This blog is for writing, cosplay and the verbs and nouns that make up all the other odd bits and ends of my life as a sentence in a much larger story.
Paraphrasing how a person is built(and taken apart again)
A novel written in shoddy cursive
I:
Lock// about why this story has ripped pages…- It’s not always clear when your reading but the end is always there. When you pick up a novel you don’t expect it to go on forever, they don’t write themselves after all but sometimes if you go to a cheap bookstore in the back ally of some rundown part of every city you can find one that doesn’t end, in which the end will never be in sight, and that’s the one you want to stay away from. When you find that torn and yellowed paper back don’t take pity in it, don’t wonder what it looked like new just walk away. Some things are never meant to be opened, that’s why we have locks and keys and good security systems that call 911 if provoked, and some stories never need to be read, that why they are locked away. This story is one of those, one of those torn covered novels, when of those moth eaten reject tree products, this is a story with no end in sight, locked away, forever…
II:
Games// about the villains or the misunderstood-Backgammon is the oldest game in the world, but chess has the same idea just more thoughtfulness and fake clever that back it up. One side is black and one side is white and maybe sometimes that means good and evil and maybe sometimes it just means two old friends playing a game and sometimes(usually on Sundays) it’s both. One side, in his Sunday best, plays black and leans like all good villains always do, forwards with elbows on knees and grins with a mouth full of shiny white teeth, and the on the other side, dressed in ragged jeans and no shoes, plays white while slouching unpleasantly and has blood and failed love drying on his lips To anyone they may have seemed like they where from different classes and different times, and to anyone they may have seemed like friends, and to anyone they may have seemed like enemies and to anyone if you looked with the corners of your eyes they just maybe looked liked like The devil and the savior and then again maybe they where just seeing things.
Fandom: Borderlands
Subject: Mordecai post pandora
Rating: PG- Swearing
You wanna feel how it feels?
Tell me, we both matter, don't we?
And if I only could,
Make a deal with God,
And get him to swap our places-
I couldn’t really see the light at the end of the tunnel for a long time. It’s all fairy tale shit I would tell my self and that worked for me, got me through some rough times, got me through more lifetimes then human even live. But being alone gets old, not fast but after you lived a couples decades of love songs and romantic comedies you start to find yourself thinking what it would be like to hold hands not hold tits and then pay up. Not that titties aren’t nice and everything but having to pay to touch them once in a blue moon gets older faster then masturbating dose, a lot more expensive too. I guess the idea formed sometime after the whole Pandora masturbation/ you got an old man name(I don’t thank you very much) incident. I found the vault, fought some granddaddy of my own race and walked away with an emptiness I couldn’t place or name.
I tried to make a joke of the whole thing when I got home, tried to say all I got was a lousy T-shirt but truth be told I didn’t even get that, I just got…nothing! Fucken empty void! I spent two days in the shower, I felt unclean, even when the blood washed away, even when the dirt washed away, even when the water grew cold, even when fresh blood started from skin rub raw I was just empty, I felt nothing, I knew nothing. I was a killer, I could feel that in my bones, I could see it when my glamour shifted, when I was to unaware to keep it up, I could see the black veins, the black hooks, the angled limbs, the shine of my eyes casting shadows like mini suns.
I spent a week in bed, my eyes grew dry from not blinking, I cried blood, I ripped up the blankets till I was covered by shards of fabric. I didn’t sleep, I didn’t dare, I could feel the nightmares behind my eyelids, I could hear them calling, singing me back to more primitive advances. I grew un-solid, I became a ghost, I was all ribs bones, collar bones, spine and shoulders. I could feel the bed springs, they felt like a gravestones, they felt like death, they felt like tomorrow would never come. Monday came and I left, grew tired of graveyards and bed sheets, I left, the forest calling like my nightmares of a dream I never got to dream.
I spent a month in the forest, my teeth became canines, my nails claws, my hands paws, my nose sensitive to carnage. I lost thoughts, I lost faith, I lost memories, all I knew was hunger, all I knew was thirst and the need to kill. I sang to the night, I laughed in my sleep, I howled because I couldn’t remember words to express myself. Time was sunrise and sunsets, rain, or snow or blue skies. Dates pasted, but all I knew was earth’s cycle, numbers where too complex, lost in the age of men and heart beats. Night was for sleep, afternoon was for the hunt and everything in between was to survive. If life had another meaning I didn’t understand, I didn’t want to.
I returned a animal, I returned with ass length hair, I returned with crazed eyes, I returned with a bloody mouth and a un-beating heart. I spent an hour in the kitchen eating all the rotten food left in the fridge, I spent half an hour in the bathroom cutting my hair to a ugly mess, I spent 7 hours sleeping. I woke up alive, I woke up in pain, I cried for the first time in a month, I felt emotion, I felt alone, I felt purpose.
3 months later she was asleep in my arms, she looked like that angel from the vault, 4 months later she was crying her little eyes out, 8 months later she was saying dada, not an old man name, 1 year later she was walking, 2 years later she was in all kinds of trouble. 5 years later she was my everything, 10 years later she was lost, she was a red stain, she was gone…forever.
I couldn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel, I told myself that was fairy tale shit. I could be anything, I could be nothing at all. The light came to me through nightmares that sang sweetly, that had her voice, that smelled like lilies, she looked like her, she was my version of her, a by product of the need for love. But I had loved her, she had been my own flesh and blood, our DNA, our fairytale life together that never existed. The light at the end of the tunnel, fuck, yah it existed but it’s the color of love and madness and blood…
Oh, hello. It’s nice to see you again. How’s the weather in your parts? Lets re-introduce ourselves since we seem to be stuck here for the time being and it‘s been to long good friend.
My name is Almy. I’m currently Nineteen, I attend Penn State, I’m a lesbian with a tendency to ogle older men, I’m completely obsessed with Fashion, Metal Gear Solid, Transformers and Puppets. I write because it’s the closest form to the need to breathe I can recreate. I worry too much, I eat too little and although I love my curves I stress to much over my weight.
And in the end ,If I refuse to be ordinary; If I reject beautiful; if I decline sensibility then I just wish to be Extraordinary but if all else fails I am at best ME.
MICROCASSETTE 6:
MICROCASSETTE 5:
July 2009 August 2009 November 2009 December 2009 February 2010