Love is naught but a futile attempt to give them everything they want so they would never know anything else.

nothing that came after you was ever real
nothing that came after you was ever true

it was all a dream, living a dream
yet not

my life died with you, my fire with that day's
good-bye

nothing is ever real anymore
nor true
not really anyway

when will I ever be reborn?
when will you let me move on?
when will I let myself
forget you

let you go
let you go
leave you alone
so that you
can leave and go
leave and go
leave and go
into the snow

i'm frozen
help me.
melt the ice away, free me from this case
free me from the memory of you

i'm only half-alive;
the other half of me is still with you

thinks it's just awesome to be shit-tired but kept up by pain, really! *thumb up*

I feel like writing. I just don't know what. Sooo... I guess I will write about the easiest thing there is to write about; one's life. Even those of us who generally have a hard time writing about themselves can write about their lives with no real problem. At least I can. Because you see, writing about one's life doesn't really require much aside from description and narration of things that either have taken or are taking place. There is nothing to invent, no complicated theories to be presented, no debate to be had, and there is nothing on the line. All one has to do is grab a pen, paper, a laptop or a keyboard and... you guessed it! Write.

James has made me develop an intense liking for writing, I realised a few moments ago. I actually think he's made me somewhat addicted to it, to life, to living it. For example the main reason I came into this Burger King this early evening was to be near people, to hear the noise, to experience what he often describes in his stories, what I believe he himself experienced in his life. Society. Noises, laughter, lights, movement, steps, the sound of coins in the register, the experience of being part of the world. Love the world, every last bit of it, love the people in it, of every walk of the planet; the city lights, the cars and the buildings; oh, the buildings are certainly different now, Joyce.

I wonder what kind of story you would write were you alive this day and age. Do you think you would have written the exact same ones, just with modern terms in place of the ones that existed in your time? Would Emily have died in a car crash instead of being hit by the train? Or would everything; your entire work; have been completely different? I don't know, and as much as I would love to be able to know, I'm pretty sure it's better off like this.
Must remind myself to carry Dubliners around... I feel like always having it nearby.


written on a paper napkin

The snow came down in small, slow-falling flakes, like a white, moving curtain. Although gentle, it was abundant, and veiled things both near and far. It descended upon this plateau, making the yards more and more nebulous until there was nothing but swirling white. It fell as if to the tinkling melody of a music box about the death knight who stood there looking down the white emptiness, plate boots buried to the ankle in snow. The long, midnight blue cape she wore shifted to an occasional, yet-gentle gust that would come surreptitiously and leave almost unnoticed. It foresaw, however, a worsening storm. The death knight had caught this a while ago, with the ease of someone native to a land who catches the scent of rain before a drop falls. Icecrown was home to her.

A snow storm would not hinder her, but damn if it was pleasant. She'd have to move faster than anticipated if the ground she'd planned for today was to be covered.

Tethenar had gone missing a week ago. Rather—been assumed dead, his unit overrun by Scourge at the foot of the Citadel. No body had been found, Lady Ravenya had told her... Along with how she couldn't bring herself to hope. That he was not dead. To believe, and be heartbroken in the end. To wait, and wait forever.

Anya understood that, didn't question it. She just didn't share the belief.

Drakefire was alive. Somewhere. Somehow. He was much too stubborn, inexorable thick skull. Relentless, self-willed. Indeed, he was almost unmanageable. Vibrant, alert, like a glowing meteor surging across the sky. There was too much...pride in him for it to end like that. He wouldn't have let himself succumb that way. He'd have sneered at it.

As the heavy boots sunk into the snow step after step, Anya began to retrace in her mind the places she'd been to since day one. She'd started with the Citadel's surroundings, moving out in a gradual arch; Malykriss, Corp'rethar, the Conflagration. It had proven especially difficult to scout the latter, what with the...unfathomable number of Scourge. It was so easy to be spotted; and whenever that happened, the battle would be long and tiering, ghoul after skeleton after wyrm after ghoul, a dark, grotesque dance between a lone figure with a sword and a myriad of screeching, nightmarish beings. The wyrms would roar above and blow their frosty breaths, the once-magnificent dragons now reduced to twisted memories caged in bones.

To think that those were the very grounds she once walked. Among them, for them, one with them. For them to turn against her now, like this...the irony was too bittersweet to even comprehend.


Anya brought down Edge of Ruin's sharp talons into the head of a ghoul at the same time as she glanced to the side, towards the Quarry. This was the place she'd planned to search, today. There was as much chance Drakefire would be here as anywhere else on Azeroth by now, but that wasn't a thought that made her halt for a second. She'd search Icecrown. If she had to, she'd search the earth.

Pulling Edge of Ruin out without so much as a passing glance to the inert creature who dropped with a stifled sound to the snow, she strode uphill.

The death knight stepped through the doorway, the wooden floorboards creaked under her feet. She looked up into the tiny, long-since abandoned shack, at the splintered beams of its dark ceiling and its tilted walls. She'd found her way here to the Plaguelands but a day ago. She'd wanted...nay, had to be alone.

Placing the large axe down by the door, she made her way to the centre of the room. She wore armour still, a simple platemail on the chest, dreadplate legguards and gauntlets, bulky Titansteel boots. Her face was downcast and the long white strands of her hair framed the softly curved, snowy cheeks, and fell freely down her shoulders. Her glowing blue eyes had a certain serenity to them, they seemed...contemplative.

Two days ago, she'd witnessed things she wished she hadn't, made aware of things she wished she had not. The Order had captured and imprisoned a former member, and he'd been beaten and tortured repeatedly, defenceless, innocent of crimes past, crimes he'd had no fault over. By a pair of cruel, deranged Eburi. For their savage amusement; for a laugh; a scapegoat to their issues whatever they may be.

In slow steps, Anya made her way to the small, crooked window, the heavy boots making deep yet gentle thuds against the wood. She stood before it, her face impassive as she stared out into the plagued lands. No doubt beyond salvation by now.

Her finely chiselled profile was outlined against the endlessly cloudy, brownish red skies beyond the lustreless glass.

She'd spoken against it, done so loud and clear. Threatened that if he be harmed again she would act. She wondered now, if when she returned to Silvermoon she'd find him in worse shape than she'd last seen him, sitting on the floor of a cell, beaten up like a dog. Perhaps he would be dead, murdered in dark, angry sadism.

The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood, her hands moved swiftly to gently hold her own elbows, and her shoulders squeezed in.

Something about the savagery of it made it almost like back in the days of the war. A helpless, outnumbered Orc beaten by haughty elves.

How had it been allowed and condoned. Anya could not comprehend, wrap her mind around it. Taian said he hadn't...but. He hadn't done anything to stop it either—hadn't they been good friends? Not only that...The ones responsible for it were of high standing in the Order. There was nothing she could do, not really. Especially not now; now that she no longer held an officer's privileges.

Was this what they had turned into? Or had they always been this way? Nay, she remembered even now. She could vividly recall the lessons in compassion and respect. The Knight-Lord had taught her himself.

He'd been like a shining, moving source of Light, back then. Unwavering. Unshakeable. He'd changed.

And so, it seemed..had the Order. No doubt, perhaps...if its Father had.

It was beyond her. He was beyond her.

Anya withdrew from the window, her face lowering and her gaze going to the floor as she exhaled into the stale air, the breath a ghostly whisper in the silence.

Perhaps it was again time for change...

Flavia

hey amy :):)

hope ur ok!
11:22pmAmy

heyy

yeah im okay
11:25pmAmy

hows boston today
11:25pmFlavia

it was hot during the day!

now its coooold
11:25pmAmy

yeah same with up here

its freezing
11:31pmAmy

did you get my text last night
11:36pmFlavia

hm no...

:(:(
11:39pmAmy

me and emily next door were wondering how youd feel about switching rooms with her because we're always together and have the same schedule and stuff and it would be much easier. we'd still be next door to eachother and stuff and her roommate is really nice.
11:44pmFlavia

im sorry i dont want to switch rooms
11:45pmAmy

what if i moved into her room so you wouldnt have to move?
11:46pmFlavia

who is her roommate?
11:46pmAmy

zhanna
11:46pmFlavia

what does she think about the switch?
11:47pmAmy

im not sure..i know zhanna already brought it up to her once though
11:47pmFlavia

you mean...zhanna suggested it?
11:47pmAmy

yea
11:47pmFlavia

well...

have I met zhanna?

is she someone you hang out with?
11:48pmAmy

i dont hang out with her i dont really know her but emily said shes really nice
11:50pmFlavia

i dont know... we get along well, im scared i will have problems :/:/
11:54pmAmy

well me and emily are on the same schedule and it would be a lot easier on me to live with her
Today
12:02amFlavia

i cant commit to anything before knowing who this zhanna is im sorry
12:04amAmy

she lives in 324, maybe she will be there this weekend, if you wanna introduce yourself and get to know her
12:05amFlavia

ok

do you know when we will have to re-apply for housing?

is it 6 months in?
12:06amAmy

what do you mean?
12:06amFlavia

I mean...

when we filled out the housing forms

how long is it "valid" for?

the whole 4 years?
12:08amAmy

i think its only a year, they only offer housing to freshman and sophmores, after that you need to get an appartment and even some freshman or sophomore don't get housing
12:10amFlavia

ah k. well...this is a bit shocking so I will have to think about it :):)

hope that's ok
2:38pmFlavia

hey~ when will u be coming back?
2:38pmAmy

tomorrow at some point
8:23pmFlavia

hey amy. I talked to the RA about it today. she thinks there's no real need to switch rooms...what do you think?
8:24pmAmy

i think id be a lot happier if i did

i havent slept well at all since ive lived there

because we're on such different schedules.
8:25pmFlavia

where is this coming from? we almost always go to bed at the same time
8:26pmAmy

not really.
8:26pmFlavia

why didn't you talk to me about this? why are you just letting it blow up in my face like this? this is mean of you
8:27pmAmy

its nothing against you, im not trying to be rude.
8:28pmFlavia

if your roommate does something you don't like...you're supposed to tell them

it's not just your life that this is affecting
8:29pmAmy

i didnt think you would really mind..
8:35pmAmy

im used to a totally different life. at home i always have tons of friends over, w

we're loud and crazy and fun.

stolen from chinacup !

Am I more boyish or girlish?

YOUR BOY SIDE:

[X] you love hoodies
[X] you love jeans
[  ] dogs are better than cats
[X] it's hilarious when people get hurt and fall
[X] you've played with/against boys on a team
[  ] shopping is torture
[  ] sad movies suck
[  ] you own a XBOX,
[X] you played with Hot Wheels as a little kid
[  ] at some point in life you wanted to be a firefighter
[X] you owned a DS PS2 or Sega
[X] you used to be obsessed with Power Rangers
[X] you watch sports on TV
[X] gory movies are cool
[  ] you used to go to your dad for advice
[  ] you have at least 1 trophy of a sport
[X] You used to play Yu-Gi-Oh/Pokemon
[X] baggy sweat pants are nice to wear
[X] it's kind of weird to have sleepovers with a bunch of people
[X] green, black, red, blue, or silver are one of your favorite colors
[X] you love to go crazy and not care what other people think
[X] sports are fun
[X] you sometimes talk with food in your mouth
[  ] you sleep at night with your socks on
[X] you have fished at least once

TOTAL= 17

YOUR GIRL SIDE

[X] you like to shop
[  ] you wear eyeliner
[  ] you wear the color pink
[  ] you go to your mom for advice
[  ] you consider cheerleading a sport
[  ] you hate wearing all black
[  ] you like going to the mall
[  ] you like getting manicures and/or pedicures
[  ] you like wearing jewelery
[  ] you cried watching The Notebook
[  ] skirts are a big parts of your wardrobe
[  ] shopping is one of your favorite hobbies
[  ] you don't like the movie Star Wars
[  ] you are/were in gymnastics
[X] it takes you around one hour to shower and get dressed
[  ] you smile a lot more than you should
[  ] you have more than 10 pairs of shoes
[X] you care about what you look like majority of the time
[  ] you like wearing dresses
[X] you like wearing body spray/deodorant
[  ] you like high heel shoes
[X] you used to play with dolls as a kid
[  ] you like putting makeup on others
[  ] you like being the star of almost everything

TOTAL: 5

Boy - 17
Girl - 5

I just want to say.

that.

I ♥ my laptop.



having said that...

sleepless night of school work, here comes I.

"did you see that rain earlier? It was pouring!" something I overheard a woman say to another on the way back home.

WELL, I WAS IN THAT RAIN, MWAHR.
chinacup and I were eating outside one of the dormitories when TORRENTIAL RAIN STARTED TO POUR.
fun times, people came out to see, someone went like "is that snow?", lolness. no joke, the wind was whipping that rain up like cream.

then came the brilliant idea to, well, run into the awesomeness.

bloody freezing and screaming like fools we ran in the rain. baoho.


day was weird, I skipped one class because I'm a fool.

now I am going to try and solo a few mobs to get those last 500 points of Argent Crusade reputation.

First things first, fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.



Lost my charger.
Lost the receipt to return a 60$ book.
Lost my Student ID.
Nearly lost my glue stick.
Nearly lost the small cushion that goes in the bottom on the inside of my camera case.
Lost my ruler just now, which I need for homework that is due tomorrow.
The photos I meticulously edited on Photoshop came out like shit because apparently the resolution did not match the store's printer's resolution. There goes $7.39.

Ordered a new charger through eBay.
According to the tracking website, it was attempted to be delivered today. Had an "undeliverable address". Is being sent back to the addressee.

I need a cellphone to:
find a job;
find a job;
I'm poor;
find a job;
I keep throwing money away due to being a retarded head-in-the-clouds fuck;
communicate.

Bloody fuck.

I'm having such a humongous storage problem, been having it rather. Ever since moved in here.
Storage (or lack thereof) has been an issue for way too long, it was an issue pretty much the entire last year whilst I was living alone.
Furniture costs money, and when one has little to spare it starts dropping to the bottom of the list of priorities...

Such is the case now, but God am I going nuts over it.

Everything is a mess, everything is everywhere, books papers art supplies clothes suitcases, the only things that stay in the same place are the notebook, the headphones base and a few books which I've placed on top of the small plastic shelf I bought for 18$.
Everything else constantly shifts location; when I wake up I put everything onto the bed, when I go to sleep I throw it on the floor.
Just marvelous, really.

I'd like to buy some more storage but I don't even know what to get or where to put it, it's a real problem really.

Then there's the money issue...the fact that I don't have a job yet. Gah.

Anya turned the knob and pushed the door open slowly, almost carefully. Her expression was blank as she peered inside, her gaze empty as it surveyed the dark room. It looked, she noticed mutely, the same it had the first and only other time she had come here. Unused.

She stepped forth, lightly, walking over to a window, where she stood, facing the estate's dark grounds. Indeed, it seemed almost somber in the dead of night, different from how it looked splendorous in daylight. Tonight, the full moon shown.

She raised her face to it, the cool light reflecting against stark white skin and making it luminescent in the dark. Her eyes had that unreadable look to them, when her mind locked itself away so deep and far that it became unreachable. She stared at the moon with a sense of curious, quiet wonder, like seeing it for the first time.

Quietly still, she lowered her head, and turned around, a black shadow of her figure on the floor, framed by the window. She looked up vacantly, almost dejectedly, eyes finding the bed on the other side. She'd not lit the room—the eyes of an elf could see when others' could not—and barely made a sound—the relentless training she'd received had expanded what had already been her race's innate subtlety. And yet, those reasons, while true, did not cover all of it.

She wanted her presence in this house to be nonexistent.

Quietly, she made her way to the bed, crouching on one knee to reach underneath; this was the only reason she was here. He'd ordered it and she would comply, unquestionably, wordlessly.

Fingers fumbled under the bed and wrapped themselves around what felt like a thick, leathery handle. Unflinching, eyes focused sternly ahead, she brought the object out from its concealed location. She held it still and for a moment kept looking straight, until she glanced down at it.

And stared at it for a long moment.

Her other hand reached down and touched the straps, musing for a moment at how something that looked so feeble could cause as much pain as she knew it could. She'd never used one on anyone, at least not as far as she could recall, and no one had ever used it on her. The tortures she'd done had involved, it seemed, mostly her own limbs, and at most, weapons. It had always felt. . .better somehow.

But she knew enough about the other kinds of things that could be done. She'd heard vivid descriptions from others, of what they had done and how, of how their victims had reacted. . .how they'd screamed. She recalled, still, the often gloating smirk on their faces as they related these events.

She'd been a part of them, then, these people who felt elated at the torture of others. Heartless, merciless empty shells. Pain and suffering, hatred and savagery; the only things known to them then, the only things they'd been made to feel. It had been a dark, never-ending nightmare. It still felt so real. Like it had not truly ended yet, like the darkness had not quite gone; the smothered fear, the muffled despair, the silent screams. For her, not much had changed.

So. . .this was what she was to use on herself.

Anya blinked, widened her eyes, throwing the object aside, sending it sliding across the floor. By the time it reached a wall and came to a stop, she had pulled her knees to her chest and now sat on the floor, her face hidden away, her hands on each side of her head.

She wasn't dead.

She was weak, she'd never been dead, never been reborn, remade, into something greater, stronger, something above and beyond sin; she was no longer the embodiment of cold, distant judgment, no longer saw the world from a different plane, one that was separate and built upon its own laws, one that need not be affected by the concerns of the living, one that was above it all. . .but now she was instead within its very core; she'd been thrown into it, her wings cut and she had fallen. . .fallen into a petty universe where things unimportant mattered, where people's mind always clung to the past, where their heart allowed itself to be swayed by thoughts and feelings, where she would be flawed.

A groan of sorrow and agony escaped clenched teeth.

She hated this, hated it, hated it. . .

—If it could only be. . .fixed?

Tentatively, her right hand moved up and back over her shoulder, fingers flexing almost shyly. . .and she took the hilt of the greatsword in her grip, and in a smooth upward movement drew the blade slowly in its full extent. The blade was swung forth sharply, and was held aloft next to her, hovering an inch above the floor.

Anya stared ahead silently, her expression unreadable, yet a sense of recklessness now seeped from her gaze.

She raised the sword to her cheek with the gentleness someone would bring a flower to caress a loved one's face. Tilting her head slightly, she pressed the sharp edge of the blade to her skin, just enough to leave in its wake a fine crimson line. With the same impeccable precision the blade was moved away, and she continued to stare ahead, motionless like nothing had happened.

Until she swung the sword around in a rapid movement and pointed its directly at the centre of her chest. Arms outstretched in order to keep the sword in place, one hand barely reaching the hilt while the other placed itself against the flat side of the blade, she simply stared down, falling motionless once more.

The only thing keeping the sharp edge from breaking flesh was the plate chest piece of the uniform she still wore. And even so, should she apply any more pressure to it. . .she knew the sword was strong enough, she was strong enough, as long as her will—

She dropped the blade; the loud clank echoed within the walls of the room. A wide, sad smile had crept upon her lips, bordering dementia. As she stared at the fallen weapon in resigned despair, it was clear she'd come upon the realisation that she was, in the end, powerless. She could not go further even if she had wanted to. That weapon would not harm her; in any way it might, but not fatally. Not by her choice, not even by the runeblade's; by his.

His was the final word when it came to what she could do; not only to others, but to her own life and self.
She was bound by him and to him like a willing prisoner to their ball and chain.

Mutely, she began to strip herself of her armour.

Piece after piece dropped to the floor until it was just the bandage dressing and the plated leggings and boots.

She raised her face, seriousness upon it. And then, further lifting her chin, reached back over the shoulder and onto the shoulder blade, fingers diving in between the bandages, and pulling back against skin.

As she rode through Eversong Woods at full speed, her heart raced as the undead steed carried her deeper into the quiet forest. A million thoughts and feelings swirled in her mind, like wind gusting in simultaneous directions, sensations she'd never felt before washed over her like a fearless, relentless tide. The leaves in the canopies of the trees beneath the clear, starry sky seemed strange, their rustling more vivid, alive, its sound sharper, deeper, as if it could take over the whole world if it wished.

The wind picked up at her hair as the steed came to a sharp curve, throwing long white strands dancing into the air. Tugging at the reins, she urged the charger forward, eyes focused on the road ahead, blue spotlights glowing unnaturally in the scenery of a woodland. Even the wind, the moisture of the air -- the way it flowed onto her -- felt more real, more present, more there. She could hear the grass blades being crushed beneath the steed's galloping hooves, feel the heaving of the beast's broad barrel beneath her legs as it simulated a living, breathing horse like those who no longer lived did.

She now wondered how it had accepted her, how it had come her way just after it had been mercilessly slain and twisted into undeath, offered its muzzle for caress even if it now was nothing but a warped, phantasmagorical form of the robust, elegant creature it had been; how it could have treated her so equally all this time, she who was not dead like it.

The thought struck her with such force that she had to hold tight onto the reins, having almost physically recoiled off of the horse. Steadying herself she looked down the horse's strong neck but through it rather than at it, the whirlwind carrying her away from where her thoughts had just been. The whirlwind now landed her before him in her mind, the things he had said, the things she had said while in front of him; it all felt so alien, and she couldn't bring herself to believe that she had acted that way, allowed him to see tears that had fallen oh-so-freely--

Whipped up once more, she halted the horse before a stream and dismounted; effortless, cloak rustling in the motion, feet meeting the soft ground after the elegant leap, like the knight she was. Yes, she was a knight, and so she had been for as long as. . .she could remember.

Resolute steps brought her closer to the stream as the charger behind her dismissed itself into swirling dark mist that slowly faded into thin air.  Plated boots found ground by the water's bank, and the snow-white, doll-like face lowered itself to look at the clear, flowing stream.  In silence, she stood there, in her white uniform and long, dark cape caught in the same breeze that her hair drifted in, the white barks and golden leaves serving as background to the knight, and it was a solemn, majestic sight.

What she lived through was still as much of a blur as it had been when the day had begun. She still did not know who she was, where she had come from, what she had done up to that point. . .that one point of no return on that day--

She blinked her eyes, heart leaping. Her head swayed from the sudden rush of blood brought by the inevitable shock of remembrance. It had not been much -- no faces, no names, no reasons; and yet it had been enough to deepen her breathing, her eyes slightly wide as they stared, frozen, at the other side of the stream.  Everything else came crashing down -- all the thoughts, feelings and sensations that had been ploughing relentlessly since the moment the revelation had been made --, making no more sense now than it had, but no longer aloft, no longer swirling in chaos, no longer a whirlwind but instead fallen leaves on a dusty floor. It had all been too much.

She attempted to steady herself as she had begun to stumble to the ground, managing to only fall on one knee. She was once again staring at the stream, unflinching and unblinking.  Her mind emptied itself completely as if of its own accord.

So yeah, something kind of amusing happened on Sunday, and I want to immortalise it in journal form for the lols.

Sometime last week I got a call from two friends asking if I wanted go to a play with them, a play directed by my former Philosophy teacher. I hadn't seen him in some three years, he's kind of...my all-time favourite teacher. One of the things I'd been meaning to do here was meet him again.

So Sunday arrived, received a call from my friends around 19:00 (play was at 20:30) saying we had to hurry to be there on time. Our goal was to arrive there at 20:00, because seats were limited. We agreed that they'd pick me up. . . .Well, long story short, they only arrived to pick me up past 20:30. *grin*

By the time we got to the theatre, there was no one left outside and the doors of the courtyard were locked.
After a while of wandering, wondering, angsting...trying to get someone to open the door for us, we decided to jump the courtyard's wall+fence and see if the theatre's actual door was open.

It wasn't. Which left us locked in both directions.

There were some benches; so we sat there for something over an hour. It was cold and drizzling. We talked about random things, had even more random laughs...Waiting for the play to end. We could hear it through the door, at least occasional words or yells. We could also peek inside through these minuscule slivers in the middle of the doors. Too small to see anything much. At some point we took my friend's scarf and placed it on top of our heads, from one head to the other...must've looked hilarious. I know my friend did, whenever I looked to the side and saw him.

After what seemed like forever, we ended up trying another door, one of the building on the other side of the courtyard, and that one was open. My friend and I went there and came back out to the courtyard, then my other friend decided to go inside. While he was there, someone locked the door. So we were now stuck in the courtyard while one of us was locked outside!

I say 'stuck' but it's not really stuck, heh. It was viable to climb out.

Soooo, our friend returns -- on the other side of the fence -- and we end up deciding to climb out.

Some five minutes later the play ends.

Would've been funny to just be sitting there in front of the door when they opened, though. Would've been a total "! how the fuck can these three be here?"...

My Philosophy teacher was the first to come out; he was to unlock the fence for the guests. (The theatre wasn't grand, as you can prolly tell.) He gave us his classic disappointed/pissed look.. :| Once the courtyard had emptied pretty much, he came out again and we could finally speak.

いらっしゃいませ~

This is a Friends-only journal for:

- BJD photos;
- writing;
- etc.

Comment for add.