Vacation (HAIL, Retiarius!)
May. 3rd, 2009 11:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jheti
Stream of consciousness.
Whenever I see that phrase I think of the penetrating, sinus-killing odor of fresh cat urine.
Wakey wakey.
Don't kiss me, bitch! You just threw up
Whispers don't break silence. They tease it to life in increments. Don't cry, Andromache; ah, I've never forgotten the taste of Herakles; he broke my girdle across my back. Hail to the Chief.
The scorpion, the goat, the girl, Poseidon's charioteer; no, darling, Myrmidons are male.
I would cut them both off for an arrow of silver to pierce the dragon's heart. My kingdom for a sword, pure and terrible--I am unbroken. Neither will I falter, nor will I bend. Be careful never to award credit where it is undue. All women bleed.
Hear them call, callin', callin' your name; can't you hear them call?
Awake slunk sideways from the back of the brain up the neck in one long slow rollick, cold and jagged. Smooth soothing taurine blanket--so bright. Chemicals. A wash of conveyance, by hook, crook, by peptide or whatever else, whatever conceit it pleases scientists to use. The worst thing about these drinks is that they take away the process of wakefulness.
He has the most fantastic New York accent, deep but not sharp and smoothed over by careful coaching, but he still pronounces the word "forest" as if it had a's in the middle. Whereas, in the area of this continent speech came to me, this word is "forrest" or "forist", or, in the backwater, a thickening almost like "forst", with just the ghost of a vowel in its tail.
Fully half the human race is enslaved by the moon and the tide, and the other half stands at attention every sunrise. Round and round we go, and thus the hunt, so the chase. Tell me I'm wrong. I love the sound of that.
I woke thinking of this girl I know; she is Damaged goods with a capital D, even by my unabashedly desperate yardstick, but she has thighs like a statue.
I'm not a fag, I'm a, uh, I'm a werewolf
How does that go? I'd wager all my fortunes just to see you in the dark.
There's only one VNV song relevant to my worldlieu, and the irony of the discrepancy between its intended meaning and its use is not at all lost on me. O, Einstein, you adorable pacifist number-witch.
High doses of caffeine permit focus but preclude significance. On which note I think I will depart to seek both.
Whenever I see that phrase I think of the penetrating, sinus-killing odor of fresh cat urine.
Wakey wakey.
Don't kiss me, bitch! You just threw up
Whispers don't break silence. They tease it to life in increments. Don't cry, Andromache; ah, I've never forgotten the taste of Herakles; he broke my girdle across my back. Hail to the Chief.
The scorpion, the goat, the girl, Poseidon's charioteer; no, darling, Myrmidons are male.
I would cut them both off for an arrow of silver to pierce the dragon's heart. My kingdom for a sword, pure and terrible--I am unbroken. Neither will I falter, nor will I bend. Be careful never to award credit where it is undue. All women bleed.
Hear them call, callin', callin' your name; can't you hear them call?
Awake slunk sideways from the back of the brain up the neck in one long slow rollick, cold and jagged. Smooth soothing taurine blanket--so bright. Chemicals. A wash of conveyance, by hook, crook, by peptide or whatever else, whatever conceit it pleases scientists to use. The worst thing about these drinks is that they take away the process of wakefulness.
He has the most fantastic New York accent, deep but not sharp and smoothed over by careful coaching, but he still pronounces the word "forest" as if it had a's in the middle. Whereas, in the area of this continent speech came to me, this word is "forrest" or "forist", or, in the backwater, a thickening almost like "forst", with just the ghost of a vowel in its tail.
Fully half the human race is enslaved by the moon and the tide, and the other half stands at attention every sunrise. Round and round we go, and thus the hunt, so the chase. Tell me I'm wrong. I love the sound of that.
I woke thinking of this girl I know; she is Damaged goods with a capital D, even by my unabashedly desperate yardstick, but she has thighs like a statue.
I'm not a fag, I'm a, uh, I'm a werewolf
How does that go? I'd wager all my fortunes just to see you in the dark.
There's only one VNV song relevant to my worldlieu, and the irony of the discrepancy between its intended meaning and its use is not at all lost on me. O, Einstein, you adorable pacifist number-witch.
High doses of caffeine permit focus but preclude significance. On which note I think I will depart to seek both.
