News: My thoughts are clouds I cannot fathom into pastries.

--1 June 2018--

Quote: Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest of hearts. --Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

The Fellowship

January 11, 2012



They're awesome floaty things that shimmer and shine with a translucent beauty unique to their own species (yes, bubbles are a species, are they not?).

I love bubbles.

I want to blow a bubble right now.

Do you like bubbles too?

Here are some Google Images of beautiful bubbles!!

Oh look at the sheen!!

Aaah the beautiful shine!! BUBBBLEEESSSS!!

Uh oh. I think I've looked at me bubbles too long. They're turning rabid on me *ahem* rabbit. I don't like rabbits one bit. Not ever since Jake instilled the great fear of the Thousand Year Meeting (or whatever that thingamabob-er is). Rabbits are now the mortal enemies of me and my army of squirrels (yes, I have an army of squirrels, did you not know?).

Well, that was fun!

Now, as Captain Hook would say, in a very condescending and authoritative voice, "Smee! I want my bubbly. Where is my bubbly???"

Goodnight folks!

Signed with cheesewax,


January 9, 2012

Skate Park -- Scene

I don't have time to write a detailed discussion on this piece, but it does have a meaning to it :P Anyhow, have fun with it for now!!

Google Image

Scream by Thousand Foot Krutch on Grooveshark

Skate Park

“What an idiot.”

Travis slapped the board soundly with his right hand, a sloppy grin pasted on his face,

 “--you should have seen me –“

“Skiff, he was a jerk!”

“And like, – “

“—would you shut-up, Travis?”

A fantastic frown clouded the previously animated face of a young blonde. She smoothed her ripped jeans again, for the thousandth time.

“It’s my story.”

“So? You almost got yourself hit by a car!! Besides, I was talking first.”

“Guys, guys! Really now.” Skiff, a solid guy – definitely over 6ft, blew through pursed lips and rolled his eyes at the sibling rivalry, “No need to tear ourselves to pieces over it.”

“Exactly.” Travis commenced rolling his eyes as well and jabbing his sister with an elbow. She yelped and glared at him, drawing all of her 5’ 4” frame up in a play of courage.

A long, manicured finger snaked out of a three-sized-too-big hoodie and poked Travis in the nose, “Mr…” she began – Travis sighed audibly, “Just because you’re so hot and everything doesn’t mean that you can go around interrupting a person OR showing off. If it weren’t for me, you’d probably be on your knees back there – the laughing stock of the entire town!”

Travis tried to contain himself, but a smile tugged harshly at his face.

“Jen, I think you should give the guy a break.” Skiff put his hand on her shoulder and raised an eyebrow. She quickly shrugged out of his grasp and walked away.

“Wait!” Travis let his skate-board hit the concrete, “Where ya goin’?”

“Like you care!” she tossed over her shoulder.

“Um, yes!”

Travis watched as she disappeared behind a nearby street corner, then he nodded to his buddy, who took out his keys and started up his old VW.  


The crowed oo’ed and ah’ed as the board hit the concrete with a satisfying smack. Applause rippled around the skate-park.

Travis waited till Skiff’s car came to halt before he jumped out and…


The audible gasp from the bystanders already affirmed what he wanted to know. Jen.

Stupid sister, he thought to himself as he vaulted over the guard-rail, only to stop in mid-step.

There she was, floating…no…flying through the air, doing insane tricks. The tricks she’d taught him – the tricks he’d just performed a few minutes ago while crossing the road…in front of traffic. Yeah, he brushed his dusty bangs out of his eyes, I’m an idiot.

They didn’t have names for their tricks – Jen liked to keep things secretive – but when she pulled off that flip, the one Travis had broken his ankle trying out last year, he felt the air automatically suck itself from his lungs.
“She’s good eh?”

Skiff’s voice broke through his thoughts and brought him back to the present. What? The crowd was already clearing. He looked up, Jen was walking towards them, ignoring the applause from pimply-faced boys and gawking amateurs.

“Yeah. She’s good.”

Jen came within five feet of the guys and slapped her board on the ground as she raised her chin a notch.
“See?” she said sharply, “If you’re going to learn anything, you’ll learn to do it in the park, not on the road like some attention sucker.”

Travis felt his pulse raise, “I’m sorry, k? I was an idiot.”

“And you could have been seriously hurt.”

Travis groaned, “And I could have been seriously hurt.”

“And I’m a genius?”

“You’re a genius.” He glanced over at Skiff, who covered his snicker with a cough, “K, you done?”

“I’m done.”

“Now perhaps you’ll explain why you did what you did? Showing off and all that.”

“Mr, I wasn’t showing off. I was showing you that you can get just as much appreciation as you want doing things safely as you would doing things stupidly.”

Once again, she’d proved him wrong. Sisters, he grumbled to himself as he followed the two most lovable, impossible people back to the car.  


Signed with peach fuzz, 


January 8, 2012

I Climb So High, But I Always Fall -- Scene

Hey Folks,

So I've been debating with my writing over the past bit -- you see, all that comes to mind are rather depressing scenes; the characters in my mind are all either bawling their eyes out or ending up dead. Lovely eh? *rolls eyes* Now I don't want to suspend my thoughts on what is dark and dismal; however, I think that as writers, we need to write what we must when we must.

I cannot force myself to write what does not come naturally -- everything I've ever written has always come naturally, at least mostly. Whenever I attempt to write something that my mind revolts against, I simply cannot get the words down right. Thus, I end my short call-to-arms by simply saying, I'm writing what's been badgering me for days.

I offer a short explanation at the end of this dark piece.


Google Image

I Climb by Thousand Foot Krutch on Grooveshark

I Climb So High, But I Always Fall

Trickling down her cheek, a solitary tear crept onwards. Stalwart-like; a soldier without an army. Another mournful sob escaped her mouth, lunging fiercely outwards, coagulating in the frozen air; a draconic ghost of the past.

Dead. No more. Gone, like the summer wind, chased by the bitter cold breath of winter.

The words pierced her breast as they plunged into her subconscious; no other scene, no other situation could ever have such a real meaning to her, nor could they make her feel so alive.

And yet I loved him. Her mind tumbled with a thousand thoughts as she lifted her gloved hand to her face and bit her tightly clenched fist. Loved – she loved him – and now, he was gone. Deader than a doornail, as her pappy had said. Deader than any filleted fish spread coldly out on the dinner table. Dead. The infernal word sounded like some death toll being rung on a midnight bell – it shuddered within her being, reverberating against her quaking ribcage.

And by his own doing, oh lord. She shook her head and sniffled softly, reaching up to wipe her eyes, but the moist surface was quickly replenished anew with more drops of sorrow. And we all follow one another, like beasts of nature – we cannot escape into an immortal life, and still we face this anguish day after day.

Slamming her fist against the wooden table, she bit her tongue and felt the metallic taste of life flow through her mouth. Could I have done any better? Is this all my fault? She let her gaze wander over the bare room, bereft of any womanly touches. It was just like he always used to live and would have remained the same unless, of course, he had married. But he wouldn’t do that; I know, I know all too well.

Her eyes lit upon the kitchen and that certain drawer. Relief was only a few footsteps away – only a trip to the sink, only one motion. Only. One. Motion. No! Yes, just get up and get in that kitchen, you’re a waste of life. Demon! The whites of her eyes glared brightly in the light of a candle. Go to hell where you belong! Her thoughts crushed the voice in her head with a rage uncharacteristic of her persona.

Purple veins stuck out against her slender throat. She pushed her sleeves further down against her arms and then, in a sudden movement – she was so much like a startled animal...a small, startled animal – she snatched her purse from the floor and ran out the door, not bothering to lock it. All that remained of her unannounced visit was the tallow candle that soon sputtered and drowned in its own wax, and a toppled chair near a wooden table.  


Shipwreck by Starfield on Grooveshark

I've had this image in my mind a few days now -- the picture of a forlorn, perhaps even rain-drenched, young woman. She's garbed in black and has the most dismayed, sorrowful look on her face. And -- key point -- she's sitting inside a two-room cottage.

I finally just had to write something about her -- I had to give her a story (and if you're not a writer, it's ok if you don't understand this feeling. To describe it quickly, it's like you're a water balloon being filled with water and if you don't write, then you'll pop). This is the story that came out. Yes, it's dismal. Yes, it's emotional. And yes, it's dark. I'm most certain that there is more to it, I simply haven't allowed myself to dig into the backstory very far, because I don't want to right now.

Perhaps I'll bring something more jolly to the plate next time; however, while I'm on this topic, I'll point out that not all literature can be that way -- and indeed, if it all were we wouldn't have the amazing experiences and epiphanies that hit us when we read war journals or fiction that delves into the raw truth of human emotion.

*shrug* I don't want to get philosophical tonight, I simply wanted to point that out.

Stay tuned for more lit! I hope to have the courage to write more of what pesters the nooks and crannies of my mind, rather than let it fester in my mind and strangle my muse.

Google Image, of course -- magnolia blossoms for my dear readers!

*tips hat* Good evening all!

Signed with magnolia blossoms,


January 3, 2012

Amazing Grace

When I first caught glimpse of Amazing Grace, the movie that is, I turned away and thought to myself, "Ah, why do I need to fill my head with further meaningless babble." However, today (my last free day before I return to my studies) I decided I wanted to do something useful. So I watched Amazing Grace. It was, for lack of better words, amazing. [note -- if your computer allows it, I do encourage you to turn on the Music that Means Something -- you'll find the small music player on the right hand side of this blog; it simply adds to the effect of this post]

Here is an excerpt from the Wikipedia page: 

Amazing Grace is a 2006 U.S.–UK co-production film, directed by Michael Apted, about the campaign against slave trade in the British Empire, led byWilliam Wilberforce, who was responsible for steering anti-slave trade legislation through the British parliament. The title is a reference to the hymn"Amazing Grace". The film also recounts the experiences of John Newton as a crewman on a slave ship and subsequent religious conversion, which inspired his writing of the poem later used in the hymn. Newton is portrayed as a major influence on Wilberforce and the abolition movement. -- Link

(note: William Wilberforce is played by Ioan Gruffudd -- he did an awesome job [there's something about men in English frocks that is just so right])

First and foremost, the acting was great. While the movie was placed in the Napoleonic era, it seemed to have that familiar language of the Victorian. Perhaps I simply haven't studied my literature well enough. Anyhow, I enjoyed the dialogue immensely and intend to watch this video again -- the the future. The message of the movie, however, was very touching. As you have read, it focused on the abolishment of slave trade.

I do not think I ever truly understood (or will understand) how important William Wilberforce was in changing history. I feel as if I've touched the tip of the iceberg and now cling tentatively to its slippery siding. Really, think with me, friend, Wilberforce was a mere 28yrs old when he directed the meeting of the Society for Effecting the Abolition of Slave Trade. Twenty-eight years old! That isn't very old at all. And here I am, a young adult -- what have I contributed to my society? What have I contributed to the bettering of society? Have I done anything to stop the suffering of the hungry or the abuse of sex slaves? Have I done anything worth while at all?

In the face of such young power, I feel ridiculed and belittled. I truly am a nobody. God has given me a mind, has He not? Then whatever on earth am I doing sitting here writing fiction that merely appeases the human appetite for a moment?! Why can I not be out in the world doing something that will change this place?

Why are we, young adults, why are we sitting back and letting those around us take control and direct the world in ways we know are wrong? Why do we let politicians and individuals in suits rule the world? There are still things to be fixed, my friend. There are still bridges to be burned and built, lives to be saved, and the Good News to be preached.

I think of what I saw in China, the little boy who had no legs and dragged himself about on a mat, his body covered in filth and grime. The old man with boils and blisters that oozed. The little girl being prostituted by a filthy overseer. The blind woman with stringy grey hair who begged for money. The thief who was shot dead in the middle of the street. The woman on the bike who was run over by a car, yet no one stopped to help her. I think of what I saw in Las Vegas. The strippers and prostitutes, covering their faces in make-up as they hid their shame and torment.

What is it that enables mankind to simply sit back and watch these people without doing anything? What is it that hardens our hearts and muddles our minds, like laudanum? How can we, who look at slavery and say, "Oh what horror!" sit back and entertain ourselves with people who are enslaved? How can we walk by the beggar and the drug-addict with sneers or grimaces when they are the ones who are in chains. They are the ones shackled by the chains of their addictions or circumstances, enslaved to whatever holds them back from becoming respectable individuals, and their souls are being sold to the devil!

We are indeed hypocrites if we applaud the abolishment of slavery, yet allow it to continue under our very noses. We most certainly are hypocrites if we see these slaves every day and do nothing to free them from their bondage.

Will you stop this? Will you stand up for what is right, honourable, noble, and just? Will you stand against slavery, slavery to addiction, pain, entertainment, and sin? Will you join me and stop being the hypocrite who says no to slavery, yet allows it to continue? May God give you strength, my friend. May He alone guide your path and bless you.

Signed with all sincerity,

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