Today, I like: orange spice tea, heavy curtains, Beethoven's Lacrimosa in D minor, the smell of antiseptic floor cleaner, exuberant animals, textbooks, leather journals, pens in unusual colors, puzzles, serendipity, the passenger seat, Subclass Coleoidea, Jules Verne, Nabokov's word choices, silence, and bare feet.


Now, you tell me yours.

 
 

this doesn't have a name because it's another ones of those poems that i wrote in
20 minutes instead of paying attention to microbial ecology (but it's late and i'm tired, and those are my excuses.)

(post title -- in fact, i'm stuck in this class until 9:50, someone help me. )



it's somewhere between the shelf
where college textbooks rest aslant
and a produce crate holding rows of
old honey jars with clots of sugar
beneath their lids and dried combs
that retain their mechanical geometry.


i've never been so good at telling
them apart unless their oil is trapped
in the rivets of my fingertips, and anyway,
the only part i'm interested in is the bundle
of undifferentiated cells at the growing tip;

all the incidental art of cell division, prophase,
anaphase, the delicate language of nucleic acids,
and the way they speak and speak,

quietly at first, in unfathomable
sequences of amino acids, and then

louder;


the thing that makes my lungs feel rigid
and useless.

it's all there; the white bridges carpeted
by spanish moss and the taste of black soil,

epitaphs and wild psalms,

trapped in the meristem
of a petal of maybe-oregano.

 
Stolen from daeger :

Ask me one fandom-related question in the comments. This can be fandom-specific, general, or about fandom/lj stuff/fic writing/etc. in general. Favorite character, favorite moment, unpopular opinion, something about a fic of mine... whatever. Wackiness encouraged. Once I answer, you can ask again.

I'm going to Japan in May, but nobody love me.



Someone, come with meeeeeee.



I am also open to other fabulous travel suggestions.

 

we could make it a picture, the
kind you like, where everything
is laid bare in the initial viewing
and disappears just as quickly.

 

it will not be easy for me, whose
talismans and superstitions are
all words and language which
pushes itself up from the ground
and yells and grinds its heel into
the tiles and threatens to walk away
but often goes into hiding beneath a
breastbone, between a rib, and
unfurls after years into the spectrum
of all the things that should have been
said and felt, but weren't.

(don't you know how it happens?
it's always when you're struggling
with the child safety lock on a
bottle of antidepressants or
discussing urban planning over
dinner or staring through a pane
of glass at a painting on a gallery
wall, and someone will touch your
hand and ask what's wrong?

what's wrong?

are you dreaming?)

let's look at the canals, instead,
with their oily backs smelling
sweet and hormonal, like fertilizer.

the ocean is the color of a
wheel barrel and there is
armenian music playing
in the restaurant down the street.

let's wait for the pause in our
conversation in which the pulse
in my diaphragm becomes obvious.

 

 

 

I want to be best friends with livejournal again.


Leave me a comment with your very favorite thing in the world. 

 I am still here, I promise.

I owe a lot of people comments, and I have about a million things to post about, but I'm going through some pretty heavy depression, which makes my motivation to do anything grind to a complete halt. I'm thinking I'll regain my productivity in roughly two and a half hours. Yeah. 

I love you all, and I know each of you is going to have an amazing year. 

Now, off to see fireworks!

la mer, a bercé mon coeur pour la vie


It follows so close that it
makes me afraid at times.

I tell you this, and you look
up at me, expecting more and
prolonging the embarrassment
of my admission. I try to disguise
the fact that I am eating canned
pears from a tin, but the syrup
encrusted in the corner of my
mouth is powerful evidence,
and since I cannot feign innocent,
I feign ignorant, which is much
the same thing.

I shrug.

You press your hands into the orange
mineral dust on the floors. The house
smells like chemical paint and camphor,
which makes me anxious, I lap up the blood from a
disintegrated hangnail and
try to elaborate.

The song, it's always there,
in one way or another.

It's Django this time, but it might as well
be Darin or Goodman. I doubt you will ever
interpret its bleaker tones the way I do. Too
often, our conversations seem like a collection
of contradictory eye-witness reports, rough drafts
on loose leaf paper. Impossible, you mutter, but I nearly miss the
prefix. You are disentangling a mosquito net.
It's out of context and connects with some
phylogenetic memory of cyclic fevers and
anemia, but I can appreciate your absolute logic. falling? There's a circular irony to it, and then
no more sailing, no more sailing.)

It follows, I repeat, because only conviction
can reestablish the distribution of power,
and I am beginning to suspect that I am
either lying or have lost the ability to
distinguish memory from nostalgia.

You shift into seiza. The pearls of bone at your knees
must be grinding into the tile, but only the knuckles of
your fingers are animate, folding around the net.
Your face projects wisdom and sympathy.

I just don't see that as a possibility, you tell me.

two_point , oh, two_point . Your wonderful package is wonderful. The creatures have already joined the unicorns in their epic battle with the dinosaurs/Indians (don't ask). I don't believe they've yet choosen a side. The pad will be put to good use, as well as teh cards, and I am uploading the CD unto my harddrive as we speak.

THANK YOU.

Also, I am keeping your letter forever. When you are a famous writer (Are you already? I'm not sure.), I will show it to everybody and they will be jealous. So jealous.

Is the address I have for you the right one?

DRABBLE TIME.

Yay, one down! Three to go!

For two_point, who requested: I want WK/American Gods/with a dash of DN, please. In this three-way L is still amongst us (because he is actually a god).

The scary thing is that my Secret Head Canon is actually... well, it's this.

( Czernobog doesn't belong in Japan... )

NaNo... not yet done, hovering around 90,000 words and waiting for the ending to be written. Then, waiting to be chopped up so it can be reduced to a reasonable word count.

I had to print it two pages to a sheet, or else it would have been around 120 pages in 10pt font, and the people waiting behind me in line at the university library would have been twice as angry.

( pictures! )

So, I am completely aware that I have not yet completed my previous meme! I have not forgotten it, and I have a whole list of great ideas for all the suggestions, but I'm waiting for finals to be over to write them. Because they are going to be epic. So there.

This one just seems fun, and it will be done in a timely manner, because I can take pictures with my camera, click click, and it does not require me knowing about -- I don't know -- Sargassum or anything.

Ask me to take a picture of any aspect of my life that you're interested in. Leave your choice here as a comment, and I will reciprocate by taking the pictures and posting them as an LJ entry. That way you get to know a little bit about my life, if you're interested in it.

Thank you two_point and staubundsterne for the delicious (virtual) cakes!

... I owe a million people drabbles. (Okay, four people, but that might as well be a million right now.)

... I also have not had time to give my friend's page more than a quick glance over.

Please, blame finals, and if you see them, tell them I've got a sharpened toothbrush handle hidden in the secret pocket of my jumpsuit with their name on it.

On the bright side, I'm done with NaNo. Kind of. I keep forgetting to update my word counts, but they're getting pretty ridiculous. I'm thinking this will finish around 100,000 words. Is that way too much? Please, tell me that's not too much.

Drabbles are on their way.

But, LOOK! ... this is basically what we do all day in my invertebrate zoology lab...

WARNING, don't watch it unless you want to see Nosferatu, the leech, get forcibly ripped from my arm.

Look a meme! Because, you know, it's not like I'm busy enough these days. (Actually, I just want the attention, and I'm going to cross my fingers and hope someone wants a stupid DN/WK crossover, because I'm annoying.)

Give me the premise for a crossover, a fusion, or an AU. I will write you one to three sentences* of fic based on that premise.

*Or, you know, more.


Fandoms: Death Note, Weiss Kreuz, Sandman (American Gods, any Neil Gaiman thing, really), Harry Potter, fairy tales/biblical/mythology, Watchmen.. Uh, there's probably more, but I'm scared to try and write for them.

 Guys, guys. If you're into snarky  telepaths, or anal retentive precognitives, or sarcastic telekinetics, or -- something -- albinos, or art heists done awry, or priests with questionable morals, then you should definitely check out: 

Title: Death's an Old Joke 
Authors: ahpookishereand two_point
Rating: PG-13 
Summary: An art heist goes astray in Soviet Russia. Schwarz follows a broken trail that leads them to the least likely suspect: a stranger that makes them question their loyalties and plays a mean game of chess. Will Schwarz be destroyed in the process? Will the Elders become immortal? And who is this mysterious group called Farblos? These questions and more will be answered in Book One. 

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five


Then, you should check out all the other stories/artwork at Weiss Kreuz Noir, because it's awesome, and I said so.

 HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS, I'M SEEING MARGARET ATWOOD TONIGHT



I'm hyperventilating. 

Dear god, that is a lot. That is too much. I have the sneaking suspicion that of those 30,000 words, only about 12,000 of them can actually be found in an English dictionary, because I have been waking up at 6:00 in the morning to get in my 2,000 before class, and then doing whatever scribbling I can in-between school and work, and before bed. This means I have been averaging 4 hours or so of sleep a night, and have begun to look rather like an underweight crack-addled panda. Also, I think I have developed a twitch in my left eyelid. Also, I have been staring at a PDF map of the American Museum of Natural History for so long, that I am pretty sure I have memorized it. 

Also, I can't believe I managed to make that widget work.

Oh, fanfiction, how I miss you so. Did you get my 'Wish You Were Here' card? Why haven't you replied to me yet? Was the dead rat in my mailbox from you?



PS -- HAPPY BIRTHDAY two_point !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!11111111

 

1. Happy belated Halloween. (As it turns out, even I am capable of consuming too much candy.)

2. Not so happy Official-Start-of-NaNoWriMo day to those of us who are doing it. 

I did over 5,000 words today. Which is amazing. Because normally, my interest wanders around 1,500, and I stumble off in search of coffee. I tried to do one of those cool widgets, but I am too incompetent. 

The first two-hundred or so pages of my project take place entirely in the American Museum of Natural History, so I've been trapped in their online archives for a few hours now. My favorite section is the "Diorama Preparation", but they all are really amazing.

( When I was a kid, I ran around this place with no parental supervision. )