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I N T R O

"you only write about a friend who dies of cancer if you've just come back from the funeral--"

this is a livejournal. it is here for tara to put things in and for other people to respond.

this livejournal is a safe space for queers, for transgendered folks of all variations, for women, for people of color, and any other cultural/ethnic minority; bigotry and silencing behaviors towards any of these peoples will not be tolerated and if pursued offensively enough will result in permanent banning. i reserve the right to ban anyone i choose to, preemptively, without warning, from commenting to this journal, in the interests of protecting that safety.

friends come and go.

you get what you get.

so there's that.

D E F I N I T I O N

Youth has no age.
-Pablo Picasso

tor·ches; n. the light left by the dead.

contact @:
an edison cage | AIM
likezombieghosts[at]gmail[dot]com | GMAIL

D I S C L A I M E R

i am a christian. that doesn't stop me from swearing like a fucking sailor, or from cheerfully blaspheming if the opportunity presents itself. i just figured you'd want to know that up front.

i write comic scripts. sometimes i even try to draw them.

i read a lot; i listen to music more than is healthy. i'll watch, read, or listen to anything at least once.

i roleplay as people i'm not on the internet.

for the first time in a long time, i am where i need to be.

my life is more boring than i want it to be.

i like video games.

if you have subscribed to me and want to know more about me and to have access to my journal, please go here, read what's there, and leave a comment in response; but my livejournal is limited access for safety reasons. please respect that. thanks.

Q U O T E

"Well," said Deeba. "I don't think words do what anyone tells them all the time."

Hemi was looking at her with at least as much bewilderment on his face as Mr. Speaker had.

"What are you on about?" Hemi said.

"YES, WHAT ARE YOU ON ABOUT?"

Deeba paused to admire about, an utterling like a living spiderweb.

"Words don't always mean what we want them to," she said. "None of us. Not even you." The room was quiet. All the people and things in it were listening.

"Like ... if someone shouts 'Hey you!' at someone in the street, but someone else turns around. The words misbehaved. They didn't call the person they were meant to. Or if you see someone at a party, and they're wearing something mad, and you say 'That's some outfit!' and they think you're being rude, but you meant it really.

"Or like if someone says something's bad and people think they mean bad bad and they mean good bad. Or ..." Deeba giggled, remembering one of the Blyton books her mother had given her, saying she had enjoyed it when she was Deeba's age. "Or like that old book with a girl's name that just sounds rude now."

The utterlings were twitching, and staring at her. Mr. Speaker was flinching. He looked sick.

"Or even," Deeba said, "like some words that mean something but they've got like a feeling of something else, so if you say them, you might be saying something you don't mean to. Like if I say someone's really nice then I might mean it, but it sounds a little bit like they're boring. You know?"

"Yeah," said Hemi. "Yeah."

"The thing is," Deeba said, eyeing Mr. Speaker, "you could only make words do what you want if it was just you deciding what they mean. But it isn't. It's everyone else, too. Which means you might want to give them orders, but you aren't in total control. No one is."

"THIS IS OUTRAGEOUS NONSENSE!" Mr. Speaker spluttered, burping four confused creatures, but Deeba interrupted him.

"So, you might think all these words have to obey you. But they don't."
-China Miéville, Un Lun Dun


"It wasn't just a story, was it?"
-Terry Gilliam, The Adventures of Baron Munchausen

C O M M U N I T Y

workin' on it~

L A Y O U T ( T U T O R I A L )