Background Noise: What's Up Guys? -Bakuretsu Hunters opening
Thought Pattern: Bloody Roar/Cowboy BeBop
Mood: AHAHAHAHA~!
Desire: Some company, but not where you think.

What's up? -you've got to start from zero as if the vivid days were fading.- Make up! -it's really real! The sleepless city reflected in the mirror.-

First matter of business- I am very sad with my DA account. I've been thinking of deleting everything in it, or maybe moving it all to scraps or something. It just... depresses me. The level of the work in here just isn't up to any kind of par. I've tried to make myself only submit finished pieces, but I rarely finish things, so that's a moot point. This issue will probably resolve itself shortly, but it's just getting to me, and Id like to hear opinions. Do you think Clean Slate-ing my gallery will boost the inspiration?

And Onward...


Two things now:

1.) Unless something AWESOME happens that must be noted, probably pertaining directly to my DA account, this will be my last entry here.
Before you eat me, that's because my journal entries are moving mostly to my (not exactly new) LJ. You can find that up at the top of the page, in the "Webpage" spot.
It's about damn time I started using that thing.

2.) This new icon, (Holy CRAP, two changes in as many weeks??!!!one!?) was made by the uber-talented ~meigu!
Check out her art. NOW damn you!


And that is all. *takes a bow and skitters off stage*


"You know what always got me about Indiana Jones?
"Okay, so the penitant man kneels before God, right? But apparently the penitnant man also does this nifty little penitant roll, or else he gets sliced into penitant salami." -Kami



[link] <--Worship teh spiderman dance. Worship it.

I wrote you a letter in my sleep last night. I composed it pretty, in my head. All the words were perfect, and the image was unhindered, and I was delicate. Not fumbling hands over scraps of paper.

I wrote you a story in my mind last week. I wrote it nicely, with just the right dialogue, and the characters dead on.

I made you shiver. I touched that place with no name, and no sticky feelings, where it's calm and clear and smooth as a water chestnut. Where the only word is 'elegant.'

Yes. I touched you there.

But now it's morning for me again, after the sun has set and my eyes are awake. I lost that place I can only find in someone's poetry you don't know. I hit Nirvana and missed by an inch- where my thoughts are simple and my dictation without excess. But now it's morning, and the sun has set and I'm not dreaming, anymore.

I stare at the less simple things, wondering where my letter went. Wondering if when I die, I can find the place where I composed it, take it from the file, and read it over as though it had never been misplaced.

Where do my improvisations go?

Where is the folder, the library, the music hall, where they read the lyrics I don't remember, and play the songs I never wrote?

And where do they paint the landscapes I see when I dream about half completed stories?

I am so tired of the betrayed and the betrayal. Of the muck and the glue and all the people who point the fingers of their right hands at a thousand bystanders, while the left hand keeps it's index finger trained on their own chests.

I am so tired of being blamed, of being shouted at, of being told I don't understand. Of course I don't. How could I? I am not you, am not 'them,' am not 'us' or 'we' or even 'you all.' I am only me, and the sum of my experience will never match that of those around me.

The best you can hope for is empathy, an attempt to relate, based off of what I am told, what I can discern.

And lying while expecting me to mind read doesn't help.

I am tired of being logical, of not shifting blame. I am tired of smiling, nodding, listening, and being bitchslapped in return. I am tired. I'm just tired, in general. My emotional printing press has gone very nearly dry, and the more talking that happens the more it slowly fades into a low, aching buzz.

I can't be angry anymore. Only confused, bemused, and slightly hysterical. Because it is hysterical.

I love how it's all cryptic. I love how they're so enraged. I love the righteous indignation, and how much they know they're right. How can you know you're right?

I love how you stand beside me, behind me, before me, and laugh every time I don't, until I'm laughing too.

I wrote you a letter in my sleep last night. I wrote it perfect, in my head. All the words were pretty, and the imagery unsticky, and you knew what it really meant.

HOMIGOD, Eight changed his AVATAR?!

Background Noise: Hysteria -Muse
Thought Pattern: Okage:Shadow King
Mood: A little offish, but happy.
Desire: Company! I'm all ALONE! o.o

I'm not breaking down, I'm breaking out.


So he did, kidlets. So he did.

The lil dollie in my new av is a gift from the wonderfully talented, and completely awesome Geryon. (I'd link her if I could, but she hates DA, ; ) Anyway, his name is Emmy and if you can guess where he's from, you get a cookie. (But not if you know because you've met him, that's cheating! X3)

I don't expect it to last very long, I'm already sort of missing my Vinnie-Chaos-Baby, so order should return to the universe soon.

Christmas is kicking my ass, in both the good and the bad ways. My uncle just brought over a huge old table to adorn the living room for the season, and my favorite people will be headed home for the holidays. There's nothing quite like our all nighters. The packages are wrapped and mailed and too many people know exactly what they're getting from me. But that's okay. It makes them happy, and it makes me happy too.

I remember sitting here, and not here, in front of a different computer screen in a different home, on a different night and worrying that too many things would change. And they have changed. And I have survived.

Here's to hoping I survive again, with a smile. Here's to each one of my friends that makes surviving worth the while. And if my lazy self doesn't get around to writing again before the day, happy holidays, my dears. May it be joyful for you all, and herald in the best year yet.

, you still get a cookie. Tell me what you'd like. =3



[link] <--Worship teh spiderman dance. Worship it.

I have been lazy.
I have let my DA account go to hell more than once.
I have not been prompt with my commissions.
I have not been prompt with my comments.
I have not been on IM.
I have not been anywhere.

I have been in my bed. Propped against the wall with the new arrangement of my room. I have been writing in my mind and on paper. I have been playing WindWaker like there's no other game in the multiverse. I have been job searching and college writing and wondering where in the world I belong when I'm not connected to a screen.

I have been listening to music I'd forgotten I liked. I have been playing it much too loudly when I'm home by myself. I have been singing it, even though my voice is only a common kind of thing that would embarrass me if anyone heard. I have been sick as a dog, and high as a kite and the medication makes me a little woozy.

I have been happy, and I have been frustrated, and I have been remembering entirely too many of my strange dreams.

The strings keep making me think. I'm thinking of all the things that make me cry in my more private moments. Of dusk and dawn when seagulls salt the skies light bright confetti and the world is silent even though I'm on main street. Of walking the canopy when it's pouring and freezing with the rain keeping me warm and your banter to make me smile. Of sitting on the bench under the awning and listening to the sound of the night and the thunder and your heart beat beside me in a house I'll never see again. Of being sprawled on the giant pillow that's gone somewhere now, with my snuffling, dusty, sleepy puppies laying all on top of me, and watching the way the flames dance, trying not to because you frightened me with your scary stories. Of watching her try to scare me while you sit outside with her mother, laughing at how silly we are while she waves her flashlight in her face, and hopes three years younger is enough that I'm still gullible. And I am.

I have been thinking about you again. I have been writing about you, and missing you and loving you, even though I'm too chicken to pick up a phone and see how much you've changed since I made all my memories out of construction paper and macaroni and glitter stick glue.

I have been playing with my Butterfly. I have cut myself unintentionally. Because I am stupid, but I want to get as good at it as you are.

I have been eating a lot more ramen lately.

That's how I have been. How about you?



[link] <--Worship teh spiderman dance. Worship it.

Help! o_O Being the slow learner that I am, I once again drew sitting crosslegged at my computer desk. Conciquentially my leg is, once again, asleep up to my ASS, and I can't move!

This has been a public service announcement.