Nekonezume's Brain-doodles

Hello!

2011-06-20T08:04:00.001-07:00

It certainly has been awhile!

I've been very busy with things, but I'd like to direct you all to my new blog, When I'm Inspired. I'll be updating my new writing-related things over on that end.

Sorry I haven't been updating here but I've created a whole slew of new blogs to reflect various things, and my writing now makes its comfy little home over there. Various projects, new, old and unpolished, will bubble up over there.

Thanks and hope to see you there!
K.

Happy Halloween!

2008-10-31T05:11:00.000-07:00

In this post I have a Halloween short story for you. This one is a children's story I wrote when I was inspired by a lovely house I walked past this autumn. I hope you like it! It's called Mrs. Winter's Witch Cats.

For as long as I can remember, we lived next door to a kindly old lady. She lived alone with her three cats, Samuel, an enormous grey tabby, Edward, a sleek and slender black cat, and Winter, a beautiful white longhair. My parents always told me she was a widow, but I was too young to know what that meant. I did know her name, though, and that was Mrs. Winter. I thought it strange she had a cat with her same last name, but Winter the cat did look an awful lot like her. Mrs. Winter had these two piercing amber-green eyes, just like a cat's, and her hair was long and white, though she usually wore it back in a single, long braid.
Mrs. Winter's house looked like a little fairytale cottage. Outside she had the most beautiful and well-cared for rosebushes and lilac trees. She had a long wooden deck that had an awning over it and looped all around the house, a little rocking chair sitting beneath. Mrs. Winter was always so busy, though, that no one ever saw her sitting in that rocking chair. All around the deck there were boxes and boxes of flowers, as well as a number of hanging plants. I suppose you can imagine how lovely the place looked in the summertime, when butterflies of all colours and sizes, as well as little ruby-throated hummingbirds, flocked to her front yard to feed on the nectar. The backyard was just as lovely, with a couple of fruit trees that we could see if we went on our toes on the fence and peeked over, and a vegetable and herb garden took up most of the soil back there. An arbor (that's what Mother said it was called) decorated with vines of roses and orange flowers I didn't know the name of welcomed whoever entered to this garden, and a little pond sat under an apple tree. Mrs. Winter had a very big backyard, and how my sister and I longed to play in it!
One day in the summer, Mrs. Winter showed up on our doorstep and knocked three times precisely. My mother answered the door, for I had been told never to answer it myself at my age.
"Well hello, Mrs. Winter. This is a nice surprise," said Mother.
"Hello, Mrs. Daly," Mrs. Winter replied. "I wonder if I might borrow your girls for awhile?" I couldn't see them, but my little sister, Beth, and I were listening from the living room, where we had been playing with our dolls.
"Oh, whatever for?" my mother asked.
"Well, you see," Mrs. Winter began, "the potato beetles have been destroying most of my potato crop this year. I thought to give your girls a small opportunity to make some pocket change." I could almost hear my mother smiling.
"I'll see how they feel about that! Girls, could you come here, please?" she called. Beth and I neatly placed our dolls on the floor - we didn't want to hurt them after all - and we gathered ourselves and rushed to the door, where Mrs. Winter was standing, smiling pleasantly.
"Good afternoon Trill and Beth," she said to us. "My, how you've grown. How old are you both?" Beth and I glanced at eachother, and the little bite of her lip indicated that I should be the one to speak.
"I'm eight," I told her, "and Beth is five." Beth nibbled her lip again.
"Hi," she said meekly.
"Now, children," said Mrs. Winter, "would you like to come help me in the garden, please?"
A half an hour later, Beth and I stood in Mrs. Winter's garden, a bucket in each of our hands.
"Now, what I'd like for you to do is carefully pluck any beetles that are yellow with stripes off any plants you see and place them in the bucket," said Mrs. Winter. "Take care not to kill them," she added.
"Why don't you want us to kill them?" I asked. "Aren't they pests?" Mrs. Winter smiled.
"Even pests are a very important part of the world around us, Trill," she told me. "It's very important that we not kill these beetles. If we do, they may not be food for other creatures, like birds and spiders. We will take them someplace else to thrive so that they may not harm us any longer." I paused to let this sink in, then nodded. Mrs. Winter smiled again.
"We will take them out together, and I will count all of the beetles in your buckets and give you a dime for every one," she said. After this was said, Beth and I glanced at eachother, and away we went, scouring potato plants all over and picking off the little striped beetles we found. Every now and again I would drop one of my beetles in Beth's bucket. As she was a fair bit younger than I at the time, she wasn't quite as fast to see or take the beetles from the leaves as I was. Every time she noticed me dropping a beetle in, though, she'd swat my hand.
"Stop it, Trill, I can do it on my own," she scolded me.
An hour later, we had picked every potato beetle in the vicinity of the garden and no more could be found. Mrs. Winter had gone into the house about ten minutes before, and she was just returning as I had secretly placed the final beetle found in Beth's bucket.
"Well done, girls!" she praised us. As we looked over to her, we saw her carrying a round tray with two glasses of lemonade and a small blue plate with four cookies on it. "You've worked very hard, so it's time for a break. We'll put a lid on your buckets so the beetles won't escape - " as she said this, she placed the tray on the back steps of the deck " - and then we'll have a little treat. How's that?" She gave us each a couple of bucket lids that she had left on the deck, each of them peppered with tiny holes, and we snapped them atop the buckets before any beetles could escape. Beth had already made a run to sit on the steps of the deck, for that much work for such a small child was tiring, especially on such a hot day.
"Look, Trill," said Beth, pointing to the cookies on the plate. "They look like cats." Indeed, each cookie was cut out to look like a cat, and all of them had icing to look like one of Mrs. Winter's cats. One had black and grey icing like Samuel's tabby stripes, one was all in black icing like Edward's sleek coat, and one was done in pure white like to look like Winter.
"Those cookies look like my cats, if you've noticed," said Mrs. Winter with a smile. "That's because I think about my cats all the time - even when I'm baking. They're my best friends." As she said that, Edward walked by and brushed against my arm with a friendly purr. "Edward is the friendliest one," continued Mrs. Winter, "Samuel is a bit of a big grouch, and Winter's a little bit aloof, but they're all wonderful cats." Beth giggled as Edward started to lick her hand.
That was the end of that particular discussion. My sister and I ate our cookies and drank our lemonade, then Mrs. Winter asked us to take a walk with her, and to bring the beetles in the buckets along and we would count them together.
We started walking down the street. Not too far from where we lived, there was a little park with a pond that was home to some ducks and geese. Mrs. Winter led us down the little path that wound down through maple trees and circled around the pond. This path led us to a little meadow where we could hear all sorts of small creatures chirping and singing.
"Girls, this is where we're going to let the beetles fly free," she said as she stooped down to the ground, letting her long skirt fold up beneath her. She handed each of us our bucket, and we prepared to remove the lid.
"Wait," I blurted, "how are we going to count them if we're going to let them fly free?" Mrs. Winter smiled very slightly, and somewhat suspiciously. That smile surprised me; I suddenly knew she had a most peculiar plan.
"Just wait and see," she said in a quiet voice, "and perhaps some magic will help us out." Beth and I looked at eachother, and we were hardly able to contain our excitement. "Now, on the count of three, remove the lid and cast the bucket out, and see what happens!" Beth and I looked at eachother, grinning, and then we started to count together. On three, we swiftly removed the lids and we pitched our buckets forward. What happened amazed us both.
The group of potato beetles all leapt out of buckets and took to the air in flight. They all flew together, like a gaggle of geese would, and created a swarm. Then, they started to take on a collective form, and spelt out the number "56" in midair!
"Wow!" Beth and I gasped together. We could scarcely believe our eyes. I glanced toward Mrs. Winter, who wasn't paying me any mind; she was gazing at the beetles herself. She gave a little wink toward the beetles, and suddenly they dispersed and flew off. I saw her look toward us then.
"Well," she said with a mysterious smile, "it looks like I owe you girls five dollars and sixty cents!"

Over the next several months, Mrs. Winter had been getting us to help her out a little around her house. Usually this was with growing things of all kinds. She would always give us the cat-shaped cookies when our work was done, as well as a drink to refresh us. Each time we helped, one of the three cats would be watching us intently. Each one had a different way of telling us we did something wrong, also. Samuel would yowl loudly at us or swat at us, Edward would brush up against us and direct us to show us how to do it right, and Winter would merely lie there and block us from doing it wrong again.
"They're funny cats," I said to Mother one night over supper, "they always know when we don't do something right and tell us in their own ways."
"Cats don't do that," Mother replied. "You're imagining things."
October arrived, and the leaves were changing their colours and falling to the ground. The day before Thanksgiving, Mrs. Winter had us over to help her with her pumpkins. When we walked into her backyard, we immediately noticed all kinds of lights winking in and out, sparkling in thin air and spiralling down before disappearing. Beth and I gasped in wonder and tried to catch one of the lights.
"What are these?" I asked as Mrs. Winter watched us. "Are they fireflies?" Mrs. Winter chuckled.
"It's a bit cold this time of year for fireflies, don't you think, Trill?" she asked me.
"I suppose," I replied, stopping to look at her. "But then, what are they?" Mrs. Winter smiled and shrugged.
"I'm not really sure," she said in reply. "They're certainly magical though, aren't they? They always appear around autumn then get stronger and stay with me through winter, to keep me company and keep me interested in things." Beth and I looked at eachother.
"Through winter?" I asked. Mrs. Winter nodded.
"Yes, my least favorite season," she said gravely. "I can't stand the winter." As if on cue, Winter the cat walked delicately past with her dainty little nose in the air. Mrs. Winter stooped to give her a gentle pat. "Of course I don't mean you, my dear," she chuckled. Beth and I glanced at eachother again, but then shrugged and set to helping Mrs. Winter with her pumpkins. As a special treat, she let us each take home whichever pumpkin we liked from her garden, and she helped us to carve those pumpkins after Thanksgiving had passed.
A couple of weeks later, the day before Halloween had arrived, and Beth and I were busy making last minute preparations with Mother.
"I want to be a friendly witch!" I cried happily as Mother worked away at her sewing machine to make the perfect little witch's dress for me.
"I want to be the black cat!" Beth cried in reply, bringing her hands, balled up like paws, under her chin and making a little meowing sound. I giggled and scratched her on the head.
"Good kitty!" I said.
"Meow!" Beth replied. Mother shook her head with a little laugh, but then we were all surprised as we heard a knock at the door.
"Girls," said Mother, pausing a moment in her sewing, "could you go look through the peephole and see who it is? If it's someone we know, send them in. If not, come and get me. Otherwise, I'll keep sewing for now." Beth and I raced to the door, and being the taller one, I was allowed to look through the peephole. Looking back was Mrs. Winter, though I don't think she could see me. I jumped excitedly and pulled the door open, to which I was greeted by a familiar smile.
"Mrs. Winter!" my sister and I said with uncontained excitement.
"Hello, girls!" Mrs. Winter replied. "I'm looking for some very special help today." Beth and I looked at eachother with wide eyes. Mrs. Winter had never said special help before . . . this must be very important, indeed! "Will you girls help me decorate my house for Halloween? I have the outside taken care of, but not the inside." My eyes widened, and if I had been looking at Beth at the time, I'm sure I would have seen her eyes growing just as wide. You see, at this point, neither Beth nor I had ever set foot in Mrs. Winter's house, and the two of us had always spoken of the interior in hushed voices and utmost secrecy, spinning wild tales with our childish imaginations. It was thus our time to discover if those tales were true, or mere fancy. Beth and I nodded hastily, and we called to Mother to inform her of where we were going, then scooted out the door after Mrs. Winter, our hearts beating frantically with excitement. When we arrived at the doorway to Mrs. Winter's house, we stood outside for a moment with bated breath as Mrs. Winter entered.
"Well, girls, are you coming in, or are you going to stand there all day?" she asked as she peered at us from inside the house. Beth and I glanced briefly at eachother, and as the older sister, I took it upon myself to take a step over the threshold first.
When you are eight years old, you begin to lose faith in your imagination. Things that used to seem plausible in your mind seem to lose credibility when you turn eight. Imagine my surprise when I was told expressly by merely looking at the interior of Mrs. Winter's house that my imagination still had some significance, and that not everything I made up in my mind was wrong or silly.
Mrs. Winter's house was simply magical, and there was no other word to describe it. No wallpaper or plain colours graced her wall; she had murals of trees everywhere you looked, and on the ceiling there was a sky of a different sort in every room. The main room had what looked like an early morning sky, with some lingering stars and dark blue on one side but a pink-streaked lavender on another side, merging to a bright coral, then pale orange, then the beginnings of a light blue. The living room, as I glanced there, had a cerulean blue afternoon sky, dappled with puffy and friendly white clouds. I couldn't see any other rooms immediately, but I could assume that the kitchen had a glorious sunset, and the bedroom had a peaceful night sky with a sprinkling of stars and - probably accurate - constellations. The trees on the walls had little lights that peeked out in mushroom-shaped sconces, and when I looked closely enough, I couldn't tell if the lights were actual lightbulbs or fairy lights. All of the furniture in the house, that I could see, had a very elegant cast to it, with delicate swirls carved into the very wood and velvet green cushions. I took a glance back at Beth, who was trembling in excitement. Mrs. Winter stopped at the end of the hallway and smiled at us.
"Do you like my house?" she asked cheerfully. Beth and I nodded vigorously and stepped forward to follow her. Just then, the three cats, Samuel, Edward, and Winter ran by. As they ran, we noticed a little trail of bright, shining dust trailing behind each of their tails and hanging in the air behind them. Each cat had their own distinct trail; Samuel's was silver, Edward's was bright orange, and Winter's were pink. Beth and I stared after the cats, then I gave one of the pieces of dust a little poke. It merely drifted lazily in the air a moment before settling back to where it was. I was sure I heard it giggle, so I jumped back in surprise and looked toward Mrs. Winter, who was standing there with the cats sitting around her. Interestingly, a wreath of the sparkling dust had floated up to form a slight aura about her person, and the cats were flicking their tails gently, sending off more of the dust. The most curious part was the fact that there was nothing on the cat's tails, leading me to believe that the dust was coming out of the cats' tails, not off them.
"Come here a moment, girls," Mrs. Winter said. "I have a favor to ask of you for decorating." Beth and I hesitated for a moment, but I stepped forward and walked over to where Mrs. Winter was standing. She smiled at me and gestured to the cats. "My cats have a very special ability. They can make pretty baubles and lights, but they won't last longer than midnight on November 1st. I thought both of you would like to see these lights, girls, as well as the other children in the neighbourhood." At last, I found my tongue.
"Is that was was trailing behind the cats just now?" I asked. Mrs. Winter nodded in reply. "How do they do it?" I hastily added. Mrs. Winter winked.
"Who knows?" she said. "Magic."
"How do you want us to help?" I asked as I approached Mrs. Winter.
"Watch this," she replied. She reached out her hand and plucked one of the motes that was drifting around her from the air, then, holding it in her hand, she moved it over to the wall and placed it there, where it hung as though it was suspended by something. "If you could do this all through the entryway and living room, I would be very grateful." A sudden excitement welled up inside of me, and I was no longer nervous. I stepped forward and plucked several of the motes out of the air, one of each colour, and off I went, placing motes in the air through the room. Beth made a very pretty collective of them by a tall and elegant lamp, which stood in the corner of the living room. To me, the lamp looked as though it was being lit by dozens of brightly coloured orange and pink fairies, and by shining silver ones as well. I left the living room to Beth and stayed in the entry, myself, placing some of the sparkling motes against the wall by the painted on trees. This made the trees look as though they might be growing some brightly-coloured fruit. I stopped a moment when I saw a picture hanging from the wall. It was hung where a tree branch had been painted, and it was made to look as though it was in fact hanging from the tree. I placed the motes in the air in front of me to hang as I examined the picture.
This picture was a photograph of a smiling man, probably just a bit younger than my grandfather at the time. Underneath the picture was a small plaque which read "Samuel Edward Winter, Oct. 31, 1934 - Nov. 1, 2001". I blinked a few times, then heard Mrs. Winter's voice behind me.
"Ah," she said quietly, "perhaps you've just discovered the secret of my three cats." I blinked and turned around quickly.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Winter," I uttered hastily, "I didn't mean to-"
"It's fine!" Mrs. Winter replied, lifting a hand. "That is a picture of my husband, Trill, a year before he died. I named each of my cats after one part of his name. After he died, you see, I needed some company, so I got these three." As she spoke those words, Samuel, Edward, and Winter all came over and sat down beside her.
"Why?" I heard Beth say. I turned and saw her walking from the living room into the entryway. "Why did you name them after your husband?" Mrs. Winter chuckled.
"That's a little funny, actually. You see, when my husband died I was so angry and upset that I wanted to forget about him, but when I got the three cats I couldn't think of anything to name them. Sam had three sides to him, you see. A grumpy side," - here she gestured to Samuel - "a warm and friendly side," - she gestured to Edward - "and a vain side," - she gestured, finally, to Winter. I pointed to the dates on the plaques.
"So is that why the magic runs out on November first?" I asked. Mrs. Winter arched her eyebrows, clearly surprised.
"My, you are clever girls! Yes, though I have no way to prove it, I believe that is why," she said.
"But how come the cats can do magic?" Beth asked, tilting her head to the side.
"I'm really not sure, to be honest with you," Mrs. Winter said with an apologetic tone. "I think that when Sam died, some of the magic he brought to this house stayed behind and attached itself to the cats when I brought them in." She smiled a little, her eyes shining with hints of sadness, but perhaps some happiness as well. "That's what I think."
Beth and I finished with our decorating. When we were done, all of the entry hall and living room looked like an outdoor fairy palace. The painted trees shone with pink, silver and orange motes, which also hung in various places in the air. The three cats sat to Mrs. Winter's side as she handed my sister and me treat bags.
"Stop by tomorrow night when you're trick-or-treating. The magic is its strongest on Halloween and you'll really see those lights shine!"

The next day, Beth and I were dressed in our Halloween finery.
"Meow meow," said Beth.
"Come on, Edward!" I said to her. Mother looked at the two of us in absolute bewilderment.
"Edward's a boy's name, dear," she said to me.
"But he's the nicest one," I told her, without further explanation. Mother looked at me, again extremely baffled, but she asked no further questions.
"Remember to stay just to our street," she told us, "and don't go into any strangers' houses."
"We won't," I reassured her.
"Meow meow," Beth echoed in a similar tone. Mother handed us each an empty pillowcase, and we were on our way. We said that we would wait until the very last house to see Mrs. Winter so we could spend some extra time with her, and see the house in full decor after dark. We could hardly contain our excitement as we walked down our street, the sun setting behind us. Finally, an hour later, we were walking back towards home, our pillowcases very nearly filled with candy, cans of pop, chocolate and chips. Our arms were getting heavy and sore, but we stopped by Mrs. Winter's house all the same, of course, and knocked three times on the door. Moments later, Mrs. Winter opened the door.
We were very surprised to see how youthful Mrs. Winter looked, suddenly. It was as though she had reversed time and aged fifteen years younger. Her hair was lovely and black with only slight greying, and some of her wrinkled had revsered themselves. We were shocked. What surprised us still was the music and sounds that we heard inside.
"Come in, girls!" said Mrs. Winter. She opened the door wider, and in we went.
The house looked incredible. The light motes had transformed themselves into little fairy spiders made of pure light, and they were connected by wispy light webs. Accompanying their transformation, they were giggling, singing, and whirling about the room in random patterns; some of them were moving slowly, and others quickly. Suddenly, Samuel ran past our feet in hot pursuit of one of those spiders. I could only guess that the other cats were doing the same.
"Well, these lights have never behaved this way before!" Mrs. Winter said. "Girls, you did a really wonderful job decorating! I can't help but wonder if you might have some magic, yourselves!" Beth and I looked at eachother. We couldn't help but wonder, either!
As fairy spiders and their ghost webs wizzed past us, singing and giggling, Mrs. Winter plucked two fairy spiders out of the air. One was an orange one, which was my favorite colour, and a pink one, which was Beth's favorite colour.
"If you have your own magic," Mrs. Winter said in a low voice, "if you wish hard enough, maybe it will work around you all the time." She handed these spiders to me and Beth, where they crawled up our arms, shoulders, then to the top of our heads, where they stayed in our hair like barettes. We looked at eachother and grinned.
"Happy Halloween, girls," said Mrs. Winter, leaning down and collecting us in a hug.
"Happy Halloween, Mrs. Winter!"
As we left Mrs. Winter's house, I could have sworn I saw the picture of her husband Sam on the wall winking at us. It was probably only my imagination, though.
The next day, we walked by Mrs. Winter's house and got a quick glimpse of the inside, as she was just walking out the door. Not only was every fairy spider and light web gone from the house, but Mrs. Winter looked every bit as elderly as she had in days before, and not at all like she had on Halloween night. She waved to us, and as we waved back, our fairy spiders moved just slightly on our heads. They were still there, reminding us that perhaps Mrs. Winter had been right when she said we had magic of our own. For then, anyway, we had certainly had a wonderful Halloween adventure with our wonderful next door neighbor, who was undoubtedly a witch of some kind, and her lovely little witch cats.

Paradise-seeking

2008-06-01T18:58:00.000-07:00

There exists a land with unspeakable beauty. It is almost sentient in its purity and because of this, few dare to speak of it for fear that it may not appear the next time it is searched for. It all begins with one's favorite forest, and allowing yourself to become completely lost in it.

Begin by entering your forest of choice and looking for any part of the forest you have never fully explored. Find something unfamiliar, then keep going until nothing is familiar. When you try to go back, you'll find that everything is unfamiliar now. Even if you went completely straight from the path, you will not find your way back. Instead, you will find the woods around you beginning to change. As you walk along, regardless of the time of year, you will find everything to be lush and green. Everywhere you look, flowers, moss and fungi will be growing in droves. Even the deadest of stumps will be covered in a soft blanket of green moss, a vine of flowers snaking about it and even a mushroom or two growing from it. If you look carefully, you may even see a trail of flowers growing from one area to another, being led by an indiscernible ball of bright opalescent light.

Finally, the sounds will change. You'll be able to hear running water before long. Follow that sound and you will find a stream coming up from underground, with tiny fish with rainbow scales swimming in it and water so clear you can see straight to the bottom, no matter how deep it gets as you travel. As you follow the stream, you'll find the forest come to a gradual stop, a wall of roses barring it and a secret door within that wall. All who try to avoid the door by climbing the wall tend to find themselves right at the very beginning: the entrance to their favorite forest. If you decide to look for a bit, though, you'll find the silver key which opens the door. I won't give you any hints. If you open that door, you'll find that place beyond beauty, beyond purity. A place of another world.

The area is an outcropping of a cliff with a pillar made of polished white marble. Who polishes it is anyone's guess, but on this pillar is a garden with small animals, brightly coloured insects and more flowers than you could dream of. Small, well-trimmed trees with tiny lemons catch the light like citrines. You can hear the sound of water, and if you look just beyond this garden, there is a waterfall cascading down the green, tree-covered cliff face into a pool below, the waterfall creating a rainbow in its wake. The pool is fairly large and deep, with purple waterlilies and a number of colourful pebbles at the bottom. Rumor has it that one could find gemstones in that pool, but I've never looked. A few fish swim here, some turtles and frogs as well, and on a moonlit night one could see a pair of swans, one black and one white, bathing in the light and in the water. Indeed, on nights lampposts seem to grow from the ground and light the entire place.

Finally, if your heart is pure and you truly want to see what lies beyond, you will see a door behind the waterfall. This one doesn't require a key. All you need to do is open it.

Detective stuff

2008-05-20T13:24:00.000-07:00

I'm really big on mystery and detective stories right now, particularly really intricate mysteries that require a lot of thought before the mystery can be solved, by the reader/observer or by the characters in the story. I'm currently reading Death Note: the Los Angeles BB Murders and it's really intriguing. It's not the best-written story but it's also translated, though I'm not fond of the narration style. Regardless, the mystery is really intriguing.

The lead would probably be a smart female detective who is a very quick thinker. I'm not sure exactly what the plot would be but it would be written somewhat backwards to let all the threads tie in together.

Important repost

2008-04-25T20:13:00.000-07:00

On April 17, 2006, I wrote this poem for my Great Aunt Doris, who had Alzheimer's. Almost two years after I wrote this poem, on April 24th, Aunt Doris passed away. I'm going to read this poem tomorrow at the funeral. I thought I would repost it in honor of her loving memory. I edited the end slightly.

---

Memories

A decorated tin filled with
Little white shortbread cookies with
Little rainbow sprinkles that make the
Milk turn colour sits on the
Kitchen table.
A small fold-out table made of tin with
Sturdy aluminum legs and the peaceful scene of a
Forest brook in autumn, surrounded by shady sepia foliage and
The glimpse of a deer is set up before the
Couch, with a
Small box of dominoes spilled over in preparation for
A game to be played.
I can't quite tie my
Shoes yet, but he helps me.
Two bunny ears. Tuck under. Pull. Now it is a
Bow.

An overstuffed yellow armchair sits by the
Dusty screen door, and beyond that is the
Porch, where the
June bugs used to collect at night and buzz in our ears.
Strawberries grow here too, I remember, within the
Tufts of pale green grass.
She has me gather them in a
Porcelain dish that is wreathed with
Painted-on autumn leaves. I pick them and
She washes them for me, and
We eat them together.

This is what I remember, and though
You cannot, I will keep remembering
For both of us.

Lonely but never alone

2008-03-19T23:55:00.000-07:00

I had a dream last night that inspired me to write this little bit here. Not sure if I'll continue with it later or what.

---

Natski's eyes fluttered open. A cold, grey light was pouring in from the nearby window, and she heard a faint tapping. The room was as cold as the light, causing her to shiver as she attempted to leave the bed. The strong arm about her waist, however, prevented this, and she had to stall before trying again.
"Where are you going?" asked the voice of the man beside her.
"To the window," Natski replied, quietly.
"To what end?" the man murmured. His arm tightened about her and she felt his breath on her neck, leading to his lips pressing to her in a kiss.
"I'll - be back in a moment," Natski said uncomfortably. She felt the arm about her waist tighten and release, as though in an affectionate squeeze. Any intended affection was lost on Natski. She escaped and fled to the window, which she opened with haste. She faced away from her husband, who had rolled over in their bed to watch her. She stifled a shiver as the cold air greeted her.
"Cold morning," she murmured, leaning forward slightly - she leaned out of her husband's view.
Quietly, the man who had been making the tapping leaned forward and gave Natski a kiss, again out of view from her husband. He had been sitting there all morning, gently tapping and waiting for this moment.
This beautiful, painful moment.
Natski felt tears sting her eyes as she leaned into the kiss, those same eyes drooping to a close. Her body was no longer controlled by her mind; she let her emotions be her puppetmaster. Her arms wrapped around her love's neck and tightened. She could feel her husband's eyes from the bed. She didn't care.
"Come away from the window, my love," came her husband's voice. It wasn't a comforting way of saying it. It was more of a scolding. Natski broke the kiss, her tears flowing freely.
"Just a moment longer," she said softly, more to her beloved before her than her husband in the bed. The man before her obliged her in a tender kiss with the haunt of finality, and then Natski stepped back away from the window.
She felt a hand on her shoulder, then glanced back to see her husband staring at her love with an icy glare. Her husband placed an arm tightly around Natski's waist, leaned forward, and shut the window with his other hand. Then he kissed Natski so her beloved could see, and pushed her away from the window.

---

Yeah, definitely could use some editing. I hope you enjoyed, however. I may write more eventually; maybe I'll edit it later.

K.

Because it's what I do. . . .

2008-03-17T12:34:00.000-07:00

. . . I started another new blog!

I won't be posting anything on this one right away, as it's about my home area which I'm currently not at, but Fundy Blog will be a collection of photography, videos and writeups about my home off the Bay of Fundy. Somewhat of photojournalism and such. I'll be adding things periodically so check it out! I'll be home for at least part of the weekend, so if the weather's nice, maybe I can take a few pictures. Or maybe I'll get lucky and find some deer in the backyard!

Keep your eyes open hereabouts . . . a lot of time has freed up in my life for this sort of thing, so I'm hoping I can get a lot of creative work done in the next little while.

K.

Lucine Capriccio

2008-02-23T07:45:00.000-08:00

This is a short story I wrote about one of my characters. Enjoy!

---

Today was a big day for Lucine Capriccio.
Her father Feldwyn, a ranger of Mielikki, and her mother Dwina, a priestess of Selûne, were going to take her into the Moonwood by their home in Silverymoon to mark a trail. It was the day of her eighth winter, and this was her family's way of celebrating.
Lucine was a friendly and outgoing child, despite being considered as strange by her classmates and other children her age. She skipped when she walked, hummed and sometimes talked cheerfully to herself. Other parents discouraged this, saying that Lucine would go to be a strange and possibly mentally imbalanced girl. Dwina, however, simply insisted that Lucine was still a child, even if she didn't act as mature as her age would allow. Dwina and Feldwyn loved their whimsical child and wouldn't have had her any other way.
This day was imporant, but still not that different from a normal day in the Capriccio household. Even as Feldwyn bundled Lucine up in wool and furs, the young girl was singing to herself in nonsensical words that three-year olds tend to use.
"What are we looking for today, Fawn?" asked Feldwyn, for Fawn was what he called her.
"Poachers!" cried Lucine with glee, throwing her hands up high. Feldwyn chuckled and kissed his daughter's forehead.
"No, love, we're going to mark a trail," he replied.
"Trail!" Lucine cried again with a grin. Dwina got on her coat and wrapped a scarf around her daughter's neck, then the three set off.
For a winter's day, the weather was quite mild. The air was calm and still, and while there was a biting chill, the sun was out among but a few clouds, and no snow was falling. The snow that was already on the ground was a thin blanket, and it had freshly fallen the night before, and it sparkled and glittered prettily in the midday sun. Thanks to the blanket of snow, though, the family had to trudge about in it, even getting some down their boots here and there. Lucine followed closely behind her parents, with her mother in the lead, as a navigator, and her father in the middle. This way, Lucine could follow behind without getting too much snow down her boots. The three followed in line, with Dwina checking her map now and then and Feldwyn marking a tree by tying a strip of leather about one of the boughs. Lucine followed obediently . . . for the moment.
Being such a whimsical child, Lucine often found herself daydreaming or losing her concentration in favour of her own means of entertainment. As such, when she peeked through the trees on this bright winter's day and caught a bright sparkle out of the corner of her eye, she fancied that she had seen a discarded gem or magical trinket. She didn't even wait for an opportune moment . . . she slipped off without another word, leaving her parents to wander ahead without her.
As she was walking off in pursuit of the object that caught her eye, Lucine noted the sky had begun to darken rather quickly, and snow had begun to fall. She thought to act quickly and find the trinket before snow covered her tracks, and she did find it . . . but Lucine's perception of time was different from most other people's. She searched around in the snow for a good ten minutes before she found what she was looking for. . . .
No more than a mere chunk of ice!
Still, Lucine fancied it might be something important, so she pocketed it anyway and turned around to follow her tracks back. Unfortunately, though, the blanket of snow had already been so thin and the snow was falling so hard, Lucine couldn't find her tracks.
"Uh oh," she murmured, peering about. Lucine had the worst sense of direction of any child her age. When she played hide and seek with other children, when they would play with her, she would hide in such ridiculous places that it often took an actual search party to come find her hours after the game was over, as she would usually get lost just minutes after going to find a hiding spot. In the middle of the woods, this was very dangerous indeed.
Lucine started wandering off in the direction she thought she might have gone. Little did she know that this was the exact opposite of the road she was to go.

Feldwyn tied another length of leather to a tree and nodded in satisfaction.
"That should do it," he said. "Are you tired, Fawn?" he asked behind him. He was surprised not to hear a response. "Fawn? Are you tired?" He turned around at this point. "Faw-"
Feldwyn hadn't finished his daughter's petname before he looked to see that his daughter was absolutely nowhere to be found.
"Oh by the gods," he groaned.
"What is it?" Dwina asked with a tone of panic in her voice. She spun around to see none but Feldwyn with a dejected and terrified look on his face. "Feldwyn!" Dwina cried. "Why weren't you watching her?!" This, of course, turned the couple against one another, and they argued as they followed the leather strips along their trail.

It had been several hours, and Lucine was still very lost. She wandered aimlessly through the forest, watching the snow fall as the sky began to darken. She was in a good mood despite being lost, and she sang to herself. She noticed the weather was getting very chilly, however, and she hadn't eaten in hours so she was starting to get very hungry. She had long forgotten about the chunk of ice in her pocket and was now daydreaming about the wonderful birthday supper she would have when she got home.
. . . If she got home. . . .
Worry suddenly overtook her. She was lost! What was she going to do if she couldn't get home, and why didn't she realise this sooner?
"Mommy!" she cried at the top of her lungs. "Daddy!" When she heard no reply, she burst into tears and flopped into the snow dejectedly, shivering. She had grown weary indeed, even if it all hit her at once as it did. She sat there for awhile and wept, unsure of what to do.
Another hour passed and it was really dark now. Lucine was shivering and nearly falling asleep, and the cold numbed her body. Her eyes started to droop with the weight of her fatigue, but some movement caught her eye and snapped her awake.
"Mommy?" she said weakly. "Daddy?" For a moment, it seemed her eyes must have been playing tricks on her, but then she saw movement again, and heard sounds. She stood up and saw a bright light coming from the trees, though as she focused her eyes, she saw that it wasn't a light at all.
Before her stood a beautiful, gleaming white unicorn, bathed in a silvery light. Her silver and opalescent horn shone as though in direct moonlight, even though the night was clouded over. To Lucine's great wonder and delight, the unicorn was striding toward her, and the closer the unicorn got, the more Lucine felt herself filling with warmth. By the time the unicorn was a foot away, Lucine wasn't cold anymore.
"Hello, Lucine," said the unicorn in a cheerful, flutey voice.
"You know my name?" whispered Lucine. The unicorn tossed her head in a nod. Lucine supposed she was smiling, though she didn't know what a unicorn smile looked like.
"My name is Lurue, Lucine," she said. "Do you want to go back to your parents?" Lucine nodded vigorously.
"Yes, oh yes, please!" she said. "It's cold out here, and I'm hungry." With that, the unicorn turned and ran off into the forest. Lucine, suddenly filled with energy anew, chased after the unicorn. Every now and then, Lurue would fade out of her sight, but then Lucine would catch a glimpse of her gleaming pelt and run faster to catch up.
"Fawn!" cried a relieved voice. Lucine spun about to find her father and mother standing there with tears in their eyes. Lucine made a sound of great excitement and rushed over to jump into her father's arms. He lifted her easily off the ground, despite his growing complaints that she had been growing too heavy for him to lift. Dwina joined them and the three had a collective hug.
"Oh, how did you find your way back?" Dwina asked, giving her daughter an affectionate kiss on the cheek.
"Lurue helped me!" Lucine cried happily, giving her mother an even bigger kiss. Dwina and Feldwyn exchanged surprised glances. Living in Silverymoon, and being the daughter of a Selunite and a Mielikkian, Lurue was not an uncommon name in the Capriccio household, but nevertheless, the sudden mention was peculiar.
"Sweetheart, remember what we told you about telling people stories that aren't true?" Dwina asked gently. Lucine nodded.
"But mommy, Lurue was really there! And she was big and white and beautiful, just like you always said!" she cried enthusiastically. "She came out of the forest and told me to follow her. She's right over there!" At this, Lucine pointed out into the forest where she came from, but there was no one to be found. No gleaming white unicorn stood there, and the glow was gone, too. "But she was right there!" Lucine said sadly. "Where did you go, Lurue?" Feldwyn and Dwina glanced at eachother again, this time even more skeptically than before. Just as they were turning back to look at their daughter, however, they were sure that they saw a large, gleaming white figure disappear down the path, almost too quick to see. . . .

Some years later - on her twelfth summer, to be precise - Lucine was travelling through the forest with her parents once more when she noticed a beautiful mossy stump in a clearing. Light was pouring in from a break in the trees and in the summer light, it looked almost as though fairies were dancing in the sunlight. As her parents walked on, she took the opportunity to sneak off, having learned how to be cleverly stealthy over the past four years. She neared the little glade and took a good look around, but she saw nothing of particular interest. She went to leave again, but she noticed that she was already lost!
"Oh, very well, Lucine," she murmured under her breath. "Now you've done it! You're lost again!" She sighed and flopped down by the stump. "I suppose it'll be best to wait here until someone comes to find you. Ooohh, I really wish I had someone to travel with me and keep me from getting lost!"
Time passed, and no one came. Lucine wasn't one to lose patience, but the sun was setting and there had been recent rumors of werewolves in the Moonwood.
"Sheesh," came a mischevious feminine voice from somewhere behind her, "you sure do get lost easily!" Lucine spun around, peering against the light of the setting sun.
"Who's there?" she asked. She couldn't see anyone, but she heard a sigh.
"You're looking right at me, silly," came the voice again. Lucine couldn't see that she was, so she shielded her eyes with a hand.
"All I see is an otter," she observed, having, indeed, seen an otter sitting upright a few feet away.
"I am the otter," the voice said with a giggle. Lucine blinked.
"A talking otter?" she gasped. "What . . . how is that possible?" The otter sighed.
"Hence why I don't usually make it known, you know," she muttered. "Anyway, I'm here because you called to me." Lucine tilted her head.
"Really?" she asked. "I did?" The otter nodded.
"Lurue brought us together, Lucine!" she said. "With me you'll never get lost again!" The otter scampered over suddenly and sat on Lucine's shoulder. "Now, stand up and go thatta way!" She said, pointing a tiny paw back toward where Lucine had come from. Lucine started walking, and before long, Lucine noticed her surroundings getting familiar.
"Hey!" she exclaimed, "those are the ribbons marked by my father!"
"Told you so," said the otter smugly. Lucine craned her head slightly to look at the creature who sat on her shoulder.
"I'm sorry, I've just never met a talking otter before," Lucine said as simply as one would say they'd never met a halfling before. "I trust you . . . um. . . ."
"Gefi," said the otter, answering the unfinished question, "your new best friend!"

Reminder to self

2008-02-12T08:45:00.001-08:00

Mountains. Do some spontaneous writing on them. What do you see? What does it mean? Start doing it soon; this weekend, perhaps.

Tribal short stories, if you have time.

Stories about your dolls.

Adryan Andronicus! Don't forget!!

Independant Writers' Review

2008-01-10T07:24:00.000-08:00

I had a thought yesterday and I thought I'd share.

I'd like to see a way for independent writers to get their names and books out there. My idea is for an online literary magazine (possibly by purchase of subscription) in which independent writers, in particular those who self-publish, submit to the magazine a copy of their book(s) to be reviewed by myself and other staff. The writers would submit details of their books, including where they can be purchased and for how much, which company publishes them (if any) and so on. This would be inexpensive to do, and would place the author in the magazine's database, where people could go and read reviews by staff and look for the author's works.

I want to do this because, to the best of my knowledge, there really isn't much to help independent writers get recognised. I hope that through this, some independent writers might get discovered, too.

I'm not sure yet whether I'll do it, but let me know what you think!

Anime-inspired poem

2007-11-19T08:34:00.000-08:00

I am a big nerd. I love anime. So, here is an anime-inspired poem. Fans of the series will know which anime it is immediately.

I'm submitting this to the Forehead Review this year. It's a silly idea, but I like the poem.

Kami

Scribble, scribble.
Die, die.

I am the complete, the only, the all.
I am the immortal.
You cannot see my face, but beware,
For if I see yours, it means your ruin.
With every name I write, I am that much closer.
With every death, I become more alive.

Be good, enter my kingdom.
Be saved.
Be bad, and your death is assured.
My paradise will be forever lost to you.

A Dwelling-Place for Demons

2007-10-28T20:25:00.000-07:00

I had another dream the other night that really makes me want to write something. I won't explain the dream, because that would take awhile! I'll just go into the idea.

I don't know the setting yet, but it's a slightly alternate universe in which people summon demons. Each demon has a strong power, but that power can't be met until a stipulation is fulfilled. This power depends on the demon; it's individual. Not everyone summons demons; it is a bit of an unpopular practice, and those who do it are often scorned.

One such demon-summoner is a young woman who has nothing more she'd rather do with her life than research on demons. Fresh out of university, she's ready to start her research with first-hand summonings. She successfully summons her first demon . . . but his stipulation is an unexpected one. In order for his power to come into fruition, he has to have someone fall in love with him - and he has to love them back. This turns into a bizarre and comical search for women to love this beast, through want ads and internet personals to find the right girl. What happens, though, when he finds someone perfect, but the summoner starts to feel a bit jealous?

It sounds a bit Beauty and the Beast-ish, but . . . I think I like that, and I think I will probably play with it. I may even go so far as to name the main character Belle. Most likely it will be a modern fantasy meets romantic comedy. I really want to play with this idea!

Today's poetry

2007-10-04T20:19:00.000-07:00

I didn't really get any writing done today, which makes me sad because I try to write a little each day if I can, but I did have a bit of an idea.

I was leaving campus today listening to my iPod; music always influences me or alters my mood, or suits it. In any event, I was feeling a bit faroff and I was walking through a patch at the entrance to the forest where a lot of trees had been cut down and left there to rot. Something struck me then, and I had to write it down!

Looks like this could be the beginning of a good poem! I mostly got ideas about a battleground . . . a war between humans (I don't like saying "man", but it fits well in this poem so I'll use it) and nature.

Poetry chapbook

2007-10-03T20:14:00.000-07:00

I'm working on a poetry chapbook at the moment, aside from my current children's book project. For this I'm taking inspiration from autumn and many other things. This will be professionally published, I hope.

I have not written much good poetry in awhile, but I'm going to work really hard to achieve this goal. I'll let you all know my progress!

The chapbook will be ten poems long. I currently have two of these poems written and ready to go, aside from the required editing. Fragments of poems are floating around and I think that a few good things are going to happen soon!

Also, U de M students, don't forget to e-mail me about the Forehead Review! Send me your poems, stories, comics, whatever literary stuff you feel is appropriate. The new Forehead e-mail address is theforeheadreview@gmail.com, so send me something!

New project

2007-09-17T16:14:00.000-07:00

Hello, writing world! I have a new project I'm working on to share with you all. It is a writing project! Well . . . it would be, otherwise I wouldn't be posting it here! It's at a new blog - I will still be updating this one sporadically.

Adryan Andronicus College for the Gifted is going very well! I had a fanart contest the ended up with a good turnout for entries, and people really seemed to enjoy themselves. The first arc is complete now, so you can go read that without fear of having to wait a long time for other episodes! I'm working on fixing up the webpage - please give me your feedback regarding that. What do you think of the colours? The layout? Help me out, please!

Talk to you lot soon. Take care!

YAY!

2007-03-25T08:33:00.000-07:00

Oh wow, I'm really inspired because of this dream I had. I should be posting this in my dream journal, but I think I'm going to turn it into an aspect of AACG. I do realise I don't really have any clubs in the AACG realm, so this might turn out well enough . . . we'll see. I'll explain the dream first, then what I want to do with it. :D

I don't remember the first bit of the dream very much at all. *I* was not *me*; I was a bit younger and I was kind of . . . weird. How do I describe it? Tomboyish. Though I was dressed in green, had long hair, etc. I was accompanied by a couple of boys; they were bigger guys though I was small, and I was their "leader" or something in a club. There was this one guy in the dream I had kind of been tracking down. We had spoken earlier and he seemed like a good candidate for my club, so I had been tracking him down. For some reason, we were all wearing green, and we were out and about in the city looking for this guy. We found him and followed him into a tavern, where he was meeting with two of his friends for supper. We decided we didn't want his friends to know about us so we snuck in and planned to tap him on the shoulder when they weren't looking. Thankfully, he turned and saw us before we had to do that, and we beckoned him over. He didn't look happy, but he came over anyway. I woke up after that.

I got an interesting vibe from the female character I was in the dream and the male character. His name was Light (I obviously got this from Death Note as it was pronounced Raito in the dream XP), but I'm going to change it for the sake of AACG. He had long, light brown hair that was kind of shaggy, and bangs. His friends with him were sort of irrelevant, so I won't include that. The female character and Light had sort of a vibe between them - they were annoyed by one another, but I think they had randomly kissed earlier on. I'd like to have sort of an ambiguous relationship between the two - it's hard to tell if they like eachother, or if they're sworn enemies. Even they aren't sure.

GUH.

2006-11-14T17:51:00.000-08:00

I lost 5K words on my WriMo because of a toasted disc. >.<>.<. I guess I'll try and recuperate what I wrote, but I don't remember most of it. 5K is a lot and I don't have the time to rewrite that.

I guess I'll have to just give up on NaNoWriMo this year. Maybe I'll be able to do it next year.

UNPLEASANTLY UNHAPPY

2006-10-08T22:52:00.000-07:00

I am very, very angry.

I started writing this new poem in here, making the stupid mistake of writing it in the box as I'm going. What do you know? Internet Explorer informs me it's about to crash. Nice one, genius. So I manage to copy the poem, and I even test it in another window to make sure it'll work. It works fine, so I let internet explorer crash, and I bring it up again, firing it onto Blogger. Wouldn't you know it? MY CLIPBOARD IS SUDDENLY BLANK. So, I just lost the whole poem and everything in it.

I'm very, very frustrated. It was the first poem I've written in parts, and I was actually quite proud of it.

NOW I NEED TO START ALL OVER AGAIN. AHHHHH!

So, here's a poem about how pissed off I am instead. Enjoy.

Beast of Ire

This beast will engulf everything in its path if I let it.
It can burn down countrysides, pillage settlements and snuff out the life of children with a single breath.
Its tongue can break hearts; its fist can break friendships.
Its tears boil and scald,
And they poison the drinker.
A vein bursts under its pressure, spilling its life, and it presses on,
Determined to destroy everything in its path,
And me,
In the process.

This endless beast is my rage as I sit into the late hours of the night,
Contemplating my own sleep in a dreamlike stupor.
I'm far from calm; this beast is my unmaking.
And it just - prods - on -
Its tail the barb that drives into my ribs,
Its claws dig at my skull and its tongue lashes at my heart.
I'll drink its tears as my tea,
I'll accept its claw as an embrace and its tail as a kiss for now.
For now, all I can do is write, until I can write again.
Until I can be rid of this beast for a time long enough to compose my thoughts,
Use the pen-sword, and fight it with words.

Moncton writing journal.

2006-09-21T09:18:00.000-07:00

I`ve thought of this before, but I think I`d like to re-explore it. If anyone in the Moncton N.B. area would like to help me start a writing journal with short fiction, non-fiction, poetry, and (possibly) comics, please leave a comment here. I would also include local writing news and events. I think Moncton`s literary scene could do to rear its head a little more. :)

I was thinking of doing a writer`s club last year, but I`m really not sure a club with weekly or monthly meetings would fly. Please give me your feedback, Monctoners.

Also, when you get the chance, take a look at http://www.freewebs.com/nobrain/AACG - Adryan Andronicus College for the Gifted. I`ve been updating it as often as I can manage.

New Blog

2006-08-27T07:19:00.000-07:00

Hi folks!

I have a new Blog in which I record and interpret my dreams. You can find it here. Enjoy!

Neko

Field

2006-08-04T14:28:00.000-07:00

I find myself in a field when I close my eyes. It's a beautiful field filled everywhere you look with God's grandeur in a rainbow of colours and varieties. The sky is not cloudless, but the sun is certainly present; every so often it disappears under a cloud, darkening the whole area slightly. It's comfortably warm, and a soft breeze drifts past every now and again. It's never too warm and never too cold here, for the sun is always out in some way, and the breeze is always drifting. The wildflowers are numerous and varied in colour and type; I see daffodils, daisies, forget-me-nots, foxgloves and sweet williams immediately, with others whose names escape me tossing their heads in the wind alongside. I am sitting beside a small pond in the center of this grassy field, dipping my legs in the luxuriantly warm water. Few insects find themselves here, save a handful of honeybees and a number of dragonflies and butterflies. A stream trickles past where my left hand rests, and every so often a minnow slips past. The water is clear as a transparent mirror, reflecting the tiny rocks and plants growing at its bottom.

No signs of technology are present at all, and no planes or helicopters fly overhead. The only other beings are the creatures of the wild. The rabbits and the deer make regular visits to the pond, and the occasional moose rears her head as well. These animals aren't afraid of me, though. All I want to do is sit here and relax, and let the wind blow through my hair. All I want to do is enjoy this beautiful scene.

---

This is the place I picture in my head before I go to sleep. If there's too much going on in my head, I just close my eyes and imagine I'm there, and I go to sleep quickly.

Customers

2006-07-28T08:40:00.000-07:00

I haven't been writing in this much lately because I have been working a lot and have had little inspiration to write much of anything. Today, however, I feel that a rant is coming on. I work at a general store, you see. It's a great little place to work, and generally I have no problems and really enjoy my job; however, every now and again, we get the odd customer who has some kind of bone to pick. And usually, the problems they have has NOTHING to do with me or my job there. Say the word "cashier" with me for a moment. You know what that means? That means that I have NOTHING to do with hiring, pricing, the ATM machine, giving cashback, or ANY of our store policies in general.

A woman decided to come in the other day and bitch that we didn't sell single potatoes and that we only sell them in large 5 or 10 pound bags. Sorry, lady, NOT my problem. We're not a farmer's market, we are a general store. We carry more things than MOST general stores, AND we have a section dedicated to being a liquor store, so you are DAMN LUCKY we even sell bags of potatoes! I mean, hell. If you only want one potato, buy the whole bag and just . . . save the rest of it. It's really not that expensive, and it's not like potatoes rot quickly like tomatoes and cucumbers do. So, basically, the conversation went like this:

Woman: I'm looking for potatoes, but all I can find are the big ten pound bags.
Me: We used to have little trays of three or four russet baking potatoes, but we might be out.
Woman: Okay, so what happens now?
Me: . . . What do you mean?
Woman: Do you open a bag and sell me a potato?
Me: We don't open bags. You can check and see if we have any of the small trays left. They're on that aisle. *point*

So, the woman leaves in search of these little trays of russet potatoes. She finds none, and returns to me.

Woman: I couldn't find any, so what happens now? (I'm getting pretty irritated with that question by now. What do you WANT me to do, hold your hand through the whole freaking process of buying a POTATO? Give me a break.) Do you open a bag, or do I go somewhere else?
Me: We don't open bags. You can try the Harbor View Market, which is two doors up the road, but they have mostly the same stuff we do.

So now the woman informs me, as she's ringing in her purchases, that she's going to go out and pump some gas and that she'll be right back. I bag her purchases and at this point she seems rather friendly, smiling and saying thank you to me as she leaves.

But . . . then she pumps her gas and comes back to pay.

Me: That'll be blah (gas price), please.
Woman: If I use debit, can you give me cashback?
Me: No, we don't give cashback. We have an ATM right over there.
Woman: But it's not working.
Me: It's just out of money right now. The manager's working on it and he'll probably have it ready in a half hour or so.
Woman: This is bad. This is REALLY bad. With the amount of money people spend in your store, you REALLY should give cashback. (NOT MY PROBLEM!)
Me: Yes, that is why we have the ATM.
Woman: *laughing* But you DON'T have the ATM right now. Do you see my point?
Me: Yes, but we WILL have the ATM in about half an hour. It's just out of money.
Woman: This is really bad, you know. You talk like it's nothing, but you're not the one paying the fee, you know?
Me: Here's your receipt, have a nice day.

Okay, you just spent about $100 dollars on groceries and gas, and you're complaining about a piddly dollar fifty? I'm sorry, but this is NOT my problem. You want to talk to the manager about it? He'll tell you the same thing. We do not, never have and never will give cashback. If you have a problem with that, go to Saprano's and get some pizza. They'll give you cashback. The point is, WE don't, and most places don't. And guess who has nothing to do with that decision? ME. So leave me alone. I just take your money.

I hate the kinds of customers who are ALWAYS right. I'm sorry, NO. The customer is NOT always right. So when a customer comes in and tries to rip me off because they "thought" the pump said $84 when it actually said $85, I get kinda pissed. Especially when they try and claim I'm a liar. The gas machine IS accurate. YOU'RE an idiot. And, even if the gas machine ISN'T accurate (WHICH IT IS), we are required to follow exactly what it says the price is because otherwise, Irving will probably castrate us all. Sorry that you couldn't read it! Once again, not my problem. The machine is accurate and, if it wasn't, wouldn't put up the price EXACTLY a dollar. Quit trying to nickel and dime us.

By the way, YES those EXACT SAME TWO DOLLAR CANADIAN COINS are indeed WORTH THE SAME AMOUNT. And American change SERIOUSLY is not that much different from Canadian change. Our nickels, dimes, pennies, quarters and one dollar coins are all the same size and colour. Do we need to spell it out for you?

Anyway, I'm done for now. I have work in an hour. Felt good to get that out!

Adryan Andronicus College for the Gifted

2006-07-15T19:30:00.000-07:00

Hi. So, I finally wrote episode one of AACG, and it is located at: http://www.freewebs.com/nobrain/AACG

Enjoy. :)

The Crown of Spirits

2006-06-12T21:22:00.000-07:00

My friends and I are working on a film about Apillini, Wyll and Theillik. Yes, a FILM. A MOVIE. Should be interesting. Here are some of the ideas that I have so far. The working title is "The Crown of Spirits" for reasons that will be revealed in this preview. Here is basically the plotline as it stands right now.

---

Opening scene takes place within the Company of Wilona's Sails headquarters. Camera focuses on some documents and items of import to the group, such as their weapons, Apillini's locket and a few other things as the opening credits roll. Camera slowly pans over to focus on Theillik, who is sitting at a desk and playing with something (a quill? A deck of cards? something). He is humming and seeming fairly cheerful; it is a sunny morning. Camera focuses to over his shoulder, where a staircase comes into view. Wyllium and Apillini come down the stairs holding hands and chatting idly. They get to the bottom and are greeted by Theillik. Title comes onscreen for a few seconds at this time.

Theillik
Mornin', Weel! Mornin', Apeepee!

Apillini
Morning, Theillik. (Stretching and yawning)

Theillik
Did ya two sleep all right?

Wyllium
(Shrugging) Yeah, sure.

Apillini
Anyone in yet today, Theillik? (Glancing at the door)

Theillik
Nah, too early. They can't be both-

As Theillik speaks, a knock comes at the door.

Apillini
(Smirking) Too early, hm? Let's see what they want. (Going and opening the door)

In walks a customer of either male or female (doesn't matter) gender. Customer enters quickly with a few papers tucked under his/her arm and removes a pair of gloves to dust off the hands.

Customer
Greetings. My name is (______), and I presume you are the founders of the Company of Wilona's Sails?

Theillik
Yup! I'm Theillik!

Apillini
Apillini Fadden.

Wyllium
Name's Wyll.

Customer
(Nodding) As I had thought. That is very well. (Laying papers on the table) I have a job for you three.

As the scene progresses, Theillik , Wyllium and Apillini are informed of their job, which involves intercepting a messenger as he makes his way to Zazesspur. The conditions are that the messenger has two personal guards, as the message is important. The Company must intercept the messenger in any way they please, preferably masked, take the message and destroy it. The payment is whatever the Company finds on the messenger.
(note: I am only writing this as a summary right now because I don't want to do the whole script. :P)

Scene II

The Company is in disguise wearing all black, masked faces, etc. They're walking through a forest on a path that looks fairly well worn, chatting quietly with one another. They hear footsteps and look to see the people they're looking for a bit ahead. Apillini and Wyll slip through the trees to situate themselves behind the three as quietly as possible, while Theillik walks on ahead and meets the messenger. Immediately, Theillik rushes up and starts to attack the messenger.

More to come later.

Log transformed into fiction

2006-06-02T23:09:00.000-07:00

This is the log from Forgotten Kingdoms that brought Wyllium and Apillini together, only altered to the point where it's actually story-like fiction, not a log. Enjoy.

---

Apillini blew her nose on the cloak in her hand and tucked it away with a look of slight disgust.
"I won't be using that for awhile," she said with a lighthearted chuckle, despite the tears that streamed down her cheeks. Theillik chuckled in response and gave Apillini a little poke in the ribs to attract her attention.
"What's wrong?" he asked. Apillini threw her arms up.
"Wyll's right!" she cried. "That's what's wrong!" Theillik blinked, and Apillini worked quickly to correct herself. "Not the fact that Wyll is right, that is. Just the circumstance." She sighed softly at this and glanced away.
"What do ya mean?" Theillik asked, tilting his head to the side slightly and giving it a scratch.
"I'm a mean, grumbly old hag," Apillini muttered, folding her arms and frowning to highlight her statement. Theillik grinned.
"Ya ain't old," he said to Apillini. Strangely enough, this provoked a laugh out of her, breaking the tension between the two.
"I'm sorry," Apillini said, the honesty apparent in both her words and the expression on her face. "I'm going to try not to be so mean all the time." Theillik grinned and shook his head simply.
"Wyll and ya are such weiners," he said. "All long and meaty."
After a few moments of playful, friendly teasing, a voice came from the shadows behind the pair, and Apillini felt a pair of arms wrap around her, much to her surprise.
"Perhaps I can be a bit nicer, as well," a low voice said in her ear. Apillini whipped her head about to look at the man speaking, and she was very surprised to see that Wyll was the one who had his arms about her, and who was whispering in her ear. She was also surprised to see that Wyll was smiling warmly at her, and perhaps almost lovingly. She returned the smile with slight reluctance, clearly not fully understanding the situation. Theillik waved a finger at the pair.
"Ya'd best not be tryin' ta steal from her as yer huggin' her," he said scoldingly to Wyllium, who merely smiled and looked on Apillini. Apillini, on the other hand, frantically started digging through her pockets and packs.
"What did you take?" she cried in surprise. She didn't know Wyll to necessarily steal from her, but she DID know Wyll to steal from others; however, Wyll continued smiling at her, undaunted by her surprise.
"For now, likely nothing," he said, "but, hopefully with some work. . . ." He trailed off suggestively, offering Apillini another warm smile. Apillini wasn't buying it, though. She had known Wyll far too long, and she wasn't about to believe that he was implying what she hoped he was implying. Apillini, you see, had set her eyes on Wyll a few years before, even though she wouldn't admit it even to herself. She very much wanted to be with him, but he was her friend, and she knew he would never see her as more than such. Thus, to keep Wyll from noticing exactly how hopeful she was, she merely peered at him.
"Do tell me my allusion is not lost a bardess?" Wyll asked with a slight chuckle. Apillini reddened slightly.
"If I said it was . . . would you hold it against me?" she said quietly. Theillik shifted uncomfortably in the saddle of his horse as he looked on. Although the events unfolding were lost on Apillini, who was clearly in denial, Theillik knew exactly what was happening. Wyll merely chuckled at this and shook his head.
"As a matter of fact, no," he said softly, taking one of Apillini's hands in his own. "It means I get to show you." Wyll gently lay her hand over his chest, allowing Apillini to feel the beating of his heart. Though encouraged by the smile on Wyll's face, Apillini didn't know what to think. She looked back at him, her face uncharacteristically red and embarassed.
"Should I be leavin' ya alone?" Theillik asked, though his words fell upon deaf ears.
"What about that lady in the market, hmmm?" Apillini suddenly asked somewhat defensively as Wyll gave her hand a squeeze. Apillini seemed to have lost much of her initial embarassment, but gained a healthy level of skepticism. Wyll, however, gave her his dazzling smile once more.
"I'm surprised you didn't pick up on that tactic," he said with a small wink. "It's common for one to flatter another with hopes of revealing jealousy." Theillik looked on at the scene with a wide grin, saying quietly, "I'll be back in a bit." Away he rode to the western part of the hill to leave the couple to themselves. Wyll glared at the halfling as he left, muttering faintly under his breath.
"As if he doesn't know it's different when you know they're the o-" he paused and stopped himself short, his face visibly reddening. "Oh, damnit," he cursed quietly. Apillini didn't seem to catch the gist of what he was saying, and she merely quirked a brow to give him a skeptical gaze.
"This isn't another one of your acting moments, is it?" she asked with a somewhat flat tone, trying not to let her disappointment in this remote possibility show through.
"'m not acting," Wyll muttered, too quietly for Apillini to hear. She creased her brow and tilted her ear toward him.
"I missed that."
"Not acting," Wyll said a bit louder. "I'm not acting!" he then shouted. He suddenly turned away from Apillini and let go of her hand, then ran a hand through his hair, looking summarily stressed and uncomfortable. In an attempt to rectify the situation, Apillini rapidly shook her head and reached her hand out to Wyll's.
"No!" she cried. "I'm sorry. Don't turn away!" Wyll gave her hand a squeeze as she continued to speak. "I was just . . . surprised, that's all. I never thought. . . ." She trailed off quietly before she could finish her sentence, and Wyll picked up for her.
"It's like I said," he murmured. "It's different when you know. You don't know what to do." A moment after this, Apillini managed to compose herself and she took a deep breath.
" . . . I never thought you'd feel the same way," she said at last. At that moment, it was as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her shoulders. She had been wanting to say something of such an extent to Wyll for a long time, and she had finally found a proper time to do it. Wyll was completely speechless despite this sudden confession, and he choked on the very air he breathed in as though he had forgotten how to breathe properly. He slowly turned around to face Apillini, who bit her lip as she continued to speak.
"I . . . I denied it when Theillik asked me if I liked you," she said quietly, to which Wyll chuckled lightly.
"I . . . can't really blame you," he said.
"I guess I was trying to convince myself," Apillini continued with a shaky chuckle, "especially after what happened with that other woman. It worked, by the way," she added with a wink. Wyll glanced away with a frown.
"A horrid tactic. I apologise for that."
"That doesn't matter now," Apillini said with a smile, shaking her head gently. Wyll glanced back at Apillini, and, noticing her smile, smiled in return and gave her hand a squeeze. Apillini blushed at this, not at all used to this sort of attention from any man. Slowly, Wyll reached a hand up to touch Apillini's cheek. The night air slipped past them in a subtle wave of light chill, and a vaguely animalistic chatter was brought with it.
"The cool night air," Wyll said softly, gazing into Apillini's olive green eyes, "the animals getting increasingly chattery. . . ." Slowly, the couple's faces began to inch closer together as the chattering grew louder. "And . . . you. . . ." he said in a low voice as Apillini slowly closed her eyes. . . .
Suddenly, the chattering grew to a peak, and the couple watched as Theillik rolled out of the bushes in a fit of hysterical laughter. He groaned in pain as he did so, but his laughter continued for a good amount of time. Apillini took a step back, her face glowing with sheer embarassment, but Wyll, undaunted by this turn of events, gave Apillini a gentle hug from behind. Theillik composed himself after a moment and stood, grinning up at the couple.
"Hiya, weiners!"

Potato limerick of doom

2006-05-18T00:40:00.000-07:00

Potatoes are really grand
I buried one there in the sand;
And if you ate one
Lying under the sun
Then maybe you would understand.

Abstract concepts

2006-05-06T21:51:00.000-07:00

We live in a world of abstract concepts, and we are wholly ruled by each of them. Take time, for instance. Time does not truly exist, it is merely a way of measuring our past, present, and future. Time is never the same for anyone, because it exists within perception and not in reality. Ah, you say, but reality is time. No. Without your clocks, your counting, your minutes, your hours, your years, your bloody centuries, time is nothing. A blink of an eye can occur within hours for one person. To one who waits, what FEELS like an eternity IS an eternity. That is why time is so abstract. That is why dictionary.com uses big words to describe it. Contain the abstract in the concrete and define it with as many words as possible! Give it a physical shape in a watch, a clock, or a child counting the seconds like sheep. Allow it to confine you and drag you from what is REALLY important. Our whole life is a damned counter. COUNT AWAY!

Love and beauty. Have you ever have someone try and describe to you what love is? Well, if you have, they have probably done a poor job of it. Love is perhaps one of the most abstract of all qualities. Why? Because people claim it exists, but it really does not. An intense desire to constantly be with the same person is a physical urge, no matter how psychological one believes this urge may be. The way that the word is thrown around nowadays certainly seems to fit this. "I love this dress", "I love this song", "I love this restaurant". All three, very physical. "I love my husband". He brings you sensual fulfillment. Physical. Next please? "I love my brother". You have been with him your entire childhood and life. Your physical closeness disappears for whatever reason, and an emptiness will remain. And what do I know about this? I have claimed to be in love. I claimed it about half an hour ago, in fact. This is why love is so abstract a concept: One can claim one moment that love does not exist, and yet the next can be so swept away by so complex a feeling that nothing else matters. Tomorrow I shall eat these words and love will seem so noble and wonderful again. For now, though, I am merely thinking.

This reminds me that I must sayt that these words aren't even necessarily how I feel. I just like to argue . . . even with myself.

I'm going to skip beauty for now. Maybe I'll care enough to write about it later.

Good and evil! This, perhaps, is one of my favourites, because they are so close together that one tiny incident can transform one into the other. Let us take, for example, a young woman whose family is murder. Her family dies, she mourns, becomes quite upset for a time and moves on. She eventually forgives the murderer and becomes a better person for it. Now, let us say the woman took a different path, albeit a similar one until the point when she had forgiven the murderer before. Instead, she kills the murderer for his deeds, he dies, and she remains a tormented soul despite this. Unlikely? Perhaps; however, she equates herself with the murderer in exacting her revenge.

To me, revenge has always been the most ridiculous motive. I have never understood it and I don't think I ever will. Perhaps I am so used to dealing with suffering alone that I don't really find any need in making someone else suffer as I. An eye for an eye? Not my cup of tea. Teach him/her a lesson? Perhaps, so long as they are willing to learn, and so long as this lesson doesn't hinder their learning. But I am rambling!

So, yes. In making she and the murderer equal, she is doing an "evil" deed. Evil is all in the eye of the beholder, though, hence its bizarre ambiguity. To this young woman, her deeds are no more evil than the murderer's, and perhaps she is being righteous by defeating such a blight upon humankind.

I also wanted to touch upon beauty, intelligence, and the world of the material, but that will come at a different time. I'm mainly trying to flesh out ideas here for . . . something interesting. Note that not all of those are necessarily my thoughts. I suppose it depends on what mood I'm in . . . thought I certainly feel the revenge one is true to me.

I would have continued, but I'm tired.

Memories

2006-04-17T17:50:00.000-07:00

Apillini Fadden

2006-04-06T10:06:00.000-07:00

I've been obsessed beyond a healthy ''normal'' with one of my characters, Apillini Fadden, recently, so here is a bit about her past so I can kill time before class. :)

Apillini was the fifthborn of Lavender and Trethan Fadden; her parents had to go through four sons before they were finally blessed with a daughter. Lavender had a beautiful singing voice and an equally beautiful face, and it was no real surprise when Apillini looked and sounded just like her. Being a bard of no small repute, Lavender had hoped to teach her daughter how to play the gittern and to sing, but just as lessons were beginning to show that Apillini was going to grow to be a wonderful bard at the age of four, tragedy struck; Lavender and Trethan both were killed in a horrific caravan raid when they were to head to Berdusk for Lavender to perform. Apillini's oldest brother, Phillip, was nineteen at that time, and had been living with his wife in Daggerford as a blacksmith for some time. The next after Phillip was Travis, who lived in the family's home with Morae and Jacob (the youngest brothers) after the funeral was held. Phillip's wife suggested that Apillini would need more feminine influence than what would be received with Travis, Morae and Jacob, so the two of them adopted Apillini and treated her both like the younger sister she was, and like a daughter.

Many years passed, and Apillini grew up playing the gittern. She didn't seek professional training, but instead always claimed that she was a bard. She played for the customers at Phillip's smithy to earn some extra revenue, and her works were always appreciated. By the time she grew to fifteen years of age, word had spread of her unusual talent, and she was invited to the Friendly Arm Inn to play for a night and be paid. Apillini graciously accepted, and she made way immediately for the inn. While playing upstage, however, something peculiar happened. The bar was full and rowdy, so no one was prepared for the loud, frightening rumbling sound that came. Through the inn doors burst hundreds of rabid white rabbits, chasing out all of the patrons. Apillini was trapped onstage without a prayer; she was dressed in her finest clothing and hardly ready for battle. Fate, however, played a role in the happenings of that night. Apillini was saved by a group of unlikely heroes: a bald, druidic gnome named Shamis, the roguish man Wyllium (accompanied by Sherman, his grey donkey), the elven ranger Feilong and the halfling fighter Theillik. The proprietor had been chased out as well, but Apillini demanded her pay. She followed this group wherever they went from then on, especially since it was because of them she didn't get her pay (even though they saved her life). The group quickly became annoyed with her haughty, rude and condescending personality, but she stuck with them through, despite becoming altogether evil from killing an elven ranger of some repute by order of a particularly evil wizard. The group had gotten placed on a boat (The Wilona, named after its unattractive, bearded-gnome-woman owner) and had a run-in with this wizard, who placed collars on their necks that would destroy them if they left the boat for more than two hours at once.

Eventually, with the aid of some ghostly friends, the evil wizard was defeated, and everyone was redeemed, not to mention the fact that Apillini got her pay!

That went on for the better part of a year. At the age of sixteen, Apillini abandoned all of her dreams (and her mother's) of becoming a bard. Instead, she adopted a more roguish lifestyle, allowing her a bit more freedom and giving her the chance to pursue the profession of a full-time adventurer. A short time after getting settled in Waterdeep, she met up with Theillik and Wyllium (and Sherman). By the time she turned twenty-one, the three of them were doing everything together, despite the constant bickering to be had between Apillini and Wyll. One day, the three of them went to a goblin encampment for an adventure, and Wyll and Apillini got into an argument with regard to her attitude toward things. The argument ended with Apillini in tears, apologising to Theillik for her behaviour. After those two had a chat and Apillini vowed to try her hardest to be nicer to her friends, Wyll made an appearance that startled everyone; he put his arms around her and suggested that he be nicer as well. Despite their constant bickering, the two became a couple.

That is Apillini's story up until now, save the fact that she is allergic to beestings, petrified of lightning and was recently threatened by a gnome to be set on fire in a busy marketplace.

Bad Weather

2006-03-27T15:02:00.000-08:00

I'm really sick of hearing everyone talk about how lovely the weather is. THIS IS GLOBAL WARMING, PEOPLE! CLIMATE CHANGE! There is ABSOLUTELY NOTHING that is NICE about this. So, I wrote a poem. Hope you enjoy.

It's March and the sun is shining brilliantly.
There's just a bit of breeze on the air,
But no matter for that. The bright sun
Contradicts the wind's sharp, confining draft.
"I love this weather," I hear you all say.
What, daft? Love it? Why?
In some once cold region of the world, the temperature drops,
An ice floe melts,
A seal drowns.
Nice weather for you, perhaps,
But look at Lady Katrina, whose temperate embrace wiped a city's slate,
Washed it down to its core and destroyed its people.
Ah, yes! What lovely weather!
And when the polar bears are extinct
And the salt seas boil the earth to a murky stew with our bodies as the rare,
Floating bits of meat prepared to be devoured
By America's lustful pocketbook,
Will you still think the weather is nice?

Sporadic garbage

2006-03-20T17:45:00.000-08:00

I felt like writing in class this morning, so I came up with this sporadic garbage (this is true garbage, by the by):

Heavens above, I am TIRED today! That might have something to do with my three and a half hours of sleep last night, but I'm on my second cup of coffee and I haven't had that cheeful burst of caffeine-induced energy yet. I don't suppose I will at this point; only about a fifth of the cup remains and it's not getting any fuller.
I took a number of power naps this morning before leaving the apartment, and of course all of them helped . . . except the last one. I woke up one minute before I had to leave and, contrary to the other power naps, I was exhausted. Suck it up, Cooper, I thought. You brought this upon yourself. And, indeed, I had. Instead of meeting my original 2 AM deadline, I finished my paper at 5 AM and went to bed then. I awoke at 8:30 because I was in desperate need of a shower, then went back to sleep for about fifteen minutes. For me, these very short naps are pure gold. If I can get so much as a minute of sleep these dreary mornings, I am a happy woman. Doesn't take much to please me; just give me a pillow and five minutes on a day like this.
These crows keep following me around and it's almost forboding. Don't get me wrong; crows are beautiful creatures and they're incredibly interesting, but when you've got a good flock of them per tree with five trees surrounding you, you tend to get a little worried. Messengers of death, crows are, and when they hang over your head like a guilty conscience, you'll want to slowly inch away, too.
This morning was hazy and cold. It wasn't hazy in the physical sense . . . rather, it was far from it. The sun was bright and the sky was blue and cloudless, in fact. My head, however, was in quite a fog. I really need to stop with this lack of sleep bullshit, or my head may cave in from weakness. That aside, how would that look? If your head caves in, I mean. I've always wondered if it just starts at the forehead and collapses inward. Not that it matters, anyway. I don't know about you, but I sure don't want to see how that looks.
I work as a prostitute in the summer time. I may not sell my body for sexual gratification, but I sure do sell it for similar humiliation and hard manual labor. Every summer, someone quits rather abruptly and leaves me and my particular partner of that time high and dry. I lose a lot of weight working at that terrible hotel/restaurant/bar/patio/takeout every year because half the time I'm not even allowed to eat. And, before you ask, the pay is shit; it's one dollar above minimum wage. $7.50/hour? Why yes, I am a prostitute, or I'd might as well be for that kind of crap cash at about 40+ hours a week with no overtime! Crossing my fingers for a 50 cent raise this year, however unlikely that is. I suppose if this is the case, we're all just prostitutes, aren't we? We sell our skills and cheapen them in selling them, and after awhile they're not really useful; they're just there.
This book I'm writing in has a plastic flap that chafes terribly. It keeps rubbing against my arm and causing me some bit of pain. I guess that's my hint that I should suck it up and pay attention for awhile, but only fifteen minutes remain in this class. I don't know why I keep writing anyway; this is all terribly random and sporadic garbage, but I suppose it's my way of practice. I never practice, though. I do, and I am doing right now, so I guess I'm not practicing. I don't know. Like those crows are, I am slowly bleakening my own existence and I'm now predicting my own death. I predict I will die tomorrow morning by some means of an ice cream sandwich and a salad fork. We'll see whether or not I'm right.

Continuation of previous novel-doodle, only at a different point.

2006-03-17T11:39:00.000-08:00

And then, the totally unexpected happened.
As I told you before, I had been rapidly searching for a roommate. These apartments don't pay for themselves, you know, and having a two-bedroom apartment all to oneself isn't exactly cost-effective. Well, after coming back from the job interview I was totally wiped and ready to take a seat down in front of the television with a large bag of salt and vinegar Lays and a can of 7Up, but these plans were thwarted.
I unlocked the apartment door to the sound of a blaring television screen. Funny, I thought, I was sure I turned on the TV before I left this morning. Indeed, I was sure I had. I heard the sounds of laughter and clapping; it was noon, and obviously the Price is Right was the show that was on. Being a fan of children's shows, I'd had the channel set to YTV before going to the interview, so the sounds of a gameshow were foreign and surprising to the ear.
I entered the apartment fully with a quizzical expression on my face. The expression became even moreso when I saw a person sitting on my couch, watching my television and eating my salt and vinegar Lays. At first, I was too shocked to even speak. After all, why the hell should I have to say anything?! This was my apartment, right?
. . . Right?
"Excuse me," I finally managed to say, dropping my purse on my foot as I did. I winced before I continued to speak, noticing that the person in my couch didn't once turn around or say anything in reply. "Excuse me," I said, a bit more forcefully.
"Hi, Francesca," came a husky feminine voice from the couch. I nearly swallowed my tongue.
"Uh," I sputtered, "I think you have the wrong apartment. My name isn't Francesca." The girl in the couch, for I could see more clearly now that she was a girl, dangled a key from her finger. Distinctly on the keychain was the number of the room; 2T.
"Where did you get that?" I cried in surprise. "Who let you in here?" The girl in the couch shrugged and let her hand drop lazily to the couch.
"The landlady," she replied. I stormed over to the couch to get a good look at this girl, keeping the door open and kicking the purse off my foot as I did so.
How odd . . . I remember thinking as I stared at the girl sitting there.

This girl was beyond abnormal. She had two-tone eyes; one of them was a bright blue and the other was a dull grey-brown. Her hair was shoulder-length and similarly two-toned. Instead of brown with blue streaks, as you might have thought, she had quite the opposite; her hair was a bright blue matching her left eye, and it had streaks of the same shade of brown as her eyes. She was short and thin and looked to be about sixteen years old. She has to be older than that, I thought. Why else would she be coming here alone?
"Who the hell are you?" I asked, so suddenly that I surprised even myself. Without taking her eyes from the television, all she said was "Your roommate."

Rabbits

2006-03-12T08:57:00.000-08:00

Had a dream about writing last night which slapped me with another idea. I dreamt that I had been reading about rabbits and that they were all remarkably human; they sat in their little burrow and they drank tea and they talked about Mr. and Mrs. Johnson (rabbits) and the like. I remember being somewhat disgusted at the whole "they're so human" thing, so I decided to write a story about rabbits that were totally, 100% rabbity. The only difference would be that they would talk, but even then that wouldn't necessarily matter. It's difficult to make a group of characters interesting when they don't talk, but I'm sure it's been done? Don't know.

My rabbits were a family, though I'm not sure how often a family of rabbits, including mother, father, and babies, actually live together in a burrow. It basically followed the lives of the rabbits as stuff happened to them; one of the female rabbits (named Lucy, though I'm not sure I'd give them names, as that is a very human thing to do) , the daughter, was getting caught by a wolf or a hunter and one of the son rabbits came in to tell everyone else about it.

And before you all point accusatory fingers, I have never read Watership Down. :P

Ugh.

2006-03-08T05:03:00.000-08:00

Early mornings hate me so
I wish I could die!
The doctor needs to see me.

This sums up how I feel this morning >.<.

Novel doodles.

2006-03-01T10:24:00.000-08:00

I'm having a whole rainbow of novel brain-doodles right now, so I'm going to briefly write up something. These are just ideas and possibly the into to a book or something. I had a random idea while making breakfast this morning; my roommate was watching TV simultaneously. I also attended a panel by historical fiction writer Deborah Hale this past weekend, and I'm going to try out a few techniques she suggested. Let's see how that goes.

On the day of my graduation, everything went horribly wrong.
I was one of those people who was more than happy to be out of high school and everything. I told myself I wasn't going to cry, because I knew that high school was a personal hell. I didn't think I would cry . . . but I did.
I woke up that morning ready for anything that hit me. I was invincible! The world was my oyster because I, yes, I was about to be a high school graduate. Well, as soon as I woke up I tripped over my dog, who was strategically draped on the rug right beside my bed, and I sailed headfirst into the wall, receiving, summarily, a good smack and a very painful bloody nose. Okay, I thought, that's just one thing, right? I mean, I'm graduating today. What else could possibly go wrong?
I was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I didn't even knock on wood.
My boyfriend and I were to graduate together, you see, and my best friend, and the three of us are inseparable. It wasn't one of those friendships in which everyone is a different age, oh no. The three of us were of very close age; in fact, I was two months older than my friend and my boyfriend was two months older than I. To the day. So, you know, there wasn't to be any waiting for anyone else to graduate. The three of us had even been accepted to the same college!
So, of course, when I saw them holding hands in a line-up outside of the school in their grad gowns, I got a little surprised. The three of us had grown up together. There was trust there, man! I screamed at my mom to stop the car, and stop it she did. I stormed over to the two of them and immediately snapped ''What the hell is going on here?'' before they even saw me. The two jumped and spun around, then when they saw me, quickly dropped the hand-holding.
''What do you mean, Ellie?'' asked Cynthia with that stupid, sweet smile of hers; that smile that used to cheer me up when I was crying.
''You know PERFECTLY well,'' I shot back, casting a sidelong glance at Nick, whose face was red and whose eyes were downcast in a look of shame. Cynthia put on her little cutesy act and tried to play the victim. God! I thought, She always plays the victim!
''Ellie, it's really not like you to yell like this,'' she pouted. ''Please calm down.''
''You had your hands on Nick,'' I said bluntly. My shoutings had already acquired stares from the remainder of the grads in the line. ''Why did you have your hands on Nick?'' Nick glanced up at me and cleared his throat.
''This is my fault,'' he said quietly. I quickly turned on my supposed best friend to glare at Nick in reply.
''Oh?'' I said sharply, spreading my hands and smiling ironically. ''Then let's hear, Nick, all about it. Why were you holding her hand?'' Nick put his head in his hands and sighed, while Cynthia cast him a frantic glance.
''It's about time we told her, Cynthia,'' Nick whispered into his hands. Cynthia widened her eyes and gasped, glancing back and forth between the two of us.
''Well, I suppose it must be since you just let the cat out of the bag!'' Cynthia growled, giving Nick an angry shove. This pissed me off even more! First she was holding his hand, and now she's treating him like crap? Well, I got so angry I just brought back my fist and let her have one, right in the mouth, just as my mother ran onto the scene!
''You don't touch him!'' I screamed. Nick looked at me in shock.
''Ellie - '' he started, though I didn't let him continue.
''Shut up!'' I turned and slapped him ringingly across the cheek. ''Don't call me Ellie anymore!'' Nick winced and grabbed his cheek in pain. I felt my mother's hand on my shoulder and I took a deep breath as the sounds of whispers lighted in the air around me.
''How long has this been going on?'' I asked Nick slowly. Cynthia, fortunately, was too busy spitting blood and what may have (hopefully) been a tooth out of her pretty little mouth to reply, so Nick got the first say in.
''Six months,'' he replied quietly. He was evidently ashamed of what a cheating jerk he was, but that didn't stop me.
''Six months!'' I cried, anguish finally setting in as my voice broke and a lump welled up in my throat. ''Where the hell was I?'' Nick looked back up at me, his face contorting into anger and rage.
''That's the point, isn't it?'' he yelled back. I couldn't take that; I broke down into sobs.

All right, I need to go to class, so that's all for now. I just spat that out in an interval of about 20 minutes . . . I have to say, I kinda like it.

NINJAS

2006-02-23T23:33:00.000-08:00

Hahahaha. This is a t-shirt design I just added to my: http://www.cafepress.com/v_bomb (CaféPress shop). I thought it was kind of funny. Enjoy.

Frost at Dawn

2006-02-23T05:52:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I just spill out a bunch of poems, take a hiatus for three months and spill out more. Here's another (work in progress, mind you; I'm really tired and my thoughts aren't altogether cohesive this morning).

I borrowed the title from Coleridge's Frost at Midnight. I am a big fan of the Romantic poets.

Spiny winter frost, sparkling on the sunlit boughs,
Sprinkling the earth at a gust of wind with diamond flecks
That twinkle at a glance like a ring on a maiden's finger.
The shadow of my breath on the snow - and aye, my breath has a shadow this time of year -
Blue and dark in the morning's frail light.
A haze hangs in the air, and the river's breath has a shadow too
As steam rises from the still half-frozen waters.
Ignore the cars, they have no place here among this sugar-coated paradise
That is candy for the eyes and candy for the mind.
The foul exhaust spewing from those crude, ugly machines
Is a frail mockery of the gentle air whispered into the morning sun from the river,
Lifeless and unmoving, hanging in the day like clouds over a mountain.

River Rat

2006-02-22T20:26:00.000-08:00

I wrote this poem today after actually witnessing the happenings within the poem. :)

A winter's day, warmer than most,
But by no means warm.
In this forest of twisted metal, where the people are animals,
And the animals are people,
The only paths are the beaten ones.
The sidewalk, straight and narrow, leads me on to my destination,
Taking my hand to prevent my being lost.
I cross the bridge and my eyes wander
To a large chunk of dirt among the snow.
At first glance it seems minute, but then it seems to move.
A new path, thin as a forearm,
Tangles down to the riverbed.
At the top, sitting among the snow is the dirt-pile,
Or, rather, a river rat, fat and dark,
Determinedly going through his task of digging,
Despite the three sets of eyes
Watching behind the cold grey bar.
Down the path he wiggles and into the water he slips,
Silent as death, vibrant as life.
He swims away as I walk on;
No longer a part of nature, all I can do is watch.

I am Alice

2006-02-20T16:05:00.000-08:00

This morning I stumbled out my door to head to class. My head was clouded and drowsy as I had awoken merely half an hour beforehand, my acquired sleep last night was less than substantial. I found my mind wandering as usual on this brisk Monday morning; being a Pisces, I find my mind always wanders nonetheless. Treading slowly down the road, I came across the most disturbing interruption of senses that could have been. Parked on the side of the road and running was a very large brown truck, emitting a noise so loud and unpleasant it made my ears hurt. I remember believing it couldn't have been real for some reason, but I pressed on in hope that I would be disturbed no further on my walk. Sadly, another obstacle stood in my way, and I slipped on a sheet of ice frosted with snow. My senses, each and every one, got a jolt from that slip; I have a chronic fear of falling, and my heart stops whenever it happens. I say every sense even though there was no particular taste in my mouth, yet I was almost certain I could taste blood, even with its lack of presence there. I am a paranoid person by nature, and I think that if I am going to slip on ice, I am going to slip face first and knock my teeth out by some semi-miracle. My teeth jagged and some altogether gone, I will cut my lip and blood will pour, like what happened to a friend of mine on the slide in elementary school.

Of course, nothing happened. I slipped a little, my heart stopped. I pressed on.

Being drowsy intices your thoughts to drift elsewhere. Some believe that dwelling on dreams is a useless, trivial activity, yet I disagree. My thoughts led me to dwell last night's dreams, and I came to a realisation.

We are only truly awake when we are dreaming. Foolish as it sounds, it's true. In our dreams we feel the highest sense of emotion; we feel the most passionate bliss and the most harrowing fear. A dream can be discerned from a happy dream to an unhappy dream by a fleeting emotion. A smile can make the whole dream cheerful and wonderful, but a scream can change it to deadly violence. As the mind wanders, so do the emotions.

We are our dreams. Last night, I dreamt that I was Lewis Carroll's Alice from his Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, only I was in the Disney make of the book. I sang with the flowers, lost though I was and a weed though they thought I was. I am Alice. The dream reflected me, what I wanted to do, what I wanted to see. The dream reflected who I was.

We've all had dreams and said "I would NEVER do that!", but doesn't that just tell us more about ourselves? Perhaps you had never really thought about it before. Perhaps you had never even considered the possibility. If you have a dream then awaken with a horrible sense of guilt, you have likely discovered something new about yourself by having the dream. The dream, through your waking, reflects yourself. The cycle is perpetual. You will never have a dream that tells you nothing about yourself.

I am Alice, stuck in my Wonderland of dreams.

EvaMendes

2006-02-20T15:54:00.000-08:00

Two posts today, but they will be separate. This one will go first, as it is the shorter of the two; in fact, it's just a drawing. I like posting up anything I can drawing-wise. The better stuff is in my DeviantArt gallery, but here's something I finished today:

That's an avvie art of my good friend EvaMendes from GaiaOnline. I think I did a pretty good job; he's cute. :3

More stuff to follow shortly.

Yo.

2006-02-18T22:16:00.000-08:00

Just a short little thing here.

I'm going to be posting random ideas, sketches and writings in here. This is somewhat of an online creative journal for me. Enjoy, I hope. ^_^