She reads it. Then she reads it again. Accusations. Accounts of her thievery. Apparently, he has decided that there actually was something there to steal. She snorts, furious, and yet cynically amused. She took nothing that wasn't offered. Did nothing that wasn't desired. It's not as though it's something she particularly enjoys doing.
But now...she looks over the lyrics again. What was it that she did? Ahh yes, here it is: "I gave you my purity, my purity you stole." Purity. He who claimed to be oh-so far from innocent now has purity, or had it, until she stole it. "I'm just an effigy to be disgraced, to be defaced." Poor vestal saint, raped by that seductive, used-up whore.
Disgusted with him, she closes the page, and thinks, "Ever the same. Always, always it is my fault."
And here's one for a cry...(WARNING: DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILER!)
"From the tip of his wand burst the silver doe. She landed on the office floor, bounded once across the office, and soared out of the window. Dumbledore watched her fly away, and as her silvery glow faded he turned back to Snape, and his eyes were full of tears.
"After all this time?"
"Always," said Snape."
Here's one for a giggle...
[Saturnelf]'s playlist survey...
Rules:
1.) Put your mp3/ipod/playl
2.) Use the song titles to answer the questions
3.) You have to use the song title NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT IS!
1.) You love-life could be described as...
Title: Last Resort
Artist: Papa Roach
Comments: yeah, if today was opposite day ;)
2.) What you scream during sex
Title: Dead Souls
Artist: Nine Inch Nails
Comments: creepy much? hmm.....maybe if i did someone in a graveyard.....
3.) Your feelings on your ex...
Title: Whats Your Name
Artist: Lynyrd Skynyrd
Comments: *dies laughing* Ahahahahaha! Oh god I'm crying!
4.) How do you view sex?
Title: Photograph
Artist: Nickelback
Comments: XXXDDDD I view sex like porn: through a gallery of photos.
"Look at this photograph, everytime I know it makes me laugh.
How did our eyes get so red? And What the hell is on Joey's head?" XXXDDDD AHAHAHAHA!
5.) What you mutter in the morning...
Title: Shadow of a Man
Artist: Mudvayne
Comments: strangely, in a sublime sense, I used to get up in the mirror and analyze my life and myself through the mirror so I guess this fits :/
6.) What would you say after beating someone up?
Title: Ace of Spades
Artist: Motorhead
Comments: You gambled and lost my friend....
7.) In jail, this would be you...
Title: The Foetus of a New Day Kicking
Artist: Cradle of Filth
Comments: XXXDDD AHAHAAHAHAHA!
8.) You fantasize about...
Title: The Antichrist
Artist: Slayer
Comments: XXXDDDD HAHAHA! These are hilarious! But yes I fantasize about myself all the time.
;)
9.) You would describe yourself as...
Title: 1996
Artist: Marilyn Manson
Comments: Oh yeah, thats me. If any of you knew what this song was about, you would probably lynch and burn me.
10.) Last words you'd ever say would be...
Title: Present Tense
Artist: Pearl Jam
Comments: Awwww.....mayb
11.) Your thoughts while being raped by a bunny rabbit...
Title: Special Fred
Artist: Stephen Lynch
Comments: XXXXXDDDD OMG OMG OMG! AHAHAHAHA! (I threw up a little on this one)
12.) When you're turned on, this happens...
Title: Ladies, and Gentlemen
Artist: Saliva
Comments: XXXDDDD OMG!!!!! HOLY SHIT! OH MY SWEET JESUS! I want to type every single word of that song! omg omg omg! Holy shit! I"m listening to the song and every line in it can be tied to me getting a hard on. XXXDDD I'm crying oh shit I"m crying.
13.) Song they'll play at your funeral
Title: Cuntry Boner
Artist: Puscifer
Comments: A 'Legacy' of my 'accomplishmen
14.) If you were an assassin, you'd say this to all your victims before killing them:
Title: No More Sorrow
Artist: Linkin Park
Comments: not for you there isn't.
15.) Your life's goal...
Title: Hellraiser
Artist: Ozzy
Comments: damned straight!
16.) When you fall in love for the last time, it will be
Title: Another One Bites The Dust
Artist: Queen
Comments: lmao XXXDDD
17.) When you see naked people, you think...
Title: Light Up The Sky
Artist: Yellowcard
Comments: Light up the sky with your moons! XD
18.) Tonight, you will have
Title: To End The Rapture
Artist: Avenged Sevenfold
Comments: kick ass
19.) When you're drunk, you say
Title: Hump De Bump
Artist: Red Hot Chilli Peppers
Comments: lol cuz yeah i hump anything when im drunk :/
20.) What you want all the people reading this bulletin to remember
Title: The Hands of Small Children
Artist: Marilyn Manson
Comments: Because they belong to me now muahahahaha
Remembering Our Salad Days
I wiped my tears away,
closed my eyes and
fell into your smile,
silhouetted in a picture-perfec
I ran laughing over beaches
holding your hand and
chasing birds into the air.
I leaned against you
as you drew pictures onto my skin
and chuckled stories into my ears,
stories from your simple times.
I watched you, absorbing everything
about you while you slept,
hoping I would never forget
the moment, or the way you snored.
I smiled, and all my dimples showed,
when you knew the answer
to the simple, important question:
"What's my favorite part?"
I couldn't help laughing with pleased surprise
that such a huge bag of Sour Patch Kids existed,
and that you would find it for me.
I never knew The Beatles could sound as good
as they did when we were Across the Universe
together on our couch in the living room.
I fulfilled a fantasy, with you in my arms:
reading Whitman until you fell asleep,
then reading the poetry on your skin
until you woke up, embarrassed over nothing.
Your smile closed like a door,
and I fell out, then opened my eyes,
and found them full of tears once again.
It has occurred to her that this is not good for her. Sort of in the same way that putting out cigarettes on her arms isn't good for her. It's just that rush she gets in her stomach -- nausea and a bitter twist that makes her smile, that keeps her coming back for more.
Autumn emotion, Summer scent.
A breath of summer brings back
bare feet running through dark, wet grass,
dew-wet feet smacking disapproving pavement
on their way to
tip-toeing up wooden stairs;
hanging liquid and restless off a bed;
everything I thought I ever wanted.
"Well, this is a magical necklace," she told the child, holding up the crystal moon. "It's from a city far away that floats on the water, where the people have to ride boats everywhere they go. I'll take you there someday."
"What does it do?" the little girl asked.
"It holds all of my happy memories. That's why it sparkles and changes so many different colors. Those specks of light it reflects are the most beautiful moments in my life catching the sun."
"Who gave it to you?"
She paused, frozen momentarily. Then she smiled sadly. "An angel who never knew he had wings."
[bored as a mammajamma]
RULES:
1. Put Your iTunes, Windows Media Player, ETC on Shuffle.
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS.
4. Put any comments in brackets after the song name.
5.Put this on your journal.
1.If someone says, "Is this okay?" You say?
Everything You Want -- Vertical Horizon
2.How would you describe yourself?
Amber -- 311
3.What do you like in a boy?
Stay With You -- The Goo Goo Dolls
4.How do you feel today?
No Air -- Jordin Sparks
5.What is your life's purpose?
Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger -- Daft Punk
6.What is your motto?
Hemorrhage -- Fuel
7.What do your friends think of you?
Read My Mind -- The Killers
8.What do you think of your parents?
Let It Die -- The Foo Fighters
9.What do you think about very often?
Slide -- The Goo Goo Dolls
10.What is 2 + 2?
I Wanna -- John Mayer
11.What do you think of your best friend?
Believe -- The Bravery
12.What do you think of the person you like?
Time to Pretend -- MGMT
13.What is your life story?
Fell on Black Days -- Soundgarden
14.What do you want to be when you grow up?
This Time -- Jonathan Rhys Meyers
15.What do you think of when you see the person you like?
Schism -- Tool
16.What will you dance to at your wedding?
The Greatest View -- Silverchair
17.What will they play at your funeral?
Turn the Page -- Bob Seger
18.What is your hobby/interest
Moondance -- Van Morrison
19.What is your biggest fear?
Waiting on an Angel -- Ben Harper
20.What is your biggest secret?
Smile Like You Mean It -- The Killers
21.What do you think of your friends?
Good Time -- Counting Crows
22.What will you post this as?
On Call -- Kings of Leon
She leans against the pile of blankets on her bed, knees pulled up and her arms wrapped around herself. As her eyes stare blankly at the postered wall, all the memories flash behind them.
"Your eyes look like Rainbow Fish."
"He said he's known her for a long time. That they just have a really good connection."
"I'm really happy, actually." "So I've heard."
Jaime (12:03 AM): *does happy dance* Ditto.
Jaime (12:03 AM): d00d. weve been at this for an hour
JB (12:03 AM): *joins happy dance*
JB (12:03 AM): o.e
Jaime (12:03 AM): *jaw drops*
Jaime (12:04 AM): you can happy dance???
Jaime (12:04 AM):
JB (12:04 AM): i didn't. uhm. wow.
JB (12:04 AM): to the time thing
JB (12:04 AM): I'm completely ignoring the happy dance statement
Jaime (12:04 AM): mhm.
Jaime (12:04 AM): well, it's on record now
JB (12:04 AM): twas a typo
Jaime (12:04 AM): suuuurrrrre
JB (12:05 AM): an elaborate and thought out one
Jaime (12:05 AM): of course. next you'll say it was the acid speaking
JB (12:05 AM): nope
JB (12:05 AM): all gon
JB (12:05 AM): *gone
JB (12:05 AM): see?
JB (12:06 AM): *shakes happy pill container, nothing rattles*
Jaime (12:06 AM): mmm.
Jaime (12:06 AM): well then.
Jaime (12:06 AM): there is no excuse
Jaime (12:06 AM): JB DID THE HAPPY DANCE!!!
JB (12:06 AM): S**T
JB (12:06 AM): walked into that one
Jaime (12:06 AM): XD
JB (12:06 AM): ok so i happy dance
JB (12:07 AM): thank goodness you are noone
Inclinations to Encompass
I want to hold you
like the comfort of a voice in the darkness.
Like the circles of nightlight when you were a child.
I want to hold you
with the same unique passion of a sunrise.
With the solid, ancient knowledge of the Earth.
I want to hold you,
wrapped in a blanket made of all the world's beauty,
stitched with a needle of innocent joy
and a thread of love-for-all, especially you.
I want to hold you
and make you stare into the light
until you go blind to all the dark things.
I want to hold you
like we've never been afraid, and we've never been hurt,
and I want to pretend that love is more than a word
and just do it.
[Read only if you've read "The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock", by T.S. Eliot.]
A Love Song TO J. Alfred Prufrock
Let us go then, you and I,
When the sunset is strewn across the sky
Like paint on some uncareful artist's easel.
Let us go, through the wooded solitude
Where there are no words to be misconstrued.
Let us ponder the stars from the grass,
Ponder the present, future . . . past.
Let not insidious yellow questions
Form upon your lips: You've learned that lesson.
Just jump in.
Forget the Fall –
Forever in this moment you'll stand tall.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of things they do not know.
That yellow smoke that dirties the window-panes,
That yellow fog that curls itself beneath the window-panes
And climbs with you into bed.
Lingers in puddles left by rain,
Pads on thief's feet through the house.
It sees your fitful pacing –
Oh, its terrible smirk, watching you! –
And knows your mind is wearily racing.
And indeed there will be no time,
For the yellow haze is coming steady
and does not care how much is left undone.
There will be no time, there will be no time:
You won't be ready
To leave, to move on, to end
Because, dearest James,
You've yet to begin.
It is true that in a minute, everything can change,
But please, don't wait 'til you're down to 0:01
For then you'll have to leave before you see what you've begun.
Act now, and I'll not agree when they say you're strange.
For in the room the women come and go,
Talking of things they really don't know.
And indeed you have little time
To hold back and merely ponder,
To sit down and allow only mind to wander;
James, your unique gifts you'll squander!
[And they may say: "How ridiculous is that man!"]
Just laugh, ignore them – I know you can.Make that the past, all those moments when you ran.
[And they may say: "My, how that man needs a tan!"]
But do you dare
Disturb their universe?
In every minute there is but little time,
And in this one, I beg you, reverse.
There are oceans of things to uncover –
You can never, ever know them all,
See every sunset, every smile, each bird call.
Put down your spoons, and you'll soon discover
That the world is a sad place (it's true),
But your happiness depends solely upon you.
I, too, know these eyes so ready to judge,
Shackle you, pin you and you die a little, trying to be free.
They make you wish you'd never dared.
I, too, know these eyes: not an inch will they budge
And you wonder, "How visually impaired
Could they be? They just don't see.
How should they presume?"
Knowing one is not knowing all:
Arms that are tan, and hurt, and hidden
[But in the moonlight, become innocent once again!]
Just the perfume from a dress
Sends you into deep distress!
Arms that lie along the sheets, or move a mountain tall:
You should not presume anything –
Merely trust your instincts.
You shall speak truth, that double-edged sword.
You shall describe the stars puncturing the sky
And remember the lesson of the lonely men.
You should have been a tiny capuchin,
For your serious face is often laughed at.
Take a lesson from the evening, the afternoon:
Stretch out beside me and rest.
For the coming moment, you must be at your best
And the moment is soon to come.
Forget these dreadful thoughts of crisis;
Each man is allotted his own vices
And each must learn to overcome.
What is Death but a moving on?
Unless you fear no mourning when you're gone.
But I will remember and protect your memory:
Are you not on my mind constantly?
Of my secret thoughts, you are the sum.
Would it have been worth it all?
You tell me, James; you think of the worthy moments –
Surely you have some, those golden moments!
Sunsets, smiles, dances in the shimmery ethereal light:
Dredge these things up, dear, hold on to them tight.
Please say you've done more than measure
And attempt to simply survive,
Without the beauty, the love, the excitement,
Without the moments of terrifying pleasure?
If I were to lie, 'twould be to our detriment.
I will not lie: my smile meant the world,
And that's what you were meant to read.
Would the meaning of that smile
Have made everything worth it?
Every lonely look out a window at the sprinkled streets below?
Every empty conversation over a weak cup of tea?
Every time someone looks at you and doesn't like what they see?
I know how hard it is to say what you mean,
But I'll try to understand; I'll try to read between
The lines, but tell me:
Had you understood what my mouth did not say,
Had you believed it, and acted upon it,
Would that have made it worth it, every day?
Would that make you love it, every day?
Prince Hamlet you are not,
But your heart echoes his soliloquy:
You always question, "To be or not to be?"
You have indeed started a thing or two,
But I pray you don't plan on skulking around,
Thus ending your hopefully dawning life.
Every man has wings; you're destined for higher than the ground.
Every man has joys; there's got to be more for you than strife.
You only need a sliver of hope to see you through.
We will all grow old,
And I shall wear my hair unpinned.
Do whatever you wish with your hair;
I will always remember the innocence of the peach stain there,
Showing me your strength, that you did dare.
I think that they will sing, given the chance.
I have seen you, quietly watching the waves,
Crashing toward you, then running away,
Like a fickle lover: there, then gone the next day.
We have lingered in the great womb of the sky
Decorated by our own dreams, silver and blue,
Till sharp sounds startled us and we flew.
...well, this is going to be a ramble. Leave now, or read the entire thing. You can’t smoke half a joint. It’s just not ethically right.
I have friends on here that I keep not because they offer stimulating conversation, or any conversation at all, for that matter. I don’t keep them for their nice comments about me, or their witty blogs or bulletins. I keep them for the sole reason of looking at their pictures. Because normally, no matter how dreadful a photographer they are, or how uninteresting or clashing their captions may be, they have at least one good, inspiring picture, one that shows something real about their nature, or the human nature itself. It’s not beauty in the normal, esthetic sense of the word; its beauty in the sense that it exists, that it needs no opinions or commentary to exist. No matter how fake they show themselves to be otherwise, there is usually one accidental picture that shows something, a scratch in the surface. Or maybe a surface merely unveiled subconsciously
Something I hate is when people believe a deception that they’re trying to convince you of. You can’t argue with these people, because if you tell them, "No, you don’t really mean that," you know it’s true, but they honestly don’t. And it hurts them not to be believed, the righteous hurt of someone who’s been misunderstood and patronized. It’s sad, because you can never be honest with them. And they can’t be honest with you, and you can hear the lie in their voice. But you can’t tell them, can’t make them speak the truth, because they are so firmly convinced that what they’ve just told you is the complete truth, felt from the bottom of their heart. So you just have to wait. And it can make you rather sick inside.
Sometimes I realize what a step out into thin air it is to write things like this. The things that you have in your head generally sound better there. But you want so badly to write it, to put the thoughts into something tangible, in the manner of a painter, or a sculptor, or a musician, something you can hold, and remember and pass judgment on for yourself. The amount of people who might read it aren’t so important, it’s the people who understand it that are meaningful. But even they aren’t as important as the way you think about it. If you can read back over it later, and still like it, still see where it came from and the brilliance of it, then it was worth the chance. Otherwise, it’s just quite depressing.
There was a Wonderer Went Forth...
(apologies to Walt Whitman)
There was a wonderer went forth every day;
And the first object she look'd upon, that object she became;
And that object became part of her for the day, or a certain part of
the day, or for many years, or stretching cycles of years.
The play-place at Burger King became a part of this child,
And all the new houses to explore and play in, and the forays among the ancient giants,
And the climbing of oak trees, and the weekends with her dad and peanuts,
And the walks on the beach collecting shells and washed-out beer bottles made beautiful,
And all that time spent pretending to be something else, and walking in bare-feet,
And dancing to too many oldies songs to count – all became a part of her.
The first day of class among old, old friends became a part of her;
"Always make sure your eyebrows are smooth", and sitting on desks,
The pre-adolescent love of tragedy, and all the sickening writing she did,
And her very first true love, and all the unanswered cries into emptiness;
The only time she can recall an immediate answer to prayer,
And learning to speak without words, and the golden room that so awed her,
And a sad goodbye, followed by a sad summer – all became a part of her.
Her own parents,
He that had tucked her in every night, and she that went through three deaths before her,
They gave the wonderer more of themselves than just that;
They gave her afterward every day – they became a part of her.
A new game, and not knowing how to play it became a part of the wonderer.
Learning that all people aren't nice, and that love doesn't mean that,
And finding her place, and that it wasn't with "them", and then fighting "them",
And breaking the heart of a friend, and learning what it meant to be "outside",
And the adolescent love of tragedy, and all the sickening writing she did,
And the feeling of being alone and different, and telling herself she was better.
Falling in love over the summer, and all the blood sacrifices Branwen required,
And all the tired school days, and the things she didn't think or care about,
And the other half who worried about her until he learned the truth,
And the stringently suppressed secret that burst out with accusations and threats,
And the loss of something that was never hers, though she gave everything for it,
And the confusion of love, hate, pity, vindication, loneliness, right, and wrong.
The transfer back to the arms of old, old, old friends, and meeting a new one,
And the boy who smelled like bubblegum and man, but didn't act like one,
And watching the other half play Frogger with single-minded determination to forget,
And the pain of watching someone hear their life end, and having to help end it,
And the weeks of wanting to hide and have the right someone find her,
And all the shared laughter, tears, and walks out on the town with the girls,
And all the loud music watched in crazy outfits with crazy friends,
And understanding that there were many things she would never understand
And then leaving, yet again, for a new era of her life – all became a part of her.
All the writing she did, and her poetic love of tragedy became a part her.
Irish blood, earrings, and the Queen of Pathos becoming her day-savers,
And feeling her realm of experience growing with every metaphoric conversation,
And realizing that love is for imperfect people, including everyone,
And wondering about the secret dreams, the secret lives of people,
And finding a heroine in the corner of a room, reading what she wanted to write,
And The Play That Just Couldn't, and how much fun it was to rehearse anyway,
And the night when that boy asked her to define them, and she said "Together",
And all the moments when she might have regretted it, but didn't,
And how she knows the other half still cares because he can cry for her,
And how there are so many inside jokes that only "the smart kids" would get,
And the way she's known by the people who matter, even when they pretend ignorance,
And how much the drama and the materialism and the pretended idiocy make her mad,
And how she uses the made-up words and phrases like a second language,
And how she wants all her "boys" to rofflecopter the fish out of life until they win,
And all the Japanese horrors watched, grabbing hands, arms, or shoulders in fear,
And the unofficial book-club that gives her life – all became a part of her.
These became a part of the wonderer who went forth every day, and who now goes, and will always go forth every day.