Ramblings · of · a · Degenerating · Mind

Oh. My. God.

I NEED TO F-ING KILL SOMEONE! I have never felt such hatred in my life! *slams head repeatedly into the corner of her desk*

So I started a series of short parodies of the most awful fics I've read. Sounds easy, right? Yeah, it is. EXCEPT FOR TWO THINGS!

1) It's really f-ing hard to write that poorly. I am sitting here agonizing over how to misspell words, how to improperly switch POV, how to make a runon of epic proportions, which wrong tense to use, what word to use incorrectly, what words to mis-capitalize. ARG! Why is this so damn hard!? I'm going to need an f-ing beta to make it this bad. I just can't make it awful enough by myself. (There's some irony.)

2) I am literally CRYING as I force feed myself some of the worst fics ever written in the history of the f-ing world. Oh. My. God. OhMyGod. OHMYGOD-OHMYGOD-OHMYGOD!!!!!! I want to badly to take those people head and hold them under a freight train just to hear their f-ing necks crunch! OHMYGOD!!! THE PAIN IS MORE THAN I CAN BEAR!

Where is the f-ing justice in the world!? WHY WEREN'T THEY SMITTEN BY LIGHTENING? WHY WERE THEY BORN?

I can't even put this in words. I think I need to scream profanities at everyone in sight for three hours, and possibly slam a few fingers in doors. I'm going to spend an extra 60 years in purgatory for the hatred I'm feeling tonight. My god. Oh my god.

Forever
You promise me,
So sure and so naive.
But then, we both were.

And I wish now I was still there
Suspended in the time of the long summer afternoons
When we were still in love--
A sweet toxication
That makes the awakening reality
All the more bitter.

I remember the day it rained,
And we sat under the bridge
Hidden away by an endless wall of water:
Our own world,
Until the water was licking our toes
And it was later than we intended.
But I never wanted to leave you and I begged:
"A few more minutes."
"No," you said.
Soft kisses for punctuation.
"It will be dark soon."
And you carried me through the mud
Under the wall of water that had no end
And we were running.
But too late, we were swimming like
The little fishes I scared with my shadow
When the pond was almost dried up.
Cold water, a sputtering shower,
And we were both laughing.
Out of breathe we stop,
Dancing in the rain like children.
Splash.
Unashamed and jubilant.
Alone together.
Forever,
I promise

And the hot day at the end of summer,
We walked,
Bare feet slapping concrete soup
Running off the road,
So hot.
Uncertain
Silence
So long since I held you last.
The cool darkness of the tunnel,
And you were holding me.
"I love you."
Relief--
Soft womb of happiness that engulfs us both:
Warm.
Quiet except for grass
Slithering in little huffs of breeze.
Far away drone of crickets.
Acres of naked skin
Melting,
Mixing.
Pitter-patter hearts.
You are beautiful to me.
The delicate fringe of your eyelashes
The taste of your hot skin.
"Forever."

We pull apart but the pieces are mixed up.
Oh well.
i will have you always.

Funny I was once afraid of love
Am now afraid to live without it.
You took my heart with you when you left,
Forever.

Warning: the following is slightly philosophical melodramaticness and nostalgia on my part...
 
    I'm packing for college right now, and I came across some of my old notebooks buried in my desk drawers. Most of my notebooks I ripped to shreds and threw away when my dad was doing his witch hunt, but some of them seemed to survive. I found one full of poetry and music I wrote in fifth grade. I even found one full of notes to the oldies on OA. They made me laugh, especially a few I wrote at Mozzie when we were squabbling. (God they're so dramatic)
   Reading through my old things made me miss all the writing I lost. The other notebooks, all the stories on the computer my dad deleted (12000 pages, approximately. Cry with me?). I know the writing wasn't great, and most of the stuff I do have now I laughed at, but it's part of my heart, I guess. Reading through the stuff I wrote then I can see how different I was.
   Even though I wouldn't go back if I could, I just feel a bit saddened that we can never be the person we were. Staring at the past is useless for the most part, but it's difficult to let go of something that made you, especially when the future is so confusing.
   Graduating this year was interesting. After staying up all night playing poker at a lockin, I sat in the car with Eric and watched the sun come up. I don't know what we talked about, but I remember a distinct feeling of being lost. We float through the system all our lives, and when we reach the end, we don't know what to do with ourselves, you know? Is this how retired people feel? I guess that really shows how far we've drifted from focusing on the outcome and not the process of things.
   By anyone's standards I'm doing things right. I got a full-ride scholarship, I have a job, I'm going to an Ivy League college with all my classes for the next four years planned out. I know what I want to do for a job and where I want to go to grad school. Probably someday I will have a nice family. I just have this awful nagging feeling that all those things are pointless. Age of Innocence, anyone? I think it sums up my feelings exactly.
   I guess I feel like I need a much larger goal in life than a nice family and good retirement package, but I don't know what. Can you really decide to change the world, or something big like that? Did the handful of people we remember through history for the scale of their actions just happen to be at the right place? Was it deliberate choices on their part towards a goal?
   I don't quite know what I'm looking for, really. I'm still trying to put words on the feeling of unease I have. Just trying to figure life out.

   Also, random tangent here, I've decided to change my rl name. I want to start things over. I feel like most of my life has been directed by the expectations of other people (again, Age of Innocence), and I want to be defined by me and my choices. It's just a name, but I think names have power we give them to change how we see people, and maybe, how we see ourselves. Still not certain of a name though. Anyone have one for me?

Right... so, NaNoWriMo is going much better than I thought it would, but as predicted, the story totally changed. I was so happy when I started writing last night... it was bliss. Really.

Sadly though, I have no plot. The good thing is, I managed to write 1700 semi-interesting words. Yep. Ah well. At least I'm writing something. Really though, I have no idea what the actual problem is, though I have a slight idea of the larger 'theme-oriented' problem.

*searches furiously for the misplaced plot*

Well... hopefully I find it soon?

Right. Basically, I figured out how to access MSN at school. Through the filters, and all that. *happiness* So yeah.

Wow... this is a short post, isn't it? *shrugs* Oh well. *is sharing teh love*

Alvin

Right, so last night I went to the bookstore, and got home around eleven-thirty. I was doing my homework, and then, a few minutes to twelve, I had a temporary bout of insanity, and DECIDED TO DO NANOWRIMO! *teh horrors!*

I have not written since March. I have no idea how it will be possible. In fact, right now, the premecise of my story is:

Title: Barabbas

Story: Something about guilt of the main character because someone close to them was punished for something they did. (as in, not something small) The end. *vagueness*

Or not. In fact, I may write fifty pages, decide I hate it, and try something else. I am not good with schedules. I write in chunks, all at once. Bleh. Who knows.

*knows she is insane*

I feel the urge to write a short rant of anger at the people in this world who say gays are going to hell. Just because. So I can tell people to go read this post when they want to know my position on gay marriage, etc.

I feel gay people should not have marital privileges for religious reasons. I for the same reasons, I think gay ACTIONS are wrong. I don't think being gay is wrong, just like being tempted is not wrong, only acting on temptations is.

However, when people make judgements and condemn people who are being gay, they are really the ones who are wrong. Especially Christians. You can't call yourself a Christian if you can't love other people. At the root of the Christian doctrine is love. Jesus loved people, even the ones who he thought were wrong. Loving someone doesn't mean you endorse their actions. You can still think they're wrong.

I have a lot of gay friends. I don't think it's my place to tell them what's right and what's wrong. I don't think everything they're doing is right, but that has nothing to do with my friendship with them.

The End.

(if I directed you to this post, you may wish to discuss it in more detail with me)

And no, I haven't talked with anyone about this today, I just realized how much time I could save by copy-pasting this answer into conversations, etc.

On a slightly (note: "SLIGHTLY") more serious note than my previous entries I am getting more an more frustrated with my WB.

(ATTENTION: Please note that the following is probably a usless, pointless rant of whining and complaining over my WB, and you may be injured if you fall asleep, and consequentially fall out of your seat.)

I have this horrible, enormous urge to write. (Which I have tried to fulfill through journal entries, and essays of all kinds.) Not write just anything. I need to write STORIES! I can totally feel them banging around in my head, but there's this nasty wall keeping them from coming through. I can feel their aura, but they're just not close enough to become tangible, and I can't write!

*music of doom fades in*

It's tragic! It really is! I know there are stories in there! They keep me awake at night, whispering things I can't hear, but want to desperately. I mean, I hear their voices figuratively. What am I to do? Everyone has a 'solution' for WB. I've tried, but it is hopeless so far! Decent into insanity...

*tears*

Farewell cruel world

I noticed the frightening length of my journal entries last night. (as in, teh ACTUAL journal, instead of this er... blog?) I mean, the binder it's in is about ready to explode, there's so much paper in it, and my tendinitis is getting progressively worse, which corresponds nicely with with the length of my entries (which are all written by hand).

Now, the length itself is frightening, (I average approximately 21 pages by hand, front AND back a DAY!) but what's even more frightening is the subject matter. The way I jump from topic to topic seems to suggest a rapid unraveling of my mind. I mean, I'll be discussing the unfairness of having to memorize 76 formulas and the names of them from chemistry, and then I'll stop mid-sentence, and jump to a three page discussion of my teddy bear. (Please don't ask.) There is absolutely no correlation between the two, and I feel the need to discuss them.

Perhaps I should burn it every now and then. It might be used as evidence to prove my insanity someday.

Hmm...

While glancing back on my previous entry, I particularly noticed me use of the word: "teh". Undoubtably, I put it to appropriate use, but I've never really stopped to consider the word.

Teh- an article and an adjective, at times.

Now that the category has been defined, we can discuss the more interesting tidbits of this word. Take tis pronounciation, for example. Is it pronounced: "t-a"? ('a' as in 'ago'), or as: "t-e" ('e' as in 'second'), like it appears? "t-e" sounds odd, and feels odd in my mouth, but "ta" is obviously a questionable interpretation for phonetic reasons alone. It is my personal belief, however, that the emphasis is placed on the 't'. It is sort of spat between the teeth, if you catch my drift.

The next order of business is to find the origins. As I am not particularly inclined to back-breaking research when a grade is not involved or my reputation is not at stake, I think it will suffice to say that in pre-tech days (parchment and quill), it was classified as a spelling error until a monk named Augustus got to the last chapter of Revelations (you must remember that copy-paste abilities where not availible at the time, and all work was copied by hand), and made this unfortunate spelling error, and was forced to start over again. Devestated, he committed suicide.

As a result, in 1562, the ope officially made "teh" an excusable spelling error, and it lost the media attention that Augustus's suicide had brought. "Teh" disappeared.

With the dawn of a new generation (and the computer), however, "teh" was rediscovered by a rather obscure young web-user by the name of: I. B. Nurd. In his excitment, he did not patent the word (or register it as a trademark), and with no useage fee, the new word caught on, and spread rapidly.

The AVSGT (Association of Visciously Savage Grammer Teachers) became a staunch enemy of this new word, and continues to demonstrate against it today; but no amount of legal action, or moral persuation can disuade the general public when it has its mind set on something, which is more and more obvious in the rising popularity of the word.

(Onward) The definition of "teh" is not particularly concrete, and most users admit to: "just sort of knowing when it feels right". I will attempt to make the meaning at least a little clearer, however, by pointing out that "teh" may be used as an article in place of 'the' AND it may be used as an adjective. It is both at once, in affect.

"Teh" implies that the noun it proceeds is more special than other similar nouns. In other words, this noun is THE (___) of THE (___). The elete of the eletes. At the same time, it acts in the stead of its relative: "the" to signify a singling out of something in particular.

"Teh" is the proper usage of both singular and plural forms. At the time, no alternate forms of "teh" are known officially, but please feel free to notify the Associate Press, should you think otherwise.

(I am not responsible for any damage caused by anyone believing my outrageous, obsurd, and even otiose journal enteries.)

Naturally, I suppose, everything has to have a beginning or else it never was. This being Teh Beginning, I have no idea what to say, but this will probably end up to be of some length, and have no point.

I've noticed you can generally tell there's something wrong with people when they are able to talk for some time, and not say anything at all. (I don't think I will even bother to pretend that there's nothing wrong with me. There most definitely is.)

My time here draws to a close, as I must race across the city for my piano lessons, which unfortunately, I did not practice for. At some other time, I will discuss in length the piano brands that irk me, and composers I dislike, etc.

Now, however, I am sadly forced to depart.

Farewell.