Geek in the Pink.Chapter Three8 MONTHS LATERMore Like This
My time with Mello had taught me a lot.
Like that I need to keep him and Near away from each other.
And I also learned that Mello likes chocolate.
He also never whined. He bitched. Or take it until he passed out or whatever.
For example, in the first few days of the month it had started to snow bad.
As in, blizzard bad.
And he had insisted on buying this special limited time chocolate that he apparently didn't know was on the market until the last day.
So we sneaked out at around eight. Of course he would choose a freezing cold time.
We had been walking for at least an hour. I didn't have the best sense of direction.
I assumed we were close, because I could see lights ahead. I knew it was cold but Mello would have said something about me being a baby so I kept quiet. Mello, on the other hand hadn't said anything. He was usually bitching by then.
I heard a small thud and looked over my shoulder. And there was Mello, unconscious, in the three foot snow.
IZ ITEOTWAWKI ch1Invader Zim- It's The End Of The World As We Know It (and I feel fine)More Like This
Chapter 1- The Beginning Of The End
It was another strange day at the Skool. Gaz was leaning on a tree playing her Gameslave 2. Dib was pacing back and forth thinking about plans to expose Zim to the world. And, as usual, Zim was thinking about plans (redundant sorry) to destroy the entire human race and rule the Earth as an Almighty Tallest.
Then, the bell rang and it was time for klass (joke). Ms. Bitters was teaching the students about the human genitalia, which sickened Zim. After class, a nauseated Zim walked home (duh).
"That class was disgusting" Zim thought out loud. "I just hate humans and their 'weenies'".
"Hey, Zim" Gaz said as she walked by. Suddenly, something came to Zim's mind: He had a new target.
He went to his base and Gir greeted him by jumping on his head and pulling his antennae.
"Gir! Stop this instant!" Zim commanded. Gir got off of Zim's head and saluted.
"Gir, prepare the security cameras! W
Let Me Be Your Reason-Ch 8Let Me Be Your ReasonMore Like This
Nine year old Timmy sat in the limo, looking out the window. He watched as countless of people and buildings passed by. Some of the people seemed to stare at the limo as it drove on. Whispers were heard of the Turner household. They had all seen the Turners symbol on the doors, a black crow with a snake in its mouth. Timmy's father had taught him long ago what the symbol meant.
"As we are like the crow that picks the flesh off decaying corpses, we will show no mercy to our enemies."
Timmy, deep in thought, had always hated the symbol and what it stood for. He knew his father's business was dangerous, violent and just plain cruel. He hated to think so, but his father truly was exactly like the crow. He was a complete monster who killed his enemies without blinking an eye. His father told him every single day that he would grow up to be like him, but truth was he didn't want to be. He wanted to be like his mother. His mother was the leader of another
Naruto Chat RoomChErRyBlOsSoM_XO: HEY SASUKE!!More Like This
ChErRyBlOsSoM_XO: Hi! ^_^
ChErRyBlOsSoM_XO: How are you~?
ChErRyBlOsSoM_XO: what are you doing?
TehUchihaAvenger: Checking my messages.
ChErRyBlOsSoM_XO: u have alot?
TehUchihaAvenger: Uchiha Sasuke has 348 Messages
TehUchihaAvenger: That answer your question?
ChErRyBlOsSoM_XO: who r they all from?!?1!
TehUchihaAvenger: It's all junk mail. There's only a few I'll acctully look at....
ChErRyBlOsSoM_XO: u get THAT MUCH spam?!
TehUchihaAvenger: It's all from fangirls...
TehUchihaAvenger: Oh kami... I'm scared....
TehUchihaAvenger: I got an email from Kakashi... all it is is a link with a smiley face next to it... o_o
ChErRyBlOsSoM_XO: click it... >3
ChErRyBlOsSoM_XO: wut was it?
The FlameBeing a creative usually starts with perception and sensitivity. Artists and writers translate the world around them into a transferable language that takes their viewer / reader into that place, that experience, and gives them for one brief moment a sight through the creative's eyes. Not everyone is capable of abstract thought, to see beyond themselves, but creatives transport others, opening doors and minds in the process. Not limited to what they see, creatives reveal that there is more, and therefore strip away the self imposed limits of the person intaking the work of the creatives' hearts and minds. Media is important for this reason.More Like This
However to be this sort of shaman of thought and imagination, is a taxing reality. It comes with a myriad of reactions by those who experience their work. Sometimes it manifests in jealousy or a lack of respect for these hours of creation as real work, when the very act taps resources of emotional and psychological depths that often are not used in
SIGNED PAPERBACK COPIES!I've got the books paperback copies in and they are ready to go! Click for Picture - BookMore Like This
If any one wants a signed copy, please send me a note, or comment here OR send me an email to email@example.com
Book Price: $15.40 from Book Depository.
Freight: (As I am from Australia) Prices only cover ONE book. More books will cost more.
UK = $20
USA = $15
Also ~ Does anyone live in or near Zimmerman USA? If you do, there is a book store called Reading Frenzy it has two locations, one in Zimmerman 1/2 block west of Hwy 169 & Cty Rd and the other Area Arts Alliance Building, Elk River. My book is sitting on their shelves, so if you go up to them, buy a copy and take a picture of you with the book (smiling of course ha ha ha) I will give you a VERY generous reward!
5 Tips for Aspiring Writers...The five most important tips for an aspiring writer:More Like This
My name is Jacinta Maree and I am just me.
This is basically how I am going to start this entire post. I am me and there isn't anything special about me that make's publishing an easier or harder goal to achieve. I wasn't born with talent pouring into my diaper and I sure as hell wasn't a top notch student, voted to becoming the next president or anything. I am ordinary and just like everyone else out there.
Publishing is hard. You're meant to struggle so don't feel disheartened because you haven't been 'discovered' yet. It's just a timing thing. It's meant to be very hard and you have to have a heart of stone to not let rejection tear out your insides.
The beauty of publishing is that even once you get your yes that's when the hard work begins. You are competing against a lot of louder and more popular voices out there, trying to jump up and down and wave your arms to get some attention, even just a little to turn your way. I am far
originality is overrated(...and that ain't even an original title )More Like This
With that said - I don't mean to state that originality in itself doesn't matter, because it does. It's just that I kinda get an impression that many people are obsessed with being original or unique, while hardly ever thinking about what those words can mean (and not just in a dictionary sense).
It's not a new or isolated tendency, of course, but since originality is definitely important in art/personal expression and since it IS an art community...
Anyway - the way I see things, I think there's actually too much emphasis put on "being original", while there's a widespread dismissal of the importance of learning what can make things original, which includes - of course, what else - studying the basics.
It's like this trend which probably everyone here has observed or experienced at some point: many people want to learn draw well, but they think they can master certain style (or a certain graphics program or some superficial guidelines
If you grew up in the 90's you've gotta read this!>Anybody under the age of 13 should not read this, and if you do, you shouldMore Like This
>not repost this.
>Just because you were born in '97 doesn't mean you're a 90's kid.
>It's not like you could remember the original Simpsons. I am sorry but
>three conscious years of the 90's just wont cut it
>You're a 90's kid if:
>You remember watching Doug, Ren & Stimpy, Pinky and the Brain , and Two
>AAAAAAAH real monsters.
>You've ever ended a sentence with the word "PSYCHE!
>You just cant resist finishing this... "Iiiiiiin west philladelphia born
>You remember TGIF on ABC. Step by Step, Family Matters, Dinosaurs, and Boy
>You remember when, 2Pac and Selena died.
>You remember when it was actually worth getting up early
>on a Saturday to watch cartoons.
>You got super excited when it was Oregon Trail day in computer class at
>You remember reading "Goosebumps"
>You took plastic cartoon lunch boxes to school.
>You remember the craze, then the bann
My Other HeartMy Other HeartMore Like This
She was like my Other Heart,
This Child of Mine.
Wings always beating
Against some cage unseen;
Unseen but felt,
Striving foragainst some unknown,
Laughter, tears, adventures, tales,
Jabbering in my ear.
Floppy hats, giggles
Snuggled in my lap,
Arms around my neck.
Many years into the teens,
My Snuggle Child was mine,
Dropping down into my lap,
To talk tell tales
Of who did what.
Growing was not easy,
For this wildly yearning heart.
I cannot speak of the passage
Through the gates.
It was not an easy one,
Fraught with danger, tears and pain.
I could not find the cure
To ease her burning heart,
Or cool her fevered brow.
The passage now
The chasm nearly crossed.
Her life's fork soon will be
Before her eager step.
Ready and strong?
I know not.
With feet firmly set.
Tumultuous soul and willful mind,
My Second Heart;
Go - Free.
The Gettysburg SonnetVersified InformationMore Like This
Middle American History Lesson 1: Lincoln's Gettysburg Address
The Gettysburg Sonnet
It was but eighty-seven years ago
our fathers built a nation on this land,
conceiving it in liberty as though
their slaves were just the same as hired hands.
But now we're fighting in a civil war,
that tests our will to follow in their steps,
and hold ourselves together, not apart,
to keep our country strong, 'cause that's the best.
We're meeting on a field where soldiers died
while killing one another for a cause.
The good guys are the ones who took our side;
the bad guys are the other ones I s'pose.
And though the world is likely to forget,
the rest of us have much more blood to let.
Twelve StepsTwelve StepsMore Like This
We used to have lotsa fun
It was just me and you
Now I have set you free
And hear from you no more
But this all about life
Where joy and sadness mix
Nothing in the world is even
Still, not all of them is fake
The sun will always shine
I shall leave the pain then
Moving on, make my zest burns
While holding tight on what's left
Uniqueness in CreativityOriginality is dead. We all know this. Everything has been done before at this point. It is just the place where we are at in humanity. One person creates a piece of art, or writing, or music, or poetry (any creative arena, really) and while most people think "wow that's so original!" invariably somebody, somewhere is going "hey, that was MY idea!" or "Hey, I've heard that riff before in this song over here." or "Hey! That artist already did something like that over there!" when this person (to their knowledge) copied nothing, drew from nothing of than their own minds. I know you all know what I mean.More Like This
For instance, my certain "style" of artwork coincided almost at the same time with other similar artists in my genre, such as Kyoht and Dark Natasha, and I am sure hordes of others. Does it mean we were "copying" one another? How in the world could we have been doing that before we even knew of one ano
BastiMore Like This
Basti is a kind little guy.
With a chocolate coat,
And sweet little amber eyes.
He gives his owners reasons to gloat.
He’ll stand his ground for a friend,
He’ll show you love unconditionally ,
He’ll keep you in his heart until the end,
A hound’s loyalty is a sight to see.
In truth I think most envy their furry little companion,
They live in the moment with enigmatic glee
The simplest things give them the greatest joy
And Basti gives to any situation, all his passion.
To know Basti is a privilege for me
I wish him love, bones and all the toys.
He doesn’t want money,
He doesn’t want the world,
He doesn’t need anything to be proud of,
He just wants to chase a bunny
He just wants the ball to be hurled
All he wants is affection and love.
The White RoseMore Like This
A master of imagery and vision.
A woman of kind and clever disposition.
To my entire life you captured the image.
And then you did as you always do.
You turn the mundane and unimpressive and give it a glorious visage.
For all of this I can never thank you.
It has been a year since I heard your voice.
It has been too long since I saw your face.
But I care not for you have taken my life and up you hoist.
But I care not for your smile still lingers in my mind's space.
In years gone by we helped eachother.
We comforted ourselves in times of trouble.
Now my old duties and so much more are preformed by another.
One who treats and cares for your life like a weak bubble.
And in this I am content.
The things you taught me of my life I now fully comprehend.
That my life is not rigid it is my fate to bend.
I will not be alone forever.
If not for you there would be things I would know, never.
And in this all I can say is "Thank you."
DaffodilsSoft, heady scent filled her nostrils and grass prickled at her back through her thin cotton dress. The damp of dew soaked gradually into her clothes and she tilted her head to smell again the hypnotising scent. Velvet like petals brushed her cheek and spots of bright yellow blurred at the edge of her vision as she cried for the last time.More Like This
There had never been much freedom, but now with her mother dead it was the last of the spring days. The turning of new leaves. She was still young, still had her entire life before her. It was simply not as bright as it had been before. But she would weep her last, then return to the house to the pack the last of her belongings.
Years passed like heavy autumn leaves, twisting and soaring on the breeze but always, eventually, fading to nothing. It was not that she hated being a governess, but to be something more would be so much sweeter. She had an insatiable thirst for knowledge, she was always reading, wanting to know more. But no scho
The Closet Artist Choking on the dust that had accumulated in the space behind the water heater, I groped along the wall until I felt a piece of plywood shift.More Like This
"Mark, there's something back here!" I called out, turning the board aside easily to reveal the darkness of a space between the walls.
"It'd better be either buried treasure or Narnia, because I've officially reached my bad news quota for the year." Mark's sardonic reply drifted from the bathroom, where he'd spent the better part of the day ripping out drywall.
It was day three of our efforts to fix up the old farmhouse that had been willed to me by my reclusive great-aunt. At first I was shocked by the generosity of the inheritance, considering the fact that great-aunt Agnes had bitterly disapproved of my decisions on everything from marrying young to working toward an Art degree. But after the tension o
The Preferable WorldThe Preferable WorldMore Like This
Nyla Atsel crept her way through the maze of hallways which wove through the enemy complex. She knew she had to join the rest of the Rebel Fighters soon or she would certainly be spotted. The rest of her four-man strike team had been killed and the Basilisk Guards were searching for her. If they found her and did not kill her on sight, she would most definitely be tortured for information. She could not let that happen. She would not betray her fellow soldiers.
The mission to steal the Union's blueprints for their new spaceship had failed. The intelligence the Rebels had received was false; the new plans were not even in this complex. Nyla's team had died for nothing. With the new ships the Union would be able to conquer more of the outlying worlds, bringing them into the Collective. It was what the Rebels fought to stop.
As Nyla slunk down another dimly lit hall, she noticed a change. The speakers, which had been a repeating broadcast of her team's intrusio
This Conversation Took Eons"I can control you," he said, gravitational fingers lurching into my bouldered skin and pulling bits of me away.More Like This
I made it rain that day and killed three thousand and forty six people, just because I could.
"What is wrong with you?" his voice sank as the waters became weighted with people. He pulled the tides higher and washed the visible pain into the form of debris.
"They'll never forget though," I used the stars to point out my flaws and my current disaster, "because they're dead."
"Why do you do that?"
"What's wrong with me?" I asked innocently, stirring up another hurricane with my pinky.
It was all some sort of amusement to me. He was glaring at me with those fake diamond eyes and wishing for a meteor to smash into my dimpled frame. I know he wants me dead. Ever since those dinosaurs, he hasn't quite forgiven me, like I can control the death of over-populated reptiles.
"I am orbiting your bulging equator. I will always just be orbiting you," he pauses and ties my tallest m
SoulmatesPeople give the heart credit for loveMore Like This
when really it is the spirit that helps us rise above
the wave lengths come together
soulmates rise together as pure and beautiful as a dove