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Posted on Jul 31, 2002, 5:59 PM from IP address 216.139.28.74
to once upon a time when I got in a fight with necroangel and stayed off the goth goose board for months. I'm avoiding Simon Magus because as an asshole he has recently been in rare form. I firmly believe in the expression "don't like it? don't post here!" Therefore, let the asshole reign supreme, I shall trouble him not. However, I continue to blar on greycat's board with Dark Aeon, your lovely self, et al. Thanks for missing me, babe.
Posted on Mar 15, 2001, 5:44 PM from IP address 63.70.8.254
poo on him. you don't have to get along with everyone. not that it matters. blar is down right now because of server problems. just avoid him and i'll tell him to only lay into the "not the regulars" with his assholed-ness.
Posted on Mar 15, 2001, 6:25 PM from IP address 4.35.137.67
if you go to http://www.thegia.com then click on "games" and select "playstation" titles, it will lead you to "vagrant story". if you select "screen shots" from there, you will be able to read the storyline of the whole damned game and help me with this pairing -- I don't think Al's interested anymore.
here's what I got so far:
A shaft of sunlight stabbed at Sydney's eyelids, filling the quiet blackness with a red glare. He groaned and squeezed them together tightly. With great effort he lifted one of the metal claws that served as hands to block out the light of the setting sun as he opened his eyes. He found himself alone at an encampment outside of Lea Monde. Following the agonizing throb that trailed upward from his abdomen with his eyes, he looked down where the wound that surely should have cost his life had been. Gone. He quietly gasped as he put his hand on his belly. He wondered about his back. Had that healed as well? If it did, he hoped that his blood-sin had grown back as well. Somehow he doubted it. As a comfort, he had a good idea who got him out of the crumbling city.
So Ashley Riot had succeeded; Lea Monde was no more. The riskbreaker had taken up the task Sydney had entrusted to him to and defeated Guildenstern. He closed his eyes and reached out with his mind, but could sense nothing. Had his powers diminished so? Was there nothing left? He couldn't help but wonder. His body must have healed of its own accord, unless someone else had seen to it.
He struggled to get up with a groan. So weak... Raising himself to a sitting position, he leaned back on his metal hands and concentrated harder, trying to scan his surroundings, to draw out a psychic presence. Was that..? No, it was gone. He must have imagined it.
From the deepening shadows of the surrounding trees came a rustle of leaves. Sydney's eyes snapped open, focusing on the source of the sound as a figure emerged from the darkness.
"How long have you been watching me?" he queried.
Ashley Riot appeared, carrying a brace of hare. "How are your wounds?" Sydney smirked. **Talkative as ever, I see.**
After a pause, Ashley approached and knelt down with his catch, drawing his knife. "I guess you feel better." he said.
"Barely," Sydney winced as he sat up. "Amazing. You were able to conceal yourself completely from me. I chose well when I selected you to be my successor."
Ignoring his words, Ashley turned his attention to skinning the rabbits and skewering the flesh with the sharpened branches he had brought back with him from the wood. Sydney gazed at the riskbreaker while he bent to his task, watching each shift of his sinews, the efficient movements of his hands. As he finished, Ashley cast a fire within the stone circle in the center of the clearing.
The smell of cooking flesh broke the reverie of Sydney's admiration. "I have not known of mortal hunger for years," he murmured.
Ashley looked up from what he was doing. "How can that be?"
Sydney simply chuckled at the question. Ashley regarded him with narrowed eyes. Sydney returned his gaze, a small smile playing upon his lips. "What's the matter, Riskbreaker? You should be able to see what's in my mind." Inwardly, Sydney hoped he would simply look into him and spare him the effort of searching for a segue to making his desires known. Perhaps Ashley did not know how to.
"Is this another of your games?"
"No, it is the simple truth; you have inherited my powers. You have already learned much of them, but there is more to it than that."
Sydney reached out with a steel claw and snatched a gobbet of sizzling meat from one of the skewers that leaned into the fire, nibbling gingerly at the hot morsel. "Now, for example; have you appetite?" he asked Ashley.
Ashley paused. He had not though about it; he had simply known that it had been long since he last ate, had hunted for food out of habit, but in truth... "No," he answered.
"You should eat regardless," Sydney continued, pulling apart his portion. "The Dark can sustain you, but only so much..." He indicated his own lean form with a languid gesture. Ashley studied it for a long moment before replying.
Posted on Dec 6, 2000, 4:43 PM from IP address 63.71.97.59
ever just feel like you don't really exist? I feel like my life is not my life; that I'm just occupying a space -- one I don't particularly belong in. I'm a bookmark; I'm just keeping this seat warm until the owner of this position, this life, returns. I often say to myself, "I'm just here. Perhaps too often because that's what I feel like.
I feel as though I'm not really real, like I'm no more than the words on this screen.
Perhaps because I'd rather not be anything but words on a screen. If I could just condense my existence into words, at least then they would be acknowledged by somebody. There's that little counter at the bottom of the page, the box which sympathizers can fill out if they wish. While everyone else is scrambling to think outside of the box, I'm desperately searching for a way to get in.
Posted on Dec 5, 2000, 5:43 PM from IP address 63.71.97.59
how laughable. this place is empty; this reply just my own voice echoing back at me through an empty cavern of text. throwing words into a hole in the hopes that the void will somehow be filled.
you don't deserve the company, anyway.
I wonder how others see me; if anything exists beyond the ascii smiles and asterix displays of affection.
my, aren't we feeling sorry for ourselves?
I don't even know why I care... I set myself apart from the people who surround me; the only ones I associate with now besides my boyfriend's friends (and then only superficially) are my coworkers. And if I had the chance I wouldn't associate with them, either. I used to have people I considered friends... I guess I'm just another one of those shallow women who dumped all their friends when they attached themselves to a man. The irony of it is that he didn't even ask me to, or want me to. It was my own decision. Sometimes phone numbers got lost in the chaos of moving from apartment to apartment. Other times, when I finally got the gumption to call, the number was disconnected, or changed. I know a couple of former friends who would be angry at my lack of contact, and just start a fight over the matter, so I haven't bothered. The longer I stay away, the greater the distance, until there's no point in trying to re-establish any sort of relationship.
It was my choice, so why do I feel empty? It's almost as if I've shut down. I don't feel real. I don't know why I'm here. I don't know why I'm so terrified of my own mortality when there's no point to my existence. It's not like my death would make an impact.
The ties to online friends are even more tenuous. I've easily ditched my former compadres on the fluff board; cast them aside like the receipts I've kept in my wallet for forgotten purchases. Jedah still occasionally calls, but there's nothing to say really. He's in his own little world, preoccupied with annoyances at his mother and brother, living his own lifestyle, which has no resemblance to mine.
I don't do anything anymore. I would go out less and less in the past until the only time I go to a club anymore is when Jake wants to go see a concert. Sunshine Blind came to town a few months ago, and I was going to go, but the night of came and I couldn't produce the momentum to go see one of my favorite bands.
I met another girl who lives in the same town as I do online, practically around the corner, but I've never gone to see her, never bothered to cement a new friendship.
I barely even complete my job at work. If I were my boss, I'd have me fired. I don't even know why I'm writing this. I don't know why I do anything.
Angsty, angsty me. Oh that this too too solid flesh would melt, thaw, and resolve itself into a dew. I don't care whether the everlasting hath turned his canon 'gainst self-slaughter, I just don't want to do it. I just want a fortune to fall into my lap, but I don't even bother to play the lottery.
And iwon.com's search engine sucks. besides, I don't want to give a bunch of strangers on the net my address and phone number...
worthless
I never do anything. When I come home, it's routine: kick off shoes, wash dishes, make bed, play video games until eleven, sleep. I haven't vacuumed in weeks. The laundry's piling up. My skin itches in unwashed clothing, so I twitch and make grotesque faces to keep from scratching. At least they're not damp with built-up sweat. They don't smell. After all, I don't really do enough of anything to get dirty.
At least I still wash daily. And hey, I've been brushing twice a day instead of just once. At least some part of my life is showing improvement.
The people who still talk to me now, my mother, Jedah, just get on my nerves. I wish they'd leave me alone. I don't know if my problem is being alone or not being alone enough. I bicker and fuss with Jake every day. We hardly get along.
I should just be alone.
I stay because the games aren't mine. I stay because I really have very few material possession, other than the books I haven't read. My japanese lesson texts, the manga in kanji I haven't learned to read yet.
Part of me dreams of going to Japan without speaking a word of Japanese, so that I might never make personal contact. So I could live in my longed-for void. The truth is, about as many Japanese speak English as Americans speak French. My only problem would be income. I guess I'll keep working at this crappy job. Until I get fired.
Sometimes Jake tells me that I need to get ahold of my old friends, but I think he's figured out that it's futile.
They thought I was stupid anyway. I was the goofball. I could be turned to when any question of grammar or history came up, but I am ultimately an overeducated airhead. A font of useless knowledge. I would lock my keys in the car while it was running. I could babble pure nonsense for hours -- most of them were potheads and speed freaks, so I was basically on their level without the drugs. But when they were straight I would feel foolish; I could see that I was wearing their patience thin.
People drift in and out of each other's lives. Nothing is permanent. You move from grammar school to middle school to high school to college to job to job to job. You move from apartment to apartment. After so many moves, how is anything permanent? What's the point of establishing ties doomed to break?
Why don't I leave Jacob? I've left everyone else. All I want is solitude, to float freely on the ether, to be sure that no one will miss me when I am gone. That no one will notice if I was dead.
I won't die. I'm too much of a coward to die. I won't die until one of my abscessed teeth spreads the infection to my jaw, then my skull, then my brain. Until my gall bladder becomes so distended with stones that it bursts. I'll die deep in debt at some hospital in a state of senility, unrecognizable from the vestigial beauty I still possess now. My ill-fated, eroding youth, disintegrating even as we speak.
I was beautiful once, for a few months. I was working at a job within walking distance; a brisk walk every seven o'clock in the morning. My weight went down to 155 lbs and my self-esteem soared. I lost my job, gained twenty-five pounds, and now I spend an hour at eight o'clock every morning driving the dreary commute to my new job; pays more, while I still have it. As you can see, instead of working I waste my life on the internet, waiting for a miracle to happen, waiting for nothing to happen. Taking silly IQ tests which score me "above average" but nowhere near the the "genius" mark, and then recommend study sources that I ignore for achieving the excellence they presume I'm capable of.
It's always been that way. I feel like I'm back in school. I'm being sent to this place where I don't identify with anybody, doing thankless dead-end paperwork under a high-pressure deadline, just like the homework I was assigned in the classes I didn't want to attend, my guidance counselors telling me that I've got so much potential if I'd only live up to it. Somehow my life has degenerated -- from cradle to grave, they say. You come into the world and leave the world in diapers. I was an adult once, around the same time I was pretty, and now I'm back in high school.
I should just be grateful that I had a good life once. Some people never get to a point where they're satisfied with their existence.
College was fun. My old job, the one I walked to, was fun. Playing musical roommates and having junkie neighbors and losing jobs tends to put a wrinkle in such things, though. Hikes in the rent. Hikes in the price of gas. Running a red queen's race -- as fast as you can to stay in the same place. Truer words never spoken.
What am I bitching about? There are people who would kill to live like I do. I've got a roof over my head, shoes on my feet, I make $30,000 dollars a year, I go home from work and play video games all night. I'm not starving -- far from it, I'm struggling to keep my weight down. Well fed, gainfully employed -- I've even got medical insurance if I'd use it. I need to go to a doctor. I haven't had a pap smear. I haven't had a physical. I've got gallstones. My birth control is doing weird things to my body. I want undergo gender reassignment...
Sometimes I wonder if my gender issues have more to do with my general depression and discontent than any actual dysphoria. When I was happy for that brief while I never thought about it. Now I obsess about it.
Trouble is, the symptoms for many cases of MTF transsexualism are more obvious and pronounced -- the testosterone wreaks havoc on the patient's body. The cases of FTM I've studied, all two of them, were far more subtle, much more difficult to discern. We're taught, those of us born with female bodies, to put up with discontentment. Both of the cases I researched did not pursue reassignment until middle age -- late thirties, early forties, after jobs and divorces and kids.
As long as it distracts me from my phantoms.
I guess I don't want to see a doctor because she or he might tell me that I'm really fine, that my brain is as female as the rest of me, that I just need to eat right and get exercise.
I dreamt that I smoked a cigarette the other night. I don't smoke. I tried when I was about twelve -- it made me cough, so I quit. I didn't quit because of the coughing, I quit because the other children teased me for not being able to inhale. Now I don't smoke because I'm too aware of my addictive compulsions, whether they're real or imagined. Now I don't smoke because of cancer. Now I don't smoke because legislation prohibits smoking indoors in just about every office, restaurant, bar, nightclub and theatre, and most landlords don't look upon it too kindly either. Now I don't smoke because I live in a liberal region where people will walk up to you and accuse you of trying to poison their air with your smoke.
I could use a cigarette right now, though.
Jesus, I've written a novel.
Posted on Dec 8, 2000, 5:58 PM from IP address 63.71.97.59
I go to school, I come home, I go to work, I go to bed.
I have no friends except for the few people I talk to on-line and daniel. even my contact with daniel is more over the phone than anything else.
Most days I just say curled up in my room reading some of the stories I've got saved on my computer and playing music very loudly or sit in my living room, watch brainless tv and work on my crocheting.
My mother keeps teaching me new crafts to try to get me to do something besides just sit around my house. I've been making blankets out of sheer bordom. anyone want a hand made blanket?
My doctor just keeps prescribing me more and more meds for depression and they work for a little while and then i'm back where I started from.
Shit. I don't know what else to say.
Posted on Dec 12, 2000, 5:29 AM from IP address 12.91.35.71
god, I hate my job. I hate it even more now that they made me go on this stupid trip to LA. Did you know I got violently ill the first day I was there and I still haven't recovered yet? Plus I'm behind on all my work.
Fuckers.
I'm really trying now. I'm trying to at least fake a little optimism -- as Shakespeare said in Hamlet, "assume a virtue, if you have it not". But Jesus, this job just sucks!
Posted on Dec 13, 2000, 2:49 PM from IP address 63.71.97.59
this is my sophmore try at writing a fan-fic and my first try EVER at a weiss story. It is NO WHERE near completed.
Those damn dreams again. Every single night; dreaming about the same thing. Yohji wasn’t sure how much more he could take of this. He was straight damnit. He didn’t like boys. He didn’t like boys in his dreams and he definitely didn’t like dreaming about a certain red head with violet eyes doing those things to him. Raking his fingernails down his chest, letting his callused fingers pinch at sensitive areas. A warm mouth taking him in and sucking him deep.
“Shit” Yohji sat up in his bed. This was getting to be too much. All this fantasying about Aya was starting to distract him. It was even starting to intrude on his pursuit of a few very lovely females that he had met the night before.
Yohji rolled over and fumbled on the nightstand for his cigarettes. Sucking the pungent smoke in he leaned over and peered out his window.
This just wasn’t fair. One of those girls last night was more than ready to go home with him but when she started to kiss him all he could think about was that in his dreams this felt so much better.
He had to drink himself into oblivion to get that idea out of his head. He smirked a little bit. That definitely explained the pounding headache he had. And that would also explain why he ended up alone in his bed. Drinking that heavily had an adverse effect on certain parts of his anatomy.
Another sigh worked its way out of his throat “I don’t think I could have gotten it up last night if I tried”
“What was that Yohji?”
Yohji jumped at hearing the voice.
“um..err..nothing.” He stammered. “Did I just say that out loud?”
“Yes you did.” Ken replied as he poked his head into the doorway. “What is the great ladies man having problems pleasing the females?”
Yohji turned an unbecoming shade of red at hearing that. “Uh no. not..um..really. Just had too much to drink last night.”
“Ahh.” Replied Ken. “Then that would explain you rattling around and falling up the stairs last night.”
Hearing that Yohji blushed even harder. He turned to give Ken a death glare. “Ken I’ve got a hang over, I’m over tired and I’m not in the mood to hear what kind of idiot I’ve made out of myself.”
Ken just stood there with a smirk on his face.
“Will you just leave please!” Yohji growled that last bit. What in the hell was the boy grinning like that for. He looked like the cat the old lady had after the woman had scratched it into a fit of kitty orgasm.
“Nope”
“Why the hell not! Shit!” In trying to figure out what Ken wanted he had forgotten about his cigarette. It had burned all the way down the filter and was now in the process of burning his fingers.
“They need you down in the shop Yohji. I’ve got a soccer practice to coach at.”
He sighed mentally. He should have remembered that. Ken always had soccer practice for his little demons on Monday afternoons. He would of remembered it too if it wasn’t for the fact that those dreams were starting to fuck with his sleep schedule and send him into sleep depravation and the fact that he was completely hung over. Hell it felt like Omi was shooting off some of his projectiles inside his head.
“Allright KenKen.” Yohji kept his grin at the sight of Ken grimacing at his nickname hidden. “Just give me ten minutes to finish waking up and hop in a shower. I’ll be down to help then.”
Ken muttered something under his breath and went back downstairs. Proably to warn the others that Yohji was –not- in a good mood.
Posted on Nov 30, 2000, 10:47 PM from IP address 12.91.35.150
well I didn't plan on it going that way. actuly this is going to turn out having yohji boinking aya....but I dunno. maybe we could fit ken in there somewhere.
I'll try to get more of it written today.
Posted on Dec 2, 2000, 5:48 AM from IP address 12.91.37.99
Yohji gave another sigh at the sight of Ken’s retreating back. This day was not going very well. He stood up and headed down the hall to the bathroom.
Shower. Showers were good things. Of course he had been taking a lot of them lately. Cold showers. Not that it ever helped. Yojhi wondered who ever came up with the asinine notion that a cold shower ever helped to ease sexual frustration. All a cold shower ever did for him was make him cold and get his hair all knotted up.
He was doing it again. Standing around and daydreaming when he should be getting up and getting in the aforementioned shower. Yohji yawned and began to strip. He had passed out the night before he could change out of his ‘look at my tight ass’ pants. While those pants might be good at getting sexy little things to follow him wherever he went, they were a definite bitch to get out of while hung over. Freeing himself from the stupid things he climbed up into the shower and turned the water up as hot as he could stand it.
‘Gads that feels good’. The hot water was beating down on him, loosening up all the knotted muscles in his back and his neck.
Posted on Dec 2, 2000, 11:32 PM from IP address 12.91.35.36
that's the joy of having my own private forum all to myself.
on angels:
one of my observations of tha amorality of angels stems from the book of Genesis, specifially the story of Noah's Ark. As the legend goes, God had reason to regret his creation, and so he decided to eliminate it, wash it away in a great flood. But what was his reason for this regret theat meant the annhilation of life on earth?
There's a brief forward to this which explains it, and this also has helped formulate my opinion on the subject of angels. Angels had been coming down to the earth and helping themselves to the pleasures of mortal flesh. The offspring that resulted these divine trysts were monstrosities. Although an angel in my book would be a certified hottie, I doubt that there was any consent involved. And when you think about it in terms of a celestial evolutionary scale, an angel pairing with a human would be the mortal equivalent of fucking a dog, don't you think? No wonder the kids were freaks.
Anyway, did these errant seraphim receive any measure of censure for their indiscretions? No, the divine lord's solution was to eliminate the humans and their demi-human fuck trophies. Neither do we find any reports of paternal grief on the part of the celestial parents for their doomed spawn, no indication of objection to God's decreee whatsoever. Considering that there was no apparent concern on the angels' part, beyond conception, for their progeny, it must be concluded that these holy spirits simply didn't care.
Posted on Nov 28, 2000, 1:12 PM from IP address 63.71.97.208
