Log in

Your own mind's Journal [entries|friends|calendar]
Your own mind

[ userinfo | livejournal userinfo ]
[ calendar | livejournal calendar ]

(Critique this piece)

New upcoming creative writing/role play group [14 Oct 2006|06:25am]

Hi all,
I'm coming to you as one half of a two person writing team that me and my friend have created only recently. Our writing environment involves the wild west as a primary backdrop but it is not only limited to that. We are looking for writers to come join in the fun and create their very own storylines and expand their own universes :D myself and my friend have known each other close on 3 years so if you ever needed to talk to either of us, we would be happy to help. We have a tight close on our primary storyline, often posting for hours at a time. We are also looking to introduce whole new backdrops to the story as it progresses. All our info is on my account, awww come on you know you wanna click :D we wont bite...hard hehe

See you all

(1 critic | Critique this piece)

WHAT DO I WANT? page 001 [01 Aug 2006|04:26pm]

[ mood | confused ]

I recieved a letter in the mail today.

Dear sir or madam.

Believe in me. Hear me out on this one. I only need you for this one thing. A simple idea that will make your entire life worthwhile. Here goes. I am the son of god. Like, his real son. Genetic offspring. I was killed because some people didn't like this idea. Now the world owes me. Big time. But I don't want the world. I don't want your women or your money or your frankincense. All I want is for you to believe that I'm the son of god. All the world owes me I give to you. A blank check. Your sins are forgiven through me. And I mean all of your sins. Anything you can imagine you can do, so long as you direct your will and soul toward me in the afterlife. You can trust me. I've been there. Death. All other possibilities for the nature of existence after existence don't matter at all. Trust me. Come live in my land of milk and honeyed words.

For all intents and purposes,
Jesus Christ

Do you believe I am the son, the god, and everything?

Circle one:

...YES... ...NO...

(1 critic | Critique this piece)

Apparently we are all going to be portions for foxes [12 Jul 2006|10:24am]

"Thanks for keeping her warm for me," he says as he slides into the driver's seat and I shift over to the passenger's. He tosses his bag in the back but holds onto his gun, and lets out a laugh that assures me he knows who's in the position of power. As we tear off toward the horizon the wind whips my hair around my face. With the harsh evening sun at our backs making our darkened, slightly sweaty skin gleam I dream that I look like a golden god. The light through my chaotically curly and flying blond hair gives me a halo, I see through the mirror glued cheaply to the back of the visor. A subjugated sun god, I muse silently. I wince every he's mistimes a gear shift or slams on the brake. I stick my hand out the window and stroke the door's paint job reassuringly. "Don't worry," I whisper to my baby. "We'll be rid of this lunatic soon."

(2 critics | Critique this piece)

[06 Oct 2005|10:55pm]

hi. i just joined because this place looked like a good place to post my material. so i thought id post my only poem i ever thought was any good. here it is, and please reply. to give you all a little background, i wrote this when my girlfriend broke up with me a couple weeks ago. id rather not go into details or anything, but itll help you understand it better if you knew that.

Make It EasyCollapse )

(Critique this piece)

[20 May 2005|08:37pm]

i've just joined and i'm v. new to the whole writing thing. i did do a tiny ting that can people please comment on?!!!!! seriously, tell me the truth about it. come on, i can take it! thanks

Hung ( in memory of Ally)
I stood holding the rope, the coarse material chafing the skin on my hands. It was simple. All I had to do was put it round my neck and that would be it. I’d be gone. Forever. No one would find out until they found me. It would take me away from everything, everything I wanted to get away from.
I wanted to do it. My mind was willing my body to just slip the rope over, but I couldn’t.

I failed.

I lived.

Ally went through with his suicide. He was found hanging from his garage roof. He needed help and he couldn’t find it. Why not? What was so terrible in his life that made him go to the point of death to be happier? Help people in need


(5 critics | Critique this piece)

Hopeless [21 Aug 2003|08:56am]

[ mood | accomplished ]

“I don’t know why I’m here.”

Misa wrote those words in her journal for about the third time that week. As far as the whole year was concerned, she’d lost count. Auburn eyes gazed over the pages as she flipped through them, most filled with words, and most of those words being negative. They were towards herself, and the world in general, and she didn’t really know or care exactly what she wrote. It was as if she were just a medium as to how the words got from her head to the pen, and to the paper. All she did know was that she was hopeless. Everyone had told her so..

“It’s hopeless, Misa,” said her long-time boyfriend, Kenny, as he broke up with her the night before. She had begged him to stay, but his exasperated voice told her all she needed to know. When he hung up, she curled on the ground and cried herself to sleep.

Then there was her mother, with her endless rules and guidelines. “No staying up past 10 PM, no calling on the phone when nobody’s home, no leaving the house unless I am home.” She was 18, and she treated her like she was 4. She knew how to take care of herself, and even had a black belt in karate. However, her mom never saw it that way. “You may be 18,” she said, “But you’re too skinny. And you’re too quiet. Boys your age won’t even approach you. And those clothes!” Misa remembered; she was wearing a peasant blouse and khaki capris. “You look like a street rat!” her mom ranted on, “I never brought you up to be ugly. You’re hopeless, you hear me? Hopeless!”

Yes, she knew all about it. Even her physics teacher told her so. “I’m afraid it’s hopeless, Misa,” he said, showing her the most recent grade, a D, “There’s no way you can bring it up by the end of the grading period.” So, yet again, she was failing a class.

Misa sighed and looked up from her journal. She was sitting on the roof of her apartment building, school bag at her side. It was a breezy evening; the trees were scattering leaves, and the power lines were even waving some. She tucked another strand of black hair behind her ear as it blew in her face, then looked at her hands. Like the rest of her skin, they were alabaster white, with almost as white nails. She looked like a vampire, and everyone at school called her a ‘Goth’ or a ‘freak’. She never had any friends; the few that did try to befriend her were dragged away by other kids, who whispered in their ears all the rumors that flew around: Misa is a vampire; Misa likes to kill things; Misa is too depressing to even try helping.


With a sigh, Misa pulled the one thing out of her backpack that ever gave her sanctuary: her laptop. After dad died, her mother bought it. “A sympathy gift,” she called it. Misa opened it up, and she logged onto the Net. When she was online, she was home. Nobody could judge her, see how she looked, or how she acted. Nobody saw her hell. She could hide behind a screen, and still be the confident, lovable person she always dreamed of being. She had loads of friends in the Net, and it felt like they all understood her. It was bliss. She decided to do the usual: check her messengers, her email, some of the forums, then surf a little. When she did, all the problems went away, if only for a little while. She even felt herself smile, something she never did when she was away from the computer.

As usual, the time went by all too fast. When Misa finally looked up from the screen, it was dark; the sun had set, and the horns and buzzing of traffic could be heard below. With a sigh, she went to sign off, when suddenly, a pop-up appeared: “Instant Message for MisAngel”. Misa paused, then opened it.

“Something’s bothering you, isn’t it, Misa?”

Misa smiled as she read the screen name: Kajun24. She had been talking with him for the past few months, and she felt they knew one another well. He was one of the few people with whom Misa felt a true camaraderie. Within minutes, Misa poured out her problems to him, her grades, her personal life, the teasing... “It’s all too much,” she typed in the end.

“Then let it all go,” he responded.


What Kajun24 said after that was what made the decision:

“Let it all go. You body isn’t needed, Misa. It’s a mere casing, to give you the illusion of ‘living’. You can let your body go, and allow your soul to remain free. You can live forever if you let your body go. Let go of your current life. There were so many who were like you, and I helped them. They’ve all started over. Starting over sounds good, doesn’t it? You can. Just let go of your body. I have already done so. I will wait for you.”

Misa gazed at the screen for a few moments, then back out into the night. The railing surrounding the roof was nice and steady, wasn’t it? Is that what he meant? Slowly, she placed her laptop down, Internet still going, and climbed over the railing, her heels digging onto the little bit of cement that hung under the rail.

It was rather interesting what Misa did next. Smiling, she took off her black-framed glasses with one hand and raised them in the air. Her other hand gripped the railing as she leaned outward, then dropped them. She watched in delight as they shattered on the ground. The broken glass pieces could be seen so clearly, even though she was so high above them. As she let go of the railing and flew towards the ground, one last thought crossed her mind:

“Maybe I could become a whole new person...”


The paramedics reached the scene at about 12:45 AM. An 18 year old’s body was found on the 12th street intersection. Her grief-stricken mother called it in. The victim had long black hair and pale skin, which was even paler now that she was dead. Her glasses were a few feet away, completely shattered. “Poor thing,” one medic said, zipping up the body bag, “It’s a shame. She was a real knockout.”

“Once you got rid of the bruises and broken neck,” another chuckled in reply, “She’s smiling, though. Kind of creepy.”

The police were on the roof, examining what appeared to be the girl’s personal belongings. “Looks like a suicide,” the detective said, looking over the railing. He picked up a penny loafer from the overhang. “She just dropped,” he continued, shaking his head.

The officer picked up the laptop and snorted as he read the screen names. “Kajun24,” he muttered, “It’s him, all right. Same bastard who led those other three girls to their deaths.” Just then, as if speaking of the devil, his walkie-talkie beeped. Picking it up, the officer spoke into it. “What?”

“Good news, Chuck. We found ‘Kajun’. He was in an apartment a few feet away from the roof, watching. And his pants were nowhere in sight. It’s just like you said; he got off watching those girls die.”

Chuck nodded. “Great work, Johnson. Is he alive?”

“Afraid not. He tried resisting arrest and pulled out a gun. We had to fire.”

Chuck sighed and thanked the other officer, turning the radio off. “Dammit,” he muttered. That’s when he noticed a new message window pop up on the laptop. It was from someone named MisAngel. Dated at 12:50 AM, it read:

“I’m still here... I just left my body.”

(1 critic | Critique this piece)

Baby Pictures [30 Sep 2002|11:42am]

I used to take a lot of pictures of her. It was like everything she did was photo-worthy. She would be sleeping and *snap* She would wake up and *snap* When she started walking I went crazy. I must've taken about eight rolls that week, three of them on the day of that first step. I've got pictures of her standing on wobbly little legs, of her falling over on her bum, of her reaching for her daddy's hug. I've got the food on her face, the rocking horse she rode on, the fingerpaints she decorated herself with. I've even got some naked baby pictures. When she was old enough to understand how embarrassing that diaper, that cowboy hat, and that crawl were, I'd tease her about them, telling her one day I'd be showing them to her boyfriend.

Later on I eased up on my camera. I still took a lot of pictures, though. I've got a tear and a wave from the first day of school. I've got stirring a pot of macaroni. I've got about a hundred of her just posing. She always loved posing for me. She'd do her best Marylin Monroe or Betty Page. Sometimes she was just silly. Like at Halloween when she stuck her tongue out. She was such a cute wicked witch.

Nowadays I don't take many pictures. I get a set once a year at Christmas, to send out to family, or to put on my desk. She stares at me, smiling for me, out of her wooden frame. She is surrounded by blue cloudy swirly emptiness. But that just makes her more beautiful, she is the only thing of consequence in any of my photos. These I hold dearest to my heart, she smiles so warmly and lovingly, better than any candid pose I could get her in. When she left I pulled out the box full of pictures of her. I went through every single photograph that night, reminiscing. Now sitting on my desk are two pictures, her newest smile, and a picture that I had someone else take in the park, with me holding her up in my arms.

I know that I'm older now and so is she, and I can't carry heron my shoulders like I used to. And I know that I can't make her grow backwards, for one last piggyback ride. But I miss her. And one day I'll get the same feeling I got when I snapped her first step. But for now I'll let her enjoy her independence. And I'll look at her smiling there, and know that she loves me.

(7 critics | Critique this piece)

Story of a girl. [11 Aug 2002|06:54pm]

[ mood | melancholy ]

There wasn't a single person at Rutledge Asylum who didn't know of her.

The raven haired girl whose parents were mercilessly murdered in a wave of bullets... and then she killed the murderers herself. That little girl.

Her pale skin, her fragile frame, morbid imagination... She was all grown up, yet still a child.

She was only 10 when it happened. Now she was 14, and was forever trapped in that day...

The doctor sat in a chair, looking at this young girl who sat on the bed. He then looked back at his clipboard.

Her name was Pariah Redoux.

He looked back up. She looked so lost; her eyes looked dazed, vacant. She clutched her Santa plush close, clinging to it like it was a life preserver of sorts.

It was then that she spoke.

"Do you know what it's like to die?"

He looked up. He was surprised, to say the least; his patients usually never started the conversation. That's his job, you see. Counseling and treating the most desperate cases at Rutledge.

"No," he replied, "I can't say that I do. Why do you ask?"

She looked at the doctor, her eyes flickering from blue to purple.

"Where did they go? My mum and dad?"

"They're in heaven, I'm sure."

She looked at the Santa plushie in her arms. "Mr.Claus thinks that they went to Wonderland..."

That was unexpected. The doctor leaned back in his chair, clueless as to what was coming. "Where is Wonderland, Pariah?"

The young girl looked up at him, her eyes deep cobalt. "Let me show you..."


The nurse was too late.

She walked into Pariah's room, medicine on a steel tray. She opened the door, saw the scene, and the tray dropped.

Pariah stood there, walls painted crimson. Blood covered her asylum clothes, and the Santa plush lay face down on the ground, white stuffing spurting from its back. The young doctor's corpse lay on the ground, stabbed and headless. Pariah walked over to the body, the glittering daggar in her hand dripping blood along the way.

She looked down at it, then back up to the horrified nurse, a look of serenity on her face.

"All I did was invite him for tea..."


(Critique this piece)

Let me be your hero [29 Jul 2002|06:18pm]

Once upon a time there was a little girl. The most beautiful girl in all the kingdom. But she was under a firm lock and key by the dragons and demons who circled and danced about her castle. They broke her spirit, made her beleive she was plain and lame. She had a cannon inside her tower which sometimes she would fire at them, but they were too close to the castle, the cannonballs always overshot them.

Across the river there was a little boy. He too was surrounded by demons. And just like the girl, his cannon would not reach the monsters who laughed at him and teased him from his own courtyard. The two children were miserable and sat and cried all day long inside their towers.

Until one day the boy looked out his window and saw something twinkle across the river. He reached for his spyglass and looked in the direction of the sparkle. He saw the fair-haired young beauty watching him through her own spyglass. He saw her smile and he laughed. All day long they watched each other and made faces and winked and laughed. It was the best day of either of their lives.

That night, after the sun set, when the girl dropped her lens. The boy watched her collapse by her window and cry, and started to cry himself. He set down his spyglass and took aim with his cannon and fired upon the trapped girl's demons. One by one they were crushed under his furious firing. The monsters scrambled around the base of the castle and were easily hit as they failed to dodge the gigantic lead balls.

When the girl heard the noise of his cannon she knew instantly what was going on. She trained her cannon on the laughing creatures surrounding his tower and took them down like he took hers. Immediately the beasts stopped laughing and started screaming. They ran like misguided ants while the weight of her fire flattened them.

At one point during the battle two balls collided over the river, exploding in a cloud of purple and red light. The childred were warmed by its light and the prospect of the laughter from across the river.

Finally, when the last hyena-laugh was silenced, both climbed down the towers with ropes of bedding they had tied long ago. They ran across the space between them, dodging the wounded monsters, and hugged on the bridge spanning the river. It was there that they had their first kiss, a long kiss full of tears and full of laughter. They knew that they'd never have to face their demons alone again.

(1 critic | Critique this piece)

I don't write well, but here's a little diddy I wrote... [16 Jul 2002|01:15am]

[ mood | creative ]

He's always smiling at me, the sun makes it hard to see anything.
There we are, just the two of us wrapped in large towels covered in
brightly illustrated cartoon characters, and we're squinting, smiling,
sharing warm kisses, inhaling sunscreen. The salt water is evaporating, and our skin
tastes so nice. The sand is hot, perfect for rolling around in, giggling, whispering
"I love you"s. He smiles again, licks a droplet off the back of my hand, and kisses my lips firmly.
As we pull apart, his eyes whisper another I love you. And then I ask myself, "Is this heaven?"
Suddenly his sweet expression
melts into a sour look of pure hatred and disgust. He lurches upwards,
swooping up a hand full of sand, and he throws it into my eyes.
I frantically rub at my face to stop the burning sensation, as a well planted kick
hits me square in the jaw. I fall back, still blinded by the caustic sand in my eyes.
He kicks me in the ribs seven, eight, nine more times, I lose count. He's screaming at me.
It's not his voice. It's cracking, and breaking. It makes me sick. "You whore! How could you
do this to me? All I ever did was love you! I gave you the world and you handed me a handful
of shit! SHIT!" I can't speak. I try to force out an "I love you", but all that I can do is scream,
with tears and sand rubbing in my eyes. All I can do is shake my head, and scream. Everything is
so loud, so hot, screaming, tears, sand, kicking, that voice....
I don't know what hurts worse, two broken ribs, or a broken heart. I'm lucky, I passed out
before he began to punch me in the face. The doctors are fixing up my body, healing me on the
outside, but on the inside, I'll always be broken.

(4 critics | Critique this piece)

1964-2002 - ~In loving memory of Jonathan Starre, beloved husband and father.~ [12 Jun 2002|11:59am]

Today was the day. Finally, I could go into town and feel the needles burn the ink into my flesh like sharp, scalding salvation. It was my eighteenth birthday, and Mo had promised that he'd do it for me. I could have gone a lot sooner, but my mother was opposed. She's probably kill me anyway for doing it today... but that was a risk i was willing to take. I thought about that star. I thought about what it meant to me.
Lightning lashed at my brain and I was newborn in my father's arms. I couldn't see anything, but i knew he was there, rocking me. He pulled my eyes open and light from a star touched on my face, brighter than anything I'd ever seen and anything I've seen since. When it overwhelmed by tiny body I returned, smiling.
At school none of my so-called friends remembered that today was the day I grew up. Not a single happy birthday. I sat at the lunch table, poking the foul-smelling Tuesday Surprise when i got another flash.
I was just a tiny little toddler. I was covered by a blanket and it was dark, and I could hear someone else laughing from across the room. The other ran around and bumped things over until they ran across the blanket, tripping over me, giggling. I stood up, still under the stuffy cover. The other person lifted the blanket from over my head. My eyes had gotten accustomed to the dark and I couldn't see anything from the noonday star, but my father lifted me up and raspberried my belly and tickled my feet.
Mo saw me walk in the door before I saw him. "Hey, Kelsey," he said. "You ready?"
"Y-yah, I think so," I stammered. I wanted it, and I was going to do it, but I knew it was going to hurt.
The lightning came again and I could smell smoke. I looked up from the ground and saw a building, my building, burning uncontrollably. The firemen hadn't arrived yet, but something in me told me it was too late. My mother picked me up, but i couldn't take my eyes off of the building. We waited and waited, but no one came out. I heard the sirens of the rescue crew, and I heard men shouting and water rushing through the hoses. Still, he hadn't returned. As soon as the first torrent splashed and shattered at the side of the building something inside exploded. My tears had already blurred my vision, so all I saw was a gigantic red star growing from the center and enveloping the whole crowd in smoke and light.
The moment the needle touched my skin I could feel the tears again. "You sure you want me to do this?" Mo asked. "I could get you some anisthetic."
"No, no," I sniffled. "I'm fine." And I looked down at the star on my wrist.

(Critique this piece)

The Storyteller [09 Jun 2002|03:30am]

Yes, well, it happens sometimes, doesn't it? I mean, it could happen to anybody. It just happened that it was ME who lay bloody still clutching an almost empty bottle of alchohol in a deathgrip. This has been the worst night ever. Stolen cars, stolen dope, and stolen lives. Well, it happens.
It started out, as most of these stupid anecdotes do, in a bar. There was a large woman with a pig under her arm. Someone inquired where she got the hog and the little curlytailed, fork-tongued beast said he won her at the fair. What the hell, its a bar. Interesting fact about bars, at a certain point drunkenness becomes just as hazardous for those "staying sober". Like smoking. At least, that was my excuse. It's not like i was doing anything illegal. Why, who've you been talking to?
I asked the 'tender for a vodka, straight. She winked and threw me the bottle. Taking a long swig, I spotted a mischevious looking elf-man walk in. He was wearing a silvery-white suit and a white top hat. What the hell? No one wears top hats! His request was a Holy Bartender. He seemed amused at the woman's confusion. To demonstrate the making of Holy Bartender he tossed up his hat, did a spin and when he faced front several bloody spots appeared on the buxom bartender's white smock. After another spin the demon-man's gun was gone and his hat fell softly on his head. He whistled some showtune I could barely recognize as he skipped out the door. All of us drunken men were too dumbstruck and intoxicated to do anything in response. I downed another gulp from the fiery bottle and made my way out. In my state, I didn't need a nosy cop asking me all sorts of questions, even if their motives were the murder at hand and not my own... fallacies.
So, carrying my half empty bottle and my coat I made my way out of the bar and into the parking lot. I sat down in the driver's seat when I realized I had a problem. I searched in all of my pockets and shook my coat. But it was true. I'd lost my keys. With no time left to go back inside and retrieve them, I pulled the plastic sheild blocking the wires under the steering wheel. Shorting a couple wires and sticking them together with a wad of gum, I was on my way. And not a moment too soon, because just as I got down the street the cops came rolling in. Some timing, I thought. Always there when I'm doing something wrong, never there when something serious is going on. I had no complaints, though, they didn't even notice I was driving thirty clicks over the limit. And blood-alchohol content aside, I was speeding, too.
When I got on the highway I heard something strange in the back seat. All of a sudden I found myself in a car that was not my own. I tell ya, reality sure played some funny tricks on me that night. Instead of my sporty Honda Civic hybrid (tricked out, no doubt) I was in some SUV. I heard a squeal and a laugh from the seats behind me and two tiny hands wrapped around my head and covered my eyes. I yelled, the child yelled, and the vehicle spun and crashed into the concrete median. Apparently the child thought I was his mother. Apparently SUVs don't steer very well at high speeds when you kick the wheel out of surprise. Apparently highway cops are a lot faster then inner-city cops at the scene of public disturbances.
I don't know how the next part of my adventure happened, but the next thing I remember I was behind the steering wheel of an empty squad car. The radio blared unintelligible garble, occasionally concerned comments about a missing officer. I knew two things, that I needed to shut that damn radio up, and that I needed to lose the car before someone recognized it. My first problem was easily remedied, one smack with my bottle sent a crackle and then a silence. It was the eeriest silence I've ever felt, but also the most powerful. Never before had I seen a cop car from this perspective. There was a switch right next to the gear shifter, which I took for the siren and blinking lights. Naturally, I flipped it. Traffic law immunity, who wouldn't?
In a few minutes I found myself back at the bar. I guess my sense of direction went before my driving ability when I got drunk. Not that my driving ability wasn't gone by this point. I parked the car around in the alley so no one would see me get out of it. I stumbled out of the dark clutching my bottle, and I guess no one knew that I had just gone for a joyride in a state vehicle, but I wasn't about to take any chances.
There were three more of the cop vehicles parked in front of the bar, but the ambulance was already gone. Too bad, I thought. That blonde bartender was quite a looker. Then I remembered she was dead and suddenly my attraction to her dwindled to mere sympathy. There was still a whole lot of investigating going on inside, so I made my way to the parking lot. I was going to make sure I hotwired the right car this time. Just as I grabbed the handle I felt a hand on my shoulder.
Officer, I said when I turned around. She smiled at me, so I didn't figure I was in trouble. Her sharp red lips assured me that she stopped me for someone else's mistakes. That maybe I could help her solve this thing. I knew I could help her, those curves, that tight uniform, that curly black hair, those handcuffs...
She asked me a few routine questions, who was the man with the gun? what did he look like? did I know his name? After I gave her what she wanted and assured her that no, I wasn't driving home drunk, I was going to my car to cell phone my wife to come pick me up, she let me go. Finally, I got the car started up. I turned on my neon blue dash lights, just to make extra sure I had the right one.
Somehow I made it home. I almost spun out pulling into the driveway, but a kick on the gas gave me control back, as well as sent me through the garage door like it was tinfoil. And pressed between a bent hood and a workbench cluttered with a surprising number of sharp and irritating knick-knacks, I lay bleeding until the paramedics came to my rescue, assumingly hours later. I passed out in minutes. I dont know if it was from blood loss, from pain, or from alchohol content, or maybe a combination of the three, but the only thing I remembered was waking up in this bed on top of this bed pan, in this horrid hospital gown, clipped down with these handcuffs.
I wonder what they got me on. Posession of illegal substance, reckless driving, maybe they even found out about the stolen cars. While I contemplate it, though, I still have a last bit of vodka left. I pour it into my mouth and it slides out the screwdriver holes in my lips and gums, burning every open wound on my body. God, this life sucks.

(2 critics | Critique this piece)

I've created a monster! [30 May 2002|09:09pm]

albeit a pathetic little chibi of a monster. originally this was going to be a personal journal, a project, a story. but... i got lazy. and i also like the community things so join up if ya see this! woot. i'll continue my story if ya doooooooo! *muah* everybodyyyyyy!

(Critique this piece)

[21 Aug 2001|04:00am]
you know whats really fun? finding a tree that has been still for awhile then throwing a rock at it and watching the birds scatter all over the place. then in five minutes they fix things, stop being afraid or whatever, and come back. this field is such a beautiful place. i need to burn it.

(Critique this piece)

[13 Aug 2001|03:00am]
ive spent all week gathering up little angels and harvesting their blood. i have half a jarful right now, but i mean to get more. i fed a little to my rat last night. charted effects: his eyes bulged wide and he walked around in a couple of circles before laying down and going to sleep. i wonder what he saw.

(Critique this piece)

[12 Aug 2001|02:00am]
at my dance club theres a girl who i see a lot. well, i see her there, im not seeing her. but i want to! i want to so bad... she has long blond hair, silver eyes (at least, they look silver) and a cute little face that i want to kiss forever! but shed never dance with me. how could she see anything in a guy like me? im evil. not nice or pretty like the people in the middle of the floor. i stay to my side of the big red circle and they stay on their inside. things are better that way. no one hits me or throws things at me or gives me funny looks. they just ignore me. thats fine. still... i want to be in there, next to her. i want to smell her beautiful hair. i want to taste her beautiful lips. i want to feel her hands on me like the guys ive seen her dance with. *sigh*

(Critique this piece)

[11 Aug 2001|01:00am]
chasing them suckers is craziness. but i got one in a jar, see. i ran back inside because i didnt have anything to punch holes in the top for air. so when i got to my room i spilled it out onto my desk. after giving my knife a quick sterilization on the side of my jeans i set to work. the damn thing kept trying to fly off, so i had to pin its wings down with a couple of my safety pins. first to examine was one of its limbs. i just pulled off an arm and set it aside. then i pulled off the one opposite. then i pulled off another limb. and another. it kept trying to beat its wings and squirm around, but the safety pins wouldnt let it move. after i pulled off the last leg i swear the thing screamed. i put my ear up close to it and i heard it, like when you make tea and the water squeaks out the pot. but really quiet. well, after i mounted the leg slides i took my knife to its wing. the first one came off cleanly, shimmering gossamer. but once the thing was free on one side it tried to roll over and in the process ripped its other wing. so, legless and with only one shredded wing, it tried to get away again. crazy little thing. it didnt really get anywhere. in fact, the only motion it made was trying to flap its stump. leaving it for a moment i mounted the tiny wing onto another slide. so when i came back it only made its futile little gesture every few seconds. as a test i cut a little peice off of the bottom of the torso. the thing bled, but not the customary red i had expected. it was kind of a greenish yellow. and it was luminescent. before all the fluid drained out of it i let a few drops fall onto another slide to get a closer look. while i was preparing it a gust blew through my room, knocking my specimen down into a vent. but i had what i needed from it, so i let it go. i did make an effort to free up my schedule for the following night to gather more of my angel's blood, however.

under the lens i noted that the stuff was still alive, outside the body. tiny gold cells swam around in a clear medium. then i tested the slide with a voltometer and proved that it was a very good conductor. more so than most metals id played with. when i looked through the lens again i saw the cells change into indeterminable shapes and float a lot faster while carrying current. more studies must be done.

[ viewing | most recent entries ]