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My Monthly LiveJournal Post

Aug. 25th, 2007 | 10:28 am
mood: rejuvenatedrejuvenated
music: Darkest of the Hillside Thickets

College is a funny thing. It's challenging, but it's a kind of challenge I embrace. This year I've picked up a fine swathe of five classes: Intro to Communications, wherein we discuss the history of the media, how it works, and how to best filter the noise from the signal, so to speak; Intro to German, a hell of a language if I ever saw're one, and one (class, that is, not yet language) what share I with my pal Amy; Literature and Film of the Civil Rights Movement, which is every bit as compelling and depressing as it sounds; Ballad and Folksong, wherein we pump up the jams pump up the jams to blues and an instrument made out of an inside-out goat. I'm not kidding. It has a name, too. I'll have to look it up, though, 'cause it's a weirdy. Ahem. Semicolon and last but not least... Abnormal Psychology. Thas' right, the art and science of mental illness, or what you might call insanity. Mmm'. Good times. Plus the teacher likes me.

But where has this left me? In two odd places. Eins: I have more time to sketch and such when I'm outside of class. Zwei: I go to sleep earlier and wake up earlier consequentially, because it's hot as various hot things out there and I have to walk considerable distances 'twixt each class. Hence the lack of journal updates; I've been doing things other than meander on about my thoughts and activities.

Today I wempt at 9, I believe, and woke up again at 2. I hung out with my good pals at DollAnon, then collapsed again at 4:30. I got a very strong, yet surprisingly short, bout of sleep, up to 9:20. I had several dreams, most of them simple repetitive actions in a mundane setting. I had one longer dream that (owing to my new influx of fiber from delicious fiber-laden school foods) started off with me trying to find a bathroom in a strange hotel (I have a lot of dreams about hotels, for those just tuning in) wherein they also had a gigantic coffee-table-book inexplicably there for purposes of bathroom reading. It was about Marvel comics.

The toilets they had looked more like showers with weird grates (or roll-bar-looking contraptions) atop them, sort of like a squat toilet, except much more counterintuitive and nasty. Experimental positions and flushes led to the discovery that all of them were horribly unsuitable for human usage. I registered a complaint at the desk and they explained it was possible to fix them, but that it was up to the customer to provide the tools. They just told the customer how to use 'em. The three desk jockeys got into an argument about that. I just decided to check on the fam and see if they were done using our three restrooms. My timing was ideal.

So the hotel was built around an expansive courtyard built around a big ol' hill one could just run up and roll down with no problems. We were having an Our Family get-together, and Our Family is exceedingly robust. Visitors from across the nation and islets beyond dropped by, talking about Us-es in the news and in events. A swarthy-looking relative related seeing me in the background of a broadcast from a gaming convention.

The last part I had before I woke up was a humorous romp wherein me, my sister, and my sister's boyfriend sought to place a sundial on the end of a short metal pole in the garden so it could tell time appropriately. This was due to my cousins' dog pulling it up out of the ground to play fetch with. We eventually found a nice spot, but then spent a few minutes spinning it around trying to "adjust the clock to the local time." A good clean time was had by all. Then: I wake up, and sit in groggy silence, believing it must be past noon. Eventually I rouse and see that no, it's only 9. 9:20 or so. Maybe later, I can't clearly recall.

That covers school and dreamwheels. How about dungeons?

In Japanese Dungeons and Dragons, the characters for "dungeon" literally translate to "Don Johns." The term for halfling literally translates to something like "dwarf," in a hilariously confusing turn of events. Japanese Mialee looks like Cher. Mialee is the iconic wizard of 3rd edition, being as she is an elf that got beat with the ugly stick, or, in Dungeons and Dragons, the chichimec's tail, which is an actual stick what makes ugly.

And now a brief segue into false versions of 4th edition, one personal, one hilariously internettle.

An associate I knew in high school, who was fairly annoying and prone to claims, once heard me mention Dungeons and Dragons. I told him that 3rd edition was the current edition; it was, at the time. He said that he went to "dungeons and dragons dot com" (then a squatter-site, still a squatter-site) and said he found a preview advertising a "4th edition Dungeons and Dragons" with "ten new classes, fifty new classes, and two hundred new spells" (or something to that effect) coming out, according to him, in three months. I pointed out two things: the homepage of DnD is at wizards.com, not dungeonsanddragons.com, and further, that 3rd edition (at the time) was only two years old, and waits between editions of Dungeons and Dragons are about a decade, and further, that sourcebooks are where they put new classes, weapons, and spells, and that starting an entire new edition just to add new classes, weapons, and spells was like demolishing and rebuilding a skyscraper just to install a few new water fountains. Okay, not at the time, but I did mention that new editions were titanic and great.

The other one was upon the internet, and was titled Dungeons and Dragons Fourth Edition: Where All Your Dreams Come True(tm). It posited to have a realistic and complete spell system, was illustrated with a single chubby chibi imp dragon thing in the title header, had no rules for magic whatsoever, and its last page (so to speak) statted out women's underwear along with rape percentage for wearing said underclothing (and percentage chance to be hired on as a stripper, in the case of the thong), with no clue if specie, appearance, or proximity to roving gangs of orcs affected the rape percentage at all, and how much of an interval lay between each Rape Check Chance. Also there were like eighty bazillion species, including griffins and other power animals, alongside humans, who got "nothing" and a B.S. Latin phrase probably meaning "you get what you pay for" or some such.

And that's more or less what I feel like talkin' about right now.

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Calyfearn Dreamin'

Jul. 6th, 2007 | 08:32 pm
location: Man Land
mood: cheerfulcontented
music: Silent Hill 3 OST

Now, with Cutie Sabrina!  'Hem, as in the DA journal:

So, I fell asleep at a relatively early time last night, at roughly 9:30 or so, and I did dream after that. Or rather I dreamt after my sister interrupted my sleep she bequeathed to see when BLEACH was on. I said that it'll be on later, so don't despair. Then I went back to sleep. And there the dreaming began. (Sister, incidentally, planted a character from BLEACH, or at least a look-similar, in my dream. You'll see whom in a moment.)

I'm not that big a fan of X-Men--not in the sense that I don't like it, mind, merely that it's not high on my priority list---but this particular dream, or at least the first and major portion of it, was X-Menic. It was entirely from my perspective, or almost entirely, and needless to say I was one of said X-Men. I don't immediately recall what my mutant superpower was. I believe a spear was involved. Also, I drove the car. It kicked off with me needing to drive our particular X-Contingent, discreetly, from a parking lot (resembling my old junior high parking lot, though bigger) to the woods where a hidden electric train track (it's my dream, I don't know if the technology exists/is viable/is stupid) would carry us into a better, more hidden school. So there I was, drivin' along, when a barrage of rockets arcs into the lot.

Yeah, somebody knew we were there, and decided to take care of us at a range. Through keeping my cool, I managed to steer us out of the parking lot while innocent, non-powered innocents exploded all around us. Them's the breaks, I guess. We ended up at the woods where we ditched the car for what looked like a go-kart version of a train car. Me and most of the team hefted the frame and proceeded to toss it onto the track; one of us was denied because he might accidentally activate his superpower. He had the mutant ability to generate new, mutant life on contact with electricity, see, and spont-generating new mutant life in the middle of nowhere might tip off mutant-sensing powers or technologies.

So then we rode on the little wireframe train to Freedomland, or at least to the school. Here we had a lively discussion of the Ghost Rider movie, which in the dream was apparently Spawn. After an extended tram ride we arrived in a classroom, literally inside a classroom modified to accept illegal mutant trains, and met the slightly nebbish teacher, a full human who nonetheless was eager to help us in our time of being-shot-at. We had a pleasant discussion about the school's accommodations, which were quite mutant-friendly it seems, to the point where even some teachers were mutants, illustrated by a friendly blue-skinned woman popping in. I don't think she was Mystique, but no sooner than she leave the classroom did she arrange a mutant coup. Whoops.

It was like a cross between X-Men Evolution, classic X-Men comics with ludicrous traps and the like (I presume sometime in the Silver Age X-Men comics had a fairly regular stream of ludicrous traps), and a high school medium-budget haunted house. The entire school was ousted from its various classrooms and shuttled around in seemingly random procession. I confess I was not particularly upset at this point, believing it to be something I could handle handily. Then I was guided in a line outside, and beheld that the inappropriately-named mutant Half-Life a-groping what I presumed was the bustiest girl in school that was also elsewise of a normal build; Half-Life, being a doll-like mutant girl about half as tall as anyone else (hence the inappropriate mutant name) could only grapple her at about ribcage level, barely missing the breast-fruit she sought. Through some mutant alchemy (and possibly the girl, who strongly resembled Orihime from BLEACH, being a bit of a moron) she managed to guide the girl into the school and to some nefarious place indeed. Before I could split from the group and go after Half-Life with spear almighty, I was caught up in the flow again and shuttled into the cafeteria. Brunch!

Brunch was bacon and roast beef. Or what resembled bacon and roast beef. It was advertised as MARDUK BEEF; Marduk being one of our X-Men companions, as well as a friend from DeviantArt, I realized it was likely a trap set for him, and I yelled, "MARDUK! DO NOT EAT THIS MEAT! IT'S PROBABLY GOING TO KILL YOU!" Then I realized that, thanks to Marduk's powers, it was much more likely that he was in fact the meat rather than weak to the meat. Also, him being partially or wholly baconized would not be particularly detrimental to his overall health, so I wasn't particularly worried. I then took it upon myself to inform the rest of my fellow mutants to not et of Marduk. I immediately found Megu (leader of DollAnon, and apparent New Mutant, or at least Newbie Mutant) and saw he had a mouthful of the bacons. I nodded at him in devastatingly slight chiding fashion. Also I was in the middle of chewing some bacon. Egh, Dream-Me, you suck at not eating food that may be made of a companion of yours.

Anyhow, I was again shuttled around and realized several of my companions were likely suffering in such a fashion, being forced to withstand moderately terrible agonies proportionate to their ability to suck up said agonies. I managed to break apart from the enormous, ocean-tide-like line to try and find other friends of mine in order to help them break free of whatever hideous condition they found themselves in. After some darting in and out of streams of students, I didst find a hastily-erected sign advertising something happening 'twixt Half-Life and her unfortunate target. The subtext-that-was-really-the-only-text? Rape, American style. It was time for me and my spear to make a stand, one with a lot of stabbing integrated.

I followed the sign's directions to get to the school's library, found that neither Half-Life nor Orihim-esque were there. It then occurred to me that it wasn't my trial to bear, but Lan's. Lan is also from DollAnon, and he and the old Surprise Sex have a certain understanding. Either he interceded in Half-Life's intended rapistry, or he had been lured into a trap, or--horror of horrors--he dueled Half-Life for the right to have a go at Orihim-esque. (I can say after-the-fact that he is unfond of Orihime and would not likely go after an Orihim-esque, even in my dream.) Thus I headed back downstairs to try and find him again.

Sadly, my dream then crapped out on me, and wrapped up that particular segment with the crew victorious. I presume we were victorious, because the school was normalized and I had a big bag of assorted candies.

After that I dreamed I found a book written in steam; by alighting a censer, holy water steam filtered through shaped vents and twisted and curled into hieroglyphs. That was cool, though the author of the steam-text went off on a tangent about recent developments in the X-Men comics.

My last dream-part was an infomercial for the largest commercially-available paper shredder in the world. Among its proponents: Sonic Team, who used it to shred every good idea that somehow made it their way, and a businessman who was guilty about using his current money and who decided to shred it all and replace it with a different scrip. Video clips of him gleefully shredding money and replacing it with a new currency followed. Then I woke up, trying to fall back to sleep again.

That was odd.
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Mania: Secret of Green Tentacle?

Jul. 1st, 2007 | 01:03 pm
location: The Porn Viewer
mood: contemplativePornservational
music: Recent iTunes purchases.

 She never quite finds out the secret of Green Tentacle, I'll spoil that right now.  Also, this includes frank discussion of the prons, so if you're under 18, or picky about the prons, or, and I hope to God this is not so, related to me, you may want to look away.

 So I "had the chance to watch this" recently, thanks to my friend Meg U. Pplaud, and I came (pun dearly unintended) unto this conclusion: yes, this was animated in somebody's basement and dubbed in someone else's basement, but this is nonetheless of a higher quality than various $1 bootlegged anime and cartoon films I've seen.  Yes, it even has better voice acting, because even when Nadia (named Mania in what we can presume is intended to be parody and a legal dodge) is pontificating on the vaginicity or penility of various mushrooms, and pontificating and pontificating, she is nonetheless a better VA than the dubnaut for the monkey in Thunder Prince, or the voice of ... what was his name... Super Kid! Yes, still a better VA than that for Super Kid.  And her hair doesn't oscillate.

 The gist of the excuse for sex: Nadia and "John," her husband, are stuck on an island shaped, with extreme precision, like a naked woman.  On the island are mystery 'shrooms shaped like the obvious; Nadia does partake, and is thusly made horny.  She attempts Asleep Style with John, who freaks out (despite having attempted Asleep Style on her during a flashback), and leaves her alone, to be approached by... Rei Ayanami, who has Kurtzed in an epic fashion, becoming the priestess to the degenerate Amazon tribe of Naked Woman Island.  Rather than perform the obvious action and seduce Nadia, she instead beats her on the back of a head with a giant cudgel.  This cudgel shows up later, too.  It's what you'd call a motif.

 When Nadia awakes, she finds herself on an altar below a giant penis statue, surrounded by what Garrison would have called a "forest of penises."  Yep, those mushrooms grow into tentacles while Rei admonishes the little brown Amazons to get their worship on.  Ironically, worshiping the schlong deity calls for girls making out.  Wait, that's not ironic at all.  Anyhow, Rei sounds like a low-rent but sincere version of the cult priestess from the "Den" segment of Heavy Metal, and actually uses the word "nymphette," which is not only accurate but an actual term from Nabokov's "Lolita."  Translator dudes, you rock.  Kind of.

 Anyhow, Nadia discovers part of the Secret of Green Tentacle, which was foreshadowed by its dramatic opening credits of green tentacles underwater, its title, its genre, and because it's a porneaux.  That's my neologism, I call it.  Eh, whatever.  The secret?  Guess.  So while this is going on, John finally stops fishing, looks for Nadia, and is instead ambushed by :o , :o, and their close pal :o, who proceed to chase him, Scooby Doo style, at two (maybe three tops) running animations and several different Photos Hopped skin and hair colors, because the animator(s?) cut to the chase as strong as possible.  Speaking of chase, it ends after much protests and calls for help.  Nadia finishes up with the tentacles and escapes with John, because being semi-menaced by amazons and Kurtz Ayanami is apparently cause for running through a CGI forest and jumping off a CGI cliff into a CGI ocean to be picked up by a CGI pirate ship and its non-CGI crewe.  For a pirate-held gang's bang, what the Dutch call a Cabin Boy's Birthday, maybe.

 So the pirates gang upon Nadia and engage in boisterous masculine posteuring, the kind that sex negatives claim is destroying society.  Realizing that being molested by tentacles is more traditionally Japanese than being molested by pirates, Nadia and John engineer an escape involving a called shot to the eye and the reappearance of the Cudgel.  Escape is waylaid by a CGI storm, which tosses them on a CGI island shaped exactly like a naked man, which has vagina 'shrooms and, incidentally, a bunch of guymazons.  I don't know the term for the male equivalent of amazons.  Anyhow, the pornography ends there, with Nadia being tossed into the jaws of another set of sex-havers.  I wonder if they appease a gigantic vagina statue in a ceremony led by an insane Shinji Ikari, making out and such while Nadia performs the very first lesbian sex act held with tentacles.  The very idea disturbs me deeply--lesbian tentacle sex, I mean.  Discovering lesbian tentacle sex is like Dirac's metaphorical tripping over a bunch of positrons on his way to work--it would redefine what we know of the universe.  The pornographic universe.

 Overall impressions?  The music's tolerable, the voice acting is bad but amicable, and the animation is oh wow.  I was about to say that at least it's technically better than Clutch Cargo, but Clutch Cargo's voices matched the lip movements of the characters*.  It's nowhere near as well animated as short .gifs from, say, Viper, but it's better than two-frame not-even-Photoshops that would litter a 1990s-era "toon porn" website.  Plus it's got CGI.  Terrible, sub-Phantasmagoria CGI, sub-Poser CGI, but CGI nonetheless.  The backgrounds are largely CGI and the pornogractors handimated, which I presume is because the animator(s?) wanted to draw naked people doin' it but didn't have the patience to draw islands and other things that do not have sex.  It's actually a lot like the modern Shirow Masamune, although a single Shirow Masamune picture depicting a greasy woman posing alone or with a woman who looks exactly like her except for maybe glasses or a different haircut in front of semi-exotic backdrops likely takes more time than 20 minutes of animation of Mania's quality.

*Because the alternative is physically impossible, or at least unlikely and the result of a recording error.

 In short, I know this thing is sold by someone, but paying any amount of money to see it is... inadvisable.  It's hilarious, of course, and one of the extras is a man dressed exactly like Melfina from Outlaw Star, but you can do better for cheaper or free.

 Rating: Hotter than Angel Blade, not as hot as a figurine of Morrigan Aensland (sp?) wearing a razy impossible nightgown.
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On Such Vissitudes of Walk

Jun. 24th, 2007 | 05:04 pm
location: Average Puerto Rican location.
mood: tiredtired
music: Clive Owen / Final Fantasy.

 "Stroppy" (STROPP-ee) is not to my knowledge a term.  But it is now.

 I participated in a marathon upon the Saturmoor.  Five miles of walking, running, and agony.  I am not a marathonite, though I plan on gymming it up the summer long, and so when I didst return home I wast in no mood for walking.  By "no mood" I mean "oh good Lord, every step results in my legs punishing me for daring move them."  I'm better now, obviously, but I still got hurtin' pangs along my calves.  Yeah, I'm not in the best health.

 It occurs to me I must now tend to my Livejournal lest it languish in agony aeternal as a kind of parasitic twin flopping at my side.  My obvious route is to post journals both hither and thither, so as to spread the journlove, and to figure out exactly what kind of black magic Livejournal is capable of.  Firefox recognizes the word "firefox" with a capital F.  But lower-case firefox and Livejournal?  Not so much.  Wait,  LiveJournal.  Nope, that's redlined too.  So's "redlined" and... "so's?"

 See, this is why I write in Wordpad (redlined); thems (redlined) damnable red lines keep me from concentrating on the job of the write-act.

 And that's the end of that thought-pattern.

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...Exactly one year ago!

Jun. 20th, 2007 | 06:38 pm
location: Whence I be.
mood: Raise Dead
music: Creaking of ancient tombdoors.

52 weeks and what?  Well, LiveJournal, Kriegsaffe is back and all brand-new.  Because a friend of mine from DeviantArt is thusly abandoning ship like rats deserting a sinking school bus, and I must raise this dead puppy like nobody's the biz.

Yo, LiveJournal.  Your plague is back and ready to what down lay judgement.

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Down One Acche Elle Deux, Up One Acche Elle Deux, Part Une

Jun. 18th, 2006 | 09:03 am

Hey, kids!  Been a while, but, hell the what.  Half-Life 2 has been beat by me, and, as it progresses logically, I'm now on Half-Life 2: Episode One: La Lejenda Negra.  The sheer suck I emanate is catching up with me, and has been embedded in my brain as this particular strain of Alyx-ry:

"Heads up!  ...Oh my God..." (soul-shearing crash) (KRUNCH) (beep...beep...beep...)

That terrible resigned Alyx-death-whimper fills me with religious terror.  Dying alone and far from everyone who cares about you is pretty bad; dying alongside someone who believes you to be a savior, just as she realizes her whole life--and the war against alien overlords--is ending, permanently, thanks to an errant piece of falling debris... that's a new kind of depressing, and quite a motivator to not screw up.

Which would be much more effective if I didn't keep screwing up.

 "Heads up!  ...Oh my God..." (etc.)

 Jeezly Crow.

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In which we post some drabbae.

Jun. 1st, 2006 | 11:53 am
music: The sound of my air conditioner

Yep.  Here's an array, if you will, of shiz what did I last night.  Characters and such (C) Kiyohiko Azuma; any references to certain game franchises are not a challenge to their copyrights and intended only as references.  Dear God, I hate writing copyright stuff, and yet, I must.  That is the fanfictionists' way.  I suppose I'll do each one as its own entry; seems to be the way things get did.


Concerning Liquid
Yomo x Tomo (PG-13)
Triple Drabble, mahfah

Yomi always choked up at the diving board; even this pissant thing barely two feet above the water.  This early in the morning the hotel's indoor pool was utterly vacant.  No better time to practice diving.

She took a deep breath, stretched--wobbled in time with the board--and then realized Tomo was nowhere in sight.

Footsteps, light and fast, coming behind her--a high, quasi-suppressed giggle--

Yomi dove, hit the heated water like a swan tied to a brick.  She swam out of the way, just in time to avoid Tomo teetering off the diving board and flopped right behind her.  Yomi surfaced, gasped for breath, and watched Tomo flounder like a mouse, small, hyper, and unfairly cute.  When she stopped thrashing she glared at Yomi.

"Missed me, missed me!" Yomi laughed.

"So?!" Tomo blurted.

Yomi swam in close and planted a wet kiss on Tomo's pouted lips.  She jolted straight, dipped beneath the waves, and popped up, blushing.

For a while they floated and looked at each other.

"Why'd you..." Tomo said.

"You always do the first thing.  I wanted to go first today."  Tomo nodded.  She was oddly quiet.  She swished through the water, got close.  She was much warmer than the water, almost hot.  She had the cutest little titmouse smile...

"I getcha," she said, and kissed Yomi right back; she tasted like she always did, tart and sweet.  They embraced, pressed against the pool's wall.  Just them, the lapping water, and the dreamy echo of the pool room.

When they parted, Yomi was flush, her glasses steamed up.

"Guess what?" Tomo said.

"What?"

Tomo thrust Yomi's strapless top between her teeth and swam off.  It took Yomi half a second to switch back on, and so the chase continued (because, with Tomo, it never really ended).
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Lost Magic and Why I Was Disenfranchised With It

May. 24th, 2006 | 09:12 pm
location: Disenfranchisement
mood: crankyBlarg.
music: "Osaka Dub"

Lost Magic, or, as it seems to be spellt, LostMagic(tm)(c)(r), was accrued by me yesterday and subsequently gotten sick of today.  GameStop shall be gettin' a new copy ASAP.

Man, I should've sprung for the slightly-more-expensive Half-Life 2 Game of the Year Edition, which is what I've been waiting for anyway, but I was wont to give LM a try, 'cause it looked cool.  And to be fair, it starts off fairly well.  If you ignore the unbelievably horrible writing and plot, which you can see grinding ahead pretty damn much from the start.  Only, it goes from "hey, this is fun" to "Jesus Fuck-my-Eye Christ this is killing me" in the spance of one mission.  Catching and accruing monsters is approximately as easy and fun as siccing your paycheck from a wheat thresher; if you're trying to do your job (threash wheat), your chance of getting rewarded (your paycheck) is equal, roughly, to 0.  Controlling one's monsters is improbable and likely mythical.  Now, I'm not that great at RTSes, but I've played a healthy chunk of Warcraft III and I can say that sending out slow-moving monsters to do your bidding in LostMagic ain't as easy as in Warcraft.  And if you try to send your monsters off while capturing some punk, good luck wading into melee (at least at low levels) and withstand the rape long enough to get a spell off.

If this were turn-and-grid-based, most of the problems would be fixed.  But having to cast spells in the midst of combat 1) helps you appreciate how hard it is for wizards and sorcerers in RPG X, and 2) utterly fails when matched with the flawed game system.  It's entirely too easy to send your fragile little punk into whamming range, which leads to sorrow and death.

Maybe all the above would be forgivable if it was, at all, possible to appreciate the intricate and wonderful story.  The story is neither.  It's so bad (and so's the music) I could hear the dubsmen who appear in every badly-done anime dub doing their signature characters.  I havn't played a game that fell this short of my expectations since Xenosaga (contriversial statement!).

Okay, so.  Trade-in, get me some H Also L.  Which I know rocks, thanks to the demo.  Mmm, H to the L.  Also, Garry's Mod!

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Concerning Linguawesome

May. 17th, 2006 | 01:53 am
location: Circumlocutionville
mood: calmFunky
music: "Put the Lotion 'Round the World," DJ Dongle

What a healthy selection of Text Ye Realest.  Pleasant.  Now I can write house and minotaur just like they're supposed to be writ.  Huzzah!

So, uh.  Topic.  One could be smandy.  Let's think.  Hmm.  I portmaneau way too often, that's a topic.  Yep.  F'rex, "smandy."  Portmaneau of "smashing" and "handy."  "F'rex" is "for example," but that's relatively common.  "Smeg" isn't a portmaneau, it's short for "smegma," and smegma is diz gusting.

I can blame the following things for my current patterns of speech:
  • Buffy Who Is Prone To Ending Vampiric Unlife
  • Howard Phillips "Health Points" Lovecraft
  • Magic: The Gathering spelling stuff "ae"
  • The King James Bible, 'cuz ye olde anglican is neat.
  • Any and everyone who's ever bastardized anglican

In a way, I wonder if English is the easiest language of all to bastardize, or if this happens to everyone, and English only seems special to me acause, durrr, it's the one I was born with.  Nonetheless, thanks, English!  You're easy to bend over one knee and work over with a corrupting linguophallus.  ...huh, that went in a weird place.

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(no subject)

May. 15th, 2006 | 02:54 am
location: The Place
mood: contemplativeDoon' good
music: "Tuesday Afternoon"--Moody Blues

Howdees, Livejournal.

This would be Jacob X., aka Kriegsaffe No. 9. I never thought I'd end up here--for various reasons--and yet, here be I. What's the story behind that?

It began before what would become mankind had risen from the seas, blinking away salt water and gazing at the endless reaches beyond. Those endless millenia ago, the stars were strange, and danced across the night in patterns long forgotten. In dreams I've seen these nights. Things that are the size of men and equal in intellect, yet as far removed from man as man is from octopus, gazed at the night sky and saw the gods, who in those days dared to let themselves be seen.

I remember--they stared at the night sky and, feeling priveledged to behold the makers of the universe, gave them names and stories. Idana, the girl who stole the sun's light and brought it to the earth's heart; Mecceth, the Light-Leaping-Through-Mirrors, who left in his path a wake through the roiling foam of the Sea-That-Is-All-Things; Sejemend, who stoked the fires of the stars.

The gods were jubilant in those days, and did not object to their pryings; and so they were moulded in their...

Wait, no. I joined up with LiveJournal so that I may store my vast ammounts of crudely-edited Azumanga Daioh comic strips. Mm, AzuDai.

Anyhow. Yo.

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