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[23 Nov 2009|02:48pm] |
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Goku is sad. My roommate doesn't like me. I miss my friends. My Grandfather even moreso.
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| Spam / Short Thread for Loki + Sophia |
[23 Nov 2009|12:42am] |
Who: Denny Foster/Loki, Sophia Arima
When: Thursday, after Loki's breakdown on Tuesday
Where: The dining hall
What: Loki's crazy and Sophia's nostalgic
Warnings: References to rape and child abuse, language
( Steel, concrete, and a rainy scene.. )
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[20 Nov 2009|11:38pm] |
They keep telling me that writing everything out will help but I just don't see what it's going to accomplish me. There is no deep seeded root to the things that have come to pass, there is no grandmother to hold my hand and gently nudge me in the right direction, there is only me and a journal, there is only me and a pencil, their is only me and... And nothing. I have nothing, I'm just sitting her scribbling down my thoughts as well as stupid mind numbing thoughts asking to write down something that means something real to me. I'll write down something that means something real and no one will understand it.
I miss him, and I'm not getting him back.
Welcome to my reality.
Irene
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[20 Nov 2009|05:15pm] |
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“If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn't be. And what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?”
-Alice in Wonderland
When Alice Liddell or Wendy Darling came home to their parents, neither had known quite what to say to them to explain their days of absence. The children who spent their time in worlds of fantasy with the fairies, talking cats, or wolves that follow you on your way to Grandmother's house were always considered a bit off. After their initial disappearances, they spent their lives paranoid of what could fly through the windows, come out of the wardrobe in the empty room, or appear in a flash of red light, donning a pair of mock ruby slippers and wicked green smile.
They became, as many people told their parents, completely mad.
So what was a caring father or mother to do when a man came to them, spilling of a place where they wouldn't have to pay for their children to be cared for, where the government would fund them while still giving the top of the line treatment, care, and education? All the tiny girls and boys who babbled about places like "Oz," or "Wonderland," or the ever popular "Neverland" were worried for, and eventually, shipped off to the asylum, where their parents could only hope that their prayers for a normal son or daughter would finally be answered.
we're all mad here.
The only place that runs my soul is ![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) cheshiremods. If the grinning cat hasn't given you the wink though I'm afraid you'll find now enjoyment here but I do encourage you to keep stroking his back until he purrs. Oh and in case you were wondering? This journal is for roleplaying purposes solely. |
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[19 Nov 2009|04:55pm] |
Somehow I knew we'd end up here. Perhaps not here exactly, but something like it.
Insanity. This is not how it ends. This is not the end of the road for the Saints, and we are not finished yet. We will not leave this world until our work is done.
That fucking lawyer thought this was best for us? After everything that's happened, all the help we had in getting here, this is what happens? I refuse to fucken believe they've all abandoned us here to this fate.
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[18 Nov 2009|10:15pm] |
This place exists like a cage by which all things beautiful are kept to be hidden away for ones own amusement. The voices float and ring their way above the stage of life and wrap their way around me till it sticks to a place so far under my skin I can't wash it out.
I'm tired of things not washing out. He never washes out. Except there was no he. There was no multitude of hes that chatter and touch and dance and blow out their brains for an utterance of feeling. The he's that hang around. The swine and the poet both.
I miss them. Some of them. All of them. None of them for no reason at all and all the reason in the world.
No. Not him. But Him for sure.
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[18 Nov 2009|01:28am] |
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Sable's journal was left on a table in the middle of the cafeteria with the first page lying open for anyone to see.
For those of you who remain unfamiliar with who I am -- whether by simple coincidence or a lack of nutritional intake -- all you need to know is that I am Sable Markey, I am your resident dietitian, and I am unequivocally bored.
Here's a journal. Congrats. Either you found it, or someone passed it on to you. If you found it, write something to me, ask a question, tear out a page, call me a fag, whatever; then pass it on. Wash, rinse, repeat. If you want a response, leave it on the table in the center of the cafeteria everyone once in a while and I'll reply when I get to it.
I don't care what you say. I'm not your friend, but I'm not a tight-ass doctor, either. I'm a dietitian; we're the fun ones.
You get a cookie if you make me laugh.
Fair warning: I'm British.
Good luck.
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[15 Nov 2009|08:07pm] |
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( Bio )
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| 001 |
[15 Nov 2009|08:07pm] |
What is this place. Really. Fuck ass. That fuck ass lawyer.
Insanity
He pled insanity for us. We've never been more sane in our lives. We're saner than you. You who rapes and steals, who murders for personal gain. We are saner than you that condemns us and you that love us.
We are saner than you.
We are higher than you.
We are Saints and you merely un-anointed mortal.
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[15 Nov 2009|08:01pm] |
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( Bio )
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content