There is no home.
Das ist nicht mein brieftaube!
ATTN: This journal is friends only. Goto http://aije.livejournal.com/57500.html
He, leaning on his elbow, looked for a few moments unresentfully on her tangled hair and half-open mouth, listening to her deep-drawn breath. So she had had that romance in her life: a man had died for her sake. It hardly pained him now to think how poor a part he, her husband, had played in her life. He watched her while she slept as though he and she had never lived together as man and wife. His curious eyes rested long upon her face and on her hair: and, as he thought of what she must have been then, in that time of her first girlish beauty, a strange friendly pity for her entered his soul. He did not like to say even to himself that her face was no longer beautiful but he knew that it was no longer the face for which Michael Furey had braved death.
Robert Patti-whatever can suck it.
Retired: Old Myspace About Me Post
Posted on 3/19/09 at 2:07amJamming To: "The Escapist" - Nightwish
"If I had more time, I would have written a shorter letter."
-Marcus T. Cicero-
And so, feeling poetic, she sits on the couch with legs folded and the computer balanced across both knees thinking she’s to write the greatest MySpace ‘about me’ post in the world. Instead she just stares at the product written… two sentences. She sighs and drudges on with the words.
The lives of a thousand men sit frozen still in the 4.5 inch radius of her skull, frozen like her finger on the touchpad as she stares at and scans over the pixels.
They’re allowed to breathe every now and then when she waves her hands over the keys and presses her down with her index or middle fingers, making contact with the rubber pieces beneath and producing a letter on the screen. Then again, not all these men need to breathe and it requires not her nimble digits to give them the semblance of life. It often takes but a reader’s thought to animate them.
She allows readers this godlike power over her minor characters by giving them a glance into the worlds of her mind, but never the important ones. Not the traitors, the handsome, the powerful, or the slutty; those are her personal puppets. Their story is marked by a gold fail star.
Yet, our mortal host has more than one trick up her sleeve. She has a pair of cameras on her desk and the proper weapons to distribute her likeness about the electronic plains. In the time it takes to upload a 30mg file she can move one checkerboard square away from all semblances of humanity and one square closer to being a pure personality.
She entertains the thought of becoming nothing but a username.
And now, I note for those of you wishing to add me as a friend, make sure that I know who you are: be it someone from school, someone from YouTube, that creepy guy who stood next to me at that urinal last Tuesday, I'd appreciate it if you PM'ed me just in case I don't recognize you.
I was kidding about the urinal.
-Aije
-Marcus T. Cicero-
And so, feeling poetic, she sits on the couch with legs folded and the computer balanced across both knees thinking she’s to write the greatest MySpace ‘about me’ post in the world. Instead she just stares at the product written… two sentences. She sighs and drudges on with the words.
The lives of a thousand men sit frozen still in the 4.5 inch radius of her skull, frozen like her finger on the touchpad as she stares at and scans over the pixels.
They’re allowed to breathe every now and then when she waves her hands over the keys and presses her down with her index or middle fingers, making contact with the rubber pieces beneath and producing a letter on the screen. Then again, not all these men need to breathe and it requires not her nimble digits to give them the semblance of life. It often takes but a reader’s thought to animate them.
She allows readers this godlike power over her minor characters by giving them a glance into the worlds of her mind, but never the important ones. Not the traitors, the handsome, the powerful, or the slutty; those are her personal puppets. Their story is marked by a gold fail star.
Yet, our mortal host has more than one trick up her sleeve. She has a pair of cameras on her desk and the proper weapons to distribute her likeness about the electronic plains. In the time it takes to upload a 30mg file she can move one checkerboard square away from all semblances of humanity and one square closer to being a pure personality.
She entertains the thought of becoming nothing but a username.
And now, I note for those of you wishing to add me as a friend, make sure that I know who you are: be it someone from school, someone from YouTube, that creepy guy who stood next to me at that urinal last Tuesday, I'd appreciate it if you PM'ed me just in case I don't recognize you.
I was kidding about the urinal.
-Aije