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Feb. 24th, 2011 | 08:41 pm

And you all loathed that love so. A tragic thing indeed, but who ever said you must be unhappy now? Some of you have tasted contentment, why do you let it go with a solemn wave now?

Aprhodite, have you grown lazier~? I believe you have much work here.

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(no subject)

Feb. 1st, 2011 | 12:13 am

And perhaps this is to be the new year.

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021 ❁

Dec. 17th, 2010 | 07:56 pm

We are forgetting things, I find. Or perhaps it is just I who is doing the forgetting.

Not big things, mind you, but important things all the same:
The sound of someone's breath, the tickle against your neck, against your fingertips.
The clench of anger in your chest that leaves you with such breathlessness, you falter, wonder if you are about to burst with the cold sprinting through your burning veins, hot glass that shatters in a sink.
Failure and the acknowledgment of it.
A look in the early mornings, lashes lowered, ever demure, to be sure, that promises velveteen touches and steady charm at your back as you pick a pair of slacks for the day ahead while you think Days of days, how did I ever forget such glory and poise.

I do so love winter, for I have Chopin and grace amidst the sound of Khaos.
Begone, Kandinsky, for Dürer reigns high in this place.

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020 ❁

Dec. 11th, 2010 | 01:01 am

The men in the suits - I have been told they are red, though what would I know of red beyond an ever increasingly distant memory of poppies and their image on the BBC, live from the Millenium Bridge this fine Remembrance Day - on nearly every street corner with their pesky bells offend me.

I stood, I do admit I stared, but am I not allowed to look at what I wish?

"Hello, sonny," the bearded elderly man said with the audacity of joviality when I cannot feel my nose and am drowning in bells, and he laughed, "I dare say" (can you hear his emphasis? I, I, I.) "that you just might make a great Santa when your hair goes white!"

Well, I never. You may keep your white hair and your jingle jangle bells to yourself, sir. I will have no part in my own headache. And of course, Khaos does not wish to help. Spiteful bitty.

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019 ❁ one more cup of coffee.

Nov. 17th, 2010 | 04:49 pm

So much negativity, how dreadful.
What heavy consciences you all have. Perhaps time does not heal all wounds.

Endymion and I have had a jolly time catching up, but I suppose I'm rather simple.

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018 ❁you might get a glimpse of me.

Oct. 14th, 2010 | 03:50 pm


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018 [private] ❁ they pick the pockets that would bury them.

Aug. 3rd, 2010 | 03:54 am

It is so very cold.

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017 ❁ yeah, oscar, you're a grouch.

Jul. 29th, 2010 | 11:37 am

I have slept poorly. Very poorly.

For days I have laid fruitlessly in bed, staring quite desperately at the ceiling, exhausted beyond belief yet unable to obtain my nirvana. Overcome by rage that obliterated all thoughts but of rage itself, near fatal illnesses, not feeling a thing... I am worn.

Cronus, I have no pretty words for you. When the time comes, I will aid whomever that will have you annihilated, you contemptuous miscreant.

So, for the next twenty-four hours, please do not:

1. Murder one another. This is terribly noisy, not to mention it leaves the most unsightly stains.
-- 1a. Fire any kind of weaponry in the vicinity of the complex.

2. Engage in ridiculously boisterous sexual intercourse involving screaming/yelling/wailing/banging on walls/windows/doors/floors/ceilings. I will personally pay for your room somewhere else if you must.

3. Run about the corridors. Dear children~ Hypnos is asking nicely~.

4. Make any sort of loud noise that will disrupt your fellow prisoners neighbors~

Oh, the list could be much longer, I assure you, but my vision is blurring. Fatigue is quite taxing. Wouldn't it be so lovely to have a day of simple quiet~? It is all I ask, really.

In short, darlings, for twenty-four hours I would be much obliged if you would all kindly
shut the fuck up.

Kisses. ♥

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016 ❁ [video]

Jul. 12th, 2010 | 12:37 am

[Hypnos takes a long breath through his open mouth, and it rattles through his chest, a snake slipping clumsily about his ribs. His s's are hissed, but for that minor drawing out of a letter, the rest of his voice is monotone, his eyes closed. He takes great care of punctuation, pausing at each mark, at the end of each line as if he's stopped, only to keep going.]

The Cambridge ladies who live in furnished souls

are unbeautiful and have comfortable minds

(also, with the church's protestant blessings

[He licks his lips, a darting nervous twitch, once, twice. His eyes are flickering under his eyelids. With ever line his voice gets quieter.]

daughters, unscented shapeless spirited)

they believe in Christ and Longfellow, both dead,

are invariably interested in so many things-

at the present writing one still finds

delighted fingers knitting for the is it Poles?

perhaps. While permanent faces coyly bandy

scandal of Mrs. N and Profe- [Suddenly, his eyes jerk open - so, so, wide, pupils nearly swallowing the blue of his eyes whole and he looks downright terrified - and twists around in his chair. It's as if he's heard a sudden bang, entire body trembling. In reality there is no sound but his ragged breathing and fidgeting. He sounds tearful, panicked, words rushing out almost incomprehensibly]

P-please donotfiregunsinthebuildingdonotfireguns walls and ricochets!

[His big bad noise must have happened again, for he suddenly lunges forward and slams the laptop shut with a shout and the feed goes to static.]

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Jul. 6th, 2010 | 04:29 pm

[Filter: Charon]

I do believe I am in need of your... ah, yes... expertise, brother.

Regarding those business ventures we had discussed briefly before.


True, waking up to an empty stomach was far from peachy-keen, but nothing simply going back to sleep could not solve. Sometimes I love being me.

Shilly shally, dilly dally~. For now my feathers remain unruffled.

Goodness. Before I forget: Minos, you relentlessly vinegarish cat, you, it seems I have pirated your daughter and made her mine. Oops? You see, I have such a collection of simply delightful young men, but no princess to call my own. I do hope you understand my dilemma of being daughterless. I hold no hard feelings, Mr. Bear, I simply thought you might like to know.

I feel as if I must act quickly before Cronus makes for misery again. Selene, darling? Tea? I have cleared all my 4:30 PM's for you this week. Pick your favoured day.

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