I missed being artsy

Basically, i love Taylor Swift.

And Natalie Portman is just... hot.

Hello Kitty, you can retire now. Introducing: Nannette Rabbette

she loves being fancy and only wears stilletos. (she didn't get the memo)

Apparently, According to Numerical Science and Facial Recognisation Technologies... Me and This Bloke Are the Same Person

it's always a boy, why is it always a boy?

I miss when this was the biggest meal i could imagine having

God Bless pub food

The Stuff of My Mind coming to a T-shirt near you soon!

Name: Peace, Love, & Cupcakes

My Favourite Picture of All Time

Daniel At Chirstmas In Response To Toy Train

This face will always make me happy.

The Facts are these: there was probablly nothing in the world i didnt love more than trains as a kid. Well, that might not be true, Legos are right up there with rocks.

i was a simple kid with little needs who enjoyed making a good mud pie and the smell of cardboard boxes.

i've always been easy. NOT in that way.

i'm also probablly the easiest person in the world to entertain and please.

even right now, at the ripe age of 22, i could be content with a glass of water and maybe a rubber band.

it's surely a gift i believe will help me rise to the top in life, i'm sure.

But anyway, trains.

they're just joyous aren't they? Probablly until i was 14 i genuinely enjoyed playing with my younger cousin and his Thomas the Tank Engine sets. This fact doesn't embarass me in the slightest.

i dont know what it is about them, but i love them. And Daniel's face. I bet he played with that thing until he was 15.

How I'd Imagine Shakespeare Had He Want Of A Y-Chromosome

Sonnet IIII

My lips turn up when palsy strikes your face.
Determined, you descend upon them both.
They catch themselves and settle to that place,
Where if met with mates, forsooth they’ll break their oath.
When met again, separate they yearn to be
Between old friends, they know just what to do,
Equally adept your pair to thee,
That though familiar, still inspire as new.
Our Ivory walls, in conflict never are
Though sometimes eager message you convey
Purse my halves and let you get not far,
Brief the tease, excitement more to weigh.
And when the moment comes when eyes do meet,
Lips no longer care of my discreet.

WHY ME!?

So, every now and then, weird things plague my eyes.

the most recent and slightly horrifying is this flashing rainbow coloured zig-zag line that just lingers peripherally in my right eye. I swear it thinks it's a Vegas casino job, flashing and distracting me so that i'm pretty sure i look like i'm trying to win a world record in strange facial expressions with a concentration in blinking a lot.

It doesn't hurt or anything. it's annoying and flamboyant.

it also gets in the way of when i'm reading. ish.

if i'm starring in one spot it flashes away and blocks the vision, but say i'm following a line of words, it slowly backs up so that as i move my eyes the words are unveiled. FUN

it's like a suprise. good one eyes, making my reading experience THAT much more exciting.

Sometimes i like to webMD and see how far a certain ache i may be feeling can be suddenly turned into a life-threatening problem.

For example, about a month ago, i had this terrible pain on the top part of my left foot. It just was there suddenly while i was sitting on a wobbly stool in my Props class. It felt kinda like a cramp and so i got up to stretch it out and realised that it was basically the most intense pain i'd ever felt in my life, there happily making itself known to me in my boots. It was odd because i hadn't done anything to set it off.

so i wobbled around for the rest of the day (which just happened to be a day in which i was making up a couple hours in a class that wasn't my own so the strangers in there just thought i was naturally gimpy) and slowly and probablly really awkwardly to witness, made my way on the long trek home.

Sure, my foot hurt a lot and something was probably wrong, but i think i have this really weird notion of what pain is. Rather, i've always had this problem where i can't actually tell is something hurts enough... to be serious. Or actually hurts. I get really surreal with myself i suppose. Anyway, i have a hard time recognising if something is worth medical attention because i just make myself believe that what is actually bothering me doesn't even really hurt that bad, like, oh, that's just how it feels sometimes, my spleen, enlarged like that.

Anyway, after about 3 days of limited walking ability, i webMDed top/inside top of foot pain and the tragical results i got were endless. Let's see, was i actually suffering from Peripheral Neuropathy? Sciatica? SHINGLES? Multiple Sclerosis? or poorly fitting shoes?

I ended up going to the doctor cos i could harldy get around anymore and Lord knows i couldn't live with myself if i had SHINGLES.

she looked at my foot, stabbed it with her pen, slapped it a little, made me crunch up my toes and asked if any of these hurt. i said yes.

"you have flexor tendenitis and you can't wear high heels"

oh god. OH GOD. WHAT?

this was even WORSE than what webMD had to offer.

I've strayed a little off course. My eye.

i webMDed that shit and all it told me was that i should be expecting a migrain at ANY moment, once the coloured zig-zags had had enough.

i even googled "flickering colored zig-zag line in vision" and found that there were tons of people (12) out there who totally knew what i was going through. they all said it was the migrains too.

well, fuck.

If that's what everyone's saying online, what are they going to tell me when i go get it checked out at a real Dr's?! That i have to stop wearing MASCARA?!!?!

Some Reflection On My Studies

I've always preferred older English literature to the new shit that people now a days think they're clever for writing.
They, would be nowhere without the dead white guys I like to learn about.
I like foundations and the starts of things. The birth of genre, double entendre, the birth of new words, expressions, ideas.
but, it's not always fun.
Sometimes i rethink my choice of taking Elizabethan Literature simultaneously with Chaucer and his Canterbury Tales.
I let impatience get in the way. I let their now forgotten style bore me out of my mind.
but i'm easily convinced that things are important.
And my professors always know what to say to get me really interested in every word of Sir Philip Sidney, or anyone, for that matter, who for a glimpse of time thought what they had to say was legitimate.
I just fall into this state of awe. I lick it all up because I can imagine with what passion each word was jotted down, maybe hurriedly, maybe with uttmost exactness - their author anxious to express the overflow of emotion with witch inspired him to put pen to paper.
They had something to say. They wanted to be heard.
And, no matter how God awfully boring 14th century text seems, Sidney got what he wanted. Chaucer got what he wanted. The poets and bards and dead old white guys who had the balls to try to spread what they believed in, refuted, ridiculed, satired, laughed at, loved, got what they wanted.

700 and some odd years later and I’m in a class dedicated to these bastards.

Words live forever.

The Sullivan Ballou Letter: words of love from a solider of the Civil War

July 14, 1861Camp Clark, Washington

My very dear Sarah:
The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days—perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write again, I feel impelled to write a few lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more . . .

I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how strongly American Civilization now leans on the triumph of the Government and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and sufferings of the Revolution. And I am willing—perfectly willing—to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that debt . . .

Sarah my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me unresistibly on with all these chains to the battle field.

The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them for so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when, God willing, we might still have lived and loved together, and seen our sons grown up to honorable manhood, around us. I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me—perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar, that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battle field, it will whisper your name. Forgive my many faults and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have often times been! How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness . . .

But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the gladdest days and in the darkest nights . . . always, always, and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath, as the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by. Sarah do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again . . .


Sullivan Ballou was killed a week later at the first Battle of Bull Run, July 21, 1861.