How do you tell the story of how a million people felt?
It's like trying to put words on infinity. The telling never ends; once you've caught a thread, you find that it is inextricably bound to countless others, an incomprehensible chain of emotion, a tangled spider web, shuddering with our nympholepsy. Even pictures only tell a thousand words, and a thousand pictures could never hope to come close to the words we lacked. The media's well of words ran dry how could you say it? Activists grew docile and listless what was there to say?
Our misery was collective, but as a collective we were splintered irreconcilably, individ
The year she married her son
She took to driving the car:
A greater testimony to her strength
Than mupping the herd up the long lane
Or milking by hand at dawn.
Of all her unremarkable achievements
It was the most remarked upon -
The groaning exertions of the engine
Drowning out the hollering of ghosts on the hill -
An eggshell around already absent offspring.
Beneath the weight of her children's anger
She bent like a stem beneath a flower;
As they bloomed into common Queen Anne's Lace,
Her weary legs bowed like the bluebells
That grew unreachable beyond the ditch.
Though life sapped her slowly of her youthfulness,
There were
How do you tell the story of how a million people felt?
It's like trying to put words on infinity. The telling never ends; once you've caught a thread, you find that it is inextricably bound to countless others, an incomprehensible chain of emotion, a tangled spider web, shuddering with our nympholepsy. Even pictures only tell a thousand words, and a thousand pictures could never hope to come close to the words we lacked. The media's well of words ran dry how could you say it? Activists grew docile and listless what was there to say?
Our misery was collective, but as a collective we were splintered irreconcilably, individ
The year she married her son
She took to driving the car:
A greater testimony to her strength
Than mupping the herd up the long lane
Or milking by hand at dawn.
Of all her unremarkable achievements
It was the most remarked upon -
The groaning exertions of the engine
Drowning out the hollering of ghosts on the hill -
An eggshell around already absent offspring.
Beneath the weight of her children's anger
She bent like a stem beneath a flower;
As they bloomed into common Queen Anne's Lace,
Her weary legs bowed like the bluebells
That grew unreachable beyond the ditch.
Though life sapped her slowly of her youthfulness,
There were
Permission Granted
Sgt. Hammond lifted his head to gauge the incoming high pitch squeal. Upon registering the sound as a mortar, he held onto his helmet, closed his eyes, and prayed to God. A few men screamed something inaudible, as it was meshed with gunfire and distant shelling.
The mortar round hit behind his trench, hitting two unsuspecting Privates unaccustomed to the new, unfamiliar sounds of war. Hammond, while holding on to his helmet with one hand, waved to the others, signalling all to get to cover. In his peripheral, he saw three or four men, no, boys, what was left of them, strewn across a rusted railing. Opposing snipers had be
What do you get if you put a mime in a blender?
I don't know, but it would probably look something like this. Reuben really went to town on her. She's not just dead, she's decimated.
"Reuben," I ask complacently, "do you ever think anything through?" He rubs his hand over his shorn head, the speckles of blood black freckles in the moonlight.
"How do you mean?"
Only Reuben could be irked by that question now. Another crazy axe-murderer might answer me, spitting reasons into the night, telling me he had thought this through, telling me why it was justified. Maybe just killing me for my
To the title - LOL JK hard work all the way. Essay, Akumakon, upcoming computer module - all of these are things I am putting off doing by writing this journal.
I have been truly pathetic in my uploading this year. I think it's because I've been pretty harsh on myself artwise - I've done two drawings I was happy with, and both were gifts that I totally failed to photograph before giving, like a BOSS... who was probably wrongfully promoted and is pissing away the company's assets.
I can't promise that's going to improve in any huge way any time soon, but I will try. In the meantime, I have a blog *hipster facepalm, I know* if you want upd
If you haven't noticed I haven't been terribly active here of late - that's due to as yet having no internet connection in the house in Dublin where I live during the week. It is known as the House of Win, or HOW for short.
Some of the residents of HOW (myself, ~Angelfacedmuffin (https://www.deviantart.com/angelfacedmuffin), :icontheladypope:, and :iconm-e-emi:) will be in the Artists' Alley of Eirtakon this weekend in DCU. Seeya there ;) I can't wait!!! ^3^
... or was this the most sickening break ever?
Like, if I had to summarise how I felt about all of the events of this break, I'd definitely say "sickened".
1) Bad things we predicted would happen and TRIED to stop happening, happened. With resulting awkwardness and desparateness and loneliness for everyone involved, which was at least one more person than it should have been. It was previously emotional, but we'd all be lying if we said there was nothing medical wrong now. And if we couldn't help emotionally... I haven't given up yet, but I can't say I never will.
2) It's so, so irritating to wake up every morning still hurt and angry.
warning! this is not a joke! carry on reading! or you will die, even if you only looked at the word warning!
ONCE THERE WAS A LITTLE GIRL CALLED CLARISSA, SHE WAS 10 YEARS OLD AND SHE LIVED IN A MENTAL HOSPITAL, BEACUSE SHE KILLED HER MUM AND DAD.
SHE GOT SO BAD SHE STARTED TO KILL ALL THE STAFF IN THE HOSPITAL SO THE GOVERMENT DECIDED THAT THE BEST IDEA WAS TO GET RID OF HER SO THEY SET UP A SPECIAL ROOM TO KILL HER, AS HUMANE AS POSSIBLE BUT IT WENT RONG THE MACHINE THEY WERE USEING WENT WRONG.
AND SHE WAS SAT THERE IN AGONY FOR HOURS UNTILL SHE FINALLY DIED.
NOW EVERY WEEK ON THE DAY OF HER DEATH SHE RETURNS TO THE PERSON THAT READS THIS LETTER, ON A MONDAY NIGHT AT 12:00 SHE KREEPS INTO YOUR ROOM AND KILLS YOU, BUT SLOWLY AND PAINFULLY SLOWLY CUTTING DIFFRENT PARTS OF UR BODY THEN WATCHES YOU BLEED TO DEATH IF YOU DONT SEND THIS TO 20 PEOPLE BY MIDNIGHT SHELL BE COMEING TO KILL YOU! SEND IT SO SHE HAS ANOTHER LOAD OF PEOPLE TO GET AND FORGETS ABOUT YOU DONT BELVE ME HEY?
EXAMPLE 1: JENNY DIDNT BELIVE THIS AND DELETED IT WITHOUT EVEN READING THE WHOLE THING! A FEW DAYS LATER ON THE MONDAY NIGHT SHE WAS WOKEN UP BYE LOUDE FOOTSTEPS AND HEAVY BREETHING THERE WAS CLARISSA STANDING THERE WITH A HUGE KNIFE AND WELL JENNY IS HISTORY NOW.
EXAMPLE 2: TOM ONLY SENT IT TO 5 PEOPLE CUZ HE THOUGHT HED BE SAFE AND IT WAS PROBLY JUST A JOKE BUT OH HOW RONG WAS HE! HE DIED THE NEXT NIGHT ON MONDAY AND ILL TELL YA NOW IT WASNT PRETTY(JUST CUZ HE SENT FIVE HE DIDNT COMPLETE THE TASK)
EXAMPLE 3: JOEANNA SENT IT TO 19 PEOPLE SHE THOUGHT IT WAS CLOSE ENOUGH AND WOULD DO BUT SHE WAS WRONG SHE DIED THAT NIGHT ON A MONDAY AND ONCE AGAIN IT WASNT