Drowning Lessons

His hands wrap themselves tightly around my neck, bruises blossoming beneath his grasp. His hands are starving for me, starving like hungry pythons slithering aptly around the body of a small goat, fangs bared.

It’s the water, I know, I know how it gets him off.

But it’s so fucking cold going in, my face submerged in the icy pool, dunked like the baptism I never had as an infant. It’s fucking cold, yeah, but mostly it’s dark and lonely when the water fills my vision.

One. Two. Three times.

Sure my hair is plastered to my face and neck, all that curling and rouging for nothing. But I can feel the ecstasy he does as the water fills my lungs, consumes me.

My brain short circuts. My oxygen supply is done. It’s just him forgetting to let me up for air.

But it’s okay, I know, fighting back the panic, the very urge to fight. This is us. This is our relationship. We’re having a good time. This is us having a good time.

Yeah, this is what we all do for love.

Blorg

Blorg: an online blog and blurb hybrid (a term invented by Melogno, my favorite Physics teacher, and cultivated and defined by yours truly).

LoL

What would you call a blog that isn't online? Is it even possible? Would it be like a sporadic, free periodical that focussed on what books or films the sole creator was "into" right then, hobbies, and emotional ranting,? If the internet somehow suddenly ceased to exist, could blogs carry on?

These are the kinds of questions that keep me up at night.


...

So tomorrow I present on DEATH (the afterlife). I'm pretty stoked (such a beachbum word, I apologize, though not enough to actually remove it) about the whole talking for two hours thing. In all my life I've never been asked to provide accounts of my research on the macabre for more than a moment or two (if at all) and I've certainly never been allowed accompanying activities and art projects. This just might make my life.

That would be kind of sad, though.

Anywho... not much to say, except that I felt like blogging. And that I began my day with making fun of T. A. Edison and then later used him as a rather good example for allowing his nuttier ideas to influence his more serious work and vice versa. Poor Thomas Alva.

Oh! I've decided to command people's attention tomorrow with food rather than my voice, while it is sultry and alluring, I understand that it likens to the buzzing sound of a small insect's wings after short periods of time (or so believe the majority of the occupants of my small chunk of world). ;p

I'd like to conclude this blorg with a quote that really stands out to me, not only as a scholar, but as a human being.

"MERGH?!?"

-- Thomas Alva Edison

Deaf

Did Somebody Say Rainbow Cupcakes???

How does one accomplish such a foreboding task? Well, it's not easy...

First you make white cake mix in a BIG bowl. (Follow their instructions, not mine. And make sure you get a thin batter, preferably one without pudding mix inside, because it's a real pain in the neck to pour-- it gets to be more like scraping, eventually. I learned that the hard way...)



Then you divide (and conquer) the batter into six bowls, then add some color. (Three to four drops of liquid food coloring really worked well for me, for purple and orange I added about three drops of each sub-pigment to achieve the vibrancy featured below.)



Okay, here's the hard part-- you have to put like a tiny scoop (maybe less than half a teaspoon) into each cupcake cup... it will eventually (after twenty to twenty five minutes) look like this D:

The rest is easy peasy, just Bake*Frost*Serve*!

Yup... this is how I spend my evenings. I'm a Wilde thing. ;p

The Promenade Ball

Wow! It has been SUCH a long time since last I've blogged. My apologies.

So I've been super busy lately, senior year is coming to a close, I've just ordered the proof copy for my research book, Above and Beyond, I lost my dream chart and-- oh yeah-- prom was this Friday!

So that's me (it's the only prom picture of me that I actually like at the moment) looking super hot with the spectacular curls that my cousin so generously created. That's my date back there, a Sir Joseph Thorne (a decedent of Tristran and Evaine, no doubt)... we sort of... took each other... I'm not really sure how that worked, but we went together and it was fabulous.

Prom was at the Richard Nixon Library, and the theme was Victorian which suited me just fine (so, so Oscar). We danced and drank cucumber water and talked about the seven husbands I plan on one day having... It was brilliant.

Do you like my seat belt sash?

What to Do...?

What do you do when you find porn on someones computer? The computer that they share with their family? Right out where everyone can see it on the topsites list?

I was faced with this dilemma very recently. And, being a good Samaritan, I figured, you know, I guess people are people. I'll just delete this from the top sites tab and hope it goes away forever... so I did.

Yeah, well, it turns out it wasn't just one little excursion, it was a load of unmentionable sites so massive in number that the computer froze from me clicking the [x] button so fast until I just sighed, scrubbed my hands like I was prepping for surgery, and gave up.

I wasn't in the best mood today anyway, and now I've come to a conclusion. People aren't people. Women are people. Men are animals.

Animals with no shame, no consideration, and little worth as anything more than components of reproduction. Gentlemen are gone from this Earth, if they ever existed, and the porn industry is probably making bank on this fact, damn them.

Reunion

So I've been trying to get a hold of an old friend lately. I thought his phone had been disconnected or switched, because he never answered my texts, and then I saw that he wasn't answering my Facebook messages, either, so I was pretty upset about that...

You see, I don't know how to treat males. They're pretty foreign to me, and it seems like I'm always going after the gay ones and treating the ones I'm not going after like they're gay. As a female companion I have only two modes: potential girlfriend (as I have yet to become a real one) and "Gerl-Frennnnn!" This makes straight males uncomfortable and, more often than not, completely annoyed. In fact, there have only been three (straight) male mammals in the history of the universe capable of interacting with me sans side-effects, only two of them are human.

Because of my social idiocy, it's very difficult for me separate friend and love interest (just like in a soap opera!) and so it goes without saying that I crushed hard on 1/3 of the aforementioned male mammals. Hint: It wasn't the dog. LoL

Since I'm the Queen of Awkward and he's prettymuch the ruler of the Land of Nice and Forgiving, everything was cool, until we lost touch. I guess I didn't mind too much, because it was really simple to try and forget him as a whole, wrong, but easier on me, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, once I started thinking about him, the dam broke and I missed him terribly. D:

But it's cool. He called me back today and we had a fabulous chat about I-Poly, the awesome Physics teacher, Gaiman... :)

I'm not sure what the moral of this story is, but it's probably something like "Don't blog without caffeine pumping your system or else everything you say will sound irrelevant and mushy."

Anyway, found this fantastic blog on Gaiman's Journal (Blog, lol) from this awesome chick who-- I kid you not-- skates in professional roller derby, used to be in a band, and works in or owns a coffee shop in which she created-- get this-- a Gaiman-named cup of coffee!!!

She is my new superhero, I love her, and will proceed to take up skating in her name.

<3

Oh, I decided that, in order to save money, once I love to New York I'll simply live off of coffee and word count. And I finished my book. More news at eleven.

What Do You Call a Psychic Midget on the Lam?

So I've been finishing up the book... well, okay, I've been pulling out my hair in frustration, sleeping at odd hours, watching Stardust, dodging extravagant BlockBuster fees (They're going out of business anyway), and talking to myself in a British accent (I'm doing it now) WHILE I write, write, write my book away. I've got about 40% of a chapter to go, plus the conclusion, which may or may not be about half done, and then it's editing, proofreading, formatting, and publishing for me.

Okay, I cannot stop thinking to myself in an English accent. It's a Gaiman overload, it happens more often that you'd think... which is quite sad.

Anyway, I've just polished off a whole pot of coffee and a section on cold reading, which is pretty interesting, if I do say so myself... (The cold reading; the coffee was just pretty good.) Now I've just got to talk about the real mediums in this world, even though I'll sound positively mad.

Really sorry I've not blogged in a while, been kind of busy; this weekend's been the first time that I've actually slept more than four hours in the past... Oh, I don't know, two weeks! (!!!! D:)
So that was nice. Somehow, I've actually managed to sleep, leave the house, and get work done. Spectacular. Although, one of the side-effects is that I can't seem to talk about anything but school and death, which have become synonymous lately so conversation seems, to me at least, monotonous, although I think mom's drawing me out of it slowly.

Also, I've just realized that if this [writing] is going to be my actual life, then I am going to be very busy and very pleased (as long as there's no equivelent of school, i.e. something that gets in my way). Mmm... decided that I'm going to NYU; debt be damned, I'm going to write and I need all the opportunity and instruction I can get!

Night.

PS. Oh! The title, right.
Answer: A small medium at large.