sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
Oh hey, here is something I never posted, from almost a year ago. It is in three parts, and eleven footnotes. It is about legos, about my own creativity, about being the Special, and about having my heart broken by media that refuses to accept that people like me exist. Enjoy.


It's long, so under a cut because sometimes I care. Read it anyways. )
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
Poking around on my computer, I found a bunch of old notes from Nyota. Here are some bits and bobs from my phone:


You're not my boyfriend unless I trust you to take care of me. If being with you requires full self-sufficiency on my part, then you are a toy. Nothing wrong with toys, but sometimes what I need is someone who actually gives a shit about me without me wheedling. 
(2012 08 21)


All I could accomplish is sit and look pretty, and I am far too bitter to accept a life of mere ornamentation. 
(2012 09 02)


Never give me the "an aliens gotta do what an aliens gotta do" speech before you strap on you sonics and leave me making tea with Idris the prune faced alien1
(2012 09 08)

1: If you got *both* halves of this reference, give yourself a cookie.


"Don't make us make more rules"
(2013 12 22)



"Boys," said Hermione Granger, "should not be allowed to love girls without asking them first! This is true in a number of ways and especially when it comes to gluing people to the ceiling!"
--Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality

"Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor, and it can never be used to hurt you."
--Tyrion Lannister

"Everything in life is unusual until you get accustomed to it
--the Scarecrow.

Proof is our way of capturing an infinite amount of information in a finite way. 
--Paul Lockheart, A Mathematician's Lament

Let's look at a few lucky volume-weight relationships that for the moment protect you, as a new cook, from the menace of that old dragon Mathematics--and his allies, Physics, Chemistry, and Semantics. 
--Joy of Cooking, 1975 ed, 8th printing, pg 589

"Of course I know what a bassoon is, I dance Scottish"

"No one else will explain it this way, but I'm right"
--Ratatosk on why Sassafrass is acapella done like the victorian music revolution never happened

Kids who are not frightened by differences admire Branwell for his. Because way down deep they know that civilized people have to preserve rare birds. 
--Silent to the Bone, pg 134

Meanwhile, I always get back up.  Not because I am strong, but because I do not know how to quit.  Because when I am in pain, and I’m often in pain, I take those endorphins and I let them take me on.  When I collapse, truly, and I do, it’s because I don’t know how to give up, and I just want a break.  Asking permission to stop, and never stopping, is about as much respite as I give myself. 
--Racheline is exquisite

I had a small supper party for him-- cooked by me alone, and edible, too. Will Thisbee gave me "The Beginner's Cook-Book for Girl Guides".  It was just the thing; the writer assumes you know nothing about cookery and writes useful hints-- "When adding eggs, break the shells first".
--The Gurnsey Potato Pie and Literary Society, pg 197

There's nothing wrong with looking like a match. After all, that's what lights the fire. 
--Jude Watson, book reviews in the back of Spinelli's "The Library Card"

The history of human progress was not made by being happy with what we have.
--Iantwin, specifically bodies

Writing about dancing is like doing an interpretive dance about economics.
--Laura (from candidate class, et al)


and lastly, here is a list called 'Scottish Dances' which is my collection of really awesome dances I wanna do more. You are probably not interested in this unless you are a fellow SCD. )

sorcyress: Just a picture of my eye (Me-Eye)
Four sonnets, for four former partners. Trigger warning in the second for emotional abuse. Content warning for a terrible sense of scansion, and at least once actually changing the spelling of a word to make it fit the iambs.



By the Lightswitch

The first girlfriend I ever had was queer
(I use that not in the pejor'tive sense)
I only use the word to make things clear
Some ways we both were ladies, some: we're gents.

Our queerness was not limited to sex
In many other ways we played the strange
Reduction to normalacy did vex
Society holds bullshit -we must change!

A revolutionary at sixteen
Such little ways to warp the world around
On meeting with their standards we weren't keen
Each liked the slice of Otherness we found.

Though still we find some safety where we met
For girl scouts do not care you're gay or het


All for the finality

The final year of high school's meant to be
Inspiring, a time to look ahead
Because of all the ways you ruined me
Harsh memory is where my thoughts are led

You found me such a virgin, so naive
Then took your mess and shoved it in my mind
Ensnared me in your pain, I could not leave
Grabbed what you wanted, all that you could find.

Your own desire overruled my want
My feeble protestations were ignored
Until the day no longer you would haunt
I steeled myself for battle, words or sword.

None worked, the ways to break me you contrived
Fuck you, I'm not a victim. I survived.


For a Dragon I do Know

A dragon far out in Seattle-land
With endless talent bounded by no walls
He curls throughout the city strong and grand
Compared to him mere mortal nature palls.

But 'neath the dragon nature lies a man
And moments come where he will feel a lack
Of fitness, strength, or power all he can
No longer do and never will get back.

The dragon-man must once more find his soul
And force himself to struggle into light
Though motivation seems impossible
He will not take a fall without a fight.

This endless battle to become his best
'Tis not a destination, but a quest!


...To "I'll see you round, someday?"

Some days I feel I never really did
Know who you were and what you were about
Perhaps it's just I was too much a kid
Preoccupied and empathy without.

Perhaps it was there simply was more need
From me to you instead of the reverse
You spent yourself to help me to succeed
I had not time nor strength to serve as nurse.

So while I feel quite grateful for the help
I must apologize for what I lack
And lacking still, this inconsiderate whelp
To know your mind I haven't got the knack.

It seems to other eyes we've found our end
Myself, I'd like to now become your friend.



(Trigger warnings go both ways, emotional abuse reference in the second sonnet)
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
Just a quick thought:

For a good long while now, I have been thinking in the back of my head about creating an actual difference between the journals [ profile] kdsorceress and [ profile] sorcyress. The former would continue to be what I use pretty much all my journals for --random life dumping, thoughts, silly questions, quotes, and occasional really good writing, while the latter would be restricted to just what I consider the "good" writing --things like my essays, stories, occasional forays into emo poetry, etc.

The entries on Sorcyress would probably be mirrored on kdsorceress, though not vice versa. It would pretty much be designed to give people a chance to skip all the babbling about my life, so they can cut straight to the things that will hopefully inspire discussion. It would also hopefully guilt me into actually writing more essays, so I could have content over there.


sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
Oh hey, I never posted this. It seems pretty readable, so have an essay that's been lying around on my desktop for a couple weeks. I think I wrote it just post-NEFFA or so.

So, I don't shave my legs.

(I don't shave my armpits either, but it's a little easier to hide that --I can wear t-shirts all summer. There is weather where pants *really* aren't an option.)

I've never shaved --never really seen the point. My general feeling about it is that the only thing it really accomplishes is boy attraction, and therefore falls into the same category of "completely fucking useless" as wearing make-up does. When I was of an age to learn how and get into the habit, I was also of an age where boys were useless and relationships impossible. For just post-pubescent Sorcyress, boy chasing was the furthest thing from my mind.

As I've gotten older, actually accepted that maybe this relationship idea is not all bad all the time, and started to (on occasion) do things specifically to attract boys1, 2, I've still never bothered to shave my legs. Between the feministy stance and the much larger "I am lazy and a little bit of a perfectionist and I don't want to waste my time doing that to the degree I'd want to" stance, I've just never gotten around to it.

This would not be a problem, were I not a little bit self conscious of my hairy self. Okay, a lot self conscious. I try really quite hard to love my body just the way it is, but as with the stomach thing (mine is round, not flat), I live in a society that has made it very very clear that my body is NOT PERFECT and I should therefore try to fix it.

This is obviously bullshit. The clearest reason I can see for having a societally perfect body is so I can catch myself a man. Maybe if I get to a point where I can't rattle off without thinking the names of ten guys3 who would happily have sloppy make-outs with me I'll shave and start binge-dieting like it's going out of style6, but in the meantime, I think I can live comfortably with my really quite awesomely hot body just as it is.

Now, almost a year ago, something in my attitudes changed. Prior to this, I tended to wear a lot of tights, a lot of pants, yes, all summer long. Tank tops would only be worn with an open button-up shirt over them. Society couldn't make me take a razor to skin7, but it could at least make me hide the fact that I didn't.

So, a year ago, I was driving somewhere with my friend Jim. It was recockulously hot out, because it was summer in Maryland, and I was wearing shorts. At one point in the conversation, he commented, and I gave my usual "I am lazy and a feminist and therefore don't bother" answer. His response? Totally without mocking "You go girl."

My brain clicked into place, and more or less all was right with the world. That was about the point of my life where I started actively trying to be better about loving my body like it deserves. I've stopped wearing tights when I know damn well they'll be too warm, short skirts are even less the enemy than before, and while I'm still a little bit self conscious wandering out in the world, I'm getting better and better at just not giving a shit.

I don't get in people's faces about it. I don't rail against my smooth-legged friends. ((Hell, when given the invitation, I will happily run my hands up and down my roommates just shaven legs --all of the niceness without any of the itching or stubble the next day!)) I don't even usually bring it up. I just wear short skirts and bare legs and let people decide for themselves whether that's terrible. If people can't be friends with me just because I don't match that idea of normalcy, well, I don't really want them to stick around to find all the other deviant behaviours I indulge in.

I still can't look in the mirror every day and think I'm gorgeous. Hell, half the time I can't even manage seeing "pretty". But I'm getting a lot better at looking in the mirror and seeing myself, exactly as I'm meant to be, and not someone uncomfortable in her own skin.


1: I feel that this is about the point in the essay where I should say I'm only using boys because I am too lazy to constantly write out "folk who like girls" I have no problems with being ogled by members of any gender --at least not when I'm in ogleable mode. It's a weird little exhibitionist line, and would probably take another essay to explain.

2: And I still don't often do things specifically to attract people. Rocky Horror and *some* conventions are the only exceptions, and only to a small extent.

3: This is not an exaggeration, and I've thought of at least two more since I said that. And these are just the folk I *know* want sloppy make-outs --I'll be damned if I can ever remember or keep track of how many of you want to take me home and do naughty things with me.4

4: ...or to me, but that's a different post, and one I don't feel like putting here. Suffice to say, I think that sloppy make-outs5 should have all parties as active participants. More fun like that.

5: This is a euphanism.

6: Or, you know, I'll just get over it and be happily single. Shock, horror, all that.

7: And that's another thing. Razor blade. Can kill people. Scraping against skin. How the *fuck* is this considered normal for *anyone*?

((That being said, I do have maybe a slight preference for clean shaven men. But I've had perfectly nice kissies with boys with beards before, so really, shaven status is totally up to them. Unless they try to grow a pornstache. I do not give kissies to boys with pornstaches.))
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
((This is the essay I've been meaning to post since Flurry --really, more of a narrative. UMYEAH. In the interest of not babbling like an idiot, I don't have any author's notes to preface it with. That's what footnotes are for.))

The Penultimate Waltz
(An essay detailing the happenings of my finest dance this weekend, and a short analysis of the three minute intimate experience.)

In the course of my dance weekend, I had a chance to discuss with a tango instructor the melancholic sensuality of dance. "A three minute deeply intimate experience" he described it, and, catching on to the poetry of the words, stored that thought into my head for later use.

The later use came earlier than expected, the next day, at the end of a contra set. Scouting the hall for someone to dance with, I saw a very vaguely familiar face with a button --"I give hugs".

"Hello, want to dance, and don't I recognize you from NEFFA?" We reintroduced ourselves and joined a set, and I crossed my fingers deep in the back of my mind and prayed, as I always do, that he would be a good partner, and this would be a good set.1

(In contra, the first is far more important than the second, and indeed, unless you are very lucky, there will almost certainly be those you find distasteful, or at best, merely uninteresting.)

So we begin to travel up the set. It is, in a word, exceptional. He is good and I am good and we are Good together.4

That was, unbeknownst to us, the last contra, and after the last contra always comes the Last Waltz. All around us, couples were forming. I waited a polite moment, then went ahead and asked him if he knew how to waltz.

I've danced with many waltzers, some good, some great, some exceptional. He was, perhaps, merely good, slightly on the inexperienced side5 but he had an excellent sense of rhythm and as we danced I found myself drawing steadily closer, to press more against him. He did not pull away -our chemistry palpable to us both.6

We ended, and he pulled me into a hug. (Or perhaps I pulled him, it matters not.) The dancers around us whooped and cheered the music, but we had a mutual reluctance to let go of one another. As I leaned close to him in our hug, I found courage to go ahead and ask -"Would it be impudent of me to ask to kiss you?"

(I am nothing if not terribly polite)

He answered in a positive manner, and our lips met, sweet and warm and wonderful. We pulled apart as the dance dispersed, a slight blush tinting both our cheeks.

"See you at NEFFA" I called as we trailed off in our separate directions, though I think, even if we did, the world will not be the same. But for that three minute intimate moment, nothing mattered but being there and dancing together.

The Last Waltz is meant to be the important one, the one you save, and Dance Flurry ended with one more set of contras and a truly last waltz. But for this festival, of all the dances I danced, that final festival waltz meant nothing compared to the dance (and the kiss) before it --the penultimate waltz.

((Written 15 February 2009))


((Postscript, written 8 May 2009:

I danced with him at NEFFA, but we didn't wind up kissing --I may have been slightly distracted at the time. (*coff*) I danced with him last night, being as he was my ride to Concord and whatnot. Ladies7 don't kiss and tell.

He remains probably the best contra dancer I've ever met though. Sorry all the rest of you, 'struth. I've ended a contra with him and been unable to think for a couple minutes --I think the only other person who's ever done that to me just through dancing is Magus, and his glorious waltzing., to get him into a skirt...>.>))

1: Holy run-on, Batman! This is one of the big problems with whenever I try to be prosey --I get a bit ridiculous2. Also, the line was originally "prayed to the true goddess of dance, for I am merely demi3" but that's perhaps just a bit obscure.

2: I am -well, ridiculously- proud that I have finally figured out how to spell this word.

3: Long ago, The Katters had heaps and heaps of assorted titles --four altogether, I think, although I can only remember three of them right now. (Ritzy the Anti-Strag, Fiend of Vile Falsehoods, and Crackers of the Pointy Tortilla Chips) At some point, I complained about the fact that I disdn't have any titles at all. Shortly thereafter, I received a letter addressed to "Sor, the Demi-Goddess of Dance". Whether or not I 'deserve' that title is an essay for later, but at the time, it made me incredibly happy.

4: 'k, I was gonna go verbatim from my notebook, but I'm not sure what the hell I was writing here. Yes, that's partially because I was in a car when I wrote this and so can't really read my handwriting. Just know that it was a really unbelievably amazing dance.

5: Sooo tempted to revise this, but it'd be a lie. He is a perfectly fine waltzer, but between Magus and Larry, I have been completely spoiled for merely "fine."

6: Dear Sor. Never write prose again. No, *seriously*. Love Kat.

7: I am not a lady. I am a gentleman, however.
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
Four and a half years ago, I was engaging in a mindless little elljay survey "What have you done" sort of life experience thing.

One of the items was "Seen Tori Amos perform live". I was fifteen. I was not especially pop culture savvy. I responded with "Who?"

A few days later, ShadowKevin wrote a post about picking battles, which touched on my offhand answer. He had chosen not to fight that fight, figuring it was ridiculous to force Highly Important Music on the snarky fifteen year old. What he essentially said (either there or in other posts) was that you couldn't force Tori on people. She had to be Found.

He said some other stuff, but what I took away from all of it was that Tori Amos had music that was strong and sad and beautiful and full of cope, and eventually, I would be at a point in my life where I would need her, and at that point I would go find her.

I've held that in the back of my mind for the last four and a half years. I've figured out who exactly Tori is, and what she's for, and yes, I've managed to fall just a little bit in love with her -after I read her introduction to the Sandman comic "Death: The High Cost of Living".

But I've never heard her music. I've never made that effort to Find her, perhaps because I've never needed to Find her. It's not that I've never felt sad and scared and empty and lone, or that I've never needed music to protect me when I'm in that zone. It's just that, I think, I've fond my own safety nets for when that happens.

I've nothing against Tori. I'd be perfectly happy to put her in my "Sad Girls with Pretty Voices" playlist, which is pretty much what I need when I'm in that bad place. But when I cry, when I truly need the music to protect me, I'm first gonna turn to the old protections, the old comforts, those made strong by a year or more of already spilled tears. I've never Needed Tori, because at all those points where I really would, I had someone else to catch me.

She didn't play "The Tower"
And she didn't play "Lullaby for a Stormy Night"

But she did play "Harbor", which was my first, and she did play "City Hall", which makes me cry with the beauty and the sadness of it all, and she did play "Gravity" and she did play lots of new and beautiful songs and wrapped me up in her music and her voice. And so, for a few hours, in the real world (and not just in my head) I was safe.

I saw Vienna Teng yesterday last the other week. Vienna, who has held me through tearstorms and panic attacks, who has let me dance my way back into stability, who's words have wrapped themselves 'round my arms and through my mind. Vienna, who above and beyond anything else she makes me feel, makes me feel incredibly perfectly safe,

Vienna Teng who is my Tori Amos.

And who knows. Maybe there's still time for my brain to break in just the right fashion so that Tori is the only thing I need. I wouldn't mind that. And maybe I'll just find her anyways, where I don't need her at all but am perfectly happy to add her songs to my collection. In the meantime, when I'm broken, and need my music to heal me...I have my resources.

I have Vienna. And that may be all I need.

sorcyress: Just a picture of my eye (Me-Eye)
This morning, sitting in the sun, the beautiful Georgia belle shivers. "She's cold!" her boyfriend teases as I approach. I do what I find logical, and drape my coat across her shoulders.

"You're such a sweet boyfriend" she says to me in jest. I smile outwardly, sharing the joke, while something inside of me whimpers. I can't always get what I want, but if I try sometimes, I wind up with a friend instead, and that's just as good.

(Just as good)

This evening, chatting during an event. She mentions to her roommate she'll be home at ten. "Not if I kidnap you!" I threaten, trying to keep any tone but friendship out of my voice.

"I might not mind that" she flirts back, and be it outwardly or inwardly, I wince.

So I warn her. "You better be careful, I might start taking you seriously." She laughs, and we discuss for a moment our addictions to flirting. The night trails off; we part ways.

Maybe all I do want is flirting. To court a beautiful woman, treat her in the chivalrous way all people are meant to be treated. Maybe I want more.

Summer's coming soon. We'll see what happens with the fall.


Lemon Cake

Apr. 13th, 2009 05:10 pm
sorcyress: Just a picture of my eye (Me-Eye)
Scene opens on a bake sale, a long table covered in goodies. Two women approach, one, older, dedicated to supporting the cause. The other, merely curious, trying to learn what's going on.

The girl behind the table turns to the younger. "Would you like anything? It's for a good cause!"

The younger woman stammers, blushing slightly "I'm sorry, I would, but I don't have my wallet..."

"What do you want?" the older woman asks, kindly. She is holding a five dollar bill, offering it to the stranger.

"What, really?" In response, the older woman nods. She was planning to give the money all to the cause anyways. What does it hurt her if fifty cents or a dollar get used on this lost little teenager.

The younger woman gets a slice of lemon cake. The older woman buys oatmeal raisin cookies, and pays for them both. "Keep the change" she says to the girl behind the table.

"Thank you." the younger woman says, taking her cake. The older woman smiles, and they part ways.

It's only later that the younger woman realizes just why she's so flabbergasted --she's spent so much time trying to be nice to other people, that she's forgotten what it feels like when someone's nice to her.
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
A/N: The events and things and thoughts and feelings leading up to this particular thoughtstream have been sorted out and reasoned with and talked over and etc. In short, please don't read too deeply into this post, I'm not trying to put it out there as a hint to anyone*, it is merely some words that I think sound good strung together.


friendship privileges )


**This may be less true than I think. I'm not sure how body shy I am at the moment, it tends to vary across a long range, even within the same people.
***Well, technically, I don't want to stoink anybody. Replace with snog/date/pet as appropriate.

Not private because I'm better than that.
sorcyress: xkcd panel with a single character alone at the computer and the text "Some nights, typing *hug* just doesn't cut it." (xkcd hug)
I think that if my past writings are going to make me feel melencholy and empty*, then they should at least also be able to make me giggle.

File on my USB key labelled 'The Roughest Outline I can Manage' (For my 2006 WriMo novel) (You may want to skip this if you want to read what I wrote first )

Somehow, the line "MYSTERIOUS CHOICE!" cracks me up. Especially as I can't actually remember which time she would've chosen, or indeed, if I had a choice for her at all.

The all-caps to designate humour thing is something I picked up from Questionable Content, along with the term "hurr".

In other news, you can find everything I wrote of said novel over in the Kattales. Linky!


(((In other news, it's nice to know that I write myself into almost everything I write. Case in point:

"Boston was, however, one of the most prominant cities in the world, ever since the failed dominator of all mankind declared it her capital. She moved a lot of important stuff up there, and did a lot of very good works for the world and then died spectacularly by tripping while doing a manic victory dance around a bonfire. History can be quite funny sometimes like that."")))

*A lot of the problem is that, when I was fourteen, I was very thoroughly convinced of the idea that you really really really didn't need someone else to be happy. I could grudgingly accept that sometimes people needed to have significant others, but I was convinced that I didn't need anybody else to be happy. Con*vinced*.

And see, that's changed. My emotional stability tends to be somewhat supported by other people at any given point. That's always been true, but it's moreso now. Nowadays, I *need* a partner to keep myself stable and happy, which is so very against my fourteen year old ideal, that it makes me want to scream.

Yep. I'm crazy. What else is new?
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
On a stalk-tastic whim, I went poking around and found a friends blag from nearly six years ago. I am officially fascinated.

What did you lots old blags look like? Have you just been on elljay forever? I know my mom has, I believe I've read all her old entries, but not recently.

How about stylistic differences? My 2004 era entries sound *very* differently from 2006, and even the last year or so has changed somewhat in tone. One of the things I was doing on Seren was rereading through my entire livejournal and keeping a list of "interesting posts". Why I didn't do this sensibly, say, by tagging things, I don't know. I think it has something to do with Sorcy being stupid.

Sorry, did I go computerbitter? Oops.

Anyways. Where's your old writin's? I promise I'm not *much* of a stalker. *fg*


(Disclaimer: I'm actually really not much of a stalker. I like learning things about people, because it entertains me, but I'm not generally that good at looking them up for my own.)
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
So, the sox won the world series. Woo!!


In other news, I just watched Saw with Lauren and Emily. s;oighsrughgsorh. Yeah.

It does have Westley in it. Westley is good.

Proper review to show up at roughly the same time as my Haunted review. Hell, I could do 'em as a pair.


...Tonight is going to be a night of dr0nken idiots. God bless eight o'clock classes. Shit.

There's a haiku in there somewhere... Red Sox win series / Lesley dumbasses go wild / Fuck man, let me sleep!

sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
If you had me alone...locked up in your house for twenty-four hours and I had to do whatever you wanted me to, what would you do with me? All replies will be permanently screened because it's a secret. Then repost this in your LJ. You might be surprised with the responses you get.

Real entries later.


I finished my first novel today! I found the almost done NaNo novel I did in 05, and I wrote out an ending, and yes, there's a ton of stuff that needs to be fixed, but I FINISHED MY FIRST FULL NOVEL!!!!!

Kat is a happy Kat.

sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
So I walked to the store, because I wanted a Apple.
an Orange
and an organ.

I wanted to see what it was like
Looking at the hearts.
So I went.
And I did.
And as I stared at the hearts, some nice and soft and large
Others small and hard
I pulled my own out to look
And was confused

My heart was large
And it was soft, and clean and loving
But it had a part
and harder
like a stone, shoved into my heart.
It scared me.

An old woman came over and looked at it
and looked at me
"oh no dearie, you don't want that one.
Get one without a bruise
one which hasn't locked itself up.
That one
that ones bad
It's got love.
But no romance."
And I looked at her
And at my heart
and I left.

It's different, having this heart
Having love
love for people, love for those who amaze me
love for my families and friends
yet no romance
and no way to get any
for my heart is scarred.
and therefore
I am alone.
And will stay there.

Stephanie, please don't hate me for writing this. I thought your was so clever and interesting and i just wanted to see if I could play with the concept, and try and put my own spin on it.

I don't know if I did it very well.

For everyone, go here to read the original poem.

It's much better then mine.


sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
Note: Like all of my stories, I do not mean to offend anyone. If you wish to take it as a personal offense, so be it. I was merely inspired, and therefore the readers of this journal must suffer with me.

Wishes )


sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
This was written by a friend of mine, Kirby1024. I find it one of the best written arguments for Homosexual marrige I've seen. Read, enjoy.

Currently, I'm going out with a beautiful girl. She's brilliant, sensitive, nice, she forgives me more than a few of my shortcomings. If I felt that I had the financial security, I'd propose to her in a heartbeat. As in, effective immediately.

I'm sure those of you who are married, or are in relationships have some idea of what I'm talking about. Sure, we argue, and the road is bumpy as much as it is smooth sailing (possibly moreso), but there's nothing I'd like more than to live with this woman for all my life, to consolidate everything I trust her with.

Now, let's try that again.

Currently, I'm going out with a beautiful guy. He's brilliant, sensitive, nice, he forgives me more than a few of my shortcomings. If I felt that I had the financial security, I'd propose to him in a heartbeat. As in, effective immediately.

I'm sure those of you who are married, or are in relationships have some idea of what I'm talking about. Sure, we argue, and the road is bumpy as much as it is smooth sailing (possibly moreso), but there's nothing I'd like more than to live with this man for all my life, to consolidate everything I trust him with.

As a bisexual, I know that I could just as easily be in the second scenario as the first. Now, noone here has a problem or issue with the first scenario. It's perfectly fine, it's all legal, no hassles whatsoever. The second scenario, however, all of a sudden has this major roadblock - I can't marry the man of my dreams. Sure, we could live together, do all the stuff that unmarried couples do, but I, with complete and total conviction, want to yell out to the world "This man is my man, and I love him with all my heart!". No maze of paperwork can say that quite as succinctly as me walking down the aisle with the man of my dreams.

You wouldn't say to me and my girlfriend "Don't worry about marriage, you can do all this other stuff and you'll get just the same thing!" No! You'd say that if we really loved each other that much to go through all that, we should just go and get married!

Why on earth would you deny that to me and my boyfriend? The situation is identical. I love this man just as much as I loved this woman. Both of my lovers love me back, and I know they do because they say they love me every day. Where is the difference? If you could see him/her through my eyes, you'd see that the only thing we want is to yell to the world our love for each other. S/he loves me. I love him/her. I want to raise a child with him/her. I want to have grandchildren with him/her. If s/he is infertile, we'll get help. If there's no way for us to have children together, we'll adopt. We're committed to having this family. And just like anyone wanting a family, we sure as hell want to get married first!

Surely, you wouldn't deny me and my husband this dream because we're both men?


sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
NanNoWriMo is coming up! Woo-hoo! NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month, and it's basically this challenge where you write a 50000 word novel in the month of November. It's a cool concept, and I hope to actually do it this year.

Here's the teaser:

Dante )

Your Loyal Storyteller



Sep. 17th, 2004 11:22 pm
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
I've been really...lost lately. Sort of lost and feeling as if the whole world is lost with me. I've been SO out of it, I don't think I've really felt anything besides melencholyness for several days.

Nothing. Even though I feel I should have.

Harsh angry scrapes all up and down my arm,
scars like a cutter, but I don't, I'd never!
Thin perfect lines, gleeming red 'gainst white skin,
proof of stupidity, my own, my friends.
Anger and annoyance, aching for a crime
a weapon and a motive, a place and a time
a chip and annoyance, lunch, yes mine

I'll finish it later...gotta go now...


sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
Once upon a time, a long long time ago, in a land far away, there lived a beautiful princess who was quite content to stay rather single for the rest of time. Unfortently, everyone else had other plans.

So she climed a wall, ran off into the jungle and lived as a naked bear girl for the rest of her days.

The end.




sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
Katarina Whimsy

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