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Long Overdue Features

Journal Entry: Wed Jan 25, 2012, 2:24 PM
l Gallery l l Watch Me l Note Me

FUN FACT I was filling this out then the Net went down so it is double overdue.

Because I hit up like three of you for features and then never did the journal roflcopter giraffipede.  


1. For each of the 10 first people answering this journal, I will put their avatar and the three deviations I like most from their gallery on the list!

2. If you answer, you have to do the same in your journal, putting the tagger on the first place. The idea of this is not to get a free feature, it is to spread art around for everyone!

1. :icons-iron:

The first time I filled this out I read that as Where Toilet Ghosts Spring and this time read it as Where Trolling Ghosts Spring.  Mmsrry, ghosts.

2. :iconskysongms:
Iron and SnowThey say New  York is beautiful this time of year.
They tell me the snow makes everything sparkle:
It covers dirty streets
and graffiti
and homeless men that nobody took inside.
Everything is smeared with white,
its truth gone,
like a chalkboard after lecture ends.
I ask what it looks like in spring,
When the buildings stand raw and unprotected
And the trees stretch barren, skeletal fingers to a sun that doesn't yet nourish.
They tell me to think less morbid thoughts.
It was snowing the night you died.
Did the flakes fall on your face?
Did you catch them on your tongue?
Or did you just put your hands in your pockets
And hunch your shoulders against the wind
And never once think that you were a target,
That your life was numbered in seconds, not decades or years or even days…
That every step took you farther away from the life you knew.
And I think of your body, broken and still.
And I think of what is left of myself.
And I think…
I think the best part of me lies ble

TBOS Alma's Story 4 by SkysongMA
Calliope's ReckoningThe two girls are skinnier than I am, with light, deftly applied makeup and smiles like the ice sculpture on the drink table. The one who initiated the conversation holds her drink between two fingers almost as thin as the stem of her glass. "I don't think I caught your name earlier," she says, her eyes bright in a way that might be friendly in a different universe.
I smile. I don't want to get kicked out of the party before I get a chance to see Kally. Her parents like me, but only to a point, and they probably can't afford to offend whatever family these girls come from. Not for my sake.
"That's because I didn't tell you, sweetheart," I say. The smile hurts my teeth, so I sip my drink. "It's Alyssa." They could be talking to me because I'm the only other person at this party around their age, but I don't think so. I can tell they're both smirking underneath those stupid veils.
The girls glance at each other; I ignore it. At least they aren't tittering. That's what most of the

3. :iconrobinrone: :heart:
Oberon's Garden - Frost Ref by RobinRone This one in representaion of all the OG things she did, especially the crack I had a direct hand in, FrostxRhi, that graphote picture of Sending and so on.  Also because this was a ref with a lot of info that was fun to read.
Page 153 - Not Good enough by RobinRone Still come back to this one now and then and read the story.
SoG Bk2 Contest Winner by RobinRone

4. :iconphantomeus:
The Great Spaghetti Western by phantomeus
WL.Ensis.II by phantomeus
The Melon Seller by phantomeus

5. :iconletsly:
:thumb277368428: WHOOPS BIAS

6. :iconaeori:
Clay Dogfish by Aeori
Red Kitten by Aeori
Nickel 'n Dimes by Aeori

7. :icon kalyn-palak:
Beschuetzerin des Tages by Kalyn-Palak
ICE by Kalyn-Palak
My Name is Joy by Kalyn-Palak



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Texture by Princess-of-Shadows
  • Listening to: Les Miserables
  • Reading: Nancy Boys

Devious Journal Entry

Journal Entry: Wed Sep 28, 2011, 10:59 AM
help the dog is annoying me to death

  • Listening to: Les Miserables
  • Reading: Nancy Boys

this is a staph infection

Journal Entry: Wed Jul 6, 2011, 7:58 AM
I really should post more journals, being a paid member and all.
And it made me so happy reading Letsly and phantomeus's responses to my comments, I felt rather obliged to post :heart:

Anyone who comments on this I'll answer THESE QUESTIONS:

1.) Something I learned about you looking on your DA page for 13 seconds.

2.) What color do you remind me of.

3.) My first memory of you.

4.) Something I've always wondered about you.

5.) What I like the most of you.

6.) I'll give you a weird name.

7.) I'll tell you what I feel like doing right now.

8.) Tell you a creature you remind me of.

9.) I'll challenge you to post this in your journal as well.

EDIT: oh lordy, this color scheme! The zombies ATE Phantom and Aly! *swoon*

  • Listening to: Les Miserables
  • Reading: Nancy Boys

Vinegar Hunger

Journal Entry: Fri Apr 29, 2011, 2:25 PM
The year is almost up, and so many things are almost over.

In suppose it would be a lie to say I hate this school. I hate so many aspects of it; I hate that the art building is the college ghetto while everything else is pristine; I hate that entry classes are taught by grad students still unsure of how to teach. I hate sculpture, that soulsucked my inspiration out and twisted my beautiful, reverent character sculptures into nonfigurative, meaningless compromise art and I hate how the class stood around it and read meaning upon meaning into the sticks.

There are people here, that I met; one teacher I will miss. One teacher I will forever thank for teaching me that- No. For teaching me. That on its own enough.   I learned in that class that we do not go to art school to make beautiful things, but to learn how to.  I learned what it meant to care only that you are learning and not whether you are best in the class.  I learned what it meant to be a student, not an artist, and to be happy in this.

Sima, and Sosse, and Michelle and Riley.  I think I will miss you.
That isn't true, though. I've been here two years, but I never knew you. Is your name even Michelle? I am too embarrassed to admit I forgot your name.  I would never have asked to meet any of you outside of class, I would have made an excuse if you had asked me. But we could talk. We could share things. You amused me and uplifted and challenged me. You taught me about Paganism, you told me about chickens, you smiled, unfazed, while Patrice flayed your painting.  You made me feel feminine for the first time in my life, with your height and your calm strength. It was not a bad feeling.
I listened to you explain love and religion and children; I resented your girlfriend for not being good enough for you. I am sorry if I offended her for not acknowledging her; I assure you I made no note of anyone in that English class and wasn't just ignoring her.  We talked about iguanas and paint, and we laughed at how long it took you to fill the canvas. I made you squirm with boldfaced vulgarities and wry grins. You met my rats, while they were alive, and you appreciated them. You rent the bad teachers with your words alongside me and praised the one I revered.  

I might not miss you, because I never knew you. I did not make friends here. But I am glad I met you. I am glad we interacted.  I am glad we shared pieces of our world.
We will never meet again, I am sure. And that does not even warrant a proper goodbye.  No exchange of numbers or emails.  No grief for the loss. But I am glad to have met you.  

Doctor Austin... I think you are my favorite. You never patronized me. You never made me feel stupid or childish, you never shared a suppressed smile when I spoke of my holistic father, you never pretended there was some common, unimportant reason for all of my pain. You cost a gorram metric ton, but you really do seem to care. You were a partner, helping and wanting to help. Not a leech. I will miss you, in that lovely hospital with its awkward bronze sculptures.
When they performed the EKG and the applied the electrodes around my heart, the technician was a man.  I don't care. I don't. I lost my modesty when I spent the summer and spring break at Lake Havasu and watched the girls and their bikinis and the debauchery on every cove.  But you ought not to have men working with young women's breasts. I'm sure many of them would appreciate the sentiment.
I think, Austin, we will meet for the last time, and I will have not a problem with my heart; another dead end. But that at least will be one less place to look, and better to know we explored the options.  Thank you so much for listening and taking me seriously and talking to me and not telling me about heartburn meds after I described the dizziness, numbness and shaking.  Thanks for prescribing me an inhaler when I couldn't breathe, even if I can't afford it and you didn't run any tests.  Thanks for making things happen and not vaguely throwing around some possibly solutions.

Patrice, I owe you flowers, don't let me forget.

Shotgun team, you were a terrible let down. But thank you for the shirt.

Wincheshire. I am so sorry. I... I am so, so sorry. Oh Christ, I am sorry.

Persepolis, you were the first fish I truly loved. I will never have a betta like you again.  Thanks for all the gill flaring and attitude.

Fenton; I almost forgot you. I don't know what it is, and I was so angry when you switched classes with Newton and I did not get your class again, but my God, you have a gift.  All of history, the world's history, came together when you spoke. You cared about what you said and you gave reasons and symbols to mundane things. You were so memorable, you ignited my old love of Egypt and made me laugh and gasp and I never would have imagined the complex history of every art image I had seen through my life. You did nothing overly exciting or noticeable but my God, man, you were a teacher.
Newton, I resented you for weeks, for your different curriculum, for not being Fenton, but I do love your class.  I love that you have that condition that makes you completely bald and that you dress like a Manitou Springs hipster.  Your commentaries cracked me up, your colorful opinions and mnemonics and allusions.  You were so bright and animated and understanding and you love art history, I can tell you do.

The last time I trusted my doctor's advice, my occasional, random heartburn exploded into daily, hour long pain.  I starved after eating, and before eating the heartburn corroded my insides, they said so, even, it was the only result on that thousand dollar endoscopy that found nothing of use.  These days I care nothing for food, it means nothing, but now I am hungry, I get so hungry, and I worry that I do not have the meal passes left to feed myself.  I hunger now for vinegar. Can you believe that? Vinegar. Diluted and sour and unpleasant; I crave it now, I pour it into my water and tea and slug it when my heartburn hurts or I have a sore throat or a belly ache.
Did you know the vinegar you buy- apple cider vinegar, white vinegar- is diluted to five percent? Go on, check. It is. And it burns. To taste it undiluted makes my skull hurt. I pour a tiny amount into a cup of water to be able to stand it. Can you imagine entirely undiluted vinegar?
The people who wrinkle their nose at the thought; oh sod you lot, I hurt enough to need this.

Sometimes when I breathe my lungs don't seem to expand, and in the middle of sentences I suck desperately at the air to get a proper breath and a sharp pain in my chest responds.  It's scary. And it makes me shake. I cannot draw or ink.   Sometimes when I walk up from the basement my energy levels implode and I stagger, dizzy and vision-skewed, back to my room and stare through one functioning eye at the hand that's lost all sensation.  Sometimes things just hurt.
Sometimes people try to play on their hurts, and they hyperbole and parade them, so proud to be the most pitiful. They make me so angry. Go ditter on about your migraines, you don't know what migraines are. Scatter your literature and your similes, but mine have nothing to prove.
And don't everyone be quiet when I mention these things. I don't want your pity. These are parts of me.  These are elements of me. Flaws and imperfections I have lived with for so long.  And have your pains, and problems, too; I am not on some illness throne, spiting you for having a tummy ache.  But don't challenge mine, either, please. I believe you if you have maladies. But I have them, too. I'll believe you if you believe yours are worse. This shouldn't be a contest.  

We've been looking through the old things, the comics, the SEs, the tournaments. Look at how far we have come, all of us! Look at the mistakes we made, so bad as to make us sick and in that sickness we know we have risen above it.  Never hide those things. Never delete them. Forgive yourself, but do not forget. And remember how far you have come.

I'm almost done with Fragile Things, and Neil is so wonderful a writer. I have the Fairie Reel memorized, you know. It's such a powerful poem. But do not interrupt me. I cannot start again if it's broken.  All those stories are so horrible and wonderful. I was sick over Susan. I wish you hadn't polluted that. But I was so charmed by the day the saucers came.  I love these characters of yours, and these anecdotes and I love how each story has a story behind it and sometimes those are just as interesting and uplifting.

Robin, I have Anansi Boys. Don't let me forget.

I have made so much progress on my little universe. It started with... Hmm. And now I forget. Was it Jello, first, or G-Files? My first alien stories. One silly and childlike, one stupid and cartoony.  And now a background race, a plot device, a people with a silly name have emerged and monopolized my mind, and I am making planets and gods and rumors and parables and peoples.  To create. To create without humans. Without ties to this sober reality. It has been two years. It had been too long.

I am so thankful for you three, and you two. My little circle of best friends. My soul mate, my wife, and my best bro. You remake me every day. We save our lives in the most unlikely ways.  How can the six of us have met in one place, in four states and two countries, through the same event? It's phenomenal. It's why I can believe in gods.

I'm so worried about money. The school needs so much of it. But I will get there. I must get there, this is not up for debate, I will get there, and I will be Fourteen because I do believe in omens.  I do believe in God.  
And I will be the best goddamn story crafter any of you will ever hear of.

Stop calling me, you; stop texting me. Don't send me gifts. Don't pretend we're friends. You might be my brother, but my love of you is cold, and you are so deep in my dept you should be ashamed to know me.  Keep fighting. Keep trying. Perhaps some day you will learn from your consequences, and you'll realize my pain, our pain, that you put us in. And you'll apologize to Dad and Mom and Nana and maybe, one day, you will prove that you do deserve my forgiveness, one last time, and things will all be better.  Go to prison, and stop lying to yourself. Don't tell me you've read the whole Bible, you couldn't even read Harry Potter. Don't tell me you've getting everything right. I'll believe it when I see it. Prove it for years and I will forgive you.
In the meantime, I don't want your gifts and your calls.

Dad, stop bringing up The Treasure on the Train. That's one of my least favorite stories of mine.  Getting it published doesn't make me fond of it. I love you.

Some days I really miss the taste of flesh, but I am so happy I don't eat meat. I will again, when I have earned it. When I deserve it.
Or if I ever go to Scotland.

I love all of you, do you know that? You can't imagine my capacity to love.
Thank you for being there. Thank you for caring and being patient. Thank you for being the one who made my stories feel loved. Who reinforced that Materna was truly beautiful. That Book of Lies isn't awkward and badly formed.  Thank you for inspiring me to take care of myself and to be clean and efficient.
I do love you.
We'll get through this together.
The white alligator will come, some day.
We just have to wait, and believe, and be there for each other.

  • Listening to: Les Miserables
  • Reading: Nancy Boys…

Guuuuuuuuuuuuys one of my favorite animated films is on youtube!
I SPENT HOURS HUNTING IT DOWN LAST SUMMER AND NOW IT'S ON YOUTUBE you should watch it before anyone takes it down!

Anyhow, this is a foreign film with a... to be honest, a pretty 'meh' English dub, but the visuals and the concept are just marvelous.  It's called Nocturna, and it's about a little boy who's afraid of the dark and the sort of things that happen when you're supposed to be asleep.

Again, poor dub.  But any animation fan really deserves to watch it, especially when it's so conveniently on youtube!  I don't know how long it will be there, and believe me it's hard to find when it's not; even if you could get your hands on the DVD (forty dollars on Amazon) you'd need a European player for it.

Ideally, I would watch this movie in French with English subtitles, so if anyone ever finds that, please oh please let me know.
  • Listening to: Les Miserables
  • Reading: Nancy Boys

*Bike stolen
*fraging heartburn before eating followed by fraging starvation pains after
*cold sweats, vision blur, numbness in limbs, radiating pain in shoulder
*panicpanicpanicPANICPANIC attack symptoms
*(at least I hope so, be a shame if that was a heart attack)
*saw doctor about cold sweats, numb limbs, loss of vision, pain, panic
*got told to take more heartburn medicine
*dev subscription ran out (OHH! OH NO!)
*mozy subscription ran out
*spent all money on painkillers and got assigned big expensive art shenanigans
*can't feel left arm of see out of left eye
*stopped remembering to eat
*keep driving ten minutes before realizing i missed a turn
*computer eaten by virus

  • Listening to: Les Miserables
  • Reading: Nancy Boys

The Book of Stories OCT

Journal Entry: Mon Feb 7, 2011, 4:36 PM
Hello hello, my arteest chums!
Today I'm spreading the word about RobinRone's new OCT, The Book of Stories!

RobinRone, who many of you will know for her wonderful character Frost and his snazzy, full-colored comic entries in Oberon's Garden OCT, has one of the most inspiring and powerful work ethics I've ever come across.  She really is quite a woman, I can tell you.
The Book of Stories is actually her second OCT, as Project Minotaur closes in on its final round.

Robin's OCTs are a light in a time where it seems like every well-meaning spazz is throwing together a pitifully managed OCT full of lazy contestants and apathetic judges.  She holds everything together and maintains a strong, respectful enviroment for everyone involved.  Robin's judges are covered by back up judges so there are no long waits to see who won, and there will absolutely never be a verdict that isn't padded with each judge's reasons for their decisions.

In short, from what I've seen, Robin's OCTs are professionally and actively managed, decided by judges who can back up their reasonings, and all around have a rich, well thought-out complexity I've seen in few other OCTs.  You can't go wrong with a RobinRone OCT, she really makes them special.

And now I copypaste her journal entry on what TBOS-OCT is actually about.

The Book of Stories is Unwriting itself, and with it the Worlds it is bound to! While Lady Ink and Mudd desperately gather Champions to avert disaster, The Book wanders the Worlds, sucking people into the chaotic realm of Stories. Will you be a Champion of Order, prepared to set the world to right? Will you be an Emissary of Reason, to give the madness meaning? Or are you a Agent of Chance, swept up into the Book of Stories by luck alone?

Is your Story strong enough to save all others?

The Book of Stories (TBOS) OCT challenges storytellers to think outside their comfort zone. Each round, a genre of fiction will be chosen at random as the world within the Book of Stories shifts. Historical fiction, scifi, classic fantasy, romance, comedy, tragedy, horror, mystery; who knows type of tale the OCs must face while trapped in the pages of The Book? TBOS is very free-form, where everything about how the story changes and ends is up to you! There is no limit to medium, and all types of characters and creators are welcome! Prizes include color commissions and $50 in cash (sent via PayPal).

Auditions start February 16th, 2011!

Something espeically nifty about this one is that your characters aren't necessarily going to be fighting each other for anything.  Robin provides a genre and archetype NPCs for each round, as well as some mechanic and driving plot, but the round that wins is the one with the best story.
Now's how's that for a novel concept.

  • Listening to: Les Miserables
  • Reading: Nancy Boys


Journal Entry: Tue Feb 1, 2011, 4:32 PM
Needed that depressing jargon off my front page!

That's never happened before! This is new! I'm walking on pig iron and dancing on leaves!
Am I gonna tell you who it was?

BUT, I'll tell you the story, because I am nothing if not a story teller.
So here comes the story. Via POKEMON, because I'm desperate for ratings.

A certain friend of mine, the ever lovable Lapras, recently got her hands on some authority, and dedicated her time to working with a dev group that's been somewhat neglected and needed some new stimulation.  Well, Stanler came along and made a suggestion.  Lapras consulted friends and told the Stanler the suggestion wasn't something she was going to support.  Drama ensued, from both sides, and I'm not getting in to that.  But both made mistakes.

Anyhow, end result is that Stanler posted a very long journal about the incident, which seemed to serve the purpose, to me, and I AM biased, I'll say right now, it read like a flamefest.  Stanler ripped a new one into Lapras' leadership behavior, decisions, and of all the petty trifles, her "Poor punctuation and grammar".  I'd post some specific examples of the more tasteless snippets, bit frankly, I don't want that schlocky on my page where Lap has to see it again.

Let me round out with where I came into play.
I hadn't actually seen this journal until Cubone told me about it, and the two of us spent a minute of two fuming over how we could say nothing at all, or we could open a drama shizstorm and look like hoary old trolls.  We agreed not to say anything on the grounds nothing we said was going to help.

Here's the thing, though.
When I was in high school, I did some retarded derpherding to a stranger at one point, someone I'd never seen before who, for whatever reason, was sitting with my group of friends during a free period.  An incident ensued that looked like this.

Graveler: Why are you here?
Clefable: Uh....
Marowack: Cause she's mah sexy bitch!
Graveler: Well. She IS a bitch, heh.

Dickery happens, but I was in a circle of almost every friend in that school, and not a one of them batted an eye and stuck up for me.
I call bullshit.
Not wanting to look like a troll isn't a good reason not to stick up for your friends, even if it's not going to help, even if the person isn't worth it.  
If you dive in and rip the offender a new one, criticize their art, intelligence or hygiene, you're a dumb fry, but for God's sakes. The fact is, when someone's rude, you can't stand up without coming off rude.  And you sure as hell can't argue with someone wearing blinders and looking in the mirror.  It doesn't matter. What matters is that you're willing to put up with their drama for a friend.

Back on track. Under this logic, I left a comment.
Stanler FLAGGED IT AS SPAM, OH MY GOD HHHAHAHAHAHA, but if I recall, this was how it went.

Clefable: I see your points, but I don't see how saying her name in here, as a link, three times helped anything.  It could have been diplomatic, now it reads like you're spitefully trying to flame her.

I got a response that was, no hyperbole, 21 lines long. Most of it was scolding me for assuming she was being mean and saying she did that so Lapras would get some recognition and pageviews and favorites, because.... I certainly rush to Watch people after reading a novel on what a tosser they are.
She said this wasn't an argument, and slapped this one the journal (above the flagged as spam and hidden by owner comments, which are the only ones)
"EDIT: If you are here merely to stand on a soapbox and rant in defense of your friend, I'll ask you do not bother. This is not an argument, diplomatic or otherwise. No one is forcing you to read. If you read negativity, that is just another point. Like I stated in the beginning, while giving some static advice on how to properly run a group is a general tactic, most people learn from the mistakes of others. Read the example and advice, learn from it all, move on. Trolling me on behalf of your friend isn't an effective way to make a point."

Jegus. I AM a troll, kids. I got horns and everything, Lapras and Chimeco and I roll in the aisles with our subliminal trollery.
But did that sound like a troll comment?
I told her it wasn't polite to use Lap's name.
I told her it sounded mean-spirited.
I used two sentences.

She shoved her ideals down my acid-corroded throat, hid the comments, and then
And then!
She blocked me.

That's right. Star-Seal's been cockblocked.

For frick's sake, Stanler. Stop hiding comments. Don't you dare call my opinion spam; I haven't eaten meat in six months, you twaffle.  And only a coward and a hypocrite leaves a long freaking rant on my reply and then blocks me.   

Grow some ovaries.

"No one is forcing you to read" isn't going to shelter you here. No one forced you to write that, and I sure as hell didn't leave that comment as a troll. No one forced you to read my comment, did you consider that?

I'm not sending any of you beloved goons out to find this person and bother her, or yell at her, or anything.  Clearly, as shown above, that would be a waste of time. I'm enthralled to have met such a delicate creature, and highly amused I'd get blocked, after all I've done, by someone over a two-sentence remark.

And I wanted to share :heart:  Is it a troll thing to do? Yes. Am I being a huge, bitter wench? Yes. Was this worth my time? Likely not.
And I’m dead sick of dealing with people like this who will go to their grave screeching before admit they’re being selfish.  Pour out your judgment on me guys; I’m ready to own up to my actions.  You want to support me? Pick a fight? Good. Do it. I post in a public place. I earn whatever you want to hit me
Stanler, I’m not going to flame you and send people to your page. I’m not even gonna mention your name. I’m not gonna call you all sorts of names and whine about you. I don’t even know you. But your actions are condensed, sweetened dickery, and I don’t care at this point who I offend to express that.
Feel free to come defend yourself- oh, that’s right.
You blocked me.

I love you, Lapras. I'm so sorry you got hurt over this, don't let it keep you down.

I Shout and No one Wants to Hear

Journal Entry: Tue Jan 18, 2011, 2:58 PM
I actually hate writing journals because so many people write them all over the place and I don't want to read them that often and I can only guess you guys don't either, so I beg forgiveness here.

Funny thing about classes and stuff is I don't generally say a damn thing when I have no one to talk to.  My stepdad noticed it last summer when Phantom came out; he mentioned to my mom how I said barely two dozen words in two months, and now this other girl turns up and it's all he-said, she-said, oh god, and then and then, and all through it shot with giggling and snickering.  I must be such an attention whore in a room of people I know to make up for the  hours of silence I content with between them.

You know what really disgusts me? The 'art' here.
My teacher in 3D art would give us some assignment; carve a rock, she'd say, or use some clay.  And these people around me who I knew well enough to occasionally mumble to would rig up these awkward things from the trash they gave us since we're all so poor- I did it, too- and the whole time this one girl in particular would gripe about how she didn't know what she was doing and she was making things up and rolling with it and how much the class bored her.  Others seemed to actually believe they had a purpose to what they were doing.  I did, because I was making Guthrie dogs and earth-sky rhinos and apocalyptic ant farms; things with stories and shapes and figures.  But the teacher had no taste for my obvious things; she didn't want to hear that the chair was supposed to make you nervous when you climbed into it, or that this sculpture belonged in an alcove or whatever.

It was fine except for the critiques.  When we were done and we'd stand around them, piece by piece, and talk for half an hour about them.  I always had so much to say, because I could recognize the symbols and stereotypes, so this here's maternal and this one's cryptic and all that other bullshit I'd been drilled in so much I didn't even know it was bullshit.

The girl who hated the class and drilled a hole in her rock for three weeks got such a great grade and the loveliest critiques.  

In all honesty, now I'm out of the biased environment, when she'd force us to think of a single word to describe what the piece offered, was junk.  It was junk made of junk.  It was junk made of junk and it had meaning and beauty because she told us it did.  It was trash stuck together by people who more often than not told me directly they were making it with no vision and it brought in lovely grades and not a single piece in there spoke to me, and I was part of that, and I shredded my own artworks and willingly mutilated any expressionist's integrity because she told me to, because she told me what was and wasn't meaningful and how things were Supposed To Be and she was Right.

And all the classes are like this.

There's another part of it that has been going on for years, too.  
My sculpture teacher spoke to us today and I thought, very idly, that I would have nothing to say in his critiques.  I wasn't going to say anything if I didn't mean it, and there's something other than that; it's that I finally realized no one wants to hear what I have to say.

If the plaster-sculpted feet set in place before an industrial blue bench under the harsh ghetto-grade lighting on the concrete art room floors and arranged before a stark brick wall made me think of that room full of shoes in the Holocaust museum, well, Jesus Christ, Star, how could you ever say such a thing, what's wrong with you.

People don't want to know about all the abysmal nothings their work reminds me of, they don't want to hear the reverence in my voice when I describe something unpleasant.  Often times in high school I couldn't finish a sentence because I'd get half way into it, say something civilized people aren't supposed to mention, apparently, or at least know about, and the whole room would explode around me and shout me down.

I suppose that's that made Frozen and Burned so special when I shared it with the class; that they'd not only tolerate a story about killing and butchering parents out of love but that they'd actually applause and leap out of their seats when I finished.  They could get it.

The artists here don't.
I'm so disgusted with the art here.
And no one wants to hear anything I have to say.

There are no Names here

Journal Entry: Sun Jan 16, 2011, 10:34 PM
l Gallery l l Watch Me l Note Me

I suppose surnames aren't as important as they used to be.
Not amongst the motleys, anyway.

CSS made by TwiggyTeeluck
Texture by Princess-of-Shadows
  • Drinking: bitterness

Castle Craaaaaash

Journal Entry: Sat Sep 18, 2010, 9:12 PM

One of my friends and I were talking about the current game campains going on while eatin THAI FUD and I said how I couldn't be a GM because... people... and... me and people... *system fail*
And the first world I thought of where I could dump a load of poor unsuspecting players and screw with them was my very own triceratops-riding March Castle, home of Sending and various stoats.

It's really a shame I can't gm that for you all, my OG lovelies.  Maybe I can write up character sheets and we can PRETEND TOGETHER that it actually happened.

If I DID do such a thing, would anyone want to make a golem for me, just for fun?

  • Listening to: Pokemon

This is a Poll it might be Important

Journal Entry: Tue Sep 14, 2010, 8:21 AM
How many of you know who was buried in the Great Pyramid at Giza?

(1)I do!
(2)It... starts with a K, right?
(3)A Pharaoh
(4)Someone's buried in that thing?

Comment your answer, please :heart: :iconpyramidplz:

  • Listening to: Pokemon

College at Summit

Journal Entry: Sun Aug 22, 2010, 7:24 PM
Summer ends at midnight, guys!!

I had the most amazing vacation of my life with a pack of Internet friends a few weeks ago.  In real life, I am not a social butterfly.  I don't do things with friends outside of school more than once a month. Maybe.  
Holy freaking God.  I love you people.  Thanks for making it to my li'l Summer triple-state extravaganza.

Also as of yesterday, I am now a pescetarian, ("pesk-a-terrian") which is a vegetarian who eats milk, eggs, and fish.
No more beef, chicken, or pork for the Star_Seal, guys.

I'm all cozied away in my shiny new dorm with Spaceflight-Wyvern so anyone wanting to mail me something can note me for the new address.
My dad's remarrying my wondferful new stepmom on October 2. About time!
I spent some real bonding time with my new stepdad while in Arizona, and he taught me (and later phantomeus) how to shoot.  I have cool stepparents, gaiz.

Finally, since a surprising number of people asked me about it, I actually have not scrapped Boysenberry Snark, and it will continue when I have finished settling into my shiny new enviroment.


  • Listening to: Endling's Playlist
  • Reading: Phantom
  • Watching: Firefly
  • Drinking: tea

Kell's Bells

Journal Entry: Thu Aug 5, 2010, 9:43 PM
Absolutely gorgeous, traditionally animated movie here: The Secret of Kells!
It's done in a very stylized, beautiful way, with Celtic music that makes your heart ache.  Also, cat spirits and short people!…

Got tagges by Rianale!  That last thing about Damien was directed towards me, wasn't it you goose?

OC Tag
1. Post these rules.
2. Post 8 facts about your character.
3. Tag 8 other characters.
4. Post their names with the creators avatars.

She tagged Lewis.  Huzzah!  Let's see here...

1.Lewis wears an HBJG hoodie for the Huntington Beach Jr. Lifeguards, even though she never was one.  She had a dream about being one and letting a kid drown, and she's so scared of it coming true she refuses to even learn to swim.  Her parents were miffed.

2.Lewis is very docile and mellow when she's not faced with something horrifying (read, 98% of things that aren't bugs or ghost documentaries).  She is infinitely patient and forgiving, despite being picked on so much.  Unless you wake her up in the middle of the night for something, in which case she is :iconraegplz:.

3. Lewis has a stalker.  He's a little black-eyed fawn who floats around on a storm cloud and wants desperately to go talk to her, but he's much too shy.

4. Being able to repeatedly beat the hell out of something and leave it in a gory heap doesn't make her less afraid of it.

5. Lewis is the most quickly progressing student in her karate class, but she can't break a board.

6.  When an airplane flies over Kerst, she and all the other gremlins run out of the room to go chase it, frothing at the mouth.

7. Speaking of frothing, Lewis is a carrier of rabies.  

8. Lewis' bedroom is where I dump all my many little cameos and tributes of the movies and stuff that I like, especially ones that only one in every few hundred people will catch.

I tag Unseensupe, Ac Unit, Boxy, Artnightmare, NocturnalMoth, Phantom, K-ller, and Raxion, the dogs.

  • Watching: the fishes
  • Eating: smoke
  • Drinking: water

a lullaby to close your eyes (now with QUALITY)

Journal Entry: Wed Jul 28, 2010, 12:25 AM
Maybe I'm so tired and this isn't ACTUALLY laugh out loud funny, but gosh am I getting a kick out of this.
I have never actually heard of QUALITY before, but I'm surprised; this stuff is comic gold.  Go ahead; take a look for yourselves and indulge in those beautiful, beautiful screencaps at the bottom.

  • Watching: the fishes
  • Drinking: water

zombies back in town

Journal Entry: Tue Jul 20, 2010, 1:42 PM
I was looking in my alternate Yahoo account for something for a friend, and there was a message from Dev.
Apparently a certain AC-Unit bought me a submission AND I DIDN'T EVEN REALIZE.  OH LORD, AC FORGIVE ME I DIDN'T KNOW I LOVE YOU THANK YOU :iconcryforeverplz:

Anyhow.  Full speed ahead on WL, got some stupidity in store, I assure you. Which means I'll need something to keep my ADD in check while a draw, so anyone wants to Skype with me, feel free to ask!
Also got Neverwhere on audiobook read by Neil Gaiman, and I LOVE THAT MAN.
Croup and Vandemar are my new favorite badguys f'revs.

"What number am I thinking of?" Asked Mister Vandemar.
"...What?" Said the Marquis.
"What number am I thinking of?"
"Seven," said the Marquis.
"Right," said Mister Vandemar, impressed.


  • Watching: the fishes
  • Drinking: water
*shakes fist at Craigslist clientele*
Come on, guys.  Have some class.  It said I could do 24-period pet sitting, not be a housekeeper.  I'M SORRY I'M BETTER THAN EVERYONE, I HAVE AN ERRATIC SCHEDULE OKAY sob.

Aaanyway, any of you need a nice job, why not throw up a similar ad on Craigslist listing some of your experience?  If I can get 500$ a week offers, I'm sure plenty of you can.

On another note.  Isn't it fun to find errors in published books?  I remember I was reading The Warriors series and one book distinctly said 'Bleustar.'
And in Superior Saturday, a character was named Whrod, and later, he was Whron.  And they even did the same thing in the audiobook!

So now I'm reading Lord Sunday- a FREAKING good book ending a favorite series, lots of spazzing out like I haven't done in years- and I'm pretty sure Nix slipped up and said 'Noon' when he was really meaning to say 'Grower.'  Ah, well; I don't blame you, sir! You're a damn good writer and you have more than enough details to explain missing one or two.
This book is srs bsns, guys.  At one point Suzy actually gets angry.  And Leaf is a hardcore badass, like, even more than she was from the beginning.  And don't even get me STARTED on Dame Primus, that twat.
Can't wait to find out what the Seventh Part of the Will is.

I saw Despicable Me tonight.  It was really sweet.  Not great, not awful, not terribly funny.  But very sweet.
On the way, I felt something on my skin, and looking down, a little white spider was on the back of my hand.  I brushed her off, and minutes later, I had to do it again, as she had crawled onto my arm again from the door's armrest.
I didn't think much of her until after the movie, when I got in the car... and she did it again.
I love you, little white spider. ;u;
  • Watching: the fishes
  • Drinking: water

I want that fish.
  • Watching: the fishes
  • Drinking: water
...chorused the animals.
  • Drinking: anxiety
I don't remember who I was talking to, but he said that poetry was out, because no one ever reads poetry if it's not given to them, and it's only beautiful to the person who wrote it and knows what it means.
This is a gross exaggeration but it certainly contains the vast majority of poetry I've come across.

I cut the dog's hair because she was miserable hot, and I was rather pleased with the result, but my aunt told me it was stupid.  And that stung, so I decided to sulk by looking up someone I am significantly not fond of.
And oho.  She posted a poem.


*rubs temples*
Really, now.  I HAVE seen things flow from the vocabulary and they are beautiful.  But gosh. Some people just haven't the faintest >:T
When I was in tenth grade, my teacher said YEAH, YOU DON'T HAVE TO RHYME, GUYS, and it opened the floodgates for a crap ton of really lame prose that wasn't poetic and was extraordinarily half-assed.  If you're going to write a crappy personal poem on dev, at least put enough effort into it that it rhymes or something, will you?  I mean I wrote a poem about my dog when she died coughing up blood and it was no work of wonder but at least it rhymed and told a story.

On that note, a friend of mine is apparently getting her heart broken by a friend, so she took a picture of herself with tears streaming down her face and posted it on Facebook "just until he knows what an ass he is and feels really bad."  Come on, _____. That is not a healthy relationship you're in if you need to sink to visual manipulation for him to feel bad.

Also I found a site that links to like every Family Guy episode and for some reason I keep watching it even though it hasn't amused me in like three years and it usually just ticks me off, the mean-spirited troll show.  I'm more engaged watching the fish wiggle around her bowl.
Doing some planning on my imaginary animation review series that will never happen.  
And writing a cute story.
Is it a sin to write cute stories?  Because I can't shake the feeling that it's a horrible sin against God to be writing something simple and fluff, probably because of past encounters with such things, which is why I haven't shared it with any of you.

Oh, and we saw Toy Story 3.  It didn't engage me like most Pixars do, which is the biggest fault... and then the villain came off pretty weak, and didn't get a sufficient comeuppance in my barbaric opinion.  And yes, I DID squeal at the Totoro doll, and I DID cry at the end.  But it was a good movie, all around, and I did enjoy it.
Pfft, didn't cry at WALL-E or Up but I cried at Toy Story 3.  

Remind me to tell you about pharaohs sometime, they crack me up.
  • Reading: a book on ancient egypt.