1. Halloween was.... not that great.
2. Tuesday was... horrible
3. Today was... Great!

1. I had a carp-load of homework to do (you know, carp are preeeetty big fishies), not to mention I started coming down with something fluey. I had to skip the German Club Halloween Spiel (haha, out of context, meine Deutsche) because I needed a nap. (You know that lovely feeling when your head is about to implode? Pleasant, no?) and so I woke up at 6:00 and worked like a maniac until 2:00 in the MORNING! You see! It was in fact not a carp-load, but a fully grown Sperm Whale!

2. The day started out perfectly. Herr Wagner wasn't here, so we watched HP (3) auf Deutsch. ... Not much interesting happened for the rest of the day... News! AP Art is frustrating. I hate being ignored and silent. GAAAARGH! It's oddly constricting, this AP Art thing... Must lose this inhibition. AAAAfter school, though I felt like ... dying... I had a Decathalon meeting where we discussed Economics (oh so boringful). Unfortunately for me, I was at that time experienceing a fever. This made not only my personal self, but the selves around me uncomfortable, as I was wearing my coat, scarf, and gloves the whole time. If I had my hat, I'd have worn that too. Whatever. It feeds into my quirkeynesssss (spelled wrong!!). My mom was 45 minutes late in picking me up. By that time, my head, throat, ears, eyes, and muscles were on fire and my appendages were shaking. We got home, my mom made me tomato soup from a can, because chewing was too painful. I took maybe 5 different types of flu medicines at once, and then I went to sleep. I woke up several hours later and ate another bowl of soup. Then I went to sleep again.

3. This morning, I found out my sleepage and slight overexaggeration on the limits of modern medicine paid off. My throat was a little sore, and I had a slight migraine, but it was fully doable. I packed for the English field trip, seeing as I had no time to do it the night before. My mom made me a 2-minute lunch, the wheezing bus picked me up. I got to school and talked to the teachers I wouldn't be seeing (to get my homework. I'm such a masochistic LOSER), and then boarded the bus and left. During the ride to Camp Minikaniwanihavinoidiiwhatitheinameiisi, I sat and conversed with Andy, super Decathalete and Politician. That was interesting indeed. And then we dumped our stuff in the "lodge" and took a "hike" (definition: go up and down slippery, leaf-covered, forested hills and be slapped in the face with thorny branches for longer than should be humanly possible), then look a "survival course", where I learned the finer details of... how to cook a muskrat. And we made fire... which is always a good thing. I found a perfect looking stick, but Andy stole it, so I settled for the semi-perfect stick. I broke off one end and kept it. (Souvenier alert!) I threw the rest into the dying embers. Hehe. It looked funny. Then came Lunch... which was shortened. I talked to Sarah L. and got to know Courtney a little better. (Pssst! They sacricice 12-year olds here!)We're an odd bunch indeed. I learned that SM is a hentai, and about some uber-creepy guy in Massachusetts that sodomised little boys. Courtney tried to corrupt me. Haha! You lose! Afterwards, we went canoeing. Needless to say, Courtney and I could not properly steer a canoe. We kept going in circles, purposely crashing into other canoes, and hit every single bouey... (so... we ALMOST got the hang of this steering thing... almost being the key word) It was fun. Afterwards, we were to scatter ourselves to secluded parts of the forest to explore and write about transcendental theory, and Thoreauism. I personally think Thoreau was a hypocritical foolish... idiot. But I addressed this point very politely in my writing. On the way back, I again sat with Decathalon God Andy and listened patiently to a rant on Ms. Kean. And then I went home... and then I discovered Myspace.com! NOOOOO! *covers eyes*. I started an account a few days ago, I just haven't prettified it yet... Oh-my-flying-GOD! Who, that I know, DOES NOT have a Myspace profile?! It's Nuts, I tell you! Nuts! I spent two hours trying to get out of the mega-vortex of doom which is myspace page viewing. Damnit! Now I've got homework... Greeeeat. I'm sure you wanted to know all this. Signing off.

Ciao Bambino!

A Jesus freak on here told me I was letting Satan into my soul because I can read star charts for astrology, coffee grounds, and minorly understand Tarot. Wow. Verdammt bin ich! *Rolls eyes* Yes, yes. And because I don't bleed myself whenever I get a cold, but rather stuff some plants into my mouth, I am going against God, am I not? *laughs at her own stupid joke*

October 5, 2005

Rest in Peace, Max Brownell: you'll live in my memories forever.

I think I need a mini-rant right about now... Maybe rant's not the best word... Ah well. Read on if you will...

Have you ever noticed how powerful illusions can be? She was sitting on the desk in over-large black clothes, the bones of her frame jutting at odd angles. She spit fire with her eyes as well as her mouth. Her words cut into him. Joking. Toxic sugar. She was tearing him down and he let her. Poor guy. Poor girl. He painted her portrait in ink on cardboard. Black. Dark. Angular. The way he saw her, and the way I saw her. She looked over and tore it to shreds with her words. Laughed off the hollows in her cheeks and the black of her eyes. And she knew it was true. She retreated to a computer screen in a darkened room and drew. Again and again. She came out strangely pale, her shoulders slumped, arms curled about herself. And she left without a word to anyone. He sat there and stared at her portrait. Stared and pondered what she'd said. He doodled in his notebook, her face still in his mind, lashing out with venom. He'd think about it all day. He'd pound each of her words into the metal at lunch. He liked the solitude, the lack of silence. As I passed the library, I saw her work on display. It defined her. Dark not in the physical sense, but in the understood. Every brush-stroke meaning another. And she laughed as she cried inside.
Gosh. True story. Why does my AP Studio Art have to be this dysfunctional? 'Sha and Ian.

Bingo! You guessed it, you genius, you! I'm not online as often because I have a life! Unpleasant though it may be (organic chemistry. Grrr.) at times, I must devote a spit more time to my studies (idiot that I am, I'm also studying for AcaDec) and my art. I'll still be about now and then, so please talk to me!
If you're wondering, non-academic life for me is pretty much like a festering wound. I would go into more graphic detail, but I think I'll spare you this time. In case you're very very interested, I may relate my story more completely... Or I may not. It's worth a shot!

***!BETTER! Character list/teaser... Just because the other one was horrid.

Anna is around 20-something at the beginning of the novel. An accident in her past robbed her of her family and her sanity. She was rescued and adopted by an old woman who ran a school for girls, giving Anna the opportunity to study. Having no ties to anything, however, Anna turns towards art to try and relieve her contorted soul. When the old woman is taken by a sudden heart attack, the new proprietor of the school turns Anna out into the cold (age 16). She lives off of London's streets, drawing and scrounging for basic necessities until she meets James who helps her, at first with little donations of money (buying pictures, etc). They become lovers over a period of time and ... *MUST LOG OUT PRESENTLY AND DO HOMEWORK. WILL CONTINUE THIS LATER!*

I'm thinking to give you a little teaser to see if I should really write my story and make it available for reading... or if I should write it attempt to publish it...
Meaning... I'm looking for an editor/beta/fact checker or two for a novel entitled "My Name is Sam"
Setting: England and France (so far) 1870-1930 or later
Main Characters: Anna, Sam, Frederick, John, Sarah, Elizabeth, Jane, Arthur, James, Robert
Their occupations and a bit about them:
Anna- Artist, part-time mental patient, part time surrogate mother
Sam- Artist, small time forced prostitute, partially insane, and partially left to be decided
Frederick- Writer, part-time student, part time maniac, part time lover
Jon- Frederick's father, part time merchant, part time alcoholic, full time romantic, partially mad
Sarah- Gypsy, part-time dancer, part time lover, part time enigma
Elizabeth- Part time Lady and widow, Full time denial.
Jane- Part time Lady, part time mother, full time party girl, part time slut, Drunk as a skunk
Arthur- Lover, Fighter, and businessman
James- Writer, lover, (perhaps once dealt in opium) dead
Robert- Friend, writer, enigmatic and lost in space

Lizzie is to Jane is to Fred as Anna is to Sam is to Fred. Jane is to Jon as Anna is to James and Fred is to Sarah.

Tricky enough for you?
Warning for character death, suicide, psychosis, alcoholism, child abuse, and family secrets.
Be wary, though. This is a series in the making (expect 100s if not 1000s of pages). Title can change without warning and no, it isn't quite as sad as I'm making it sound... 

So... Are you interested?
Take my poll!!!! <poll:5189>

Deep into the early hours of the morning, dark visions began to haunt Dimitri's dreams… Tall dark stones rise high to scar the night air. The crimson earth almost ends in a perfect line, the ground within the great circle was lush and green. The blood and death long gone away, the flowers grew back and all was well… suddenly, the peaceful meadow bursts into flame. The indescribable moans of lost souls, the sickening scent of the dying filled the air and mingled with the smell of burning flesh… all but within the circle. The flames of hell couldn't reach out to touch it. An invisible cage of moonlight and silver seemed to keep it all away. The sanctuary from the demons and the heart of all hope. It was a circle within a circle, a dream within a dream. There seemed to be a fallen star upon the earth, for the center shone so brightly, it was horridly difficult to keep his eyes fixed. A great flare, and the force field was broken. Shards of lightening met groping hands of fire. The opposite powers fought and intertwove, a beautiful and deadly cosmic dance… but as quickly as it had begun, it had all ended. There was no silver, there was no gold. All that was left was a barren hill, a circle of stones, the velvety sky, and the twinkling of many stars.
The stars died out, fading into high ceilings. Hard, stone walls appeared around him and before him lay the most macabre scene that his mind could take him to. People of various ages, races and sexes lined the walls, more dead than alive. They were all caught in iron implements that cut till they bled and writhed in pain. The sharp metal glimmered from some unseen torches and illuminated the many spectres. Some moaned in pain, some had given up, and some, more chillingly, had their mouths sewn by a cruel hand, the stiches ripped through the soft flesh of their faces, mingling their fallen tears with their stiffled screams that cried for death… an end… any end. Dark cloaken figures floated among these rotting corpses and shells of whatr, at one time, had been great men. Nothing was visible of these creatures but the look of pleasure that curled around the corners of their unseen lips. Blood, death, pain… yes, yessssss. They seemed to breath it, to live off of it, to feed off of the souls of others…
Again the scene changed, but this one felt different… so strange, so close… The heavy, vaulted ceilings receded and the stars appeared once more… the moon showed like the smile of a cheshire cat over the tips of the tall, knarled trees of a forbidding forest. In the other direction, there was ice as smooth as glass and as reflective as a mirror. A thin powdering of snow seemed to cover everything, and it was cold. Never in his dreams had Dimitri breathed in the crisp air, felt the snow crushed beneath his feet, or even for that matter been something, someone of substance. Quick steps lead to a maze of white rosleins, their winter flowers not yet in bloom. The thorns tore his skin, but that didn't matter. The slight wind cut down to the very bone, but that did not matter. He watched from as he moved forward, his body acting on its own accord. Behind a nearly crumbled down wall, there was the statue of an angel crying. It was so beautiful, so cold, yet so bitterly comforting. He felt himself climbing up to the outstretched wings and then sitting, almost lying between the wings of the weeping guardian, her sword long forgotten. There, he sat for a very long time. Finally, things began to fade, slowly, but surely, everything was turning black…
Dimitri awoke with a start. He sat up and found, not to his surprise, that he was covered in a cold sweat. Something was definitely wrong, he could feel it. Some part of him was falling away… but where and how. Pacing the room quickly proved useless, so he dressed in a pair of jeans and a black woolen jumper, smoothed back his hair, and pushed open the door to walk outside. He needed someone who could calm him down, get him back in touch with reality… there was now just one someone. The soft patter of his quick footsteps soon found themselves on the stairs of a plain brown apartment building. With a curt bow, he spoke to a rather disgruntled, fat woman (undoubtedly the landlady). Curlers bobbing, she led him up the stairs and left him at the third door to the left. The tall, blonde boy walked in, knowing what he would see.
“Gin? Hi… um… will you take a walk with me?” he asked quietly.
The redheaded girl looked up from her thick book, “Dimirti, what are you doing here… now?”
“Well, if it isn't too much trouble for you, I think this may be important…”
She eyed him warily as if she didn't know what to expect, but finally, she sliced through the heavy tension that seemed to dance around the room. “I guess so,” Ginny sighed as she stood up and stuck a dagger in her boot. “Just in case,” the blue eyed girl explained as she brushed a fiery lock from her eyes. She stood up and followed her friend's dim outline as they made their ways down the dim corridor and out into the winter air.

...

MMMMMkay, so here is a little story I had to write for Sophmore English Lit... The assignment was to write a murder story/essay/mystery... Using given characters, murder weapon, setting, and motive. Seems simple enough, no? Well, it gets a little harder when your teacher thinks up the most absurd subjects as 'given'... Ah well, I won't finish typing this out now, as there are seven pages (I made a pretty cover for it too!)... Yeah.

Required Info/Characters:

Jack Holstein-farmer (one of these two has to be the murderer, the other is the murdered)
John Thomas- Technician
Swiss Alps
a Tricycle (murder weapon)
Wardrobe was outdated (stupid motive)

Ebony
by Ana Maria V.

The sun was lazily spreading its slender fingers of light over the tips of the Swiss Alps. My doctor... no... my "therapist" thought the fresh air would do me some good, as in my line of work, one doesn't get out much. I was always a good skier, though most any other outdoor activity seemed beyond me. The lifts had barely started when I hopped on and was taken to the top of the mountain. Relatively speaking, it wasn't a very steep slops, and being the beginning of the season, there weren't too many tracks and the snow was still a soft powder. I don't know, I think I like the rush, the cold, the blinding whiteness... It was exhilarating, and I felt free from everything except my skis, my picks, and my lift ticket. That is... until I got to the bottom. Then, the worries of the world caught up with me. I'm on Sabbatical. The expenses! Dark memories. The economy failing. The Eclipses. The Accident. Everything I didn't want to remember came back. Do I sound crazy to you? Well, I was. I really, really was. It was something I couldn't escape.

Something had power over me. I took the pills they gave me, their "happy pills", but they didn't work. They just made me slow. Slow to think. Slow to speak. Slow to everything. But they kept coming... the memories kept coming. Except, as I'd found, in a few situations...

I used to paint a lot when I was young... After the... Accident... I put them away. Brushes, paints, canvas; all went into a little wooden box and the box went to the back of my closet.