More AdComp goodness

[sorcyress]

My day has been very good, even though Veronica got totally drunk during lunch because we decided to play our drinking game. How she got drunk off of thirty some shots of AIR is beyond me.

Mr. Smith randomly started singing "Toucha-toucha-touch me" during math class. I. Love. That. Man!! Gyarr.

Only, when I told Veronica about it, she said something along the lines of how his acting career must have begun as Frank. I really really didn't need to have images of my math teacher in a corset in my head, even if I *do* have a killer crush on him. But yeah. That's just a liiiiiiitle bit drain bamaging.

I'm highly pissed about the way that this worked out. BAH! And Alis continues to maintain that I shouldn't travel back in time to rearrange my life. Bugger her.

H: Ooo, sounds fun!

.............o.O() Hyde? I was definently joking. Please take your mind damaging comments away. Or I won't scan the lovely picture I drew of you in, and that's a really good one.

H: This is true. I will go discuss the possibilities of buggerdom with Alis now. *poofs*

It won't work! Damn him. Stupid serial killers. *grumbles*

I should write something. Find some fantasy threads, argue them out into stories, and make them excellent. Heh, I know! I could pick up Dante -again- and rewrite her story -again. Gnarr on her, she just refuses to WORK!

I learned today that in my post apocolyptic, all the animals can now talk, weirdness story that I wrote about a year ago that I named a cat Infintesimal Gnarr. Clearly a Kat reference.

I don't think I ref'd myself in that one. Unlike Adie.

Yarr. I'm still reasonably silly from lunch. Hehehe, we need to bring in kool-aid and have kool-aid shots. That'd be fabulous.

I should write something. Said that already, but it *is* the central thought at the moment. I don't really have anything to write though. I don't much even feel like thoughtstreaming, I'm just skimming the surface at the moment. Nothing I feel like talking about. I guess that means I've hit boredom.

*curls up under the stairs and begins playing gravitational dart ninjas*

My muse is gone. *pouts*

I have a million things I should ought to need to want to do. Maybe type more of that bad poetry, for the moment? Grand idea --can't possibly end badly.

Memento Mori:

So.
Death.
What's THAT all about?
What on earth is up with this teenage obsession
With that dark and most final pasttime
Death.

We, as a group, write poems about it
And songs about it
And stories
And rhymes
We roll the word on our tounges--
Dee-aa-thh.
Enjoy it's cold taste
And in our lonlier moments,
flirt
With the grim reaper herself.

Slash our wrists
Release the pain
Take our pills
Numb the brain
Let us balance
on the edge
Of pure sweet oblivion, that one word
Death

But
I ask, for I am a freak, and asking questions is my favorite pasttime
Why?
Why death, of all things?
Why not confusion, which comes from living in this world and being a teenager?
Why not sex, which courses through our minds and bodies, and again, comes from being a teen?
Why not smiles, laughter, friends, flowers, school, jobs, pets, family, work, fun, life, LOVE?
Why not any of those?
Why death?

I guess we've just been brought up
as too morbid for our own good.
Memento Mori, and all that.



Censor Us, Please:

Censor us, please!
Black out our images, our words, our ideas
Keep the world from seeing
What we work so hard to create
Take away our freedom
The creations that we made
We can't show them off -they're bad!
Too bad for others to see.

Censor us, please!
We're writing as high schoolers,
To high schoolers
Sharing the ideas we love
Take away our freedom
The ideas we spawned and birthed
And will tell to each other, anyways.
We just can't tell it like that.

Censor us, please!
Death bad, politics bad, freedom bad.
bad is really anything
That goes against your boxed in point of view.
Take away our freedom
Pen us up like little sheep
Herded from trend to trend
And I say to you, bah!
WE WILL NOT BE SILENCED!
Censor us, please.

Ok, now I need to find out if I have any other decent poems floating around here that I could use for my poetry thing. See you cats and kittens later!

~Sor
MOOP!

Comments

[marcmagus]

"How she got drunk off of thirty some shots of AIR is beyond me."

She probably hyperventilated. It can cause some pretty strange effects, some of which mirror inebriation. (I believe it's something to do with excess oxygen making it through the blood to the brain, but that's about all I know about the bio/psych of it.) Another such weird effect (which I've had a few time) being paralysis of the extremities. That kind of freaked me out.

[drama-angel3189.livejournal.com]

i wasn't hyperventilating. I was just very silly plus a bit of acting can make things work out wierdly making my feel, sound and act drunk.

~V~

[kdsorceress.livejournal.com]

Meh, I think it's just being far too silly. Crazy girls...

~Sor

[artemisfowl2nd.livejournal.com]

I like both the poems. Paricularly

Slash our wrists
Release the pain
Take our pills
Numb the brain
Let us balance
on the edge
Of pure sweet oblivion, that one word
Death.

And, well,
Pen us up like little sheep
...
And I say to you, bah!
Made me laugh.

[kdsorceress.livejournal.com]

I'm glad you caught the sheep/bah pun. That pleased me.

And...yeah. I don't really know how I feel about Memento Mori, I originally wrote it as a combat to a couple of the teachers talking about how kids were so obsessed with death in their writings.

~Sor

[artemisfowl2nd.livejournal.com]

To be honest, everyone is obsessed with death in one way or another. It is one of the greatest questions we have, and none of us can possibly hope to know the answer.

Interesting title, by the way.

[kdsorceress.livejournal.com]

Memento Mori -- remember you will die. It fits.

~Sor