!

And like, yo!

So. This is the part where you fall down and bleed to death! where I give the shpiel about needing to start crap anew, blah blah, sheding old skins, etc. personal reasons whatever.

Pretend I did that, and it was all very stirring and sensible.

Now.

This is me redirecting you to my new journal.

I am now gethenian.

You needn't defriend this journal, I may still occasionally post crap in it. And no, I won't be offended if you don't friend me on that journal. I don't know who the hell half of you are anyway. XD

Journal's going through layout changes and friends list sorting, and it may take a while since I don't feel like being online as much as I have in the past. Also, don't expect the entries to make a lot of sense. I'm being a poet, whores.

So, la-dee-da, trapse on over, cuz that's where I'll be.

And it is, actually, my OLD journal, which I abandoned to start this one. The old entries have been marked private and the name changed.

There will be no re-marking, deleting, or purging of THIS journal, fear not. I just needed a change of pace and name. Halfwest feels increasingly like someone else, the way Mainecoon once did. People who know me offline can still call me Ven, though. That's, you know, my name. If I occasionally refer to myself by other names in my new journal, um... cope, or something. \o/

And no, this is not a spur-of-the-moment decision. It may seem a bit of a shoddy job, but it's something I've been considering for a good week now. I haven't done anything about it because I needed to settle on the right name.

I wonder about that fur-head sometimes.

He's still doing that. Been like that for a good 20 minutes now.

Warm wine and
the song of the glass is sweet
(nothing's sweeter than this song, honey)
Blue glass
and beneath my feet
(no road's the road for you but this:)
Bright light and
a dim serenade from the lips of one I adore
(you're all right, you're all right, you're all right)
You're all right and the glow's a candle
how do you get there?
There and back
again.

I praise the lips kissing the metallic rape of trees,
I praise
the ones who worship its opposite, and I praise
the syllable that explained my twenty years
serving hard time in shackles no one could see
and convening to convince the shadows
there is more out there than ink and paper.

I praise the release of the infinite
into the monotone of black and white
that embraces and defines the world of the indefinable grey.
It falls onto my face like autumn rain,
which is the smell of my soul
at summer's turning.

I am turning
half-way to the left, I am standing
half-way between two compass points and I
neglect to speak my own name in favor of redefining myself with another
as I did once, years ago.
The duchess on the parapet
is also the fool in the bandstand, the face in the crowd
that is unlike the others,
which are unlike each other
and all unlike the whole,
which is to say:

I have reached an answer to answers
and I may speak the name of royalty.

7
(hefhed)

Apparently there is an actual technical term with this fun little concept I've been playing with for as long as I can remember.

It is called "breaking the fourth wall."

And it's LOTS of fun. >:D

...but I have not laughed so damn hard in MONTHS.

*is still laughing*

PING! PING PING PING! PING!!!



...or they'll just laugh themselves to death.

Either way, it's effective.

So! in case nobody noticed (which it seems they did not), I am beginning to learn that I can indeed make decent drawings without medication. This is a big step for me, whoopie. You saw the quick sketch I did last night. Tonight, I found a song (see previous post, the one with the bagpipe) that let me do something with a little more detail.

( Look, I was nice and cut it this time. Love me.Collapse )

It's Carrickfergus and Pinion again. The color effect was put there by my camera. It's a shame I probably won't be able to do it in the finished one because it... works, with what's going on.

No, you don't get to know what's going on. Yet. It's a secret thing that... aww, fuck it.

They're Void Rangers.

This was never part of the plan when I started writing them, not even something I understood, but as often happens when you write with other people, or even with just yourself, stuff happens that you don't expect and characters develop based on their surroundings. This, of course, has not actually happened yet. But they've been... shall we say... set upon the path.

For all the explanation you're going to get of what a Void Ranger is (yet), read two entries back to the quote from Vehk and the chibi avatar with the strange name. And read the nonsensical bullshit I post here, you whores, it'll expand your minds. ;)

I conclude with the words that inspired the above work-in-progress:

There are angels in your angles
There's a low moon caught in your tangles
There's a ticking at the sill
There's a purr of a pigeon to break the still of day

As on we go drowning
Down we go away
And darling, we go a-drowning
Down we go away
Away

There's a tough word on your crossword
There's a bed bug nipping a finger
There's a swallow, there's a calm
Here's a hand to lay on your open palm today

As on we go drowning
Down we go away
And darling, we go a-drowning
Down we go away
Away

There are angels in your angles
There's a low moon caught in your tangles
...

Whut? - long, and very cool. (Mariner's Revenge)

Again I say, whut? - boogie down. (16 Military Wives)

Shel Silverstein, Decemberists, guy with a pillow strapped to his back. The bagpipe is fuckin' hawt. As is the guy/chick with the signs, actually. Um.

A Cautionary Song. Just the music. Rawk.

The person responsible for this is one "Stargazey" who may be found making mischief... elsewhere.

Imperial fighter + Bosmer mage = ultimate pwnage.

Glow Rat Blue (heat death): Boswell

The magical cross is an integration of the worth of mortals at the expense of their spirits. Surround it with the triangle and you begin to see the Triune house. It becomes divided into corners, which are ruled by our brethren, the Four Corners: BAL DAGON MALAC SHEOG. Rotate the triangle and you pierce the heart of the Beginning Place, the foul lie, the testament of the irrefutable-for-a-span. Above them all is the horizon where only one stands, though no one stands there yet. It is proof of the new. It is the promise of the wise. Unfold the whole and what you have is a star, which is not my domain, but not entirely outside my judgment. The grand design takes flight; it is transformed not only into a star but a hornet. The center cannot hold. It becomes devoid of lines and points. It becomes devoid of anything and so becomes a receptacle. This is its usefulness at the end. This is its promise.

--Vehk

===

Glow Rat Blue said, "I am the inscrutable act of being that is not, its consistency of activity, its alteration, and its stasis."

Glow Rat Blue bowed, its (His? Her? We shall selectively employ his for lack of a more generic yet less impersonal pronoun) hair fell over his masked be-ribboned face, for a moment shadowing the single visible green-brown-grey-allshattered eye. "I feel like a child-god allowed to play in the castles of my makers," he repeated, though his voice was neither clearly male nor female, nor even clearly human, mortal, nor anything that might have ever walked the earth before he did. His predecessors might, if truth be told, by the suggestion of the intonation, have crawled below it. Speak not of demons, reader, but of earthworms. Noble and blind and wise, and imagine the creatures that ate them for the strength to spawn themselves, and in time, spawned him.

"Why must act have stasis?" he asked. "Because constant change must sometimes change as far as to be its own opposite. Otherwise it has no definition and therefore, no act. It need not be defined with words, nor thoughts, but its act is its definition, its description is its name. Such am I, so are we all. Possibly."

Glow Rat Blue sat down beside a stream that was there because it had to be. She (for her aspect now behind the mask and helm of bone and layers of cloth seemed feminine) touched it, and it ceased to run.

She asked, "Is it still a stream?"

He pulled away his hand, and there lay en empty bed of dirt where water once flowed.

He asked, "Is it still a stream?"

It did nothing, and it was the ground, the same as the ground where he sat.

It asked, "Am I still the stream?"

Anything you answer is correct.

--GRB

A Dance in the Fire by Waughin Jarth (aka Tedders)

AWESOME story. One of the in-game books from Morrowind, but in Morrowind it's in several parts all spread out and it's hard to read it in order. I so, SO love the Bosmer. Definitely, unquestionably my favourite race, playable or unplayable, in all the game lore (other than the Daedra, if you can call them a "race"). It's a delightful and twisted read even if you don't know the game very well/at all. Saundra and Roger, I am looking at you. ;););) It won't help you play the game any better, but it just might give you a whoooole new perspective on that annoying little Fargoth dude hanging around Sedya Neen........ >:D

Phone post -- in which Ven contrives to sing obscure showtunes, harmonizing with HERSELF.

Yes.

*Prima Donnas off*

( Rock on.Collapse )

---

My brother's going off to college in less than a week. That's... so weird. He'll be in New York until Christmas. I'll miss my baby brother. ;_;

It looks like we may all end up having to go with him to NY. He's an hour's drive or so from the relatives (MANY of them). Grandma's in the hospital. I spoke to her on the phone today. She's so funny about everything. She says the food is absolutely exotic and it's nice to have air-conditioning and they figure her heart rate was up because of her blood sugar, but she's also got a tumor so...

...it's kind of, one of those things where she probably won't... really... get better.

I went for my school interview yesterday. I have to get my transcripts sent in, and my personal statement trhingy. With any luck, I'll be a full-time student at the Corcoran in two weeks. With even more luck, my dad won't find out about it. -.-

Such is the news from my place here.

Lament of Slow Posters


The internet’s most slogging depths
Can be a mire and maze to walk
But how long can it really take
For you to make your keyboard talk?
Were you…

CHORUS:
Eaten by Akatosh, swallowed by Smaug,
Chewed by a harpy and fed to the dog,
Sung by a Siren to depths dark and dank
And thrown to the Bog of Eternalish Stank,
Reduced to bad rhymes and baked into a pie,
To be recalled by no more than the stars in the sky?

Count five, then ten, then count again
In minutes ticking by and by
One has one’s hobbies in between
While waiting for your “swift” reply.
I wonder, were you…

CHORUS

So while your queen was pondering on
An introduction to the throne,
I learned organic knitting:
Tendons wrapped around rib bones.
Maybe you were…

CHORUS

And while the world was turning on
Anticipating your next move,
I taught my cat to dance the disco.
Four feet catch the groove!
Did you get…

CHORUS

But cats tire quickly, and while he
Grew bored and in his corner curled,
You hadn’t said a word to me,
So I took over all the world
And my first tyrant’s grand decree
Is that all posters on the net
Distracted or untimely gone
Shall have their puppets…

CHORUS:
Eaten by Akatosh, swallowed by Smaug,
Chewed by a harpy and fed to the dog,
Sung by a Siren to depths dark and dank
And thrown to the Bog of Eternalish Stank,
Reduced to bad rhymes and baked into a pie,
And remembered by only the stars in the sky!

I am perpetually cursed by the fact that I am detatched ENOUGH from my emotions to know that they are there and be annoyed by them, but not QUITE enough to make them go away.

Shit, I'm listening to "Nobody's Girl" and "Holy Tears" and vaguely identifying with them and wanting to tell myself to shut the fuck up because I'm being pathetic.

So you get art.

Because if I'm going to mope, I'm going to do it constructively. GODDAMMIT.

I claim moodiness of the artiste.


I am making a doll. He's Sheogorath. Everything else you get under LJ-cuts. This is my "pay attention to me" shot. Sheogorath is the Daedric Prince of Madness in The Elder Scrolls game series.


( An orcCollapse )


( Some pastels of GorlimCollapse )


( This is what unfinished ones look like.Collapse )


( When jesters kill.Collapse )


( Lord of the DanceCollapse )


( Poor WalterCollapse )


( I found my dragon.Collapse )


( Arthur Dent and Marvin the Paranoid Android, bonus Trillian's mice and the PansiesCollapse )


( Corbin onna couch.Collapse )


( Steward of GondorCollapse )


( Traitor BetrayedCollapse )


( But maybe in the end...Collapse )

Where the hell are all of you when I need minions to dance the coconut song?

Whores. Get over here. Whatever happened to us taking over the world?

http://www.abc.net.au/science/news/stories/s1119739.htm


Chalk up one more way Ven is bizarre.

I had no idea mirror-writing was that rare an ability. I assumed anyone left-handed could do it, pretty much. Not that that's COMMON, but... um.... wow.

I always wondered why people made such a big deal out of DaVinci when any lefty could do the same thing. Apparently... this is not the case. o.o

OH MY GOD PEOPLE STOP THROWING BOMBS AT EACH OTHER.

Fucking dickbrains.

*goes back to ignoring the world at large, which is clearly populated by apes*

Yes, introverts think you suck.

This is very entertaining, if not especially unbiasted or intended for consumption by anyone who is not an introvert. At least, if you're not, it is very possible you may be a little offended at some of the stuff this guy says.

But it's also not entirely, in my view, incorrect. On ANY point. >.>

Saundra!

That Lay of Leithian CD?

Totally starts AFTER BARAHIR DIES.

Yup.

Fandom is a whore.

It's still really pretty music, though. :D So is what I've heard of the other CDs you gave me. Am listening to the G/N one now. Where's "Someone Else's Story" from? It sounds like a showtune. I likes it. "Surrender" too. That girl has SUCH a lovely voice!!!

EDIT: Also, "The First Time I Loved Forever." That is a lovely piece. Splendidly put-together.


EDIT 2: "Broken Wings" sounds really, really weird sung by somebody without a Scottish accent. The stresses are all in the wrong places. @_@ Oh, but I love that little musical interlude about 3/4 through. That's VERY Gorlim.

Had dinner with Saundra and Roger. Dragged them to the Mexican place near my house. It was great. Miche, you SUCK FOR NOT COMING. But we love you anyway. ^^

Saundra, be glad you did not come here. My brother is home, too. And my dad is blasting bad Southern rock or something. o.O It is ow. I am not on AIM because I've elected to go on my mom's computer where I can work on my 9000-word thingy without as much noise. Also I am SO FUCKING TIRED. I just got home and flopped inna chair for a few minutes to cool off and was falling asleep there. Oy.

So, Millicon has been awesome. I love you all. ^^

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA

That is all. XD

(Jack's hat for the win.)

it's really pathetic when having to be somewhere at 2:00 feels like being forced awake obscenely early. Even after seven hours of sleep. oyyyy. part of me wants nothing better than to go back upstairs and pass out for ANOTHER seven or nine hours. But.... also want toi see movie. And people. And having dinner with Saundra tonight.

omg need caffeine. *clings to teacup and attempts not to fall asleep on the table*

Blah blah got back safely and everything.

Somewhat later than expected.

I've decided it's Frankie's fault for taking us (avec the Kat) on the longest ride for fast food EVER. XD We drove out to Silver Spring so we could get Wendy's four blocks from the hotel. *snicker* It was love. I don't think we got back from this expedition until midnight.

But I am back NOW as in back HOME because I have PIRATE CLOTHES here. And omg I really want tea but I also really want SLEEP so not tea until tomorrow.

Night yo.

(p.s. Saundra I did tag Namo with le princey! ^^ )