When bad days happen.

[12:37] I'm not a guy - I just like guys
[12:37] the things they do are more vibrant
[12:37] who can resist a bloody mouth?

[12:39] since you're a thinking man
[12:39] give me your opinion on this following -

[12:39] hey I got a defination for you so we could speak the same language
[12:39] 12/8/2005 12:01:35 AM Monica Kevin
[12:39] When I talk about "a fantasy" - that means - to me - that by default it will never take place. It is a FANTASY. It is good only because it will never happen, and that very aspect of never gonna happen frees me to explore parts of it in my mind. Something that I desire and am going to get or do, I call a "GOAL"... not a fantasy. So the next time I appall you with an idea that is very much a horrible thing if acted upon, remember that to me if I say FANTASY... its never gonna happen. Also, it'd be nice if maybe I do say something like that if you could let me explain the aspects that are intriguing to me. I promise I'll do the same for you, [12:40] .......................
[12:43] This guy got totally unfixaxbly bent out of shape over sheep.
[12:44] I cry to this day
[12:49]*nojoy* lmao
[12:49]*nojoy* yea us guys can rock like that =p
[12:49] how... undetailed.
[12:50] I don't know if you're talking about the bloody mouth, the fantasy definition, or the sheep

[12:55] YES. You would like me to tell you that when I sit down with my legs spread apart the gust of wind that exits the cavernous chamber of my love canel is enough to extinguish 100 candles of vigilant devotion
[12:55] 12/9/2005 4:40:31 PM Monica Kevin but no.

[12:57] lol
[12:57] I love Pang
[12:57] but don't tell him
[13:00]*nojoy* =)
[13:00] I'm having a bad day
[13:00]*nojoy* lol
[13:02] He's right though
[13:03] Pang knows, somehow, that I am on a downward spiral - its gonna get messy if allowed to continue. So far I'd only gotten to fantasy definitions and the creative extinguishing of 100 candles of vigiliant devotion.
[13:03] Imagine how much much MUCH worse it could be.
[13:03]*nojoy* kinky
[13:03]*nojoy* hes french tho remember
[13:04] oui oui
[13:04] bbl
[13:04]*nojoy* im sure if you added a name brand beer or liquer hed of +v you

Nut Hunt

Nothing to do on a chilly day in May but hide and hunt for nuts...

Analysis of Imagery

I pay attention and remember. Then I slide my fingertips over the edges of my memories and impressions and try to find the edges that fit together. Its entirely subjective. I don't believe things flow out of my mind randomly. There's a traceable stimulus being directed at me from another. Or there's a force within my unconscious at work. So, today, while I was busy thinking and testing the edges of my senses, I recalled words I'd written and the words of others that could be keys to my words. Following is a scenario I created in the Sword Swamp forum. I was telling myself something. Somebody was telling me something:

**************************

*lifting her chin as high as possible, she craned her neck from side to side, wondering when the marks of poor impulse control would fade. A dream of rare intensity had been the gift of her lack of control. Apparently the zap of the collar, or the bang of the floor hitting her head, (or was it her head hitting the floor), had cracked a sealed door and let the colors slide in.

...she was a young girl, dressed all in red. A forest so lush with life that it was almost as dark as death must be surrounded her. She was so thirsty. She used her sense of hearing to listen for the sound of water. She used her sense of sight to see an opening in the wood where water might flow. She tried to taste the air for the hint of algae and water washed sand. She breathed deeply to smell a telltale hint of wet. Nothing. Finally she fell to the ground and reached a hand out and there was the stream she sought. Rushing over her fingertips, up her arm, she gasped and rose to her knees. She'd been under the water, she didn't know how long. She was in the stream, immersed in its tingling coolness. Cupping her hands she drank deeply, stumbled out and up to the bank. Eyes glowed at her from the shadows...

*******************************
"Eyes glowed at her from the shadows..."

What’s the point of the glowing eyes? Should I jump to the conclusion that they're a danger to me? I don't think they are. I think they're a fearsome energy. Possibly threatening, at least to stagnation. It does hurt to blossom. After being folded so tightly closed the petal slowly, slowly opens to the sun. Or the moon. William Blake wrote with perfect imagery about those glowing eyes.
**************************************

William Blake. 1757–1827

The Tiger

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder and what art Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil?
What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

********************************************
"...she was a young girl, dressed all in red. A forest so lush with life that it was almost as dark as death must be surrounded her."

A Company of Wolves is one of the movies that I have carried with me ever since I saw it. I did some investigation and found the words of others explaining how it wound up in my "dream" scenario:The movie: "The Company of Wolves" (1984) takes you into the disturbing world of a young girl's "imagination" where wolves run wild and witches cast spells. The ethereal setting develops into a Freudian nightmare, explaining adolescence through a twisted reenactment of "Little Red Riding Hood." Rosaleen is the girl in red. Evil in women comes from corruption by the devil. Thus, according to grandmother, evil is not innately in Rosaleen.

In contrast, the evil in men comes from the nature of man - it's natural. The devil does not have to take the trouble to involve himself. The hunter tells grandma with an innocent look, "I don't come from Hell, I came from the forest."

I am both Rosaleen and the Hunter. Anima and Animus. Female and Male. Conscious and Unconscious. Duality.
**************************************

"...Finally she fell to the ground and reached a hand out and there was the stream she sought. Rushing over her fingertips, up her arm, she gasped and rose to her knees. She'd been under the water, she didn't know how long."

Water is life. Life is full of pleasure and pain. The words written by another came to me in the form of a glorious trance inducing song, in part it says:

Drowning,
I'm thinking,
Falling further,
Down in this water
I'm sinking,
Can't save myself now,
now...
now...

I dream of emerging
from this water which holds me in,
Comforts me,
and tells me everything's
gonna be okay...

So, there it is - the final conflict, confusion - in my dream I'm so thirsty, but I can't quench my thirst until I come to the understanding that I was surrounded by the very thing I crave. Only when I recognize its nature can I work within it to fulfill myself and quench my thirst. While my own eyes glow.

Vorpal Rabbit Attack - Punk'd

My artistic son, the one that drew my wings for me,
added another wonder moment to my life. He
took me out to his car, showed me his totally
destroyed bumper and said - "A rabbit hit me
a couple weeks ago."

I blinked, blinked again, added "A RABBIT!?!"

He said - "Yea, its still in the bumper, LOOK!"

And there it was - a long rabbit leg hanging out
of the hollow spot of the car. I gasped. I leaned
in for a closer look. I caught the sound of
laughter, and realized I'd been Punk'd by Thumper.

Weather Grrrrrrrril

Radio was interesting. Lots of potential in the medium. Sounds should definately remain a part of our reality.

Jaded Bunny

There's something to be said for being the "baby" of a family four children with huge gaps of time in between the births - your mother is a worn out wreck of life's ups and downs, and she's been the Easter Bunny for way too long.

I've been the Easter Bunny for 26 years. I did a great job of hippity hopping along the bunny trail for 25 years. This year was different.

The easter eggs were painted, the tables for the family feast gaily decorated. So far, so good. Night time came, exhaustion set in. I went to bed with the eggs unhidden, the family tradition of the Easter morning Easter Egg hunt unprepared. My husband woke me up at 3:00 a.m. - "Honey, we need to hide the eggs." I mumble through drool and bad breath "Thas ohkay, I do *slight snore, startle back awake* laaeer." Longer snore, more drooling, more bacteria partying in my mouth.

"Mom." A voice hissed in my ear. I opened one gluey eye. Savannah, nine years old, staring at me with something akin to dislike in her eyes. "THE EASTER BUNNY DID NOT COME. THE EGGS ARE STILL ON THE TABLE." Oh, Oh.

I quickly sit up, mind churning through guilt, sleepiness, and the lizard brain instinct to find a way to survive the onslaught thats coming from one rightiously pissed off little girl. "Oh, hmm, gee. Well. The Easter Bunny must have gotten delayed. I bet you'll be on his evening run." Bright smile.
The figerative gloves are tossed upon the ground (yes, the white cotton Easter gloves, symbolic of good manners and civility). "I KNOW YOU ARE THE EASTER BUNNY, MOM! YOU FORGOT TO HIDE THE EGGS!" I gasp. Beyond a certain age children know that part of their jobs as children is to ignore the mom behind the curtain. The magic can continue, but you must NOT pull back the curtain. I was exposed.

I'd like to say that I immediately got up and ran to hide eggs. I did not. Instead I gave her a broom and asked that she sweep the hallway. Time was awastin' - the feast for 17 people needed to come together. After all, I'd overslept!

As the older children arrived, they heard about the failure of the jaded bunny. They could have done any number of things to help relieve the disappointment of one, or the guilt of another. Instead they gleefully found the old home videos of Easters past and played them, one right after the other while saying, "See, Savannah? Thats how Easter SHOULD have been for you. Mom's really losing it, huh? Poor you."

My tail's not so fluffy, my fur is rather scruffy, long ears droop over squinting pink eyes. My whiskers can still manage a twitch or two, however. The amends were made by the promise of a scavenger hunt at her 10th birthday party this weekend. I hope Pirate Mom doesn't sleep in.

Arrrrrgh...

DeathDance

+Death Dance+
(for Nosfertu aka Zack)

The tavern door blew open, the night rushed in, while the candles and smoking oil lamps blew out. The expected cries of surprise from the patrons of Dragon Court were curiously absent, the silence heavy and deep, thick with magicks and rituals yet to come. A sinuous current of air moved towards the stage, unseen in the darkness, yet felt. Fleetwood managed to strike a spark from a piece of flint and light the candle on the table nearest the stage. A word of command punctured the unnatural stillness. The single candle's flickering light grew into a halo that bathed the stage in amber and shadows.

Illuminae! The blood red of her eyes fed the candle's feeble flame.

Standing on the stage was stark contrast in color and affiliation. White skin of a vampire queen, black hair spilling down a gown as black as the hair, red lips, parted, revealing a glint of a white fangtip, red eyes glowing upon the man standing before her. He too, was a contrast in color. White robes of the clergy, red face filled with fury. Her blood red eyes glowed with the knowledge of the blackness of his heart and mind.

You, Priory, have been given the gift of life, yet death rolls from you as surely as maggots from the rotting eyeballs of the unloved and unwanted waifs that you allow to starve in the coldness of winter because they're not of your faith, fall to your judgements, and become your ultimate sin. I forgive you. I will take you unto me. Into me. Under my will for eternity. This is my talent, my gift.

She turned and smiled into the darkness beyond the halo of light. Long fangs somehow dainty against the curve of her lips

I do this for you, my lovers of life, my singers of songs, my dancers of dances, my tellers of jokes. I do this for me. Death comes, mostly, to all. Cross the threshold knowing you lived while you could, having done your part to banish the evil that Priory - in his narrow minded, mean spirited, blasphemic twistings of a covenant of life and love - represents.

Turning back to Priory, the shadows burned around the red faced man, he was stiff with rage, with powerless, impotent desires to flee or fight the sensations washing over him as she began to whisper a ritual unknown to him, forever part of her. The syllables had a taste the onlookers swallowed.

Stygian darkness, blood tinged light,
night eternal, without fright,
Abyss opens, power surges,
Life and Death within you merges.
There is no end to this beginning,
No descent to halt ascension,
expanding senses, swollen cravings,
rising tides, released from tension.
Follow me,
kneel down and stay,
listen to the words I say,
your life is mine,
your death is yours,
accept my death gift, and life shall pour
from you for an eternity,
in my embrace
escape,
be free,
the shrouds shall part and you will see,
all things that now are mystery.
Come to me now, feel my yearning,
hunger deep within me churning, burning,
the birth of unchained minds and souls, flying, crying
out
with gentle screams of escaping dreams
turned nightmares,
stalking your breathing world of limits. Finish it.
Destroy the fear that holds you captive,
a willful prisoner is still a slave,
give up your will to me this day, this night, this very hour.
Devour, Empower,
Me.

Priory had relaxed as her words flowed through the room, and him. He watched her with hunger exposed. Dark as his heart, as full as his soul was empty. She tilted her head, questioning.

Visne saltare?
(Do you want to dance?)

She pulled him, unresisting, into her arms. The black of her gown's flowing sleeves draped the white of his clergy robes, the red of her lips dipped close to his ear. They danced, swaying to a music unheard by the others, though Fleetwood looked down to find his finger tracing slow patterns in the air in time to the graceful steps of the dancers.

Da mihi basilia mille...
(kiss me with a thousand kisses)

He trembled, raising her pale white hand to his lips. They danced on, turning slowing upon the stage. White cloth, then black gown, then faster, and faster, casting lingering shadows of grey on the eyes of the silent watchers.

Amor est vitae essentia!
(love is the essence of life)
Sanguis est vitae essentia!
(blood is the essence of life)

Priory fell to his knees, trembling, sweating hands raised to cover his face. She pulled his head back, gently.

Eram quod es, eris quod sum.
(I was what you are, you will be what I am.)

Leaning into him, she arched his neck back, until it was taut - the jugular pulsing thickly for all to see. He sighed.

Esto perpetue...
(may you last forever)

She gave him the first bit of wisdom he would need as her eager accolyte.

Nox praesidium nostri.
(the night is our protection.)

She struck. Gleaming fangs delicately slipped into the flowing river of life undeserved. A fine shower of blood droplets spurted from the punctures, spattering her face with a lacy pattern. She pulled him tightly against her mouth and ravaging lips. As he grew paler, she glowed with a stolen life, a foresaken life. Gasping a final breath of required air, he went limp and fell back upon the stage. Released. Lifeless eyes turning on a rolling head to gaze unseeing at the stunned crowd.

Consummatum est!
(It is done!)

Bowing low, she laughed. Blood trickling down her neck.

All together now... on the count of five, yell "RISE!".

Her laughter continued unabated, interspersing her countdown, which was joined - after a hardening glance from the instigator at the silent witnesses - by the participants of Dragon Court's soon to be infamous Yserbian Idol contest.

5!
4!
3!
2!

Ensaneti held up a commanding hand, as she gave the corpse of Priory a hearty kick.

1 and 1/2!

Priory stirred, Ensaneti beamed, the crowd leaned forward.

1!

RISE!!!!!

Her hand wove a simple tornado of motion through the air, Priory screamed, and rose to his feet, limbs rigid. She laughed. And laughed. And laughed. The force of her laughter moved like a stormfront from the stage and banished the halo of flame in its force. Somebody moaned in a resurgance of fear. Fleetwood swore, dropped his flint, hit his head under the table, retrieved it, and struck a spark to the stub of a candle.

The stage was empty of all but a small glistening drop of the spilled blood of the unworthy.
_________________
...Ensaneti... Stygian darkness, blood tinged light, night eternal, without fright, Abyss opens, power surges, Life and Death within you merges.