy name? Who gets grilled cheese?" She eyed the now identified culinary creation warily. No grilled cheese she'd ever encountered before looked like that.

"People I care about." The immense amount of grease involved in the sandwich probably kept it from getting soggy, Ari'i reflected. It did smell wonderful, though.

"But not people you sleep with," she observed.

Von focused on poking the cheesy mess with a spatula for a few moments before answering. "No, generally not."

She tilted her head to the side. "What am I, then?"

He barely hid his smirk. "My intern."

Ari'i stood up calmly and took five long strides to his side of the countertop. Her palm connected to his cheek with a crack that resounded throughout the apartment; completely unprepared for any violence on her part, Von nearly fell face first into the stove. She returned to her stool, not a hair out of place, as he worked his aching jaw soundlessly with involuntary tears in his eyes.

"I'm lactose intolerant, but thanks anyway."

"Oh. I'm sorry." It took him a few moments to find his voice again, and he wouldn't meet her eyes.

She knew he wasn't talking about the food; however, sorry wasn't good enough and they both knew it. "You're burning your grilled cheese, Von," she said gently. He looked alarmed, and then confused. It snapped him out of his guilty stupor, though, and that was important.

He poured a cup of coffee for both of them, and sat down with his sandwich. They stared at each other for a moment. Ari'i finally sighed and reached out to cup his chin. His face was red where she'd slapped him; there would probably be a bruise.

"You're impossible," she murmured.

He smiled and kissed the palm of her hand. "And you're a manipulative bitch."

"A match made in heaven?" she suggested archly.

"We'll both end up in hell."

"We'll be in good company, then."

"Indeed."

They drank their coffee in companionable silence, and watched the shadows grow longer through the kitchen window.

------------

I'm blaming this on Olive Garden. I mean, I know I've been itching for some sort of creative outlet, but...this was a bit much.

I love Von. He could give Dei lessons in angst. :)

I have found Elric of Melinbone fanart. My life is complete.

Been feeling very blank lately. Blank like Keanu Reeve's stare. Blank like the slack jawed, vacant smile of Amanda Bines. Blank like the canvas of our president's brain. Blank like all the notebooks I haven't been able to write in. Blank like-

You probably get the picture. Only there is no picture. Because it's blank.

*sigh* Ah, well. I'll just eat banana bread until my creativity returns. Woo!

we can play dead she said. it'll be fun.
and so we played like little children in the sun when it began to rain, and it wasn't as fun as it should have been. let's play again she said. i had fun. next time you can pick the game.
and we waited until the next day, and the next, and then she said let's play. and i asked what do you want to play? and she said anything you want anything at all.
and so i said lets fly we can be birds. but she didn't want to and she went home. so i stood in the rain by myself and played dead for her. but she never came back and i never saw her again.
i haven't believed in 'anything' since.

She nodded once, sharply, and left the shivering man in his cell. With any luck he would stay in his current reverted state; it wouldn't do to have the truth about her operation running loose. It might make the faithful doubt, and she had no use for followers who could think for themselves.

Besides, it was pleasant to have someone remember who she'd been, before. Every day more and more of the Light filled her, and she knew that it was only a matter of time before there was nothing left.

i think i believe in her now.
------------

Feelin' cultish lately...may do research for this one. Hmm...

I absolutely love the translucent, psychadelic, glittery style of coloring that can be found in here.

Mmm, Japanese. Lovely, colorful stuff, a lot of it Tactics and Vagrant Story, which is even better...

I'm spending more and more of my time online looking through pretty pictures, because it doesn't require any thinking. I have the attention span of a three year old with ADD. Shiny!

My mom is growing dirt in a plastic bowl, one that we usually use for the cat's water.

Not just any dirt, mind you- instant dirt. Three little tablets, just add hot water.

There is a bowl full of wet dirt on the countertop, now. It's supposed to thicken when stirred, to a proper consistency.

...does anyone else find this just a little bit strange? Just a little? I mean, I guess I shouldn't be surprised, but...I'm not even sure how to respond to this one.

Winamp pulled Jack on "One Song, Glory".

...Now I have the cast of Wild Arms in my head, pretending to be rock stars. 0_0 Hanpan, naturally, is the drummer. Rudy would be lead vocals. Cecilia...keyboards. Jack plays his guitar, only he hooks it up to an amp first, and accidentally summons all eight golems to the concert...and they step on the stage.
The end.

Oh, that was bad. Very bad. Bad Winamp, no biscuit.

On the other hand, "One Song, Glory" isn't a bad song for Jack, given his insatiable search for power and whatnot...power, fame- they're close enough, yes? Hmm...*can't get idea of Hanpan as drummer out of head* Never mind.

Naked Cowboy!

It's the guy we saw in Times Square today- seriously. I couldn't make this sort of thing up. And naturally, I had to draw him. :)
I love New York.

"I can't believe you're doing this! You have no idea what you're getting yourself into, and if you can't see for yourself-"

"Damn it, Blaine, you're not my father!"

The healer shut his mouth with a snap, and his mouth tightened into a thin, angry line. Foxbird paled slightly, knowing she had just crossed one of those unspoken lines that she had no right to cross. The silence hung between them for a moment, tense and angry.

Blaine broke it with a snap, as his hand slammed down against the table between them. "Fine." His voice was carefully controlled, but he was trembling and would not meet her eyes. "You're right. I'm not." He straightened abruptly, and left, his back straight and shoulders tense.

Foxy slumped against the table and ran her hands through her hair, feeling the tips of her ears lengthening as her control wavered. She wanted nothing more than to simply fall apart, to lose control and go feral, for just a few hours. Everything was so much simpler when she wasn't human.

Blaine didn't know she could do more than grow pointy ears and a tail; she handn't told him that her semi-transformations could be completed. He didn't know that she went out, sometimes, when not working, just to run and feel the moonlight on her fur. She never told him how much she hated the city because it was all bare streets and cold stone; her feet longed for warm earth and concealing grasses.

He also didn't know exactly how long she'd been sleeping with Silverlock, or why they weren't really a couple anymore. She'd meant to tell him that, because that little fact would have ended Blaine's argument before it even began, but they hadn't gotten that far. He'd confronted her on the rumors, most of which were true, and then exploded before she had a chance to explain anything. Blaine hardly ever got angry, but when he did, he didn't do it by halves. It would be days before they'd be on speaking terms again, which meant that he'd be even more depressed and full of self loathing than usual.

There was never any question that she loved him dearly, but more often than not Foxbird grew impatient with him. She couldn't understand why something so simple as a smile was so difficult for the man. Blaine had raised her, and while she was admittedly a great deal younger than she appeared (somewhere around six and a half years old, though she'd reached physical maturity at five) she could still count the number of times she'd seen him truly happy on one hand. She sighed again, and massaged her temples carefully with fingers that were starting to resemble claws.

It didn't help that she knew their current situation was her fault; for all that she claimed to be an adult, she did have occasional moments of complete immaturity. She was disgusted with herself. You're not my father? Varun's tits, that was perhaps the stupidest thing I could have said. Nice work. Blaine also didn't know that she'd found out who her real parents were; the only ones who knew the truth were the Shrive, and she'd been bound to keep it a secret. Part of her rebelled at this; more than anyone else, he deserved to know the truth about her. The issue had been weighing on her mind recently, but that didn't excuse her for not respecting Blaine's sensitivity on the issue. The only reason Blaine was still alive was because he'd been able to depend on her depending on him; his protective urges had been endearing at first, but now they were completely unnecessary. If she wasn't careful, Blaine would start to think that he was unnecessary as well, and that would only lead to trouble, and angst.

The scent of blood alerted her to Silverlock's presence before she felt his hands across her shoulder blades, working out the knots of tension there. "Rough night, pet?" The mage always smelled of blood; she fought down the urge to lick him. Now was not the time, but she wasn't thinking clearly enough to maintain her sense of humanity.

"Not your pet," she muttered, sighing beneath his touch.

She could feel the mage smiling. "No, not mine. I could be yours, though, if you'd like." He was laughing at her. "I've already got the collar, I'm sure you could supply the leash..."

"I had an argument with Blaine."

There was a note of hesitance in his voice; he was no longer laughing. "I'm sorry..."

"Not your fault." It was an automatic response, to make him feel better. It never worked.

"Liar."

"Yes. I was going to explain everything, but..."

"But he hates me." The headache that Silver's clever fingers had massaged away returned again in full force as she felt her friend go tense with barely constrained bitterness.

She was getting tired of sighing; the part of her that was more fox than anything else turned it into a growl before it slipped from her lips. "I said something I shouldn't have- he still thinks I'm a kid, but sometimes I wonder...I mean, he's not much older than me, really. Only a human, he can't help it..." She turned around and let Silverlock hold her. "You should talk to him."

"We can't be within twenty feet of each other without one or both of us being violently ill, pet. It wouldn't work." There were those who believed Silverlock incapable of feeling anything but cruelty and lust; Foxbird knew from personal experience that the half-elf could only keep the guilt at bay for so long. She was perhaps the only person still alive to know what the 'heartless' assassin looked like when he cried.

"It would if you loved him," she murmured into his shoulder. "He needs you."

"Only he just doesn't know it yet, right?" Silverlock laughed softly as he kissed the top of her head. "I'm surprised at you, pet. You're all grown up now- you're too old to believe in fairytales."

She hid her smile against his chest, remembering that Silverlock didn't know what she was, either. Not too old at all, my friend. And I'm going to see Blaine happy if it kills the both of you. "I suppose you're right, Silver." Inwardly, her smile broadened as she began to piece together a course of action. It very well might kill them both, but if it worked..."It's a nice thought though, isn't it?"

His voice was a distant whisper in her ear. "Yes. Yes it is."

If it worked, neither of her friends would ever be lonely again.
---------------

Since Blaine occasionally does remind me of a small Jewish grandmother, it makes sense that Foxbird would be an incorrigible matchmaker.

...Wait, wait, no it doesn't, not at all. Pretend I didn't say that, would you?

No, Foxy isn't half as cute when she's all growed up, but I have a difficult time writing 'cute', especially 'cute with children' (probably because I occasionally suffer from naughty urges to decapitate them *coughcough* Not that I enjoy the whole author-as-god thing too much or anything...) and she's a bit more in character when she's doing one of those "What fools these mortals be!" thing. Silver and Blaine deserve each other, the little oversensitive angst-muffins.

I think Foxy's brilliant plan is something along the lines of locking both of them in a room together and not opening the door until they work out their issues. If they happen to kill each other in the process, she'll just have a mystic trap their souls in a jar and keep them stuck in limbo until they work things out. She's really good at killing things, but she needs to work on her nefarious plotting skills.

I should write more from her point of view; there's less angst and she is supposed to be the main character...*sweatdrop* Ooops...

Sometimes, when the light was dim and the shadows were long, she would venture out, into the sun.

More often than not, though, she stayed below ground, content to watch the ankles of unsuspecting commuters on their way to work.
----

Black and white and upside down! I love the stock photo section of deviantart. A little bit of tweaking, some grayscale and flipping, add a bit of text and...voila! New header image, new layout. Best viewed in slightly larger resolutions, I suppose. The sizing will probably be off no matter how you look at it, but I honestly wouldn't know, given that I'm stuck in 600/800. Still. I like the pic. I like the colors. I like the setup. *shrug* S'all, good, ja?

I do believe I'm going to stalk Takehito Koyasu. Just because.
*fangirl!*
(My obsession with this show has reached ridiculous proportions. I never gave a damn about seiyuus before, but now...*mad giggle*)

testing

So uninspired it hurts. And I have no excuse to not do the band parade tomorrow.

Who the fuck said it could be seven already? I need more time, and I haven't got enough.

...so uninspired, but I'm antsy and I need to do something creative before I break something.

*sigh* Downswing. I hate the world.

Working on a new layout; something black and white and upside down. It amuses me.

The Nazca DVD they sent is the wrong one. *woeful* The good news, however, is that Yuka goes crazy...but there were a whole slew of new people in silly outfits to gawk at that I didn' recognize, so there will be no watching of Nazca until I get the third DVD.

The tv to which the playstation is connected has gone on a serious trip; I'm used to it misbehaving, but usually when the picture starts scrolling, it's because of some effect on screen that it just couldn't handle; it's never gone on the blink without provocation before. This tv is ancient; much older than I, I'm certain. It's ugly and brown and you change the channels using a dial of all things. It used to have antennae, but we took them off when we moved it into the family room, many years ago. It's an ancient, decrepit Hitachi that doesn't like special effects, and I'm fairly sure it isn't the Playstation that's giving me grief, even if my controllers are rather beaten and abused. The tv doesn't register certain shades of red, it doesn't have definition, much less high definition, and it's always cut off the bottom two inches or so of the screen and stretches the picture around the edges. Ooooold. And now I can't turn it on without the picture scrolling from up to down. I used to be able to just turn it off for a little while, and then it would be fine. Now, it just scrolls faster.

I think it might be possessed. *contemplates the ramifications of a demonic television* Nothing to worry about, really. It's too old to manage any really good acts of demonic influence.

If this chair weren't so uncomfortable, I'd fall asleep at the computer. I think I'll go practice Ophelia a bit more before collapsing...*yawn* (It turns out that the day I actually have my Latin homework in on time, Bhumika doesn't see Ms Kniffen and doesn't hand hers in. *DOI*)

Current
obsessions:
-Weiss Kreuz
-Vagrant Story
-FFVII
-Jason Mraz
-Bad poetry

state of head
Ashley is making jewelry, Crawford is making breakfast (along with Kay, who is also making faces at Eclipse), Zack is making breakfast, Seph is making coffee, Vincent is making holes in very small targets at a very great distance, Farfarello is making a mess, Nagi is making a point, Sydney is making trouble, Dei and Weiss are making angst-muffins with a new recipe (twice the trauma, half the fat!), the Old Crew is making themselves scarce, the New Kids are making nuisances of themselves. All is as it should be.

writing
Not much. Nothing new on 7th Hour, Boffo (will post chapter 13 and the epilogue someday, when they stop making me cringe in horror), or DDD. No new story ideas that are at all serious. Foxbird has been tickling the back of my head for a while, but not with anything serious or useable. Amusing? Oh, yes. Worth writing? Not really. Tentative Weiss fic in formation in head, liklihood of it reaching paper is slim; small amounts of work done on the TurkFic, namely getting past sex scene and moving on to plot (bah, plot, who needs it?); Vagrant Story more likely to induce silly comic strips and very, very random vignettes and scenes; Setzer's airship was cool, Darryl's is cooler, but that particular fic isn't going anywhere but down unless I can get past the ridiculous amount of tension contained therein; Snowflake Shadows needs to be written before I succumb to reading Harry Potter fic again- will probably have to read the fourth book and parts of the third to get a better grasp on Cho, but waiting for OotP to come out may be a better idea. Still working on last stanza of Poet poem, will wait until dad returns before printing it and giving it to parents; shall resolve to begin writing Zack vignettes and ficlets, if only to aleviate his grumbling.

reading
Nothing. Started Gunslinger, didn't get very far. Started Sword Maker, didn't get very far. Can't seem to finish Stronghold, probably because I know Rohan will die and Pol ticks me off. Still haven't started the Illuminati trilogy; will someday give that back to Kurt, just...not now. I can't find it under the mess on my desk. Should be reading Julius Caesar, can't quite bring myself to pick up Shakespeare right now. Haven't taken Fifth Elephant out of my bookbag in a very long time. Stress impedes my ability to think straight or read anything of any merit (ie not fanfic). Webcomics- Boy Meets Boy, Schism, Molotov Cocktail (since I've stopped reading Arcana, that means I'm only reading three slashy comics right now. hn.) also Fire Always Makes it Better (for the mindfuck of a plot (wtf?) and the pretty art and the way Wollen is a homicidal maniac of a dragon) and Nine Swords (for Riley. And the excessive gore and violence.) and Karma Slave (because I've grown to like Lyn's art, and Kuruma hasn't yet begun to grate on my nerves- yet). Only six, really...no, wait. I lied. YWAM, which is shounen ai, but semi-professional and therefore infrequently updated. Very pretty, though. The angst has gotten choking lately, what with the Kenichi/Ethan/Suoh situation, however, and I don't really approve. So that's seven, four of which are slashy...hn, I must be obsessed. *shrug*

listening
Eternal Harp. Carol Thompson lives like twenty minutes from here; she's an emmy winning harpist. Mom still wants a harp. I kinda want a harp. Waiting for My Rocket is some smooth, smooth shite, yes indeedy. I wish to stalk Jason Mraz, but I think that if I don't shut up about him, someone will beat me with a club. Born on a Pirate Ship is bitter, bitter sweetness of the Bare Naked Ladies variety. I wanna have "Stomach vs Heart" tattooed on my earlobes. Newsies is still wonderful, and the Telemann is utter spiffness on a stick.

watching
I missed YYH and Kenshin. Again. *head. wall. ouch.* Damnit. *sigh* Haven't watched tv in such a long time...but! Have new Nazca DVD. Will watch soon. (Soon is a very relative concept...) Nazca pleases me greatly, with the silly spandex, the swordfighting, the plotholes, and the pissy characters. Now vaguely incestuos, too! Only vaguely, mind. But I'll be pissed if Elela ditches Jigumi for Wossname, the mountain climbing dude. She should be Evil and psychotic, just like Jigumi- largely because she has pink hair, and we all know people with pink hair are inherently evil. Look at Sailor Moon. So therefore, Elela must remain evil, and not switch sides halfway through. Also! Six-String Samurai should be coming soon. "Vegas needs a new king", and all. (Despite the fact that it's probably going to be crappy, any movie with that particular line in it is good in my book.) Will soon be going to see Rent, but that doesn't quite count.

drawing
Currently, not much. Finished the hitchiking picture last week, so now I'm not doing anything serious. Feeling the urge to do more Weiss Kreuz fanart, though- Crawford this time, not Farfarello. Sexy, not psychotic. I refuse to draw Shuldich, because he has stupid hair. I refuse to draw any of the Weiss crew, because they're whiny and annoying. I don't know what Nagi looks like, so I can't draw him. Guess I'm stuck with the psycho albino and the guy with glasses, then. I've so got to actually watch this series...but I'm afraid that if I do, I'll hate all the characters, and that would make me sad. I think I'd like to do an Aviator pic- Perry or Miranda in full combat/courier uniform. Some serious VS fanart might be nice, or a Boffo scene of some sort. Dunno.

not doing
Homework. What did you expect?

wanting
Fuck, don't ask me that. To be left alone, for the most part. To not have to worry about people. ...Ice cream. An attention span. To know what exactly I want out of life, among other things. To be able to keep everyone happy and sane and joyful because people should be joyful, damnit. World peace wouldn't be half bad, either, but I'd settle for world-lack-of-outward-violence at this point. To be abused. For my voice not to crack when I'm singing at the top of my lungs. To be able to articulate what I need to say. To know, definitively, that everything really is going to be all right.

avoiding
Homework, speaking, facing certain issues...explaining myself in depth.

waiting
for the rain, for mom to come home, for things to make sense, for the cat to get out of my lap so I can find myself some ice cream, for my homework to do itself.

And that's it for today's current events, lovelies. Have a nice night.

http://www.uspoliticsforum.com/emergency/

Click there. Laugh. The first page is better than the second. The brother is an asshole of royal proportions, but we love him anyway. Remeber, kiddies: If you catch fire, do not run.

I really wish my artistic skillz could encompass the Manga Leather Effect. It's that shiny, wow-that-must-cut-off-circulation look to anything made of leather that you see in manga. Kaori Yuki does it remarkably well; just look at any scans of her Angel Sanctuary artbooks, and you'll see what I mean. Setsuna's pants are usually excellent examples of this. I just like the way it looks on gloves and jackets and whatnot...though it does, admittedly, look more than a little obscene most of the time.

Still. Being able to draw leather is a skill the world needs more of.

"Electrical Parade" is one crackheaded song. Woo!

I'm not colorblind, you know. I've just got no concept of color- I'm not cut out to be an artist or an interior decorator. I mean, I know the color wheel. I know all about complimentary and adjacent color schemes and shiz like that. I just can't put it into practice...

Coloring stuff is a bitch, especially when you're not relying on outlines to tell you where things are supposed to go. But right now I'm doing flashbacks to art one back in freshman year, the unit on surrealism...because I've always like Magritte beter than Dali, if only because I've a minimalists appreciation for simplicity.

Too many words, too many colors- life is chaos enough, life is art enough- should not our own personal art be the eye of the storm?

Frenetic simplicity...this picture always disturbed me slightly, which is probably why I never actually turned it in; extra credit done on a scrap of watercolor paper with watered down tempera paints. I always liked cubism better, though Picasso was a bastard and Braque should have gotten more credit. Cubist painting was fun; a wine bottle, a pomegranite, three mirrors, a coil of wires. Soft, smooth, shining curves turned into crystaline facets gleaming...and if you mix enough water into the tempera paint, you can almost pretend they're water colors, only less finicky, and if you hoarded dry paper towels and pressed them against the paint as it dried, they would leave a texture, raised and bubbly on the paper...and it was green and brown and red and dry yellow, and it was supposed to go to teen arts, but because it rained it did not...the judges saw it and commended the style and colors.

The picture that I'm talking about now, though, is something different. We watched movies in that class, all the time. Movies about artists and movements and Calder's circus. And I would take notes in my maroon and orange Virginia Tech notebook and doodle in the margins with gold gel pens. "I am Da-LI!" we would laugh at each other and sketch, then paint, and usually mutter jealously over Cathy's work and shake our heads over Andrea, and laugh at whatever Mr Miley had to say. The assignment was one surrealist painting, and I took chess pieces and seagulls and half open doors and placed them in a multihued sky and hated it. Then I took a face and placed it in space, and...I might still have the original in my closet somewhere. But it's time to recycle old ideas, and black tempera paint really doesn't capture a black sky very well, so...now I can do it with my tablet and make it even more disturbing the second time around.

...So, the CD player has gone from Carmina Burana to Cuban jazz to Eileen Ivers to George Winston...there should be one more CD on the loop...I am curious as to what crack will play next. I have The Persuasions Sing The Grateful Dead version of "Ship of Fools" stuck in my head.

How strange.

It's some sort of smooshy romantic jazz. Ugh. What was he thinking?

Truckin'

...Only not. Hitchiking elves, soft coloring- trying something new. I like the way it came out, more or less. The problem with these things is that after I put so many hours of work into them, I get tired, or I get bored, and then I give up...so there's a lot I could have done to make this look better that I didn't do. Perhaps I'll go back and fix it later, perhaps not. Probably not. Short attention span and whatnot.

There's a story behind this pic, though, and I'd love to know what it is...

Vagrant Story? I love you. I really do- and not just for all the gratuitous fanservice and the brain break of a plot. I love you for how ridiculously fun your battle system is, and how spiff your graphics are, and for how I can spend hours just wasting time in your dungeons.

Therefore, I would like to say this: I do not ever, ever want to be subjected to a two hour dungeon crawl with no save space in sight after finding no end to nifty things and finally advancing the plot a bit- I do not want to finally escape from this dungeon crawl from hell, filled with traps and other nasty things, and decide to unlock a new door with one of my brand new sigils, only to find a HUNGRY, SNARLING DRAGON behind it.

So knock that shit off, yo. It ain't funny.

"Okay, Ashley, you have three choices! Door number one, door number two, and door number three! One door leads to riches and fame and shiny, shiny weapons; one door leads to safety and a save space; and another door leads to SNARLING, HUNGRY DOOM. Which will it be?"
"...Door number...two."
"I'm sorry! You chose SNARLING, FANGED DEATH WITH WINGS!!! Too bad, try again!"
"*screams like a little girl and runs away*"
*CHOMP*

*_* Easily traumatized- but I did make it to a save space, in the end. It just took me far too long, and there were far too many minions of evil in my way. Throwing in the dragon at the last minute was just unfair. *sulks*

Expect Saturday to be filled with much babble, and perhaps a transvestite or three. We're going to see Rocky Horror. *dances the time warp*

*falls over* ^_^