Said the Banshee

It's like gold dust~
Flowin' through your speakers.

Love that song. =u=

She reminded us of the wind.

Her clothes were loose. She wore bracelets upon bracelets that jingled and wrapped about each other. When she moved, it was as though even the flesh on her ivory stem pulsed with the sort of liveliness that was so akin to a breeze. Imperfect yet abruptly fluid, soft as moonlight and as smooth as the stones at the bottom of an aging river. Her face peered from beyond a veil of yawning curls, a spill of frost lost in autumn’s groves that gently tossed with the rhythm of her gait.

Her fingers silently darted through the air, orchestrating a symphony, tapping the keys of a piano, and plucking at the chords of a harp all at once. It was as though the song was endlessly building, tempted to shatter the host of its breadth, longing for a voice. Her digits sped along unseen stairs, soared in great curves, held tight, kissed the air—dwindled unceremoniously, and dipped into rest.

Satisfied, the musicians bowed and folded amongst themselves until next they had strength to continue the ceaseless piece which mingled in her palms.

Not neccesarily about me, but then again, it sort of is. I don't know. -shrugs. I've been in a really awesome mood lately so I decided to write something. Now that I think about it, my style of writing kind of makes me think of The Most Dangerous Game by Richard Connell. Can you see the connection or am I just being nutty? Either way, I love that story. (Figures it would be about murder, ne?)

On a side note: I hate it when I hear people tell their kids, "You can do anything!" For one, they limit you from the start, so technically. You can't. For two, let's use a simple example. I'm a young woman. And I'm gay. I could NOT be the president, no matter how hard I tried to work among the politicians of today. Maybe in a later year.. if presidents are even still an accredited office by then. (Not that I want to be president.)

That also brings to mind.. I wonder if the gay vote would win an election. O3O

Stupid Economics makin' me all depressed and introspective. Do you see the fault in your stupid graduation requirements America!?

.. Anyone feel like dancin'? Viva la swing~!

Question of the Day: Writers often use the first appearance of a character to display how they will later add to a story they are in. Do you ever like to think on how you would be perceived if you were a character in a narrative? Would you be flanked by cracking lightning or would you be lost among the crowd?

Takin' Names.

She woke with a strange ache in her throat, nose irritated as though she had laughed too hard while taking a drink. The pleather of the couch was hot; it stuck to her face and the underside of her arm which she had been leaning on. When she opened her eyes, a sleepy but rigid fear struck her. Everything was white. She blinked rapidly, but nothing changed. A cough.
Weakly, she drug herself off of the tired piece of furniture and moved through the living room blindly. Another cough. She could barely breathe. There was something wrong, every nerve of her being told her, sluggish as it was. She stumbled into the bathroom, a dinky little room with bright yellow walls—she could see the yellow. The white wasn’t as thick and she could breathe easier. She closed the door, still blinking as though that would help it to go away. The air carried a foul smell like cleaning chemicals—or…
Moving swiftly, she stepped out of the bathroom and immediately moved to the front door of the house. It was 3a.m. and yet it was unlocked. Why—but she didn’t have time to consider the implications. The door swung on its hinges and a stream of frothy smoke rushed out into the black night as though a vacuum had been situated on the other side of the frame. Without pause, she went to each of the four sliding windows in the kitchen and the living room, pulling them open as far as they would give.
More of the white that had been leeching the oxygen out of her lungs and making her choke now crashed through the branches of trees, over the porch and past the idle vehicles in the drive, vengeful spirits crying unto the hour. Crumbling she realized her chest was sour with the stench, her nose dripping as if it could dispel the torment. The front door was a square of grey cut up by fervent orange and dwindling shade. Her lips parted, flapping like that of a fish you might drag out of choppy waters.
It felt good. A chill bit at her arms, her cheeks and her toes, ushering her, boxing her into the house but she held. Shallow sips of the breeze nursed her sad state, ebbing back the resentful stings that proliferated by the moment.
When the living room had nearly cleared of the bog, she slipped into the kitchen, directly to the stove. A sixth sense directed her through her lingering wheeze to a small pot, perhaps able to hold no more than a pint. It looked deceivingly innocent as it housed the charred remains of something beyond recognition, nestled over a flickering blue flame. She found the knob, twisting away the miniscule blaze. A brief moment passed and her tire had finally inched out of her; she opened the back door and knocked on the wall, stirring the dogs which would bring forth her aunt from slumber.
Together, they completed the task of airing out the greater part of the trailer. None to little of the cloying smoke had edged into her aunt or cousin’s rooms. They had been safe, for the most part, but a frightening clear refrain at the back of her mind told her that they too would’ve succumb eventually. Or mayhap they would have woken to find her suffocated on that damned couch. Alone and piped full of ribbon… She laughed, thoughts fuzzy and thick as cotton, and found the smooth exterior of her cell phone against her palm.

~

So. Last night, I kicked Death in the ass and spat down his throat.
True story. Yeah.



Question of the Day: Ever felt an urgent need to tell your loved ones just how much you love them?

Letter I - Starry Eyed

Dear Blank,

This game of hide and seek is kind of funny sometimes. Then there are the times when it isn't quite so fun. I'm afraid that I might shoo you away without realizing it. Would you really be as stubborn as they say you would? This must be confusing.
Yesterday, a polite enough Someone sat down beside me. Out of everyone, Someone always smiles at me and I at Someone in the halls. Why? Because it's polite not to grimace at every strange face you see, isn't it? And besides, call me lazy; it takes more muscles to frown. Well, smile or no, Someone sat on the bench with me. And with a polite greeting on the tongue--I cut Someone off by pulling out my mp3 and turning it up to the highest volume that it would go.
Ten uneasy minutes later, Someone left and I felt the inkling of regret.

Not that I plan on committing to anything any time soon, but imagine, Blank, if I cling to these habits and shy from you? I hate not knowing you, I hate not being able to feel whether or not you're as tangible as Blithe, or Rune, or Carlisle, or as full as Alanna, or Brittany, or Amanda. Sometimes I don't want to and that's when I realize I have to stop. 'Those the steps I can't take, I refuse.' I wish that there were a way to ask you for help in this.
Are you thinking the same thing? Or are you busy building bridges elsewhere?

~



Question of the Day: The weirdest, most random things worry me at times. Is there anything like that for you?

Cupid's Bite: A Valen's Poem

A poem--that sounds suspiciously like a spell--for mine beloved.

God of war, arms draped in iron
A roar fierce, the starved lion
Goddess fine, bosom whole untrimmed
A touch warm, soon o’er brimmed

Tempest gold, raging scarlet;
Venus bore a child violet

Petals smooth and destined pure
Curved stem; appendage obscure
Sharp bone beneath soft wings
Of down, these white-hot things
With rose-washed linens below
Roots earthen to healthy grow

Unkind, piercing ebon shaft;
Spiraling flood without raft

Nimble fingers milk-crème tan
Dashed through the heart of man
The beat of tender rest
Kept from thy very breast
Cupid’s tepid, sorry arrow
Swift ‘tween double rib narrow

List, unmoving grounded fiend;
Passion from lovers gleaned

Angel dark, frame swept of satin
A soft song, mingled latin
Lady bright, cored and dimmed
Lonely soul, widely rimmed

Question of the Day: In the words of the dear witch Anfrea: Has Cupid bit you in the ass yet?

This a test.

Get Up, Get Down, And Do It All Again.

Adorable. Sweet. Dead.

This was originally supposed to just be about my anxieties and hopes for the new year, but a fairly... morbid truth has been brought to my attention. Things just seem to die when I'm around. I try not to think too much on the idea, but it's hard not to when things start being carted off limp. Cosmo was quite possibly the most loving stray you could ever imagine. He was barely out of his kitten stages when he stumbled onto our porch, his hair long, bright and soft. My most prominent memory of the bug is him trying to steal my god damned crackers when I was sick, but eh. He was a part of the family, yeah?
Last night while people were making resolutions, getting drunk, having sex in celebration of the new year, little Cosmo was crushed by some car probably going over fifty down the strip of pavement in front of my place. More than likely, it was one of the many little druggies that like to spill into my neighbor's lot. I think they're moving out soon. That would make me a little less bitter about the natives, I think.

I had left a little note on the whiteboard in our kitchen for my uncle to wake me up before he went to work so I could get a few chores in:
"Cosmo's dead."
"What?"
"Your aunt found her cat in the street. Cosmo go hit by a car."
"Oh."
And I went back into my room. To be honest, it felt like a charade making my little 'oh's of surprise, like an act for the no one that could see.

It always feels like that. Whenever something dies, I get all detached and it's like I'm watching myself from the third perspective. I can hear my thoughts; they're all just little calculations of how next I'll move the muscles of my face. It always seems like my "sympathy face" isn't enough. I feel like the people watching me see something false in it. And maybe they do. I wouldn't deny it, I suppose. Or maybe I would. I've never really been cornered and questioned about it so I must be doing something right, hm?

She's so upset.

I think my uncle is bad at taking death too. He's building a model car in the kitchen, mumbling to himself and chuckling at some joke. Sometimes I feel a lot like my uncle. Sometimes. At least he's become more... More active in his family's life since I came. That always makes me happy. Even last night, my aunt told me I was like an inspiration. All I did was sit on my computer and somehow I had inspired my cousin to take his time with his fireworks and actually stay up until New Years. My aunt didn't spend another countdown alone.

She was so lonely.

She didn't know it, I think, but for the longest time, being married to my uncle for twenty years and dating him for ten before that, she was lonely. I wonder if somehow, if I ever obtain that spouse status, will my spouse be lonely too? I'm not exactly attentive. Heh. But most of the attention where I would matter would be in the bedroom, right? -u- I should stop dwelling in that mindset, I know, but it's hard not to. When I skip that little aspect of marriage, my brain goes to work in the kitchen and cleaning. I suppose I'll be good in that area too. But, then again, so is my aunt and she's currently weeping for one of her precious, furry little friends.

And so, in rolls the new year.

I'm eighteen, everyone! Finally legal~! I'll have to be sure that that little bit of information stays out of certain people's ears. But as far as you guys, eh, who gives a poo. What were your new year's resolutions, readers? Or didn't you have one? I just sort of pulled one out of my ass at last minute. Eh. I said I wanted to finish some works, put 'em up for display in parts. Y'know. /points to poll. I'd probably end up writing smut, since it sells so well and it's so easy to write. Yay catering to fetishes!

Alright, my little window of time to write has run out.


Question of the Day: Would smut be a good idea? Like Romance novels only... better? And for both genders?

You Are The Only Exception.

I think I am weak. Not wholly, no. But to certain things, without a doubt.

When I reflect on how I might turn out, when I'm considering the future and so on, I see just how weak that I could be. But even if I would put up with almost anything from those that I love? That doesn't exempt the fact that I hate being in the dark. I'm too much like an animal in that sense. I'll just... lose it.

And I hate losing it. I hate not having control over myself. It's the bigges tthing that keeps me so reined in. I don't want to be spread out so thin. But is being happy and silly really so bad? I don't know. I loved last night, walking across Main and doing the hula in a dollar store, hiding under the covers and acting like my DS was a campfire. Posing in front of someone else's mirror and finally giving in to my own exhaustion.

It was nice. I want to do it more often. I hope I can let those little things add up in these next few months. Then, after that 9, the little things will become everything and maybe after some prep, I'll always be giggling like a mad woman. Maybe I won't be so afraid to let out my obnoxious laugh.

Or maybe I'll complicate things. I don't know. Grahhh. /randomnoisesftw.

I drew on my arm yesterday too--with eyeliner--and traced out "Romantic" in half-assed Olde English script. I love that word. I love every implication behind it. "One of the dying few, we the Romantics~" Chivalry, chivalry. It's okay if chivalry dies. I'll be your knight in shining armor regardless~.

I have a thirst for words today.

Avante Guardian is my favorite band of any style, any genre, any age group that there ever was and ever will be. Even A Love Like Pi can't compete. If anyone can find their videos, their mp3s, direct me to them<3.>

Hehe~. :DDD



Question of the Day: If your school played music in passing --like mine!--, what song would you sing aloud without a second thought on it? What song would make you fall over with blood dribbling out of your ears?