Brief sandsib excerpt and whinng

Somebody tell my muse to stop telling me to write sandcest. I'll write the stupid grave robbing idea, I swear, I just refuse to write any sandcest beyond Shukaku perving on Temari occasionally.

My inner Gaara (who is currently sleeping in Vlad's bed, much to Farfarello's displeasure) would just break down and cry if I wrote sandcest. Just curl up into a little ball and make with the tears, tears everywhere. And it would be pathetic. And I would feel horrible. So I'm not going to do it. Hence, the muse needs to quit it.

On the plus side, the grave robbing thing pleases me, conceptually, because I adore Kankurou, and he's amazingly morbid when he wants to be. This is not him being morbid; that comes later.

"Wood, Sand, and Bone"

Temari looks like their mother, who was deadlier than any sand viper, but seemed soft, so soft. So Temari ties her hair in knots (their mother's was always perfectly combed and pinned) and only smiles when drawing blood (their mother always smiled so gently, but she was a poisoner at heart). She made herself hard and cold and sharp, but the shape of her face is still delicate and feminine, and unmistakeably that of a woman fifteen years dead.

Gaara looks like their father, which is why he lets his hair grow untamed and why he smears kohl around his eyes to make the green (strange and water colored in a country too accustomed to stone and sand) stand out more. It's why he won't allow mirrors in the hallways, and why there is no longer a row of portraits behind the Kazekage's desk. It would be difficult to mistake him for his predecessor, regardless; one look at the way he cares for his village gives him away.

Kankurou has hidden behind his puppets for too long; he no longer remembers the shape of his own face beneath the paint. It's easier to cover his hair (blond and unruly, like their mother's) and shade his eyes (dark, like their father's) than see himself in his siblings and photographs of the dead.

Song call- Don Henly, "Boys of Summer"

Nobody on the road
Nobody on the beach
I feel it in the air
The summer’s out of reach
Empty lake, empty streets
The sun goes down alone
I’m drivin’ by your house
Though I know you’re not home

But I can see you-
Your brown skin shinin’ in the sun
You got your hair combed back and your sunglasses on, baby
And I can tell you my love for you will still be strong
After the boys of summer have gone

I never will forget those nights
I wonder if it was a dream
Remember how you made me crazy?
Remember how I made you scream
Now I don’t understand what happened to our love
But babe, I’m gonna get you back
I’m gonna show you what I’m made of

I can see you-
Your brown skin shinin’ in the sun
I see you walkin’ real slow and you’re smilin’ at everyone
I can tell you my love for you will still be strong
After the boys of summer have gone

Out on the road today, I saw a black flag sticker on a cadillac
A little voice inside my head said, "Don’t look back. You can never look back."
I thought I knew what love was
What did I know?
Those days are gone forever
I should just let them go but-

I can see you-
Your brown skin shinin’ in the sun
You got that top pulled down and that radio on, baby
And I can tell you my love for you will still be strong
After the boys of summer have gone

I can see you-
Your brown skin shinin’ in the sun
You got that hair slicked back and those wayfarers on, baby
I can tell you my love for you will still be strong
After the boys of summer have gone
- Don Henly, "Boys of Summer"

I like the cover by The Ataris much better, because it's got a hell of a lot more energy- but mostly I just love this song. It's the ultimate summer song, really, the epitome of vacation in July with friends at the beach. It's got more of a highschool vibe than anything else, but I don't care.

It never fails to make me smile, and that's all that really matters.

Song call- Poe- "A Rose"

Jezebel from Israel
Who never read a book
Charmed the literati
And a smile was all it took.

I was laughing with Picasso
When she first entered the room
But Gershwin, Tristan Tzara
And Man Ray saw her too
There was never any doubt
All would try to take her home
But she refused their every move
Preferred to be alone

And a rose...a rose is a rose

Zelda had a breakdown
Fitzgerald hit the bar
His hand was broken, words were spoken
Didn't get too far.
Hemmingway was smoother
More debonair and fun
But he would say her repartee
Was meaner than a gun.

And a rose...
A rose is a rose is a rose is a rose
Said my good friend Gertrude Stein
She knows that I go to the ol' Deux Magots
And I drink Pernod through the night.
Jezebel from Israel
Who never read a book,
She charmed the literati
And a smile was all it took.

Before her Joyce will babble
And Pound has gone insane.
Eliot is paralyzed by
Thoughts of April rain.
When she refused Lennin
He vowed to start a war
Stravinsky beat The Rite of Spring
Right there on the floor.

And a rose...a rose is a rose
A rose is a rose is a rose is a rose
Said my good friend Gertrude Stein
She knows that I go to the ol' Deux Magots
And I drink Pernod through the night

And then one night she's missing
A riot soon began
No one could stand the thought of Jezzie with another man
I raced down winding streets
I broke into her house
You'll never guess who Jezebel
Was kissing on the couch...

A rose...a rose is a rose...
Hi Jezzie. Hi there Gertrude
Am I interrupting something?
A rose is a rose is a rose is a rose...
-Poe, "A Rose"

What? Yes. Jazz. *melts into a puddle of goo* *jazz-tastic goo*

If I had to choose voices for my characters, this is Len's. Sex on legs, baby. It's no wonder half the heavenly host wanted to bang her. (By half the heavenly host, I actually just mean Catenus and occasionally Lucifer, but that's beside the point.)

naruto babble

So, the latest Naruto chapter?

I love Kisame. I love him so, so much. I'm even halfway fond of Itachi, even if he is a moron. (Squee, Kisame!)

Naruto gets the best facial expressions- the look he gives Kakashi over the whole "teamwork" thing is priceless. It's either a sign of Naruto's maturity (actually valuing teamwork) or his eagerness to fight. I'm hoping it's the former, though it's probably partly the latter.

Ch'. My inspiration really does work by induction; that's going to be the new blog title, I think. And I'll rearrange the links a bit, since that needs to be done...more, though, I need to finish my poems and at least one response (it's a sneeze, a fucking sneeze, why am I having so much trouble with this?) and I need to get supplies, ink, paper.

The depth of my experience is like unto a fucking puddle.
*sigh*

And now, your moment of Blindsided:

Naruto's bare feet tore gouges in the stone as he skidded away from Itachi. He shook ash out of his hair, grinning ferally. "You guys like playing with fire, right?" The hems of his pants were smoldering slightly; he ignored them. "You wanna play with fire, I'll give you fire! Kage Bunshin!" Three Narutos, in a row. They all opened their eyes at the same time, three identical sets of inhuman, slit pupiled fox eyes.

"Kitsunenomen!"

The last thing anyone saw was a wall of fire and nine lashing tails.

Naruto fic- To Carthage, Burning

To Carthage, Burning

Experimental, wanktastical tribute to the Kakashi Gaiden.

Ugh. That's it, I'm done. The tenses are completely off- I hate writing in present tense, but it lost a lot of it's effectiveness in past tense. Unfortunately, I know I missed a few spots when changing it over (never mind that I went over the damn thing with a fine tooth comb- there are still parts that read awkwardly and I don't know how to fix them).

Blaaarg. I need to do homework, but I'd rather sleep for a week and a half.

As for the title? I'm a fangirl. A silly, stupid fangirl. And now I'm going to be thinking of Obito as Tireseias- Oh Lord, thou pluckest me out, burning.

Damn you, T S Eliot. And damn you, Naruto.

Ugh. *frustrated*

Thicke, "Stupid Things"

Just charge it to my account
I hope I haven't gone over my limit
With interest rates so swift
No need to scream and shout
No doubt if women are from Venus now
I'll get to them somehow

All I want to do is please you
Please myself by living my life too

And all the stupid things I do
Have absolutely no reflection on
How I feel about you
How I feel about
All the stupid things I do
Have absolutely no reflection on
How I feel about you
How I feel about you, yeah

Oh yes I recall
Skipping on breakfast to play basketball
Then feeling two feet small
Sometimes you read like William Shakes
Your scent is sweet like Betty Crocker bakes
I'd love to have your cake and eat it too

All I want to do is please you
Please myself by living my life too

And all the stupid things I do
Have absolutely no reflection on How I feel about you
How I feel about
All the stupid things I do have absolutely no reflection on
How I feel about you
How I feel about you yeah

And all the stupid things I do
Have absolutely no reflection on How I feel about you
How I feel about
Oh how I feel about you
How I feel about you yeah
- Thicke, "Stupid Things"

Same guy who did "Lazy Bones." I love this song- it's an amazingly stupid song, but that's the point. And it's great. I mean, cake. That's the greatest pickup line in the world- but then, I am going to be spending the night baking banana bread. So never mind, I'm a little biased.

I'm also a sap. We all know this. But hey, at least this song has nothing to do with Naruto. I just cut out all of the Naruto wank to put in the next post.

I lose.

Dreamscrape- Sestina

Standing alone in the room, I am struck dumb by the blue
of the sky through the window, its subtle
colors shifting like the strange potential
of un-rippled water before the stone falls.
Enraptured, I watch the tiny cattle integrate
themselves into the landscape, which previously was bare.

An veiled man appears beside me and strips me bare;
the room is not cold but my fingers are blue.
He tells me it is time for me to integrate
myself into society, the blade in his hand unsubtle
in its warning, should I think to resist. Night falls
outside, as though it, too were aware of the potential

for disaster here. He says I have the potential
to be an upstanding citizen; sickened, I cannot bear
the thought of it. Rather than wait for his axe to fall
on my exposed neck, I flee through the blue
window, into the now gray night; gone are the subtle
sky colors. The cattle gather, excited; "Ain't it great?"

they ask, as their numbers change over time. I cannot integrate
this equation, though I tremble with electric potential,
and am shot through from toe to crown with a subtle,
insidious voltage. The current dances over my bare
nerves, stripped like wires to their copper cores. The blue
sparks shower my bovine audience like waterfalls

of violent light. Suddenly anti-derivative, the sky falls
and the cows go too, leaving as they came, with the integration
of new elements into the landscape. Figures in blue
surround me, dancing, singing, revelling in the potential
for joy in all things. Sparks still fly from my bare
soul, and I embrace the dancers, as filled with Sappho's subtle

fire as they are. Without music, we dance to the subtle
vibrations of the emotion, the rising and falling
of heartbeats marking time for the rhythm of bare
feet. In the predawn graylight we integrate
our voices into the morning-song; the air hums with potential,
and the sun explodes into being out of the blue.

The sky is unsubtle in its attempts to integrate
our whirling dervish dance of falling potential
into its bare and breathtaking expanse of blue.
---------------

What? Grammar? Cease your crazy talk!

I think, when I rewrite it, I may change a few of the words; "subtle," as much as I love it as a word, really doesn't work all that well in a sestina. I'm not getting rid of "integrate" or "potential," though.

It's funny how much easier it is to write a sestina when you aren't obligated to make sense. :P

Index of Song Lyrics

Song Call Index, 2002-2005

Barenaked Ladies, Alcohol
Barenaked Ladies, The Flag
Barenaked Ladies, When I Fall

Blind Melon, No Rain

Bob Dylan, All Along the Watchtower (by way of Jimi Hendrix)

Bonnie Rait, I Can't Make You Love Me

Breaking Pangaea, Wedding Dress

Carbon Leaf, Desperation Song
Carbon Leaf, Life Less Ordinary

Chad Kroeger, Hero

Chumbawamba, Scapegoats

Crowded House, Don't Dream It's Over
Crowded House, Private Universe
Crowded House, Weather With You

The Cure, Love Song

Don Henly, Boys of Summer
Don Henly, Walking in Memphis

Dresden Dolls, Coin Operated Boy

Duncan Sheik, A Body Goes Down
Duncan Sheik, Genius
Duncan Sheik, Half Life
Duncan Sheik, In the Absence of Sun
Duncan Sheik, On a High

Fall Out Boy, All The Gin Joints In All The World
Fall Out Boy, Sugar We're Going Down

Gavin Degraw, I Don't Wanna Be

Guster, Demons

Howie Day, Collide

Jason Mraz, Sing Glory
Jason Mraz, Sunday Night, Not Again
Jason Mraz, On Love, In Sadness
Jason Mraz, Dream Life of Rand McNally

KT Tunstall, Another Place to Fall

Lady in the Dark, Saga of Jenny

Live, Heaven

Loreena McKennit, The Old Ways

Lostprophets, We Still Kill the Old Way

Maroon 5, Harder to Breathe

Matchbox 20, Long Day

Metric, Raw Sugar

Michelle Cross, Cold Light

Mighty Mighty Bosstones, Nevermind Me

Natalie Imbruglia, Sunlight

Nightwish, Bless the Child

The Offspring, Self Esteem
The Offspring, Staring at the Sun

Our Lady Peace, One Man Army
Our Lady Peace, Annie

Poe, A Rose
Poe, Hey Pretty

Postal Service, Recycled Air

Seal, Kiss From a Rose

Shawn Mullins, Rockabye

Spock's Beard, The Doorway
Spock's Beard, Walking on the Wind

Sting, Tomorrow We'll See

Tears for Fears, Mad World (by way of Gary Jules)

Tree 63, The Glorious Ones

Tori Amos, Sorta Fairytale
Tori Amos, Winter

U2, Elevation

The Unicorns, Child Star
The Unicorns, Tuff Ghost

Thicke, Lazy Bones
Thicke, Stupid Things

Yoko Kanno and the Seatbelts, Blue
Yoko Kanno and the Seatbelts, Don't Bother None
Yoko Kanno and the Seatbelts, Gotta Knock a Little Harder

Pink, Just Like a Pill

polka dot slot machine

polka dot slot machine
baby, i'm ensnared by your smile
and all those other cliches
you keep in your teeth, still
bleeding, fresh torn from
the womb.
it's april, that cruel courier
month, the one that says it's
bringing sunshine but always
delivers rain and winds
that blow harder than they
should, like you and your filed
down teeth and the way
you tease.
polka dot slot machine
give another whirl, your skirts
are flying and i'm not even trying
to pretend that i won't look.
it's april that liminal month,
full of desperate urges and
whiplash surges of lust
and violence;
the wheels in your eyes
are promising fortune, but
your mouth never yields more
than steel.
polka dot slot machine, i'll
take what i can get, and hoard
my coins til you get tired
of pumping out those lies
(they're like babies, baby,
they'll leave stretch marks
if you're not careful).
mouth on overdrive, brain on neutral,
you stopped listening long ago
and god only knows what
you're really hearing,
because "subtle" ain't in my
lexicon, even if it's all you know.
polka dot slot machine,
keep turning, turning;
i'm in love with a cliche.

----------

Aw, hell, I don't know. I got another ten lines of sestina to write, and that bloody phrase got stuck in my head. I feel like a dada poetry generator, rocking back and forth and back and forth, a perpetual poetry motion machine...

And fuck if I don't already know "subtle" isn't in my lexicon, but I still enjoy it, even if I'm not very good at it. Sounds are fun to play with, and I'll get better eventually. Hopefully. Gourd only knows.

My dreams have no connotation; while I'm dreaming them, whether I'm being drugged and raped by space creatures or fed cake 'til I burst, the "me" in the dream doesn't really care. It's all part of the show; I may wake up and find the implications slightly disturbing, but the dream itself? If it was a proper dream, I'll just ride the high from the sensory details. Doesn't matter if those details are painful or not- having my skin blister or lying in feathers, it's all the same to me. The dream where I was nearly burned to death was a good one, as far as these things go- it hurt like hell, and I woke up aching afterwards, but the story itself was engrossing, and that was enough to make it enjoyable.

I'm something of a freak, I know. I haven't been remembering my dreams lately, and I miss them.

And now! Back to the sestina.

Handfull of Naruto recs and two others

Couple of recs, just because;

When the Cat's Away by Vee-sempai. Really cute, slightly smutty NaruSasu get-together one-shot. It's kind of a blanket scenario; Naruto and Sasuke are forced to share a bed on a mission, and Naruto starts asking questions that Sasuke would rather not answer. All of Naruto's lines fill me with outrageous joy; his characterization feels particularly apt, even if Sasuke is a little bit on the touchy-feely (in a prickly sort of way) side. Be quiet, I like fluff.

Still Life in Monochrome by Kimi no Vanilla. Kakashi angst. I actually suggest that you read all of this author's fics, because they're all wonderful (and there's so many of them..._. They ooze angst like nobody's business, but they do it well. She's definitely one of my absolute favorite Naruto writers.

Softly Say Goodnight by Chevira Lowe. Sannin-fic, focusing on Orochimaru's descent into eeeevil. Well written and well characterized. Chevira is another one of my favorite Naruto authors, and I recommend all of her other fics as well. There's a lot of them, but they're all worth it- I'm especially fond of the SasuSaku ones, oddly enough, and the Kakashi angst. Mmm, Kakashi angst.

Forests in the Desert Sand by cneko. Gaara/Naruto future-fic AU; Naruto gets kicked out of Konoha because of the kyuubi, and goes off to live in a hut in the mountains for eight years. Gaara goes looking for him, because really- what else is he supposed to do with his time? Naruto has a kid, but she's not as rabidly annoying as she could have been; the whole story is full of excessive sap, but it's cute, and Gaara is snarky. It may be a little implausible, but it's fairly well written. It's got a sequel and a few side stories that are pretty good, as well.

Crossover Madness!

To the Living by vagabond sal. FMA/FFIX crossover; Vivi/Al. No, seriously. This is beautiful beautiful beautiful writing, and I'm not even particularly attached to FMA or FFIX, but this is an amazing story. And it's a Full Metal Alchemist and Final Fantasy IX crossover. Done. 'Nuff said. Finite. Go, read it now. I promise you will not be disappointed, though perhaps you will be heartbroken. So good.

Whatcha Gonna Do, Lil' Buckaroo? by jennyo. Cowboy Bebop/Firefly. So, so, so wonderful. Because when you really think about it, Ed and River really do belong together, and it's only a matter of time before Serenity runs into the Bebop, if only because Spike and Co are out for the bounty on their heads. But- dude, Ed/River. OTP, right there. Wonderful fic, and the concept of it just kills me dead.

I'm done.

babble babble babble

Working on the end of Sorrows and Rejoicings; it's still awkward and unweildy, and the whole thing does not flow but limps instead. However, I like it, and possibly someone else will, too, if excessive angst is their thing.

I don't know what it is about the Naruto fandom that makes me want to indulge in being an angst whore, but it's just so easy.

S&R is full of angst; it angsts like an amazingly angsty thing, but Naruto himself mostly refrains from indulging in that angst. He's tired, he's dying, and he's resigned to his fate- but he's not going to give up, regardless. He sees everyone giving up around him, and it pisses him off; he doesn't want to deal with that. Even on his deathbed, he manages to be more alive than most of the other characters.

What it boils down to is the fact that I really love Naruto, and I always do horrible things to my favorite characters.

And now, your moment of Blindsided:

"In your presence even a batallion of body builders could pass the New York State driving exam."

"Damnit, Gaara, stop it with your fucking Zen!"

feeling random

Blarg blarg blarg. *curls up into a ball and dies* I hate having such lame problems with my body, seriously.

Anyway. I'm curious. If you are reading this, take a look at that little link at the bottom of the post- the one that says "whisper in my ear." That's the comment link, lovelies. The one nobody uses; I understand this is mostly because no one reads my blog (can't blame 'em, really), but I know some people do. And yeah, I know the comments are kind of buggy sometimes, and you can only post so much text, but still. It's there for a reason.

So leave me a comment. I don't care what you say, or who you are- in fact, if you can't think of anything, just copy and paste a few sentences from some other open window on your computer. Bonus points if it's porn. Bonus points if you came here through a search engine, looking for porn. That's where most of my hits come from, if the tracker is to be believed.

Boffo- a woman walks into a bar...

I don't often write things in script form, but since a lot of my scenes are heavy on dialogue, it's nice to not have to worry about narrative sometimes. I started this about a year ago, and only just got around to posting it. I *heart* Dei and Lyra in all their dysfunctional glory.
-----------------
(The bar appears respectable, if somewhat run down at first glance; the clientele is mostly made up of older, working class men and aging, dried up intellectuals. Upon closer inspection, beneath the layers of dust and grime, the furniture and tables are all fairly new, the bar is stocked with a variety of expensive liquors, and the small stage a the back is set up with state of the art and high quality equipment. Tonight's act has just finished her set, and is sitting at the bar with Dei, who has been somewhat unsuccessfully trying to hit on her since she first started singing.)

Dei
I am an overused cliche, that's what I am!
Lyra
You're drunk, that's what you are.
Dei
Precisely! I'm a spoiled intellectual, an exceedingly attractive, alcoholic rich boy with nothing to live for.
Lyra
Are you really?
Dei
And you- you're the beautiful, talented, razor-witted down-on-her-luck woman who's going to redeem me and make my life worth living.
Lyra
Funny, I don't think that's in my script.
Dei
It's perfect- we even met at a bar, where I noticed your obviously underappreciated talents because they stirred me out of my drunken stupor. And I bought you a drink-
Lyra
You haven't actually done that yet.
Dei
Bartender! -And you first felt scorn for my dissolute state, but then you decided that there might be a real person beneath the crumbled bits of bar peanuts and the haze of alcohol and decided to stick around and listen to my sad, woeful tale.
Lyra
Right. How sad and woeful is it?
Dei
Oh, very. Tragic, even.
Lyra
Tragic. Right.
Dei
No, really. This is the stuff Greek plays are made of.
Lyra
What, daddy didn't buy you a pony when you were seven?
*pause. they stare at each other.*
Right, that was uncalled for. How rich did you say you were?
Dei *pointing*
Six of those drinks on the menu? Named after me.
Lyra
That doesn't make you rich, that makes you an alcoholic, and we've already established that.
Dei
That piano, that sound equipment, those bottles of alcohol, all of the new furnishings, not that you can tell they're new because somebody refuses to clean properly. My donations to a place that's kept me from going home for years.
Lyra
The Steinway? You bought the Steinway?
Dei
Your voice does it credit. *he raises his glass*
Lyra
Flattery will get you nowhere.
Dei
You should see half the places I've been. But flattery nothing, it's true.
Lyra
Okay, so you're richer than God, and you spend your days in a hole in the wall getting smashed off your ass; I don't see what that has to do with me.
Dei
Everything! You need money to get your career off the ground- money, or connections. I have both. I'll be your producer or your manager, or whatever the word is, and we'll go on the road together. Or we can hire a manager and I'll just be your piano player.
Lyra
You can play?
Dei
Can I play, she asks? Can I play? Joe, tell this woman I can play.
Malcolm
He beats me at chess every time. And my name ain't Joe.
Dei
You have a lousy sense of strategy. I'm talking about the piano, Joe. The piano.
Malcolm
Oh, that. Yeah, he can play.
Lyra
Prove it.
Dei
*cracks knuckles* Sure. Any requests?
Lyra
Oh, I don't know, surprise me.
Dei
*plays a few arpeggios, and a few chords; pulls down the microphone* Hey there, everyone, Miss Lyra's done for the night, so you're stuck with me again.
Lyra
Again?
Malcolm
Yeah, ever since he got the piano, he plays it like every other night. It was his idea we start takin' in music acts, 'cuz he got tired of listenin' to himself sing. Everybody else was too drunk to care.
Lyra
He sings, too?
Malcolm
Yeah, sounds kinda like whatsisname, the blind guy.
Lyra
Stevie Wonder?
Mal
No, not him, the other one.
Lyra
Ray Charles?
Mal
Nah, the other guy, the tenor.
Lyra
Andrea Bocelli?
J
Damned if I know. I look like a musician to you? He's good, though. Does a killer Billy Ray Cyrus impression.
Dei
*speaking into the mic* I do Billy Joel, too, but only when I'm drunk! *he winks at someone in the audience* Right-o, everybody, this's one of my favorites, but I've refrained from playing it for you in the past since it really is that cliché. But you know what? I like Leonard Cohen. Fun times, and all that shit.
*the arpeggios get more organized, and a fairly familiar tune sounds*
Dei
*singing*
Put on my blue suede shoes and I
boarded the plane
touched down in the land of the
Delta blues, in the middle of the pouring rain...
Malcolm
Aw, god, I love this song!
Lyra
He's not a tenor. At all.
Dei
*singing*
Then I was walking in Memphis, walking with my feet
ten feet off of Beale...
Lyra
But damn, does that piano sound good.
Dei *singing*
And Reverend Green, be glad to see you,
When you haven't got a prayer...
Lyra
And so does he. *knocks back her drink*
Dei *singing*
Put on my blue suede shoes...in the middle of the pouring rain...
Lyra
Give me another, would you?
Malcolm
Sure. He's something, ain't he? Still beats me at chess, too.
Lyra
He's a shiftless alcoholic, and he still hasn't proven anything. That's an easy song.
Dei *smiling*
And now for a purely instrumental interlude...*plays Flight of the Bumblebee* Just for you, Miss Lyra. I always liked this song, you know. Good for those long, sleepless nights when the voices in your head just won't shut up...
Lyra *shouting across the bar*
Alright, I get the point. You can buy me another drink.
*random bar flies hoot; she glares*
Dei
Thank you, ladies and gents, but that's all you're getting from me tonight. I'm letting you off easy. *shakes hands with a couple at one of the tables on his way back to the bar*
Lyra
Okay, so you're not bad. But you're still crazy, and I don't see why I should trust you, much less let you play piano for me.
Dei
You've got talent, and I used to have talent. I don't want to see yours go to waste- what do you do for a living, wait tables? Take phone calls? You should be able to sing. I can make that possible for you. I wouldn't really end up playing for you, except maybe at gigs like this. Like you said, I'm not bad. But with proper backup and mixing, and a real recording studio- you'd be amazing.
Lyra
You want me to go corporate? Didn't my songs scream "bleeding heart liberal anti-capitalist hippie" loud enough for you?
Dei
Actually, they screamed, "Notice me, I have talent and ambition, and fuck you if you're not going to listen." Trust me on this, I'm a linguistic expert when it comes to pianos. I want you to meet with Opal Karolus tomorrow afternoon. Three thirty good for you?
Lyra
Karolus? The cello player?
Dei
Wife of Tyler Karolus, owner of Karolus Incorporated, the guy who owns the ground you walk on and the shirt on your back. She's CEO of Firestar Records, particularly the branch for bleeding heart liberal anti-capitalist hippies like you, known as Melisma Enterprise. You know, the non-profit one Opal runs out of pocket for new artists like yourself. But yeah, she plays cello, too.
Lyra
I think you were less creepier when you were drunk and trying to marry me.
Dei
This is all part of my nefarious plot, don't worry. Once you've got a record out, you'll go platinum in about a year, and then the media will ask you the secret of your success, and you'll have to say it was me, and then we'll be married. Because you'll have given me a reason to live again, and I'll have given you a career.
Lyra
Way less creepy when you're drunk. How am I supposed to meet with Opal Karolus tomorrow afternoon?
Dei
One moment, please. *pulls out cellphone, hits speed dial* Mornin' beautiful, it's me. Yeah, I'm not dead, tell Ty before he has a heart attack. Christ! No... no...yes, I have been drinking, no, I'm not prank calling you- Opal! ...Okay, can you be in the Chicago office tomorrow by three thirty? ...Oh. *looks up at Lyra* Actually, is noon better for you? It's better for her-
Lyra
Noon is fine.
Dei
Excellent. Yeah, she's great. No, I haven't slept with her. She thinks I'm a loser. ...Okay, see if I send either of you Christmas gifts this year. Christ! And don't wake up Tyler, I'm not talking to him. I'm talking to you, you're the one with the record label. ...Melisma. Definitely Melisma. Maybe Angel Dust after she goes platinum, but Melisma to start out. I told you, I'll cut a record with you when Tyler does. We should do a threesome. ...Bitch. Yeah, yeah. ...I know, quit making me feel guilty. 'Kay. Love you too. Bye. *shuts phone*
Lyra
Now what, I'm supposed to sleep with you out of gratitude?
Dei
Miss Lyra, I know who and what is in my league and who isn't. At the moment, you aren't, and I fully understand and accept that. *sighs, raises glass, takes a drink* When I was in my prime...but never mind. I promise you, if you go to that meeting tomorrow, you won't be disappointed.
Lyra
Okay. Clearly I'm crazy, since you could have just been talking to anyone on that phone, and I have no guarantee that there's actually a meeting with Opal Karolus waiting for me at Firestar Records tomorrow. But I'll go, since you did serenade me with Leonard Cohen, and since that Steinway was a pleasure to play on.
Dei
Thank you. You won't regret this, I promise you. Can I buy you another drink?
Lyra
*laughing* No, I think six is well past my limit. I need to get sleep if I'm going to face the music industry tomorrow.
Dei
I'll take you home, then. It's the least I can do for getting you drunk.
Lyra
I can take a cab just fine, thanks.
Dei
No problem, wait right here.
Lyra
I said-damn.
Mal
Creepy bastard, ain't he? Does that kind of thing all the time- he gets an idea in his head, he don't let go 'til it's gone.
Lyra
Are you trying to make me feel better about this or not?
Mal
Ah, you don't got nothin' to worry about. He wouldn't hurt a fly, unless it tried to bite him. You don't bite him, he don't bite back.
Lyra
Your powers of metaphor leave something to be desired, Mr. Bartender.
Mal
Powers of what? What's a metaphor?
Dei
You pick your teeth with it, I think. Put Miss Lyra's drinks on my tab, Joe. Miss Lyra, your cab awaits.
Malcolm
(as they leave) My name ain't Joe!
Lyra
*stopping at cab door* Hey, thanks- you never did get a chance to tell that tragic tale of yours.
Dei
Nah, it's not that tragic. I'll tell you some other time.
Lyra
*smiles* I'd like that, I think.
Dei
*grinning* I'm glad. Good luck with your meeting tomorrow. *helps her into cab*
Lyra
Yeah, thanks. Hey- *leans out the window, grabs his hand* Here's my number. *scribbles it on his hand* Don't get too many ideas, okay? I might just want you to play backup for me.
Dei
Of course. *takes a card out of his jacket* And if you ever need anything- anything at all, ever- you can find me at that address, or with that number. I mean it. If you need a babysitter in twenty years, drop me a line. Or...if you just want to talk, I'll be there.
Lyra
Th-thanks. *reads card; her eyes widen*
Dei
*smiling* No, thank you. *steps back, bowing slightly as cab pulls away*
(He watches the cab drive off, still grinning, then walks down the street, whistling)
D
*singing* Tell me, are you a Christian child, and I said, "Ma'am, I am tonight!"
Walking in Memphis...
-----------------------

Oh, Dei. Such a spaz. *luffs the spaz* Of course, when Lyra does go platinum and people ask her the secret to her success, she doesn't even mention Dei. He gets over it, eventually. (No he doesn't.)

Jason Mraz- Sing Glory (That'll Do)

Say when I wake up
and the day begins,
will I hold my breath
and count to ten,
or will it be three?
We'll see, we'll see.
It depends on which day of the week.

So I sing out, I sing out loud.
I'm just one tiny motherfucker singin' proud.
Singin' glory glory hallelujah.
Yeah that'll do...Say that'll do.

In the arms of a city
that holds no trace
of a face and the face replaces you and me.
So go make a life
and not a living
singin' glory glory hallelujah
yeah that'll do

There's things to know
so we're told,
but the days they keep rollin on so
painfully playin' slow,
and there's ways to grow yeah
but blow by blow
see it all gets lost somewhere now
see I already forgot.

So sing out, sing out loud
you're just another motherfucker singin' proud
singin' glory, remind me, glory hallelujah
yeah that'll do, yeah that'll do

see we should all keep pretending
that our dreams are patent pending.
You should see some of the scenes that I've seen.
And I know love.
I've flown above and beyond,
but its still too long of a wait.

So I sing out, I sing out loud
see we can be ten thousand motherfuckers singin' proud
singin' glory, glory hallelujah
say that'll do, yeah that'll do

I sing my stories for you
you will sing for me too
and together say we can make it through.
They say when you're singin' you're prayin' twice
don't that sound nice
so rise up, come on now, and give it a try

so sing out sing out loud
we can be six billion motherfuckers singin' proud
singin' glory oh glory glory hallelujah
yeah that'll do yeah that'll do

This is no ordinary world
we need extraordinary glory
yeah that'll do
yeah that'll do

say that'll do
- Jason Mraz, "Sing Glory"

Dear Jason Mraz,
Marry me.

Totally my new favorite mellow/depressive/stabbing the world song. Replaces "Gabriel" by Lamb, it's that wonderful.

Welcome to Tuesday night.

Postal Service- Recycled Air

take a breath and pull the air in 'til there's nothing left
I'm feeling green like teenage lovers between the sheets

Ba ba ba ba ...

Knuckles clenched to white as the landing gear retract for flight
My head's a balloon inflating with the altitude

Ba ba ba ba...

I watch the patchwork farms' slow fade into the ocean's arms
And from here they can't see me stare
The stale taste of recycled air
I watch the patchwork farms' slow fade into the ocean's arms
Calm down, release your cares
The stale taste of recycled air
- Postal Service, "Recycled Air"

Mellow music. Also music for saying goodbye to people; travel music. I should do a mix to that, though I'm too lazy to ever get around to doing it. There are lots of good songs out there for going on journeys, though. This is probably one of my favorites.

Jason Mraz- Tonight, Not Again

The night.
She brushed her hands upon my flushed cheek
Smelled of childhood remnants of a dusty weeping willow
Clouds soothe, shredded by the calico
We're oh so vast and quick as I was on my own now.

This time like every other time I believe that I never find
Another sweet little girl with sequined sea foam eyes
Ocean lapping voice smile coy as the brightest quiet span of sky
And I'm all alone again tonight not again, not again, not again.

And don't it feel alright, and don't it feel so nice...Lovely.

Still I'm unable to inhale all the riches
As I'm awkward as a wound on my bones
Still I've got cobblestone joints and plate glass points
As I'm all by myself tonight not again not again.

And don't it feel alright , and don't it feel so nice: Lovely.

Well if you should nervously break down
When its time for the shakedown, would you take it?
It's when you cry just a little, but you laugh in the middle that you've made it
And don't it feel alright? And don't it feel so nice.
Lovely.

Say it again. Lovely. So lovely. to do it again
Again. Loving again. It's coming again.
Lovely.
-Jason Mraz, "Tonight, Not Again"

If you know me (and you must, to be reading this, let's be honest here), you have no excuse to not be listening to Jason Mraz. None. Excuse denied.

I like to associate Jason Mraz with Dei for some reason; it's probably the voice, even if they have completely different voices. His tone, then, mellow and slightly unreal.

Today I learned that Dei's favorite pair of socks survived the car accident better than he did, and that he was driving to visit Tyler when it happened. Interesting.

I should stop falling in love with the men in my head; they're all taken, in one way or another.

...I should probably just stop falling in love. The musical stylings of Mr. Mraz always leave me more susceptible to the lighter emotions, I suppose. I still can't differentiate between romantic love and intense platonic love, and sexual attraction is such a strangely arbitrary thing.

I suppose I'm confused. This is a good place for me to be confused; not the best time, but finding the right location is half the battle, right?

I babble. It doesn't matter, and I doubt it ever will; I'm never that lucky.

Stella Maeroris babble

Post- apocalypse Theron (after Bren dies) loses his memory- it's not an immediate thing, like the Corpses' memories, but he just gradually forgets everything. He becomes The Voyance, and has no personality or identity beyond that; it's his job to oversee his city, to make sure his city prospers, and to make sure his city grows. Where he once had a personality, he has only an insatiable hunger for destruction.

He may actually be connected to the city in some way; it's an extension of his body. I'm sure Silverlock could have taught him to do something like that- Silver is evil in a way I'm not entirely comfortable contemplating, and he does end up being Theron's teacher. Silver's magic is all in the physical world, and his power comes from the connections between the physical and aetherial. The concept of "City" and the concept of "Theron" could be connected without a whole lot of trouble, and Theron would be able to draw off that power.

That's irrelevant, really. What's important is that Theron doesn't know who he is anymore than Walker can remember who Brenon was. Muse might, but she's crazy.

Muse is like Walker- her name is her position, and she was the second Corpse Theron created. Like Walker, she is different from all the other citizens of Theron's city. She's a repository for memories. (This means that Stella probably is descended from Rozhaeonil, which makes her some sort of crazy fifth cousin to Bren and Mih, since foresight does run in their family.) Anyway, Muse gets all the memories that Theron siphons off when he makes a live person into a Corpse. I'm not sure what she does with them; recites them constantly, I suppose. She doesn't have her own memories or Bren's, because they were created through a different procedure.

The final scene on the rooftop (which is actually the initial scene, because it starts the flashback that is the entire story) is where Walker, with Stella's help, figures out how to force Theron to remember. Theron's memories weren't removed, he just forgot things naturally- forced them out of his head so he could keep on living, more or less. (Technically Theron is alive, in the sense that he never actually died. He's not human anymore, though.)

Once he remembers what he was- an Omnismith (and an asshole), Theron can use his powers as an Omnismith to rewrite everything. What he'll probably do is bring Brenon and Mih back to life (maybe Stella, too), and wipe out the entire country of Radrezhaea. If he's connected to the city, this will nearly kill him for good, but Bren and Mih are healers, and once the city is gone, the disturbances in the Threads will be gone and they'll be able to Craft easily again. So, Theron survives.

And they all live happily ever after, and Radrezhaea gets wiped off the face of the map for the fourth time in the history of this world. (First time, Dragon Wars before the creation of the gods. Second time, Dragon Revival, immediately before the splitting of Wisdom and Memory. That one was a doozy- Radra and Draco totally went batshit and ate the entire countryside. Third time, Radra's son and daughter had a deathmatch, and exploded most of everything.) Sheesh.

Of course, Brenon can't really let Theron off the hook for two hundred years of trying to take over the world with zombies. Also, that whole sleeping with his corpse thing? Not cool.
---------------

"Hey."

Theron, in typical Theron fashion, ignored him. Some things never changed.

"Theron." Bren sat down beside his friend and tore at the grass. The sky was still gray, and probably would be for a while yet, but the vegetation had come back with a vengeance. The trees were stunted and twisty, and the grass was dry and cut into his hands, but it wasn't concrete, and that was all that mattered. Theron continued to ignore him.

"Hello?" A clod of dirt struck Theron's sleeve and dropped off. Bren followed it with a handfull of the sharp edged grass. "Fire and Sand, Theron, would you look at me?" Finally impatient, Bren punched him in the shoulder. Hard.

"Shit!" Theron tipped over, as Bren had expected him to. Supreme ruler of the universe or not, he was still a scrawny little bastard, and Bren was immature enough to take pleasure in his ability to bludgeon Theron into submission. It was such a relief to be himself again; he was still Walker, but he wasn't only Walker anymore.

The dark haired man (still a boy, almost) glared up at Bren as he righted himself.

Bren ignored the glare. "You should have just acknowledged my presence the first time I tried to get your attention," he said mildly.

"You didn't have to hit me."

"Yeah, well, we all do things we don't have to do sometimes." He settled back into the grass with a sigh, digging his fingers into the dirt. Maybe in a few more weeks, they'd see the sun again. That would be nice. "And you'd have just sat there if I hadn't."

"What do you want?" Bren couldn't see Theron's face, but he knew the expression that went with that voice like he knew the intimate details of Solneki's spinal column.

"Nothin'. Just out enjoying the grass."

Theron snorted, but Bren ignored him this time. Being Walker had taught him the value of silence, and he still didn't know what to say to Theron. He wasn't sure there was anything to say.

On second thought, there definitely was. He let the silence stretch out a bit longer anyway, just to make Theron uncomfortable. "I can't believe you had sex with my dead body."

He'd never heard Theron make that particular noise before; Bren sat up slightly, and committed the new expression to memory. Priceless. He'd never actually seen Theron blush before, either.

"You were only a little dead." The way Theron curled in on himself was familiar; the position was taken right out of their childhood, and it looked vaguely awkward in Theron's adult body. Bren punched him again, lightly.

"Still. I was dead. That's totally not consensual." He grinned to take the sting out of the words; it felt good to smile again, even if his smile felt more like the edge of a knife than anything else.

"You weren't complaining." Theron's voice was muffled by his arms, but Bren could see the edges of his blush creeping down his neck. "And if it makes you feel any better, I thought you were still alive."

"Yeah, thanks, that helps. Don't lie to me to make me feel better. Asshole." He grabbed Theron's arm, and tried to wrestle him out of his defensive curl. "Come on, look at me. We're talking about this, okay? Flames, you're still underfed. When's the last time you ate?" His hand encircled Theron's wrist easily, and the bones felt fragile in his grip.

"Seventy three years ago." Theron wrenched his wrist out of Bren's grasp, but didn't hide his face again.

"Well that explains it, I guess. We'll have to make Mordant cook something. He's pretty good at it, you know, though I wouldn't put it past him to poison us all." He leaned back on his hands and looked thoughtfully up at the sky, seemingly unconcerned with the sudden change of subject. "You know what I've missed? Candied violets. When we get to Rothcar, we should see if we can find any. Maybe pick up some honey comb, for old time's sake, hm?"

"You were never this cruel, before." Theron's voice was low.

"I learned from the best." He punched Theron in the shoulder again, lightly. "Stop sulking. You've finally got what you wanted- I'll never forget you, now." Forgiveness was another matter entirely, of course, and not something Bren wanted to discuss now, if ever.

Theron flinched.

Enough of Walker survived in him to enjoy this. "It's not like I'm going to leave you. It's not like I can. We're all that's left of that world, us and Mih, and we'll stick together for Memory's sake, if nothing else. Speaking of Mih, though- I can kind of understand you having sex with my dead body, since you're never half as subtle as you think you are, but my sister?"

Theron finally smiled- it was a Theron smile, a combination of pure malice and wry amusement. "You want me to say it was because she looked like you, but really, she was just a warm body. Somewhat warm body. You know how it goes."

"You're sick," Bren said, conversationally. He lay back in the grass, arms folded behind his head. "Completely disgusting. Your mother should have eaten you when you were born."

If mentioning Shanreth affected Theron, he gave no indication of it. "I love you."

It wasn't exactly the answer Bren had expected, or even the answer he wanted, but it was probably the best he was going to get. "And they said you were the smart one."

"I am the smart one. You've learned a few new tricks, but you're still an idiot."

Familiar territory felt good, Bren reflected. The pieces of himself he'd been missing for so long were gradually returning, and it felt good. Some of the new things were good, too- Stella's smile in particular struck him as something very good indeed, and he could appreciate it no matter who he was. But this- pointless banter, casual insults- this was home.

Of course Theron loved him. Bren had known that since they were children; it hadn't meant anything then, and it didn't mean anything now. He doubted it ever would. There was no point in letting stupid things get between them.

"I've still never been out of the country, you know." The sudden shift in conversation was smooth; they'd had years of practice, after all. "Tell me about Rothcar?"

Theron tore up a handfull of grass and began weaving the stems together. "It's been a long time since I lived there. Things have probably changed."

"I know. Tell me what you remember, anyway."

Theron tilted his head back, smiling another little Theron-smile, the sad one. "Okay."

Bren closed his eyes and listened; lying in the grass like this, he could almost pretend nothing had changed.
---------------------------------------------------------

The major theme behind the last part of the story? Liminality. I keel myself ded, sometimes.

This was meant to be cute and vaguely humorous, but Walker is fuckin' weird, which means Bren is fuckin' weird.

I don't feel sorry for Theron; no one does. He knows his place in the world, and in Bren's life, and he's actually somewhat content with it. He'll never stop wanting, of course, but it won't ever matter enough to interfere with their friendship. Bren won't let it, and neither will he.

There's something symbolic in this, but there always is, and I'm glad to be able to give them all something resembling a happy ending.

more blindsided notes

Okay, so maybe the angst gets a little extreme in places. Maybe I shouldn't do all the horrible things that I want to do to Iruka- there's no logical reason for it, aside from the fact that I have no other way to get him on a rooftop with Kakashi and copious amounts of alcohol. (This does not result in sex, by the way. I still really like Iruka/Kakashi as a pairing, but I will concede that it requires a hell of a lot of backstory and set up to work, and most of the time, it doesn't work.) The problem with Iruka is that after three years, he loses his ability to relate to Naruto; the war with Sound deeply scars just about everybody, and Iruka gets hit worse than most.

I still adore Iruka, because he's awesome, but he doesn't have a big part in Blindsided. I do really want him to be Anbu, though, because he does kick ass, and because I want Konoha to be in a grim situation.

I'm not actually going to do the zombie baby thing; I may cut the baby thing out entirely, since Sasuke? Really, really can't deal with kids. It screws with the timeline, anyway; I don't want to abandon Naruto in Suna for a year, after all.

And honestly? Kabuto doesn't need anything else to make him creepy. He's just so cheerful and evil. And he won't tell me why he's doing any of the things he's doing. He dislikes Sasuke; there's a personality conflict there, as well as the fact that Sasuke is everyone's golden boy, and he despises that. He's not like Kimimaro or Haku; Orochimaru didn't validate his existence.

He's a slippery character, but I love him. "No one suspicious," indeed. *hearts*

Arguing about zombies naturally leads me to thinking about Stella Maeroris, and the fact that it doesn't have a plot. Sure, the backstory does, and I love the backstory, but I don't really know what happens in the second part of the story.

The Voyance hears about Stella's prophetic powers somehow- word travels fast in the Undercity, and the Voyance makes sure to have connections there, as well as in the upper city. Actually, he doesn't really concern himself with the upper city, as that's mostly inhabited by the living, and they have their own methods of policing themselves.

Originally, the Voyance was the leader of the organized crime in the city- this was before I knew who Theron was, when the entire story was just a scene between Stella and Walker at a bus stop. Walker was the Voyance's right hand man, and the Voyance was like a mafia don- the pimps and prostitutes and hitmen and drug dealers all answered to him. If people were caught trafficking in misteltoe without his go-ahead, they got knocked off by walker. If somebody didn't pay they're debts in time, Walker ripped out their internal organs.

There's still a lot of tension between the original story concept and the thing it's evolved into, and I need to work that out before I can understand where the plot is going.

It's fortunate that Theron still retains most of his Omnismith powers even after he becomes the Voyance; it means that when Walker tells him to fix all the shit he's done, he actually can. Omnismiths can do just about anything- they're godlike in that respect.

What probably happens is Theron wipes the slate clean- just starts over. With Razhia and Stella's help, he ought to be able to erase his own existence, and fix everything. It's something of a cop out, and I don't actually want to wipe him off the face of the planet- he's one of the most completely evil characters in my head (though he has his reasons), and I'm actually very fond of him. And Bren truely, deeply loves him, and would be sad without him. (Bren is straight like a really straight thing, for the record.)

I need to work more on the stupid thing, I suppose. Alas, I am lazy and obsessed with Naruto.

Random now-finished Kakashi thing

Hatake Kakashi did not smile. He told his sensei this once, over tea and shougi, and the man laughed, and ruffled his student's hair. Kakashi hadn't taken well to the hair ruffling; he was thirteen, and had very little to smile for. Obito and Rin had been dead for a year, and he'd been a member of the Anbu for half of it.

("Are you sure?" Sensei had asked, a little sadly. "The first duty of the Anbu is to protect the Hokage. Perhaps you should look into the Hunters, for a few months at least-"

"No." He'd been resolute in his decision. "The Anbu.")

His sensei was the Hokage now, and Kakashi always said the title without the honorific, unless he was on duty- "Yondaime," he'd say, and pause significantly, leaving space for the unspoken -sama. "You make horrible tea."

"And you say it with such a straight face, too," his superior sighed. "Anyone else would at least pretend to be joking, but not you." The beginnings of a smile curled up in the corners of his eyes.

"I don't joke. And it's true."

"I know." The tiny smile had grown a bit larger, spreading from his strange, clear eyes to the left side of his mouth in a crooked, almost-smirk.

Kakashi ignored the Yondaime's smile in favor of placing a shougi tab; he was going to win this game, but only because his sensei was letting him win.

Yondaime lost with a graceful nod, and then proceded to beat Kakashi into the ground for the next three games. When Kakashi glared at him, he merely shrugged and said, "Turn about is fair play, Kakashi-kun."

Kakashi's glare could have killed a lesser man, but his sensei only smiled- a real smile, not a hidden half-smile.

Yondaime smiled with his whole body sometimes; Kakashi still wasn't sure how he did it. He'd seen his teacher snap men's necks without hesitation, seen the man kill dozens of people without the slightest flicker in his eye; he'd lost precious comrades and students, seen them brutally murdered- but at the end of the day, when the mission was over, he'd look at Kakashi and smile that stupid, amazing, blinding smile, as though it were nothing at all- and he supposed it wasn't, not really.

Kakashi wondered if his sensei would still smile like that if he died. He wasn't sure why it hurt so much to think that he probably would.

"Cheer up, Kakashi-kun. You can't win them all." His old teacher poured more of the mediocre tea while Kakashi cleared the board again.

"I will eventually." He was a genius, wasn't he? He was only going to get better. Kakashi removed his mask to drink the tea; it wasn't something he did very often, now that he was a jounin. In fact, his sensei was the only person to have seen his face in months. "Right now, it would help if you stopped cheating."

His sensei laughed, completely remorseless. "You're breaking my heart, Kakashi-kun." He won the next game, too, without cheating. Kakashi thought sourly that if the man was trying to prove a point, there were better ways of doing it.

Several months later, wearing black on a bright autumn morning, Kakashi stood before the memorial stone with his hands in his pockets and his mask firmly in place.

He didn't think turn about was fair play. His eye slid over the old, familiar names on the memorial stone and settled on the newest name.

He didn't think it was fair, at all.
--------------------------

Blah blah blah- you know how, in the Kakashi Gaiden, Kakashi hurts his arm and Rin bandages it for him? He had his mask off for that. ZOMGZ.

This is also known as "In which I attempt to be subtle, but am probably just obscure."

Also? Yondaime is a spazz, and I love Kakashi angst. It's just so easy.

Proof that zombies improve everything.

What part of Blindsided am I going to be the most excited to write (aside from all that Naruto/Gaara sap)? Why, the zombie baby part, of course!

No, seriously. Kabuto? I originally didn't like him. Hated him, even- he gave off creepy child molester vibes, with his glasses and his creepy smile. But now I love him, because in my head he has grown to new levels of evil, evil beyond my wildest dreams.

I mean, even Theron isn't this evil, though Theron comes close. It's bad when your interpretations of fan characters start outdoing your original characters.

*shudder* Good thing the Naruto crew are mostly isolated and haven't started bleeding into the fringe universes; bad enough that Lee wants to be a dragon, but if Kabuto started hanging around with the Stella Maeroris crew, I'd have to put the whole lot of them in lockdown.

But, yeah. Kabuto. So totally the primary villain in this story. Oh, the evil. Oh, the love. Love and zombies! I actually feel sorry for Itachi now, and I didn't think that was possible- but he's just totally out of his depth when it comes to Kabuto's crazy.

Yess...Kabuto's crazy brings all the boys to the yard. *cackle*

Blindsided Chapter 1

Chapter One
Includes introductions to sneaky!pervert!Naruto, crazy!grammarwhore!Zen!Gaara, and TsunadeClone!Sakura.

I can't believe I actually posted it. *nervous* I'm sort of stuck with it now, and that's a little frightening- I have a tendency to get caught up in things and never finish them, but I really want to finish this. It'll take me forever, and it will be exhausting and frustrating and strange, but I think it's about time I stopped cowering in my own little corner and did something.

It's interesting how my focus has shifted from Kakashi and Iruka (who is still my favorite character- but that only means I'm going to be horribly, horribly cruel to him) to Sasuke and Gaara; Sasuke, in particular, fascinates me because he's such a fundamentally weak person. Gaara, on the other hand, has endless potential as a character, and the fact that we're finally seeing that in the manga makes me wildly, wildly happy.

I love my Zen!Gaara. In my head it makes perfect sense; driven to become more like Naruto, he does everything he can to keep hold of reality and sanity. Clearly the best way for him to do this is to take up calligraphy and meditation. *grin* It gives him a chance to clear his head and partition off the various voices that have taken up residence there. Gaara is still quite a few cards short of a full deck, but he's more of a functional human being now.

Why calligraphy? Well, he briefly considered doing sand paintings, but discarded that as too easy. I could go on for a very long time on why this version of Gaara is the way he is; what it boils down to in the end is that as much as I love the manga and the person Gaara has become, I don't think three years is enough to undo the second six years of his life. I definitely don't think three years is long enough to earn the village's complete acceptance.

So he turned to Zen, because Zen solves all problems. (Temari thinks it's cute, because that's how Temari deals with Gaara; Kankurou thinks it's hilarious, because that's how he deals with his brother.) He has a t-shirt; Kankurou gave it to him (because Kankurou doesn't really like talking to people any more than Gaara does, and makes up for all those years of being a crappy brother by giving the boy things), and it says "More Zen Than Thou" on the front, with an Om on the back. Naruto is the one who usually ends up wearing it, because the irony makes Gaara smile.

I want to do pictures; Gaara and Sasuke wearing "Naruto is my anti-Shukaku/Orochimaru" t-shirts; Gaara with his "More Zen" shirt, Sasuke with a "Bitch" shirt, and Naruto with a "Foxy Lady" shirt; the three of them in the naked sprawl from chapter 12...*cough* The problem with that scene is that you can really only see Gaara, Sasuke's head, and Naruto's ass. Not that there's anything wrong with any of those things, of course.

Gwar. I need to start writing chapter two, don't I? *sigh* Chapter one should have been another five pages longer, but I had to cut it down; five thousand words was more than enough. So chapter two will also get truncated, and the whole thing will probably run closer to fifteen chapters than eleven, depending on how much time I want to spend building up the relationship bits as opposed to the creep!Kabuto bits.

Still can't believe I'm doing this...

I have come to the conclusion that I am, in fact, going mad.

Somehow, this doesn't come as a surprise.

Index of everything

Links to an alphabetical index of every piece of writing on the entire blog, with the exception of all the non-fan poetry. Also, links to any large groupings or major projects.

Projects
December, 2004 An attempt to write one piece of short fiction (fan or otherwise) a day. Most of it is Naruto fanfiction, but a few pieces are original. Project status: 30/31.
December, 2005 One piece of short fiction (fan or otherwise) a day. Mostly Naruto and original. Project status: 23/31.

Index
A-D
Aggregati
Bleach
Birds of a Feather (Boffo)
Black Heart
DDD
Death Note
The Demon Ororon
Dreamscape
F
Final Fantasy
Foxbird
Godless Avatar
Glare
Harry Potter
Librarians
Lightning Bug
Mordant and Solneki
Naruto
Project: Apocalypse
Samurai Champloo
Seafox
A Series of Unfortunate Events
Seventh Hour
Song of Shadows
Stella Maeroris
Stories from the Sunny Hill Cafe
O-Z
Ocean
Vagrant Story
Van Helsing
X-Men
Zulu
Other

Song call- "Collide", Howie Day, and Boffo babble

The dawn is breaking
A light shining through
You're barely waking
And I'm tangled up in you
Yeah

I'm open, you're closed
Where I follow, you'll go
I worry I won't see your face
Light up again

Even the best fall down sometimes
Even the wrong words seem to rhyme
Out of the doubt that fills my mind
I somehow find
You and I collide

I'm quiet you know
You make a frist impression
I've found I'm scared to know I'm always on your mind

Even the best fall down sometimes
Even the stars refuse to shine
Out of the back you fall in time
I somehow find
You and I collide

Don't stop here
I've lost my place
You're close behind

Even the best fall down sometimes
Even the wrong words seem to ryhme
Out of the doubt that fills your mind
You finally find
You and I collide

You finally find
You and I collide
You finally find
You and I collide
-Howie Day, "Collide"

No reason, I just like this song, and by "like this song" I actually mean it makes my chest ache; I had a chance to see Howie Day in concert last October, but I blew it to do elfing. Bloody firstyears had best have appreciated all I went through for them...

I suppose this could be applied to certain situations in Boffo, as I've been thinking about the rewrite quite a bit lately. I want to start on the first part this week and maybe do some plot and character charts. I'm excited; Boffo is still the story that is nearest and dearest to my heart (not counting the sprawling fandom universe in my head), and I would like to do it the justice it deserves.

The rewrite will involve mad scientists, I think, and the whole thing will be heavily influenced by the Renegades D20 campaigns we did last year. I'll need to put together an experimental soundtrack for it, a proper one that I can listen to in the car. This shouldn't excite me as much as it does, but what can I say- I'm easily excited.

Since it's Boffo, there will be excessive amounts of Sarah McLachlan and a smattering of Natalie Imbruglia; a little bit of Godsmack, The Cure, Enya, TMBG, Nightwish, Jimmy Eat World (only because "In the Middle" is practically Tyler's themesong for Opal), and a few other random things.

The characters have grown up a lot in my head; Opal is no longer quite as much of a Mary Sue (because the way the story currently reads? ouch), and Tyler is no longer quite as much of a spazz. (Oh, who am I kidding, yes he is.) Their relationship no longer hurts as much with its stupidity, either- if it's slightly idealized at this point, that's only because I haven't written them as teenagers in such a long time.

The mad scientists make me happy, though, and Catenus (who will be getting a name change as soon as I get my hands on a copy of The Inferno) now has actual motivation. Amusingly enough, his motivations are the same as Sariel's, which really sucks for the both of them.

Song call- Genius, Duncan Sheik

Clearly I'm a genius
If she only knew it
But somewhere in her radius
I really blew it
I know, I know what I said to her
And I know what I did
What I don't know is how I could ever be
So incredibly stupid

You don't really need to know every last detail.
It's hardly worth telling
Suffice to say I said that I would be there
I never came through

Maybe I'm a genius and
She just don't see it
I fronted,
I should have admitted,
She saw right through it
I never thought that I could be
So underhanded.
Somehow I've cornered the market on
The double standard

You don't really need to know every last detail.
It's hardly worth telling
Suffice to say I said that I would be there
I never came through

For this act of genius
And so many others
I know I should apologize
And see how it goes

What am I waiting for?
Come on, come on, come on, come on

Sha la la la la la sha la la la la la la la

To all of the geniuses...

You don't really need to know every last detail.
It's hardly worth telling
Suffice to say I said that I would be there
I never came through
-Duncan Sheik, "Genius"

Yeah, well, the whole "genius" thing is so ridiculously overdone in Naruto, so it sort of works for all of them (Sasuke, Kakashi, Neji), since they're all asses at some point or another. Except Shikamaru. He's too lazy to be an ass, and Temari would beat him down if he tried, anyway.

(Mostly? I just like Duncan Sheik. The end.)

Toggle, Rasputin, Toggle!

Moneta free association writing:

pawnbroker broken pawns silly little songs singing things in the dead of night; soft whispers go unheard for miles and miles in the moonlight three sings three signs soft things there are madmen and there are sanemen and there are those who have far too little sleep; up and at 'em, go! we lose only what we find when we stop looking for it. often times there is truth in the madness that we write; oftentimes there is poetry in the rosy prose of lurid unmasked and unasked professionals; toggle, rasputin, toggle! if the russian empire had fewer switches, there would have been fewer problems, perhaps, perhaps, perchance; these things are not what they seem to be sometimes these things are not what they are; what they are are words, words, words, not fishmongery nor whores, but words, sluttish, lovely words; a million dollars for them, each shining and golden, shining and golden; i have no need for thought when i have fingers singing songs on percussive keystrokes, strokes, brush strokes canoe strokes; crew team meanderings wanderings lost; lost again, unfound; there is no honesty among fishmongers, monger monger, codger like rasputin was? is? do we even know the ways of losing ourselves? do we even know?

three blind mice watch moonlight through half lidded eyes; there is no surprise in this, no wisdom to be lost or gathered or got in this, nothing at all; no sleep leads to dreaming even in the waking, when things are given for the taking, the rhyming, the chiming; there is moonlight on the snow and someone is crying, weeping, sobbing; for what we do not know, cannot know shall not know, ever, never,
know.

flugelhorn
cryptogram
bankruptcy
mythologer
cantankerous

light in the meaning of the darkness of the being of the truth of the matter being what it is and was and will be; jeanettel, whose name i never spell correctly, gets of to a late start; this is not a race, one must remember; this is not a race. this is something greater; something closer to being true, truth;

stop. reverse. go. sally sells seashells by the seashore; by the shore the horseshoe crabs (grabs sea shells by teh sea shore) are mating, dating, deliberating while the sea gulls (by the sea shore) wait for them to overturn (turn over, over whelmed, I'm whelmed over) so they can feast on the soft, fleshy underbellies of stupid crustacean neo-paleolithic (insert clever geologist phrase here) creatures.

thump thump thump goes the radiator; hiss hiss hiss it goes, as well; snakes and dogs barking, snarking, filling the quiet space with angered mutters. The heat in this room is growling, snarling, scowling; it wants out, it wants in, it wants to drive away the cold but in doing so also drives away the quiet.

Like creatures in the walls, the sounds bounce back and forth and hum to one another, communicating in ways we will never understand. There are mice in these walls; they come up through the holes in the floorboards to peck at our trash, our left-behinds, our leavings. They cannot ask for anything more- that warmth, those scraps. They live, they spawn, they die- like salmon, without the streams, and the decomposing livers.

(Salmon are freshwater fish only when they are born; out to sea they go, for seven year stretches of life, but then they return home, to the freshwater deathtraps from which they emerged. Their bodies cannot stand the lack of salt, the new bacteria, the new/old environment of their once-womb; they return to the spawning beds to lay their eggs, then die, livers and gall bladders and internal organs eating themselves to keep them alive long enough to reproduce. They hover in the rapids, three deep, stacked in the water, swimming backwards, away from the saltsea that would welcome them, away from safety and towards their doom.)

That was a pleasant interlude, don't you think? The pace is slower now; this is not a race. We can keep this up, no feat of endurance here, please, we are not heroes, not in any way, shape, and/or form; we can keep this up for hours, don't you think? The walls have gone silent, and all is silent save for the typing scritching screaming of words being born.

It's longer now from where we started; there need be no sense in this. I am not worrying; it is not in my nature to worry, though the walls have grown still beneath their breathing and the quiet threatens to break us all in two. there is no moonlight now; it was an illusion, bent over the backs of those who came before.

all work and no play makes me a dull girl; a dull gyre, winding falcon; we should stop channelling shakespeare and think on sleep; this is no seance, after all.

Song Call and Naruto musings

For all the good you say it does
It feels no better when you've had your say
You may believe it's just because
The words get colder when you've gone away
I thought I understand
What I was to you

I don't want to feel this way
I don't want to say I'm just a friend
I don't want to wait around here
'Cos you don't want to feel no pain again
We just lie about it
As we become shadows of ourselves

Some may fear committed lives
I sure am one of them without you
Does it come to you as some surprise
I laid the ground beneath to doubt you
Was it ever girl
Something you could hold

I don't want to feel this way
I don't want to say I'm just a friend
I don't want to wait around here
'Cos you don't want to feel no pain again
We just lie about it
As we become shadows of ourselves

I don't want to look away
I don't want to be the one denied
It ain't no fault of mine
Someone, somewhere told you lies
But we don't talk about it
We just become shadows of ourselves
- Duncan Sheik, "In the Absence of Sun"

I think Duncan Sheik makes up most of my Inner Kakashi soundtrack. When the guy does depressing, he does it damn well.

So, the newest KakaSasu challenge is AUs, right? And I'm thinking, "AUs, I like those, they're delicious like pie." Now, FFVI, in my head, gets the best AU ideas. The crazy Vegas roadtrip thing is still something I'd like to write, if it could only decide on how much angst and sex it wants to have. (Lots of both, I imagine.)

But now Naruto wants AUs. AUs everywhere, like babies, possibly including babies. And I'm not talking "OMG Naruto and every1 grows up and liek, have kids n stff," because I don't count those as AU.

No, in my head, the Naruto cast are all engaged in a reenactment of West Side Story. With dancing and everything. 'Cuz, you see, the Jets are like Konoha, right? And the Puerto Ricans are like Sound, so when Naruto finally asks Sasuke out, Sasuke puts on the pretty white dress and starts singing "I Feel Pretty," because it makes sense in my head, goddamnit. Only it doesn't, at all.

I have a fanart of Sasuke on my desktop- Sasuke with a lip ring, multiple ear piercings, a zoot suit, and a hat. This picture makes me want to write gay swingdance club fic with Kakashi, rolled up shirtsleeves, badly lit restaurant booths, and lots of cigarettes, for the sole reason that dancing Kakashi is amazingly hot. I'm getting my eras mixed up, of course; the zoot suits aren't swing, I don't think. They're more of a jazz kind of thing- but that works pretty damn well, too, in terms of hotness and people getting flustered in dark corners.

Those are just minor ideas that popped up for the purpose of Pretty, or Silly, and I'm not likely to ever write them. The idea that I'm much more likely to write would be the AU where Rin died to save Kakashi's life instead of Obito.

These bloody epic-style stories that Naruto keeps giving me all seem to come with their own working titles, which is kind of nice and kind of annoying at the same time. "A Little to the Left" is a little obscure, since it doesn't really have anything to do with the story- which is mostly just life being different with Obito still alive, up to and including Sasuke running off to join Orochimaru.

I don't normally do What-If stories, but I think I could maybe pull this one off if I kept it a one-shot.

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

Obito watched his younger cousin watching his best friend saunter away and grinned like his face was falling off. Sasuke had a stick up his ass, sure- he was from the main family, it was to be expected- but sometimes the kid was so damned cute, it hurt.

Sasuke looked up at his guardian, a sour expression on his face. "What're you so happy about?" He shouldered his bag and walked off, not waiting for Obito.

It took him a few moments to catch up; Sasuke was moving quickly, but no so quickly that Obito would risk hurting himself to keep up. The boy wasn't completely heartless, after all. Obito extracted his revenge by tripping Sasuke with a crutch. His cousin caught himself before he fell, but that was beside the point.

"You like him," Obito sang as they walked. "Sasuke-kun's got a cruuush!"

The look Sasuke gave him communicated more than words ever could- in this case, "I'm going to stab you in your sleep and fill our house with the sound of my maniacal laughter before going off to join my brother in whatever nefarious dealings he's currently engaged in."

Obito, though only a branch family member and something of a black sheep all his life, was still well versed in the Uchiha art of eye communication; he responded to Sasuke's glare with a serene look of his own that said, "You're so cute when you're huffy. And please remember that I was doing missions in a warzone before you were born and, one leg or no, I can still kick your ass in my sleep."

"I hate you," Sasuke deadpanned, then submitted to having his hair ruffled.

Obito grinned knowingly. "Don't worry. It's just Kakashi. Everyone gets a crush on him at some point or other. You'll get over it eventually."

They walked (limped) in silence a for a few blocks; Sasuke kept his hands in his pockets and his eyes on the ground. "Did you?" he asked finally.

The elder Uchiha took a deep breath and looked up at the sky, not at all surprised by the question. "Of course. It's just Kakashi. He's a good person, really, just- well, you'll see what I mean eventually."

Sasuke seemed to accept that answer with the slightest dropping of his shoulders as he relaxed, just a little. He moved a little closer to his cousin as they walked, and began to talk softly about his first day of training.
------------------------

(For the record, Obito is straight like an amazingly straight thing. Hell, Jiraiya isn't even as straight as this kid. But Kakashi is a lot like Sasuke, and even straight people can't help themselves sometimes.)

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

"Sasuke has a crush on you," Obito muttered around his noodles.

Kakashi stiffened ever so slightly; a normal person wouldn't have noticed, but Obito was the local expert on understanding Hatake Kakashi. He was the last true master of a dying art, really; it was a lot of work for minimal results, and even if you were his best friend, Kakashi was still an asshole.

So any random passerby wouldn't have noticed the faint tension in the jounin's shoulders, or the way his fingers tightened imperceptibly around his sake cup, but Obito did. And Obito's powers of observation (irony of ironies), had only improved after he'd retired; he was a better shinobi now than when he'd actually worn a hitai-ate. He could read Kakashi just as easily as he read the lurid books they both enjoyed.

"He'll get over it," Kakashi whispered, downing his sake with lightning speed to prevent stray glimpses of his face.

"Yes." Obito deliberately set his chopsticks down beside his bowl and turned his full attention on his friend. "He will. Because he's twelve years old, Kakashi. And he's your student, and my little cousin."

Kakashi closed his visible eye and nodded slightly, throat bobbing against the fabric of his mask as he swallowed audibly. "I know."

"Good." Obito returned to shovelling noodles into his mouth. "Because I don't want to have to kick your ass later on just 'cuz you can't help being a pervert." The words were almost lost in his ramen. "And Sasuke-kun's not allowed to date 'til he's thirty, anyway."

If Kakashi blushed, no one noticed it but Obito.
------------------------------------------

Yeah, so fourteen years does a lot to mellow him out, but Obito will always always be a spazz.

Death of Elaine

It's a shame the dark ages had no mailmen-
Look at Elaine, going to such lengths
to deliver a letter to her love.

Like most sleeping beauties, she seems
Likely to awaken at the slightest hubbub-
Rock the boat a bit,
And she'll spring right up.
"Stop rocking!" she'll cry
"Do you know how long it
Took to get my hair to fall just so?"
Then she'll notice the dank and dewy state
Of her apparel, and curse in a ladylike way.

Like most teenaged girls, she has a flair
For the dramatic.
She is used to getting what she wants;
You can see it in her smile, how
She is confident that Death is
Preferable to life with a broken heart
(never mind that broken hearts are known to mend).
Perhaps she is correct; death is elegant, genteel;
Heartache is mere indigestion.
What a way to go! Death by acid reflux-
At least she makes a pretty corpse.

Like most mysterious women,
She is surrounded by watery metaphors,
Bottomless wells and placid lakes.
Get up, you stupid girl.
It's not too late to find a
Mailman to send that letter,
Then steal a boat to Rio.
No one will know the difference-
Least of all that man
(And he told you he couldn't love you).
You could wait tables by the beach,
Sell seashells, get yourself a tan.

Find yourself a nice boy
(an artist, maybe, not a rough
and raucous Round Table man)
who will paint you all the
meaningless wells you want.

Oh, Elaine. Like most tragic heroines,
She won't be waking up, no matter how violently
You rock the boat.
-----------------------------------------

Inspired by the Tennyson poem and the Yoshitaka Amano painting on the same subject; Elaine was a girl who fell in love with Lancelot. He didn't love her back, she pined away, Guenevire found out about it and thought Lancelot was cheating on her and became the Bitch Harpy of Camelot, Lancelot got confused and upset, Elaine wrote a letter to the general populace explaining how Lancelot was too good and pure and blah blah blah, then she killed herself and had her family send her letter and her corpse to Camelot by way of a boat. Letter and corpse arrive, letter is read, Guenevire apologizes, general populace weeps, Lancelot remains confused.

The end.

Hands

(John the Baptist)
Holy water spills back into the baptismal font;
These hands are not God's: the world they hold is too small,
Too perfect.

(Dust to Dust)
A line of charcoal fills the space on the page.
Black dust fills the negative space
Between steady fingers, and leaves traces of itself
on everything I touch.

(Apprentice)
He introduced himself-
professional to student.
Callused, strong, infinitely gentle--
like shaking hands with a cloud.

(Against the wall)
One clenched fist- remember, keep the thumb outside
White knuckles flush red,
Crack--
But do not break.

(Unique and Special)
Thin black gloves glitter
with sharp and deadly snow,
each curve and line of your palm
cast bright and cold in refracted white.

(Pop Culture Strikes Back, Election 2004 Style)
Spider Jerusalem raises a hand for democracy:
"Have you got thumbs? Show me your fucking thumbs!"
Way to go, humanity- next time, leave the voting to the monkeys.

(Sign Language)
The words are not nearly as interesting
As the fluttering butterfly dance of her hands
that accompanies them.

(You Not Me)
A multitude of rings send off enough sparks to blind;
But one is conspicuously absent;
The finger closest to the heart is bare.

(Nerves)
Steady voices and bright smiles
Are betrayed by the spastic twitch
Of hands and well chewed fingernails

(Friendship)
The world is a narrow place,
but warm.
Your hand in mine; our hands together
and nothing else.
-------------------------------------------

This is slightly edited from the original; the order and the titles have been changed, and a few lines were removed. Yes, I did hand it in with the Spider Jerusalem there. In the final edit, I'll drop that one and replace it with something less idiotic and obscure- this whole poem is about obscurity, really.

The "finger closes to the heart" in You Not Me refers to the ring finger; in the Russian Orthodox Church, the wedding ring goes on the ring finger of the right hand, because it was believed that there was a vein that ran directly from the heart through that finger. It's another bit of obscurity, but I always thought it was a charming concept, and a neat image.

Much as I know it needs work, this is still my favorite piece of writing from this semester thusfar. I enjoy little fragmented poem-thoughts, and I still think the basic idea behind this mess is a good one.

February Contemplations: blank verse

The smell of February catches in
my lungs; a thick and cloying, clogging stench
that clings to clothing, skin and hair, until
you cough it up in rasping, wheezing gasps,
while runny noses bleed it out in long
and ropy strands of misery, sickness, and
disgust. The sky hangs heavy with the weight
of it, solemn, dismal, near to breaking.
If February had a taste it would
be bitter-sharp, I think, not crisp, but sour.
A biting taste that lingers on the tongue,
like sordid snow in shameless patches on
the street. Footprints in the slush all seem
to ask, what makes the shortest month so long--
Bad luck, or just bad breeding? Overlooked
beside the proper months, this stunted, strange
unwanted child still aches for recognition.
Even as March shoulders it aside,
this flavor- February- still remains.

Insomnia: word poem

Insomnia

sounds as though you've gotten in to
something though really you're just out--
of luck, or bed;
maybe your mind.
but you could be in, too, between
the sounds and sights that slip and slide--
they surround you-
or they seem to-
they're never really there at all.
there's nothing ever there at all
insomnia
is never so attractive as
when the night is tense and throbbing
like a blister
ready to pop.
you're left to stare at the ceiling,
to wonder if it's safe to shut
your eyes and sleep.
it never is,
or so you say when you breathe out;
when the first thing you breathe in is
insomnia.