Fiction, right?
Dec. 3rd, 2004 09:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aquabeanI'm caving more and more. Being able to use a client to put up my post rather than having to be online to compose stuff? Yeah, lj is slowly winning the "make rune post here for everything" war. Not that it's that dramatic to begin with, but it makes me angst in a way that proves I really need more to do with my time.
****
Drove home tonight with PT. Listened to funky French alterna-rock and swore at the other drivers. Didn't take the freeway though. Even from the road you could tell it was fucked, so, yeah, the back way it was. Not much better, but less chance of getting stuck behind a four car pile-up like last night. Shut up people who can't drive on San Diego freeways! Go back to the red states you came from!
Currently I'm workin' away on my Secret Santa fic (damn...I think it may end up epic. I'm gonna be needin' good beta work. I think PT volunteered, but I think![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
madpinkflamingo said she'd look over some stuff too, so that's cool.) and thinking I just need to be writing more in general.
So, yeah, PT wants to go out tonight. I figure I'll probably let her drag me somewhere. I was all spazzy in the car, but I've mellowed since. It's lookin' like funky anime and maybe a little drinkin' as the big plans. Swung by BestBuy and picked up the 2nd Spiderman movie though. Good times that. Better than the first one. Toby's okay, and Kirsten's cute, so it's all good. That and the fact that it actually manages to capture the heart of the comic. Go figure. I'm still hoping they'll get Joss to direct the third X-movie, but I don't hold out hope. The first two were good, and that kind of luck can't hold out forever.
On a totally random note PT (who's sitting at the dining room table reading) just informed me that if you want to insult someone in French you can call them a "gueule de raie." This literally translates as telling them they have a face like a vagina. Heh. I am keeping this in mind for the next time someone cuts me off in traffic.
So, yeah, the actual writing contribution for the day... Written on the plane to Cleveland at like 3:00am while listening to the Cowboy Bebop soundtrack, it's well....it's not exactly prose, but not poetry either. I'll let you decide, 'cause really, hell if I know.
The sky is huge and black.
No, not black. Blue like the ocean at night. A colour so deep that if you dipped your hand in it you would come a way painted, tattooed by the great shapes that drift through the sky.
The stars themselves are a mix of colours.
Small, bright Mars. A pinprick of red to remind the gods of how they bleed too.
A thousand white lights, scattered like the jewels of a careless woman. She rushes through the night, mindless of the diamonds she leaves in her wake.
It is the blue, though, those small faintly glowing points of light that look simply as if the sky has worn thin in places. Is God so careless that he he does not bother to patch the holes in his roof?
Maybe from here if you lift your thumb you can smug the colours. Wet the finger with your tongue and rub from left to right.
There, it is whole again, and tomorrow the moon will rise and paint our faces in turn.
I'll leave you with one last French insult, because, well, damn, but the French are bugfuck insane and know how to tell someone off better than anyone.
Try, "ta grand-mere fait du velo sans selle" for size. "Your grandma rides a bike without a seat."
Alright, one more...
"Tu ne vaut pas un pet de lapin," or "you're not worth a rabbit's fart." Damn straight you're not.
****
Drove home tonight with PT. Listened to funky French alterna-rock and swore at the other drivers. Didn't take the freeway though. Even from the road you could tell it was fucked, so, yeah, the back way it was. Not much better, but less chance of getting stuck behind a four car pile-up like last night. Shut up people who can't drive on San Diego freeways! Go back to the red states you came from!
Currently I'm workin' away on my Secret Santa fic (damn...I think it may end up epic. I'm gonna be needin' good beta work. I think PT volunteered, but I think
madpinkflamingo said she'd look over some stuff too, so that's cool.) and thinking I just need to be writing more in general. So, yeah, PT wants to go out tonight. I figure I'll probably let her drag me somewhere. I was all spazzy in the car, but I've mellowed since. It's lookin' like funky anime and maybe a little drinkin' as the big plans. Swung by BestBuy and picked up the 2nd Spiderman movie though. Good times that. Better than the first one. Toby's okay, and Kirsten's cute, so it's all good. That and the fact that it actually manages to capture the heart of the comic. Go figure. I'm still hoping they'll get Joss to direct the third X-movie, but I don't hold out hope. The first two were good, and that kind of luck can't hold out forever.
On a totally random note PT (who's sitting at the dining room table reading) just informed me that if you want to insult someone in French you can call them a "gueule de raie." This literally translates as telling them they have a face like a vagina. Heh. I am keeping this in mind for the next time someone cuts me off in traffic.
So, yeah, the actual writing contribution for the day... Written on the plane to Cleveland at like 3:00am while listening to the Cowboy Bebop soundtrack, it's well....it's not exactly prose, but not poetry either. I'll let you decide, 'cause really, hell if I know.
The sky is huge and black.
No, not black. Blue like the ocean at night. A colour so deep that if you dipped your hand in it you would come a way painted, tattooed by the great shapes that drift through the sky.
The stars themselves are a mix of colours.
Small, bright Mars. A pinprick of red to remind the gods of how they bleed too.
A thousand white lights, scattered like the jewels of a careless woman. She rushes through the night, mindless of the diamonds she leaves in her wake.
It is the blue, though, those small faintly glowing points of light that look simply as if the sky has worn thin in places. Is God so careless that he he does not bother to patch the holes in his roof?
Maybe from here if you lift your thumb you can smug the colours. Wet the finger with your tongue and rub from left to right.
There, it is whole again, and tomorrow the moon will rise and paint our faces in turn.
I'll leave you with one last French insult, because, well, damn, but the French are bugfuck insane and know how to tell someone off better than anyone.
Try, "ta grand-mere fait du velo sans selle" for size. "Your grandma rides a bike without a seat."
Alright, one more...
"Tu ne vaut pas un pet de lapin," or "you're not worth a rabbit's fart." Damn straight you're not.
