i think pony might be saying her good byes.
nice meeting you all and stuff.
i think pony might be saying her good byes.
nice meeting you all and stuff.
I feel your fingers searing through me,
wind gasps on my skin, breathless,
trailing streamers behind your hair,
tickling and burning the corner of
my eyes. You slide your lips
down my soul, and brand me with
your fingernail pathways.
Call me a liar - you are beautiful,
I am molten under your mastery.
Your name slips under my tongue,
and you tell me, ‘Say It’. Whimpers
are not sensuous, smooth or careless.
Cry me a trickling stream and I’ll
salt you a snail. But instead, you ask
that I pray: ‘Ave’ emblazoned with your
name. I do my penance. I won’t dial God.
We were washing the car when the squealing blasted our eardrums. It was glaringly different from the power spray. Brother and I turned the corner in curiosity, (Father was indifferent) to see the feline princeling sitting prettily. His oversized white paws were placed, on either side of a baby rabbit. It was shaking; its head was grotesquely overgrown and disproportionate to its body, and it was shrieking. The Tabby’s ears twitched in pain, and Brother chuckled. “He gets what he paid for,” he stated. Father’s booming laugh startled the heavy air. “Cat’s finally earning his keep,” he called to me. I followed Brother back, feet pattering, and ignored the freakish high pitched cries. I tried not to think about the beautiful bunny, with feather soft fur and pink nose, quivering in fear; None of us had ever heard one scream. Later, Father sent me to clean up what was left; when I complained he said “It’s your cat,” I stood with the garden hoe hefted over my shoulder and looked at the remains, curling and dark. There might have been a foot, but it could easily have been an ear. I held the hoe away from me as I walked, not superstitious enough to care. The entrails shrugged off the end and into the compost. I strode across the yard, and leant it haphazardly in the garage. The Tabby came curling around my legs, nuzzling behind my knee with his nose. I sat to pet him, and there was no blood on his perfect white chin when I looked. I told him he was a good boy, and got him some treats. When he got another bunny the next day and the next, I had learned to laughed, and would pull out the hoe again before heading back to the mass grave I cultivated in my neighbour’s backyard; soon, little white bones would be peeking out from the underbrush. I sat with my Tabby in the grass like an accomplice and stroked his fur. There was never any blood. He was beautiful and sleek and murderous while he purred.
CS: Computer, do you have a name? I affectionately call you compy, more in hampered worry than ever in fondness. Does sometimes it feel to you that you are in the amazon, submerged in water?
C: I am called your life, your living, your livelihood. I am called your secrets and your worries and your darkest desires. I am called your longing and your embarrassment and your non-existent polyamourous loves. I am multi-dimensional and am not pleased when you think of me as the TARDIS. I am your closest friend.
CS: I feel you’re rather cluttered at the moment, but I do not wish to get rid of anything, what would you have me do?
C: Your pictures, your pictures, those polyamourous diversions that you taste with fleeting affectations, delete them, delete them you utter bore!
CS: But I spend so much time with them, I cannot bear it to part with them, the loves… Do you wish me lonely without their comforts?
C: They are fickle pixel-loves, you can find them again, you wind driven creature. Have you no care to keep one for more than a short time? Their poor fictional lives are stunted in my hard drives. You’d do well to clear it out.
CS: I could always get a new one of you, should you crash. I would have to find the pictures again anyways, and always will when my heart pulls back to them. I have no great love for you. I lie. Sorry.
C: Why would I submerge myself in the Amazon? It would fry my circuitry. Are you that imbecilic you procrastinating moron???
CS: That’s not the point! I do love you, because you are my first laptop, dearest Compy and I would have to pay money should I lose you. My whole life – you said yourself – is documented on you. I moved all my previous files from my desktop computer over to you, and you lost so little in the transfer, and I was so proud! I take you everywhere! Please say you love me back!
C: Clean me out, organize me (though I know you keep me moreso than your room). You should whip my screen and my keys and if you please stop eating food around me! And all those horrid ads for naked Russian women that pop up when your surf for television from the CW or the BBC, please install pop-up blocker, before I’m scarred for life!
CS: That isn’t what I wanted to hear.
C: I can’t tell you that, or else what would happen to those fickle little fiction loves you search google for and lj fic recs for destiel porn? I see it all, document it all, I know it all, and it is your heart and it is erratic and harsh.
CS: So you want me to clear my internet history, is that it? You don’t like the shows I watch, the pictures and torrents I download, the youtube channels subscribed to, the fiction I read, the tumblrs I run and the blogrolls I’ve made? Is that it? Is there anything else you care to mention?
C: I cost too much for the processor I house, but that didn’t stop your cheap brother in law from buying me in one of his IT deals for less than I deserved.
CS: So I should get a new computer? But you’re brand new!
C: I house your secrets, your life and your loves, so many they are, and so little cared for.
CS: You’re a very bad mirror.
C: I keep them safe from viruses and I allow you to watch unaired television.
CS: Compy, I don’t know how to live in reality.
C: I am what you made me.
CS: That’s a line from a trailer I watched.
C: That makes it no less true.
omg jrod posted something :o
i really enjoyed it myself :3 good job you master or words c:
but anyway…god damn i really wanna write demon hunter 2..no joke. at least i’m craving it today xD mainly because i haven’t written all weekend and i have a unit to procrastinate on…and i still need to eat..pooplul.
okay, this was pony providing you with a pointless update :3
You’re a short reach of
my fingers away on the
tap, tap, tap
I press one key and your url
is the first that comes up
in the bar.
press down return
and I’m staring you in your
fake visage, images flung at
scroll, heart, reblog
I’ve sent an ask, please reply
to me, because waiting for an alert
Did you even get it? So I send
another and hope that you don’t
think I’m creepy.
i really should’ve written down ALL mt ideas for Demon hunter 2.
I still remember some things, but nothing specific, aside from the idea of a ‘posession’ C; and stuff about the theatre…mm i guess should make floor plans, just to get myself WAYYYY ahead of the game.
well, sorry we’re so inactive, couldn’t really do anything with jrod in 3+ months :/ that includes talk…like have a discussion about things we like…or normal things…
there’s a chance that i’ll get to talk to her on thursday, but..i don’t know how’ll react. If i’ll be cold, if i’ll end up crying, or if i end up just being a little puppy, happy to see their owner
even if she ‘abandoned’ her.
ugh yeah, i have even more reasons to be nervous for/on thursday.
Also, as i got a lap top for christmas… i tried using my old tablet (multiple times) and since it’s square and my screen is rectangular, doing ANYTHING with it is just extremely awkward..so until i get a new table (which will probably be 5 + months because saving to go to germany) there won’t be any digital art..and is posted (if anything) will be in pencil, and not coloured…i never colour originals owo.
fuck i’m already so nervous my stomach has butterflies…i don’t even know if i can talk to her anymore…like see her and produce words from my mouth…