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Well, another month, another posting, another batch completed. It does feel good, but anyway: Happy All Saint's Day, reader! I looked at the calendar and I realized it was my favorite holiday, so I had to draw on my face tattoo with a highlighter in second period. Sad? Pretty much, because no one would join me, and Renny was a wet blanket all day. And I do not feel like calling Brogan, even though I know I hould because we are so distand these days...But I plan on traditionally writing some scrolls this evening, but after I work with Evadne.
Man, I am on a roll with the anime gatherings. Today, I found my sunset, found my wind, and found eligible star, ice, light, and darkness answers. I've already got dawn, earth, and water, so the only ones I need for eligibility are moon, sun, fire, rock, lightening, and mist. That's six piccies, yo. Those people at advancedanime had better hurry up with it. Maybe if I went to deviant art, I'd score a few pictures, but it's so hard to find good quality ones amongst all the crappy wannabee artists. Eh, I guess I have to do an advancedanime search now...
There's more to the world than meets the eye. I show you a building, you see a building, but I see a dwelling of ghosts. When I ask you what you feel, you say you feel sad, but I feel spirits all around me. When I give you a necklace, you dismiss it as a pawn shop token, but it really is a phylith for me. Why can't more people trust their souls and see with their minds and hearts? Their eyes reveal nothing abou the true world, the true world in all its intertwining beauty much like cobalt mist.
This air is positively suffocating. I do not know how they stand it, stand its weight, because it is bearing down upon me, smothering me like a blanket or a downy cloud. Where is the carbon monoxide? Where is the hydrogen? Where are all those beautiful blue gasses that I used to enjoy breathing so? Where is the dust? This air is so transparent in spirit, yet I can feel it all around me. It is shallow, stupid, and ignorant, yet I have to breath it. Like oil, it seeps into my pores and poisons me. I despise their air.
Dear Ast, it is getting very hard to keep up with thse entries for some reason. It'll probably get better once I finish with my mock quiz, but I simply forget. It's as if it has slipped my mind just like an eyeblink is lost to the world. I am hoping that it will not turn into another diary occurence, with which I had to update every week and I didn't look forward to writing in. I dropped the diary for this, so in some ways it is like my journal, but a lot more enjoyable. And it requires more dedication.
I am, unfortunately, sick. Sick enough to be pulled out of school early, and that I am happy about. But this means no going to Barnes and Nobles to type in the cafe, and that I am NOT happy about. I feel fine, stuffed up, but my throat hurts not more. It's merely like a little inconvenience because it does not fully affect my body. Maybe the Follower immunity is kicking in at last. Maybe it's the basic Martian genetic resistence to Earth diseases. Maybe the contained evil in my soul is so great that germs do not harm me.
When I get my knee fixed, I am going to run. I am going to run with the sun on my back and my bare feet pounding into the earth. The earth will be springy and warm underneath me, and it will be like a mattress as my feet come down upon it. I am going to run, no matter how long, no matter how far, but I will run just to relive the feeling of warm dirt and sun. I will run to brush the hair from my face with air made by me. I am going to run.
When I get my knee fixed, I am going to swim. I am going to leap headfirst into the pool and tear through the water's surface, downward into the light blue depths where I will wrestle with that water. I am going to hack and kick and claw at it, I am going to twist my body and kick my legs until it does what I want it to do. I am going to fight those invisible currents just like I used to do, when I was little, when I was a swimmer. Then I really am going to swim.
They suddenly pulled me out of Japanese to sit on the blue sofa of a shrink, where she asked me questions about nothing as she scribbled on her yellow tablet. I did not sit, I crouched, in a pouncing position, fingers tapping almost like a tail flicks side to side. I was watching her, analyzing every question, observing as she grew alarmed when I told her I threatened to put a knife through my brother's chest. Staring at my prey, I made sure to become her equal, and I did...yet I never saw fit to move in for the kill....
I discovered Donny's EverQuest2 pamphlet today. I nicked it after a fight with Jacob, snuck it away, and pondered over it in Social Studies. Incredible character interactions and makings. That's what I love most about games, the outfits, the breeds, whether you can make yours a Necromancer or a Wanderer. I didn't necessarily agree with the abilities they listed for Sorcerers or Enchanters, but my views have always relied on the Actininan culture, so I couldn't criticize. I also was introduced to new species of characters, such as the tiger-creatures or the lizard-like ones. So many possibilities, so little time...
There was light rain coming down today, and slicking down everything it touched. I was so fortunate as to not get bothered by it (I rarely do), yet some preps were traumatized for their precious hair. I walked calmly down the sidewalk as they squealed and ran for home, then stopped underneath a large tree on our front lawn. I stared up at the sky through the dripping leaves, and allowed raindrops to fall randomly upon my face. I just stood there, silent like a pillar, in the midst of all the ivy, with crystal water drops falling at my feet.
I sat upon a Chinese bed spread, in a ghetto house of a single mother, watching a crazed poet/cook play DanceDance Revolution whitle two Irish and Scottish girls gazed captivated on either side of me. And there was no way I rather would have spent my afternoon. Yes, I went to Brogan's house, and viewed the magical squeaking corn snake called Alexander. He was very social, slithering from Brogan's hand to mine, from Renny's to Devon's. Then I downed several colas and some pop corn while Devon stomped his heart out playing the DanceDance Revolution, still happy and smiling.
I have discovered that Terra's circle of friends does not compare to Brogan's. I did not feel complete in Terra's house, for her circle has a different arua to it. Olivia was very warm to me, everyone was pleasant, but it just wasn't the same. There was the feeling of competition, selfishness, and it offended me. I do not feel like they would be an adequate support system. Not like Brogan, where it is more comfortable, more stupid, more trusting. They have morals over in Brogan's group, and that is where I belong. And I believe I always will.
Blah, procrastinator. i have about a million things I could be doing, but I choose to stay here glued to the computer screen like a vegetable. I don't have the will power to even hold down teh delete key for more than five seconds. It's because of the damn church, getting me up earlier than I wanted to. I was eating marshmallows and having a splendid time, though i will have gained five pounds this week for sure. Now I want some tofu and soy sauce, and maybe a bit of sheese. No, no cheese, just soy. It's all soy.
I love it when the air is fresh. Not clean, cool, crisp air, but air that smells like those little warts that sometimes appear on leaves. I know, you have no idea what I'm talking about, but I remember one thing from my childhood: warts on leaves means good air. Air that smells like bugs and worms and dirt and mud, air that smells like summer and warm wind and playing in the creek searching for minnows. Air that smells like hot concrete under bare feet. I do not have those things in my life right now, but I remember.
I have never been so excited! My English teacher, who so kindly related the entire process to me, has given me her support for taking the Honor's English entry writing prompt. If i pass, I'll be admitted to the program in ninth grade. Finally, I'll be with people who can write at my level. Finally, I'll be with Brogan and Renny and people who are serious learners. But will I even get to the class? Last time, I didn't get an adequate score when I took it, but that test wasn't just a writing prompt. Will I make the cut?
As I look around my father's office, I realize that the walls are barer than they used to be. Pictures drawn by his father are gone, photos of him and his clients have disappeared. The few that remain are the ones I recognize from my childhood--something we gave him for father's day, a picture painted by his dad. My grandfather was sort of an artist; he drew clowns and sail boats in his spare time, and he was pretty good at it too. Gues that was the gene my brother got, the gene of drawing, but what did I get?
I am very concerned for Renny. Her school days seem to be filled with nothing but misery, and that is because she has no true friends on her team. She tells me that she cannot trust or rely on any of these people. I know, it happens, but she's had to live with this her ENTIRE middle school career. And she is overly shy because of social things that happpened in the past. This is such a silly problem, yet it is starting to affect her in harmful ways. If there was any way I could, I'd be with her....
I might have wanted it, and I might have not, yet I never wanted to make such a stupid mistake of miscommunication. It wasn't big, it wasn't significant, but I don't want to say what it is out of the shame it will produce. I had those visions of myself in a cage as I was driven up, but I wasn't scared like I might've been. That wasn't the mistake. One of my most treasured friend's birthday had come and had passed, and I missed it. But that wasn't the mistake The mistake was that I didn't tell. Forgive me.
I spent my time around children, and as they ran around the frigid playground, I could've sworn I saw myself standing by the slide. I was a lot shorter, blue eyes, stunning clear blue eyes, and I had that curly brown hair that sometimes shows itself. She waved at me, and then turned to run around with everyone else. But she froze, and before my eyes, I grew up in a flicker and several eyeblinks. I had locked gazes with myself staring into my own eyes. Then I blinked, and I was in the bathroom, staring into the sink's mirror.
I hate it when my finger are cold. Not that they never are, but when I'm typing, it's like trying to with brittle twigs for fingers. That is how inflexible they are. But it's because it's winter, and our sun is slowly extinguishing, and petroleum, natural gas, and heat prices are high because of the war in the Middle East and our inability to convert to solar power. Not to mention that this house is a waste of precious space, with all too lofty ceilings and rooms that have been ignored since we moved in. God, I miss the blue house...
Wouldn't it be fine if we could just let go and write what came naturally? Wouldn't it be fine if we could just pick a piece of nature, or a piece of life, and just describe it in as few sentences we can? Or as many sentences as possible? Wouldn't it be fine if we didn't have to worry about how our characters talked, or if they even talked at all? Wouldn't it be daring to write a book with no dialogue? What if we wrote a story that was all dialogue? What if and wouldn't spark my imagination.
There is a legend about the Lostori women that is whispered around Actinia. They are their angels, they are the winged women who appear after death and remove the soul from the body, to bear it to the Soul Realm, where all good souls rest in peace. Evil and tainted souls are ushered by the blade of the Lostori's sword to the Abyss, well protected on Capria. It is said that in times of peace and prosperity, when La Reina Lark was queen, the Lostori descended upon the land and even mated with Actinians. Their offspring are sacred treasures today.
Oh no, nostalgia sets in again. I miss Mars. I was thinking about the Mistake and Inyx today, when I was writing my journal entry in English. I wonder if she is all right. Inyx is a priestess in training, a sorceress, supposedly trained in the ways of dark magic and religion that dominated Mars long ago. I know this because of my nekatai abilities, and my soul shard. She has an onyx one, carved into a crystal. I remember it matched with her black eyes. I wish I could dance in the wake of the twin moons with her again....
I haven't been on 100 Words in two days, and already my server has forgotten the site address. Computers are like that, they tend to forget things if not reminded. Maybe it's because they were created by humans, and humans are flawed in that degree. We let slip from our minds the simple things that cross our paths, and only brighten when those things are mentioned by another. Often times, we forget completely, and must be replenished, but then we let it slip again through our fingers. And the scary thing is, we don't know it has been lost.
It isn't rainfall, though it's dripping, and yet it sounds so fluid, like a silk cloth being run through a pair of hands. It's almost like something picked up a lake and is sloshing it around in a large basin. Here, now it's gone, and it is replaced by a steady drip, a trickle of water over stones, falling off and hitting the vine-covered rock ground. Now, it's drumming onto wood, , making a warm, deep sound, and the drop turns into a small stream, slithering down the ground and into a large lake, where it will be tossed around again.
Well, I feel like a blasted nothing. He's mad at me, the room is a mess, I'm just wasting the day on the computer, and nothing I wanted to achieve this weekend has gotten done. I have two days to write a paper on Mike Wallace, and two days to complete the first page of my damn social studies report. I've gained weight, can't get on AIM, need a password I don't have, and my hair and teeth are a wreck. My thighs are flabby, He's mad at me, and I'm so hungry. Did I mention He's mad at me?
This music makes me long to be outside. In a jungle, to be more precise. Maybe in nekatai form. Forever. It is the music that echoes of nature and animals, so you crave to be outside running or swimming, or simply exploring the deepest green depths of a jungle. Aiyaa, if the city did not attract me so, then I would run away to India. Why India? Two words: Bengal Tigers. Didn't see that one coming, did you? Ah, well, the feeling's worn off, and now I'm in city feeling, and do not want to be disturbed. But it'll come back....
I do not understand myself. One minute I'm like a tiger, and I want to be free and hyper, the next minute the moon has captured me and I am mysterious, craving solitude, calm and intelligent. Then, I get stuck in- etween, and am creative, dream, and social. So what am I, really? I want to be almost all of these things, but moon gets boring, then tiger gets shallow, and the in-between feeling gets stupid. Then, I beat my soul until it might crack and shatter, into little daggers of purple and silver. They'll pierce me and draw clear blood...
Loathe. Hate. Despise. Those were my feelings as I confronted various obstacles today. They, of course, were mainly directed to humans, those stupid, feeble creatures. The self-centered organism that is such this planet's misfortune to be overpopulated Like flies or germs, no one wants them around, yet they always seem to appear. How perfect would it be to go back to Mars, where we have made a Mistake, and plan to learn from the past. Or even better, Actinia. Actinia would definatly be chosen over Mars. Land where nature and magic preside, where we would be governed by wise ones.
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