| Filtered against faculty and staff |
[27 Apr 2012|01:47am] |
I have to say, if Byron and I had been shown educational videos like these as a kid, then we might have turned out better.
Nobody ever told me what was happening to my body!
[ooc: Though not explicitely NSFW, a few of the images and messages are a bit...gross.]
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| twenty-two. |
[27 Apr 2012|08:04am] |
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Makeshift outfit - $6.00
Body Paint - $15.00
Self-confidence (to wear all this) - Priceless
Seriously, if I can make this work I think my outfit tomorrow will kick so much ass.
[Filtered to Cyrus and Reeve]
So, I found the perfect shade of Jötunn-blue paint and a towel I can make into a dress, but I'm gonna need help with the paint. If one of you can do this for me I've got a fat bag of some herbal that I swiped from a douchebag at the sports center that you can use or sell, I don't give a fuck.
Also, name my wolf cub - Bardolph, Liulfr, Ranulph, or Ulfric.
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[27 Apr 2012|10:49am] |
So I'm cleaning my room today, and I find the issue of Terrorizer Magazine where they name the top 200 albums from 2000-2009. Normally I tend to like this publication, since most of the time their reviews have never steered me wrong. (They gave Morbid Angel's latest album a decent review; once you get past the cheesy implications of said album, it's really not too bad.)
But then they named Electric Wizard's "Dopethrone" as the number one album of 2000-2009. The album that not only must you own, but the album that will make you soil your pants with glee.
I have the album, and no matter how many times I try listening to it, I can't get into it. Perhaps the title "Dopesmoker" the fact that the band is classified as doom/stoner metal, or that the cover features some odd little tree spirit smoking a bong indicates that the only way to enjoy the album is if you're stoned off your ass.
If that's the case that really makes me wonder about that magazine publication.
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| Hera/Zeus |
[27 Apr 2012|11:59am] |
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And worst of all, you never call, baby, when you say you will.
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[27 Apr 2012|12:01pm] |
Are those weeks coming in back to back this month? I feel very... uncomfortable.
I'm not alone, am I?
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| twenty-six. |
[27 Apr 2012|12:48pm] |
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Well. I'm not sure what brought on these feelings, but whatever did is just bloody fucking brilliant.
I'd go jump in the lake to cool off, but my inability to swim makes that a daft plan.
[filter; private]
Jazz. Even her name makes me smile. All this time I've been searching for a reason to keep living past my birthday... could she be it?
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[27 Apr 2012|12:49pm] |
I'm so glad that I haven't been singing and dancing this week. More than you know. Knowing me, I would have broken into such classics as: Gin and Juice and Poison by Bel Biv Devoe. No one wants to hear that, not from me. You've all been saved.
It's been very nice hearing everyone though for the most part. We definitely have some people who should try pursuing singing.
I need a new hobby, I think to keep myself occupied. What does everyone else do? I don't want to collect stamps or coins or anything. I'm not sure what to do though.
Also, I think I need a hug. It's been one of those weeks. I hate having children on the slab.
How is everyone else?
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[27 Apr 2012|03:09pm] |
Every now and then I find my inner artist meeting with my unchangeable skill set and together they make beautiful music. This is one of those moments.
[Filter: James]
Gather up old newspapers, discarded papers, aluminum and clean garbage bags. I might have been struck by genius.
[Filter: Osiris]
Will you still be part of my entourage for the party?
If so, did you need help coming up with an outfit?
[Filter: Apep]
Do you have plans for tomorrow?
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[27 Apr 2012|06:40pm] |
PUBLIC ANNOUNCEMENT!
I am not doing this. I just want to get that out there, because, while I don't give much weight to the threats, the thought of someone chewing my ass out for this does not make me happy. And why would I... But she's so...
My outfit is coming along nicely. I'll be the best dressed man at Aria's bash. Max, I'm sorry for the mess. I think I got all the paper. Let me know if I missed any.
[Filtered to Jon/Heimdallr]
I hope you're liking your single. Aria suggested I should I would like to apologize for getting in the middle of a family situation. It was wrong. I'd like to talk to you. Offer an explanation of sorts. It'll be quick. We don't even have to see each other.
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| five. |
[27 Apr 2012|09:11pm] |
( carefully typed and then discarded )
[video] [Filter: Public]
[The picture that fills the screen is a view down and along the black and white expanse of piano keys. The tableau of silenced scales is, eventually, interrupted by the careful placement of her hands - delicate things, but by no means masterful, thin and pale and patiently waiting for some unspoken cue to begin.
There is no shuffle of papers, no sound at all but the slight shift of material as someone rights their posture, a huff of air that could very well be tinged with the sheepish flavor of laughter. She has no illusions about the areas in which her talents lie. But then the song begins and it honestly isn't terrible at all - a little bit uncertain, and certainly halting in places - but lively. Bright in an unpolished and genuinely joyful manner. It sounds, quite thoroughly, like someone's good mood set to music.
She pauses the music for a moment, picture levered upward (a jostled flicker of blonde curls, the wide slash of an eager grin) before it is lowered to rest on the ground immediately under the piano itself. There's a stack of books, a precariously leaning pile of records, thin slats of light from a window somewhere higher up and along the far wall, and a worn pair of Chuck Taylor's - one shoe high-topped and the other not, left lace come undone - that rest on the pedal before she takes off into the conclusion.
The volume isn't on high and her fingers are soft on the keys, but the sound does sound better underneath. Like the song comes from all sides and all around to top it off. She had spent hours there when she was younger, curled up with her books and her papers and with her grandmother humming something slow and soft from just above her. It was very nearly her favorite place in the whole house. In any house. It's the one part of the discarded message that's salvageable - and so she salvages it as comprehensively as possible with her wavery musical ability.
As the last note hangs - reverberates and echoes in the shaded space beneath the burnished wood - she slides from the bench to sit cross-legged in front of the screen, a crooked grin on her face and her fingers brushing at some phantom itch along the bridge of her nose. She shrugs up a shoulder and stays silent - lets her hands flutter into a sequence of signs to take care of the speaking for her: I didn't sing. So I thought that I would play instead. The second half was better, yes? Under? It sounds like a heartbeat might from the inside. Like an orchestra. I think.]
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