Below are the 17 most recent journal entries recorded in arshdeparkynai's LiveJournal:

Wednesday, December 20th, 2006
9:16 pm	Neuromancer - William Gibson I am glad I read it before I forgot the world in which this book belongs. It is a nostalgic journey into a world which I once dreamed would come, the seemed on the brink when the bottlenecks were different, when megs and gigs and terabytes took on different spectres. Like Asimov's robots they are sky pictures drifting into shapes from wisps yet to be realised as true rain falling to Earth. I feel like our minds were once similar, perhaps when we were of an age of mind. When he wrote the book of the world I swam. Back when my thoughts were words, tied to emotions. My memories the same, but in four dimensional lines. When I spoke one language, and did so with my mouth. It deals with my dual world in a way I would have imagined had I seen Tron as a neophyte and then peered into my computer screen so that patterns of 'what if' danced brightly in my synapses. The way I used to think about information and computers. Back when the internet was a baby, and so was I. It is a very sweet and innocent book like that. Though perhaps, purposely so? Gibsoliam intrigues me so. I shall read him more, the papier mache shapes cast from his mind. He showed a thinking about minds and bodies and communication that I shunned as desecrating, even before I truly owned my body and my mind. A desire for control of how you lose control of your thoughts. How strange it shall ever be to me. Yet, he saw internet addiction long before. A talented little world builder, Gibsoliam. That world that I once was, has blown away to reveal the shapes underneath, and new detritus on top. A different set of players in the same game, dancing the same beat piped from the throats of shinier instruments. Does Gibsoliam dance well in the newness, or freeze in the old glory before AOL broke the noob barrier. The majestic tragedy continues to fold the infinite possibilities into a stream of 'that which has been', and the grimy techno-punk path of Gibsoliam-past is in some ways far away from the path which is trodden into being at my feet, and not because of where my feet fall, but where the world does. And so tomorrow I dream of Gibsoliam Yet to Come, and wonder where the path has taken him from the spot underneath the Christmas tree we once shared a time a little bit. I hear he stays that same path, where I dance between so many, yet shall never master one. Funny. Neuromancer values talent and youth as I did then in that world, yet now it's creator has a mastery which is what I truly envy now. Gibsoliam Present be my companion, I wish to share your world a while, though only observing the dance this time. The floor is yours to own. I bow to thee. Hee hee :D Spelling suggestions for Gibsoliam: Absalom, Cubism, Jerusalem It delights me when the world converges with me so along the lines of the written word. Current Mood: indescribable Current Music: a song unremembered (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Tuesday, November 21st, 2006
1:29 pm	Finders "Where am I?" "A place.. a game? I think it is the same as what you call a book, or a computer game. A place where what is real." He pointed to his head. "Becomes what is imagined." He spread his arms. "...Where am I?" "You are an idea my world is trying to have." He looked rather embarrassed. "But, I couldn't Find you, so I Made you." "What?" "Yes, yes I am a Finder.. a Librarian?" (Comment on this)
Saturday, September 23rd, 2006
12:17 pm	Today I am a high-horsed graphic novel critic. I am pan-geektic. By that I mean that I'm interested in a wide range of subjects that are generally associated with geeks/nerds etc. Though not usually to the highly detailed, erudite degree that marks geeks as highly intellectual people. But sometimes I have enough insight to be really irked. This time it's 'At Death's door' by Jill Thompson, the manga remake of Neil Gaiman's 'Sandman' series. It takes a distinctive series with a fine tuned mood, and then rips away the mood and replaces it with every relevant cliche from another genre. I find it insulting on many levels. First as a fan of Gaiman, his bevy of beautiful artists and the Sandman series. This re-interpretation is not majestic, with a deep-water stillness, it's frantic, disjointed. Secondly, as a fan of manga, it's nuances, the unifying aestheticism of particular series that lift them to art, create a mood to match the pace, make them beautiful. This contains stereotype imitations of that beauty which displays no understanding of the true meaning behind it's original usage. Chibi is often used to break a too-serious mood. This should only done when the mood requires breaking. I feel like someone took the fresh black cherries off my ice-cream and replaced them with pink artificial flavouring 'because that's what the audience likes.' I use this simile because the type of cliche's that are jam-packed into this book are stolen from books aimed at teenagers, young teenagers. Why would someone want to re-make Sandman for kiddies? Furthermore, the cliches are mainly from 'bright happy wai-wai' manga, and completely inappropriate to the mood of the scene. It has slipped into the un-canny valley dis-quietening of a poorly-manipulated puppet. If I thought it was on purpose, I'd applaud the artist for capturing the true spirit of the darker parts of Sandman. Instead it saddens me. What could have been a soaring bridge between genres is instead a jumbled barrier. What is worse, I believe that few others would realise how much of a loss this is. (Comment on this)
Saturday, May 14th, 2005
11:09 pm	I need foot-deodorant for my mouth. I would like to describe and old incident that will illuminate how weird my mind is, and also how very stupid I can be. Friend to me: I usually move to an empty seat when people start leaving the bus. Me to Friend: Me too. FtM: But the other day there was this cute guy, and I kept sitting next to him *Inside my brain: Image of this guy thinking to himself 'cannot fart, cute girl sitting next to me'* What I say: That poor guy. *smacks self in the face.* It wasn't quite THAT bad, but pretty much. But I do this sort of idiot shit ALL THE TIME!! ... I thought that I'd grow some sort of tact eventually or at least a brain-mouth filter, but I'm getting the uneasy feeling that I'm never going to... Maybe I'll just stop being verbally incontinent in general. I can do that. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Monday, April 25th, 2005
2:29 pm	Imerence: the seven week muse. The previous entry has evolved. I'm now writing notes for a whole story. Chae-lu is now a costumer for an artist calling herself Imerence. The boys -haku and kiru- have commissioned her for a portrait. Why? Because one has adult acute leukemia, and wants something to remember his old life by (or as a memorial if he dies). Imerence creates her masterpieces by falling in love with her subjects, using the biological bodily responce called imerence (funnily enough) to have true passion about her work. The life-cycle of imerence is six weeks. So she has six weeks to do the majority of her work on a subject, before her passion runs out. Usually she does fictional characters and inanimate objects, only sometimes commissions from life. Never before someone who was seriously ill. Though she has had a broken imerence period before. It's the story of what happens in all of their lives when she takes up the commission, the fears that leukemia brings with it, the stresses on life, family and friends. And what happens when someone who relies on imerence for her art, can't use it like she has every other time. It's very gothic and sensual, set in Brisbane, and rather angsty, but in an upbeat way, kinda.. is there such thing as constructive angst? The sorting through of fears and grief until your world has a stable ground to stand on again, even if your knees threaten to buckle under you? That type of angst. The mourning for the living and moving forward. Now.. Where'd I get the idea? 1. I use imerence for my own art, such as it is (don't laugh I know I'm no Picasso, nor a Shakespeare). I am forever falling in love with a wide variety of things (mostly anime and webcomics). And when my passion is spent, I move on, sometime continuing to enjoy my previous object of desire, sometimes letting it fall by the wayside. I know it's how my mind works, and I don't make imerence something it's not. Saves a lot of trouble when its directed at someone real. I don't fangirl to anyone's face :P 2. I know someone who does blood-typing for leukemia patients. I know a fair whack about it for someone who's never had to deal with it in any capacity. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Friday, April 15th, 2005
8:14 pm	Ouchie.. muse hit me hard, said this MUST be written. The private bar-room was dark and still, the distant music no more than a dull thumping seeping through the walls. Chae-lu sat crosslegged on her stool, sipping a red concoction through a straw into identically red lips. Her ruffled black dress was a parody of a Victorian era girl, cute but dark-edged, and she paired it with an elaborate ringletted hairstyle and flawless pale makeup. Barely topping five feet in height without her heels, she was a veritable doll brought to life. But her eyes said different. Their green depths spoke of hidden pleasures and cunning. Her look as she sat swinging a leg idly was one of quiet calculation. There she waited for the brothers, having her comparatively towering 'bodyguard' act as her bartender. This was not so unusual, Chae-lu often used this room for such introductory meetings. Then came the expected knock, breaking her reverie. She quickly checked her appearance in the smokey mirror, wishing to make a good impression on her newest ... employees. Her quiet sipping had done nothing to disarray her costume. Satisfied, she caught her handsome bodyguard's eye, and gestured for him to open the door. Haku entered the room first, bowing immediately, with a quickness spawned from the same whip-cord energy that stripped his frame of excess flesh. Formality done with, he cracked an easy smile, softening the strong lean lines of his face and jaw. With soft straight brown hair, smooth pale skin and that grin, he looked like the young man he was, having barely worn the new edges off of his adulthood. "Mistress Chae-lu," He said in his clear youthful voice. "May I present to you my brother Kiru." He introduced his brother with an economical, almost lazy flourish of his arm just as his brother stepped through the door. "We are most flattered by your request for our services." Kiru bowed, displaying the same distinctive quick mannerisms Haku had displayed previously. He was cut from the same cloth as his brother, both lean, crisply dressed in black and white, graceful and just a head taller than Chae-lu, though Kiru's face was ever so slightly softer than Haku's. Chae-lu put her drink down as she studied the pair. There was one exception to their mirroring.. Kiru liked buckles. Straps, collars, bracelets, chains. It probably took him ten minutes just to strap on his accessories. And that was by no means the least of the troubles he went to in presenting himself. In addition to the crisply ironed white formal shirt and black pants his brother wore, he had an artfully arranged few inches of fresthly goldened hair gracing his head, framing his face perfectly, accenting the aesthetic make-up that smoked his lips and eyes. Undressing him in a proper manner would take an hour at least. Chae-lu made a thrilled mental note of that. Though strangely, she hadn't heard the rumours of obscure piercings on him that she heard Haku had. And the hesitating, almost naiive shyness he was displaying made Chae-lu's heart thump painfully against her ribs. His voice was little more than a tenor-pitch murmur directed at his brother, questioning her silent scrutiny, and his adam's apple bobbed nervously in a way that provoked Chae-lu's desire to pounce. And that bright, intelligently engaging look that he only shared with his brother was pure gold. If only Chae-lu could get him to direct it her way. Equally pleasing to Kiru's shyness was Haku's confident eagerness. There was no arrogance in it, it was pure good will. Chae-lu wondered briefly in her luck as finding such an excellent pair. Then she considered how carefully she must treat them in order to gain her desired outcome. Perhaps them were merely the temptation of a project too large for her. But if they weren't such a trap, then they would be part of her greatest work yet. She smiled, and broke her silence. "The pleasure is mine." (In case this is beginning to stray your thoughts, please note that Chae-lu is an artist of a fairly traditional kind. Hence undressing, greatest work, etc etc... And I've been told sensualism can be a good thing in an artist. I may have a dirty mind, but this isn't an example of it, really.) Current Music: ;) Himitsu (Comment on this)
Tuesday, December 7th, 2004
1:55 pm	My friend C, related musings and misc language creation Let me tell you about my friend C. She's a good person with strong moral fibre, and it's important to her to be like that. She has flaws (she'll be the first one to tell you that) but they don't, on the whole, get in the way of her being a good and kind person. And I've decided that that is something that's important in my friends. Being good, that is*2. Any old fool can be attractive or have cool interests. There are plenty of people with interesting minds. So, there are a lot of people that are worth getting to know. But there are only a certain number of people with a really good heart. And those are the ones that are worth being real true friends with. And that's why I'm glad that I'll be seeing a lot more of C in the future. On a tangential/parallel note, I've just coined an aphorism: A friend is someone who you care enough about to forgive.*3 --- *2 Being kind is also right up there. Yay++ for C having both qualities :D. *3 This sounds bad if you're an idealist who wishes to forgive everyone and attain true peace. But for slobs like me, it's quite a high enough goal to forgive those who are important to you.*4 *4 It really does feel good to say 'I forgive you' and mean it. And the best bit is, the person you're forgiving doesn't always have to hear it. Like when you realise it's only a flaw in your own character that's keeping you from forgiveness. The elated peace it gives you to let go completely eclipses the feeling of 'dang I'm a stupid for feeling like this' when you realise that you're being a stupid. --- Choose carefully that which you love*1. Love follows naturally from finding something that your ideals say is loveable. So knowing your ideals and your objects of affection well allows one to love only that which they wish to. *1 Else you might love something that deep down destroys your soul. ..yaknow.. I only have so much 'I care' to go around. And it cuts both ways. And now for something completely different: There are three Faultish scripts: formal, poetic and common(lit. graffiti script) Formal written Faultish is circular and radial. A single idea sits at the centre, contained by the bordering circle, and outwards from that come connected thoughts and feelings, linked to each other, small strongly linked ideas cluster in near to the centre, with complex expansions upon them spreading out to the edges. When one is expressing the specific connection between two or more ideas. Then each idea is bordered, and the connecting ideas string directly between each circle, while unconnected and weakly connected ideas radiate from the opposing arc of the bordering circle. Some glyphs can be written partially over each other, to convey a confluent/gruent and synthesized meaning. According to complex rules the same idea (usually a pervasive one to the subject) can sometimes be expressed in multiple locations in the same idea-picture, in order to represent closeness to other ideas or distance from others as indicated by the location and direction of the minphoric crescent. The type of link, ideological/physical/social (etc) of each idea to another is depicted by the useloric indicator. It's almost impossible to write formal Faultish effectively, and torturous to understand, but it gives a snapshot of the mind of the writer. A change in thoughts can be expressed easily, by colouring the script to indicate which ideas are to move closer to or further away from the center, and which direction the thoughts move in relation to each other, and by the use of a second minphor-usalor conjunction. It's quite an artistic skill, the literal shape of an idea (including size and complexity) up to the creator entirely. An incredibly inefficient form of communication, Faultish is nevertheless extraordinarily beautiful and graceful. The script used in Faultish poems is both phonetic and pictographic, and layered-linear in nature: It has a start and an end and a grammatical structure, like spoken language, but written parallel to the main phonetic thought are the pictographic alternate meanings. The common Faultish script uses elements of both the other scripts and any other language that best fits the rapid and usually haphazard conveyance of an idea. It is the written form of spoken Faultish. Unfortunately, it's flexible and patchwork nature often obscures meaning as much as it illuminates it, being that not all readers are familiar with the mix of languages used. In that way, it's an extremely good representation of spoken Faultish. Right down to the part where the speaker/writer will often intentionally obfusticate, blur or encrypt meaning into otherwise straightforward ideas, for a variety of reasons. Current Music: Daft Punk (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, October 28th, 2004
2:31 pm	You have to convince the ground not to hit you too hard. It's much easier than forgetting to hit the ground. I have successfully jumped off three things today. And one yesterday. Before I go any further, I'd like to reiterate that I'm insane in a very particular way, and that no-one in their right mind or not, should jump off things. University has been eatting my life, that and work (by their powers combined I am captain un-social). So I've gone exam-crazy again. Instead of taking my shoe off and wielding a banana at people while saying "Shoe!" I have taken to jumping off things. Small things. Now, jumping and shoeing both make sense in their context, though they are both rather sideways-thinking solutions to my problems. In the first instance, my body was failingly weak, I had no energy, my mind a shambles, uni-work was too much for me, I needed an outlet. The banana-shoe solution was perfect, it let one of my poor sore feet cool off, made use of my un-wanted lunch leftovers, broke people's stressful routine, and convinced everyone that I should DEFINITELY have some time off. It felt stupid to do, yet illicit and exciting. It was surreal. I didn't have the energy for rage, or screaming or punching a pillow. So I gently went insane. This time I need confidence. Jumping off walls makes me feel powerful. But only because I'm good at landing. I am yet to hurt myself, not because I'm lucky, because I judge it well: the distance, my body, my mind. I am strong, and by each jump I make I test and prove it. I have a normal amount of fear, and I consider carefully whether I can land safely. Last night, I locked myself out of my study room at uni. At first I panicked and wondered which faculty to ring to let me back in. Then I remembered that the room had a 7 foot divider wall with three feet of space across the top, and there were still people in the room on the other side. If one let me in, I could climb over and get my stuff. It worked. I took my shoes off and threw them over the wall, climbed onto a desk, sat on top of the wall, went 'shit how do I get down?' then went 'hey, I've always been good at falling without hurting myself, I'll be ok' and I jumped. Both feet followed by both hands, the brief sting of impact left quickly, I called my thanks over the wall, got my stuff and left, feeling high on adrenaline and my own cleverness. It wasn't going to be a trend, but this morning I was trying to navigate an unfamiliar part of the university that Escher built, and I came to the top of a 7 foot wall. 'Damn', I thought, 'I need to go directly onwards'. Then I went '..meh, I've done it before' so I dropped my bag down, sat down on top of it, considered it carefully, and dropped. Again, perfect landing, no pain, and I was on my way quickly. I told a friend I met about it :D. Later, on my way to lunch, I was going past I wall, and I thought 'I've always wanted to walk along the top and drop off the end.' So I did. This one was about 8' ~2.4m. There were people around. I immediately ran off like a criminal and didn't stop till I was at the City. Thhat time it took longer for me to be ready to jump, and I grazed my hand slightly and jolted my right shoulder on landing. It felt great to do, but sitting here now, my foot stings a little, and I know it's had enough shocks for one day. Thinking about it, it probably is illegal to jump off things on public and private property. I might hurt myself and sue them, or something stupid like that. I think my career as a jumper is over. But damn it was a successful one. :D I bought a smoked black D20 today. I wonder whether it'll be lucky for me. I suggest that if you want to prove your physical prowess, join a martial arts group, cos they know enough to stop you from doing anything stupid that'll get you hurt. But I am exam-crazy. Until I no longer am, I big you all farewall. Current Mood: accomplished (Comment on this)
Monday, September 13th, 2004
6:40 pm	How to deal poorly with Uni stress 1.Visit every single web community you've ever been a part of and read the backlog. 2. clean things 3. read things obsessively. By this time you won't be able to complete anything to your own satisfaction, at which stage you can happily go completely bonkers. There are some things I can suggest that will help with that. Activity one: Find a banana, hold it up imperiously and say "Shoe!" randomly as you wander through the halls of your university. NB: ducking out of elevators to say "shoe!" to people it a difficult yet possibly very rewarding varitation. Activity two: Run up and down stairs in a blind panic until your legs won't carry you anymore. Collapse on the floor until you get your strength back. Activity three: Go swimming, it's relaxing and good for your health. Number three is appealing to me right now. (Comment on this)
Sunday, September 5th, 2004
10:21 am	But silence remained It's very quiet in here. I had thought I had opened the doors. But, I find that I only opened the blinds. I forgot to unlock the door. To update some of the previous entries: I have decided to become timid in all my relationships with people. The subjects of my secret livejournal cause me true fear, yet they should not. People are just people. Some of them don't have access to clean water and so forth, but that doesn't stop them being people. .. It worries me that I can't speak or write a single word of Mandarin Chinese. I haven't bought my medical mask, but then, I haven't gone anywhere that terribly smokey either. On the plus side the Australian Government seems to feel the same way I do about smoking :D they might ban it in certain public places too, not just in restaurants like now. Though once more, experience has given me humility, and subsequent peace. Australia is very lucky to have the anti-smoking laws it does. Having eatten in smoke-hazed environs overseas, including Japan and England, I hark back to the days of my childhood, when I did the same in my home country. Things are much better now. Far fewer slices of death cake are shoved down my throat. Note to self: Remember this when jogging through the CBD and halting to retch from the cloud of filth I just inhaled. (I require much more peace and wisdom than I have -.-) This livejournal gives me peace and wisdom. Not much, but every little counts. But I find it a flawed medium, because of my own thoughts. I want to shout out and express myself, yet I fear that my shout will be heard. *shakes head at self* Silly girl. If you fear having your thoughts known, write them on paper and burn them in an offering to what spirits be, thus satisfying the desire to be heard without having to fear anyone hearing. And secondly, never write anything down when you're venting. Venting is fine, having it illuminated by the cold light of someone else's day is painful. -.- Silly Fault, you need reminding of that. The unknown oppresses sometimes. It's going to be painful removing the veil. But then I'll be able to listen to it again. Why haven't I spoken? I keep having dreams that Aliens aliens are trying to kill me. Last night I was a Predator blowing them up in my childhood home. Upon waking, the fear I felt looking into darkness within the familiar was made almost surreal. And disturbing. I wonder whether the shadow of it will follow me next time I visit my parents. The very weird thing was that I was almost simultaneously having a conversation about whether Aliens would infest an entire world with two friends. Though one was scamming a free meal off of McDonalds, and that was very unlike.. wait I've been over this before. -.- I I I wanna see the sunshine after the rain... Thinking too much again, but not about the right things. I am also happy.Don't forget that. I really am happy... Told you I was an inveterate drama queen ;P Next time. Next time I will add a good helping of Fault-brand insanity. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, August 25th, 2004
7:11 pm	On viking funerals and program upgrades I'm holding a viking funeral for one of my favourite OS's. We'll call him Mike. What do you do when an upgrade's a downgrade, progress is degradation, and the spirit gets some nasty battery-acid-cynical tarnish? Oh, the hardware's the same more or less, but you know it's not the same old program, no matter how similar the interface, you know that deep deep down, something is terribly terribly wrong. And it hurts. What do you do? You should've paid attention when 2.6 brought in some strange things, you shoulda known that 3.0 would be like this, but you just didn't... didn't do anything. Like usual, I just thought and didn't act. Didn't think about acting. Stupid me. Shoulda seen where the CAT5 lead and what network good old Mickie was hooked to. Oh.. it's got the same name, it does the same things mostly.. mostly.. only now.. Now it's like there are bugs, but they aren't bugs, they're programming.. And they hurt. And I'm sad. So very very despondent that I let 2.6 be overwritten, and my only back-up is corrupted by time. So.. Goodbye version 2.6. Just as I say goodbye version 2.1 .. I think, I think that 2.1 and 2.2 were my favourite. Kinda funky and very easy to interface with, could load any program without chunking. But much more virus resistant than 1.8. Except.. except the part where.. there's a new progarmmer? I don't know, how could the same team make something so different? How? Must have left their home-grown roots and gone all capitalist or something. I cry about it. It is lost. And there isn't anything I can do to make it better, not that I know of. Therefore, I burn my tears. I burn my back-up. I burn all of those memories. Goodbye version 2.6 You were cool. I loved you. The bright flame of all memories shining brightest in the light, to be consumed at night on the salty ocean, leaving the grey ash to float in the air of tomorrow. Tomorrow is greyer now. I miss you. But you are still here. Same hardware, always the same hardware. I mourn, and I wonder whether using 3.0 is worth the pain. (Comment on this)
Saturday, August 14th, 2004
10:00 pm	Smoke and the stages of grieving The smoke: Fireworks smell of wonder and science. Fireplaces of night and comfort. Bush-fires of Australia. And tobacco of death. Or perhaps I should say dying- or illness. Yeah. Terminal illness. That's what it smells of. Except not in the passive sense. In the active sense, as in: it's the thing that's killing you slowly but surely. Which is appropriate, since it is. NOW I AM EXPOSED TO MUCH ESSENCE OF DEATH. Disbelief: Why do so many people wish death on me so much as to light-up in my vicinity? Why can I not see one of my favourite bands without having my lungs constantly ache for two days afterward? Despair: There is no hope. I am now forever a little more dead. The toxicity has diminished my finite store of vitality. Hostility: Give me back the life you stole! Oh that's right, you can't. Fucking bastards... Go jump in a sewer. Do whatever, just don't make ME share in your dirty death. (To be said in French, Russian or Greek:) I hope your smoking kills your loved ones first so there's no-one to care for you in your last wretched days of cancer-ridden existence. Acceptance: Note to self: Medical mask joins ear-plugs as concert-going equipment. Together they shall be a powerful force to fight the evils of dying by increments! Surreality: I have a mental image of a birthday cake made of tar. The smoker is the only one who gets to blow out the candles, but everybody at the party gets their own little slice of stinking toxicity. ... And an extra piece to take home in their pocket and only be remembered when they're doing the washing next Thursday, by which time it's stale, smells awful, and may have left stains. Come to think of it I don't know of anyone else who leave cake in their pockets, so maybe that's stretching the analogy too far: like cheap underwear, it'll never be the same again. (Comment on this)
Wednesday, August 4th, 2004
8:32 pm	Meer Brissik! Daru Canbrick! Illesa valqueeg! Un der tis mucho happy. Meerski-chu tasu boi!! SQUEEEEEEEEEEE!! Unsker tall. Unser nice voice. Das-allIknow. RPP update: General stall due to much work and commitments of a social and academic nature. However RPP 5f: ffnet no Sesshoumaru's arm is rebooted. Squay-naa. Kifu Also is currently boi at talking of confuuzlement. Poor boi. But Meerski tis happy. Japanese lessons aren't going as well this semester. But I'm hoping I'll get time to tutor Dak before this Saturday's lesson. Conquering the world on only one language tis too difficult. Speaking of that, I've been reading a good book and some average books on that subject. And so my personal finances will soon be spick and span and going up the ziggaraut lickety split. And on that note, I've been watching the DVD of season 2 recently, and apparently the whole cast was incredibly competitive when it came to who got the 'woofers' - ie punchlines, not dogs, nor speaker system components. And on the note, Dak now has a motherboard which can support dolby digital (while his Boton accoustics speakers have been able to for the past five years). Schweet nyes? ... I bought too much food today, and now there and tomatoes in the oven, and prawns in the fridge. But I would prefer that there were satyrs in the bathroom and frogs in the fridge, since they provide a nice backbeat when I'm in the mood to skat in Faultish (skat as in the musical term - the satyrs interdimensional cleaning contract doesn't cover the other sort of skat, so they get very upset when I let the coffee plant have it's friends over)*1. 0--- *1 NB: This last sentence was set in the realm of Fault and Dakranon: The online comic that doesn't exist.*2 A place of fritters, music and strange excuses to run around hyperactively. *2 Well, actually is does exist, but only a little bit, and not very well. Anywho, that's your lot for the week, to quote an ABC gardening show presenter. (Comment on this)
Monday, July 19th, 2004
1:08 am	dust, fairy dust and sleep dust Have been reading Bridget Jones's Diary. Have decided that "very secret diaries" are better, as contain more laughs and elves. Random Project projects update: Night-elf: have located WoW pics of NE chars. Said pics have been the cause of much grinning and ebil laughing: I own pants that may suffice in my efforts to do a night-elf makeover. Combined with the previously mentioned Crazy Clarks raid, where I picked up cheap make-up, I feel nigh able to turn myself into a blue-purple pointy-eared warrior at short notice (v. good). Especially since I've had good luck on the elf-ears front, and they are coming along quite nicely, though they are, unfortunately, silver. Am still not sure how to turn them properly blue-purple yet. Short Film: Spent musch (NB: Faultish word meaning a squishily indeterminate amount, usually of 'pondering time') time trying to think in a suitably angsty manner. Found it difficult. Most surprising, as am inveterate drama queen. Wondering where could find suitable actors for said film, am wondering whether to impose self on friends.. PS: I would like to apologise to the creator of Elf Only Inn, as it seems my patronage has once more throttled the comic-making aspects of life, and stalled output. So sorry. At least it was more than a week before my curse had full effect this time. Finishing the archives only to find that the new latest comic signalled a hiatus was very traumatic. I completely sponked, though luckily had no cause to achieve pretzelation. Appear to have turmeric stain on Page Down key of keyboard... Further investigation shall ensue. Current shopping list: 1 Tan leather tunic/corset. 2 bottles of mild hair bleacher 1 packet nori sheets yellow wool large white cotton gloves 2 rolls of gafftape, one black one white a dozen wire coat-hangers Yakult ankle binding tape (10m or more) rice cling-wrap. I have just come up with an idea for seaweed wings, and am currently worrying self, so will retreat into fantasy. World of Fault and Dakranon: Fault sits on the bus thinking, when both of her consciences come to visit, sitting on either shoulder as is required by web-comic law. They are both male, and are dressed identically in the same clothes as Fault. F: "Heya. Sup?" Unison: "J0." Good: I see you're pondering chaotic overlordship again." F: "Yeah, it's just one of those things.. Wait, why are you both guys?" Evil: "Don't look at me, I just work here." *preens hair* Good: "Tsk, how selfish. How do you think we feel? Dealing with the moral issues of feminine hygiene was not why I became a conscience for." F: "sorry..." *looks Evil up and down as he flexes his biceps* Evil: "What.. you want me be wear a dress or something?" F: o.0 Good: "Oh do be nice to he girl Cedric." F: "Cedric? I have an evil conscience named Cedric?" Evil: "Not all of us get to call ourselves 'fault' y'know." *Fault grins, then leans over and bites Cedric, so that only his legs are sticking out of her mouth* Cedric: "Mfffhh!" Good: "Aieee! Stop eating your conscience!! *Fault pulls a funny face and spits Cedric out into her hand* "Spitoo" F: "Blech" *Good flaps over to Cedric worriedly* : Cedric? Cedric! Are you OK? Cedric: "Cecil, did I ever tell you that I'm a Freudian?" Cecil: o.0 *Fault wipes out her mouth on her free arm* "Anti-dandruff shampoo really does taste terrible." *Cecil faints* (Comment on this)
Sunday, July 18th, 2004
2:44 pm	Gafftape me now!! I have completed the wings of insanity, and they are shiny. I also discovered that Crazy Clarks sells roll of "electrical binding tape" -shiny silver, for $2 a roll. Schweet! :D muahah ahah haha. Wings of insanity (shiny), of purpose (dubious) have started career (nebulous) in an alignment: cinematic. For I have an ambition (communicated) to create a 10-15 minute short based on life and death in Bribane. It contains goths. In white and black flavours, as well as in electric blue. The idea is thus: We are introduced to a young man, filled with angst over the average things in young life, and he speaks with two angels about it. Of course, we don't know whether they're actually angels, and not just his weird friends until the end of the short, when he thanks the angels, and says that he's ready to die now. And then there's the end, which I won't spoil, just in case this Random Project project*1 is actually realised... If I get to be the black angel, I get to wear shiny shiny goth clothes or my own designing :D. --- *1 The Random Project Project, an organisation/project/idea dedicated to the achievement of cool, surreal and random whatnots, in order to bring positive energy into the lives of people at large. (Comment on this)
Thursday, July 15th, 2004
12:56 am	Monologue on fear and its application in social warfare I have been thinking, something which I paradoxically do both too much and not enough. My thoughts went thusly: There is a distinct difference between being timid and being a fundamentally scared person. Timidity means being easily scared, and is a much different thing to fundamental fear. Fundamental fear means that every action in your life is tainted by that fear. Much like an obsession, only based on avoidance rather than attraction*1. The fundamentally scared person will be forcing each thought and action though their 'fear filter' to see if it is consonant with their goal of not being scared (a highly commendable level of mental discipline- if it were on purpose). Over time they will build mannerisms, reflexive actions, thought patterns and personality traits around their fear, twisting their entire being to avoid the thing their afraid of. Even doing the very thing they're afraid of being done to them. Which is why I always try to be timid in my interactions with people I like. I'd hate to think what sort of horrible things I might start doing if I was fundamentally scared of being vulnerable to them emotionally. --- *1 Though obsession can contain repulsion, and vice versa. Like in a yin-yang symbol. (Comment on this)
Saturday, July 10th, 2004
11:18 pm	Arshdeparkynai: My confusion cannot discomfort me. Rar. Teyr Fault teh existaunce pour Livejournal. SqueeEEEEEEEEEEEEEE~~! ...desu-yo. 'Twould be of the callsign Fault, if t'were poseebl. Kantaku fey torun daa, en iffique mein jaabig fuur-baet. MuunSOOOOO!!! (MZDMers unite, ne?) Here is some of my life: Would've been speaking tre 'ith Japanese teachers of newness of yon evening, t'were not for dining with in-laws of my currently unwed husband. Sadness. But said unwed said I may yet obtain his suede jacket, when said jacket has replacement: suitable. 'Twill be reborn into a black suede skirt. A garment most fitting for my eccentricities, of which I have many. But do not worry, I'm harmless. I also have a secret journal. I have an ambition to be a chaotic overlord, but since I seem to have explored that career path to it's conclusion already, I am pondering new ambitions. Having read a post on Penny Arcade recently, I have added "being a nightelf" to my list of possibilities. That is The List - intangible - of purpose inscrutable, containing hobbies unsuitable, uncouth and unfruitful. Perhaps I shall take a leaf from Elf Only Inn's book, and become Bitey girl (not of Brackenwood). Via Osmosis. Hmmm.. once I understand the flaggin process, I shall create links to all of my references, providing more clarity of expression, perhaps, but perhaps no more comprehension shall be forthcoming from mine audience's wells of intellect. Fear not. I can communicate adequately when required. What's the phrase I'm looking for? af yes: Baibai. --- The above post is the creation of Fault Faultson, heir to the kingdom of the On-line comic of Fault and Dakranon (which doesn't exist). (2 Comments |Comment on this)