Watching Fate Unfold

lstnt0bobmarley @ 2005-12-14T15:03:00

2005-12-14T20:04:29Z

lstnt0bobmarley @ 2005-11-11T18:39:00

2005-11-11T23:40:03Z

and so we're giving it another shot... oh man this has been a stressful 24 hours

lstnt0bobmarley @ 2005-11-11T12:20:00

2005-11-11T17:21:53Z

i think this is one of the hardest things i've ever done, one of the hardest decisions i've ever made. i think kat and i might be broken up. god we are still so in love. i hope this is the right thing

lstnt0bobmarley @ 2005-08-03T23:41:00

2005-08-04T03:35:54Z

Which Drugs Fits you? by xobrooke42069xo
Name
Age
Best Friends name
Corona or Budweiser?
In 10 years you will most likely be...	With your hott ass Husband or wife
When your at a party your friends say your the one	sluttin yourself around
The Drug thats for you is...	OxyContin

Quiz created with MemeGen!

lstnt0bobmarley @ 2005-07-25T20:45:00

2005-07-26T00:46:14Z

Part Expert Kisser

You're a kissing pro, but it's all about quality and not quantity
You've perfected your kissing technique and can knock anyone's socks off
And you're adaptable, giving each partner what they crave
When it comes down to it, your kisses are truly unforgettable

Part Passionate Kisser

For you, kissing is about all about following your urges
If someone's hot, you'll go in for the kiss - end of story
You can keep any relationship hot with your steamy kisses
A total spark plug - your kisses are bound to get you in trouble

What Kind of Kisser Are You?

thank you dana ;)

lstnt0bobmarley @ 2005-07-20T17:13:00

2005-07-20T21:14:29Z

my new set up = the hotness.

oh and by the way it's amazing being in love. just thought i'd share.

byebye :)

lstnt0bobmarley @ 2005-07-19T17:01:00

2005-07-19T21:01:33Z

Your Power Color Is Lime Green

At Your Highest:

You are adventurous, witty, and a visionary.

At Your Lowest:

You feel misunderstood, like you don't fit in.

In Love:

You have a tough exterior, but can be very dedicated.

How You're Attractive:

Your self-awareness and confidence lights up a room.

Your Eternal Question:

"What else do I need in my life?"

What's Your Power Color?

lstnt0bobmarley @ 2005-06-19T14:24:00

2005-06-19T18:24:47Z

You scored as Sex God. You are a master at sex. You make your partner weak in the knees, and you know it. You've had the practice, and you've read the books, but don't get too cocky (pun intended) or you'll get put into place.

</td>

Sex God

98%

A Slave To BDSM

75%

A Romantic

75%

Virgin

15%

How are you in bed
created with QuizFarm.com

lstnt0bobmarley @ 2005-06-07T18:09:00

2005-06-07T22:10:47Z

Folks:

I officially passed my road test.

I officially have a job.

what's going on????

lstnt0bobmarley @ 2005-05-26T10:37:00

2005-05-26T14:41:05Z

lol out of a sense of good humor, I'd like to point out that I did not in fact write my last journal entry- however, I'll leave it up because... well... I can't really disagree

yea, last night my pants were a little on the tight side.

oh and p.s. genevieve; I think your father will recover ;)
<3

lstnt0bobmarley @ 2005-05-25T17:33:00

2005-05-25T21:35:49Z

i'm a shmuck who wears tight (or "fitted") pants

lstnt0bobmarley @ 2005-05-13T11:33:00

2005-05-13T15:34:34Z

haha this one is for you...

UCAUTION

IN THE INTEREST OF SAFETY IT IS ADVISABLE TO KEEP THAT HOT BITCH TALIA AWAY FROM FIRE AND FLAMES.

lstnt0bobmarley @ 2005-05-12T01:25:00

2005-05-12T05:25:42Z

LOOK OUT!
ïòð

my vagina is a radioactive squirrel!!

sorry, i thought it was funny.
-oh yea, and by the way,

genevieve laplante is poisonous! Induce vomitting if ingested.

N
POISON

<BR

prequel to Thomas Hardy's "Neutral Tones"

2005-04-17T00:00:11Z

Thomas Hardy
Neutral Tones

We stood by a pond that winter day,
And the sun was white, as though chidden of God,
And a few leaves lay on the starving sod,
--They had fallen from an ash, and were gray.

Your eyes on me were as eyes that rove
Over tedious riddles solved years ago;
And some words played between us to and fro
On which lost the more by our love.

The smile on your mouth was the deadest thing
Alive enough to have strength to die;
And a grin of bitterness swept thereby
Like an ominous bird a-wing...

Since then, keen lessons that love deceives,
And wrings with wrong, have shaped to me
Your face, and the God-curst sun, and a tree,
And a pond edged with greyish leaves.

***

Prequel to Thomas Hardy's "Neutral Tones"

“Of course they should stare at me. Stupid little subjects. Yes, now walk along, as you were, you filthy peasants. Stare at your ruler, your one godly savior, envy his image, revel in his greatness. Faster rolling that carpet you petty fools! I am King Aldron the Second, keeper of the great order of the Brook, in the holy land of Niork! Let fester your petty sense of worthlessness, let rot your dreams of greatness- for I am all that is great, for I am all that is good, for I am your single God! I am he who saves you from the enemy, he who protects you in this Great War! Worship your Protector!”
The icon of royalty proudly strode down the reflective silver-paved street, his chest inflated by the exhale of a vocal prayer in his image- a wind of veneration engendered by the thousands of thankful voices over whom his iron personage dominated. As he walked, two young subjects, dressed in business suits whose blinding whiteness reflected all the sun’s attempt to claim equal greatness, quickly rolled out a carpet died with the thick, fresh blood of the enemy from across the Great River. No citizen dared walk along the royal line, or even so much as touch the blood of the great ruler’s labors. In the focused sun, the blood which had escaped the fabric of the royal carpet made itself a filter on top of the glistening silver roads, shooting an entire spectrum of crimson into the air and penetrating all that stood for miles. It was the year of the Great War, and the second phase of the rule of the Aldron bloodline.
Thousands of feet high, constructed by millions of tons of steel, gold and silver, stood erect an unimaginable wall of protection for the sheltered city. One could look but up to the sky in hopes of obtaining any sense of distance beyond the colossal construction, and upon doing so, would see the dozens of archers perched upon the peak of every single segment of wall, ever vigilant in enforcing the military supremacy of the fortified structures. Bugles sounded in regal exultation of the King of Niork as he continued his dignified procession, himself larger than the immensity of all that surrounded him, all that he created for the protection of his peoples in this time of war. As a tribute to his public presence, the entire city- so far as the eye could see- burst into hundreds of parades, with celebratory ejaculations of sound and caravans of floats waiting their turn to move along the already crowded and celebrating peoples of the street. Brightly colored posters and vistas of vibrantly tinted lights saturated the spectrum of jubilation, and people shouted in recognition of being blessed with the opportunity to see their savior. It was a rare occasion that the King himself would ever exit the heavily protected confines of his palace, and as was customary, the city erupted into an outburst of frenzied celebration upon his doing so.
“Celebrate, celebrate you selfish lemmings, bathe in your gluttony, enjoy the freedom that I give to you. Love me, admire your King, pray to all that you will never be!”
“You rule them all.”
“I rule them all.”
Nearing the entrance to his palace, the proud king proceeded along his flesh-like carpet, smiling snidely at the submission of his subjects and the uncontested dominance of his reign- the awe-inspiring majesty of all that was under his control. As one of his regal feet strove to penetrate the inch between it and the first step to his imperial abode, a young woman, completely nude, stepped before him, her feet seemingly floating above the crimson carpet that extended now past the doors to his palace. The dark, nearly black eyes of the woman froze the king mid-step, ceasing to withdraw with even a single momentary blink; the royal eyes of the king found themselves locked as if bound by steel columns to those darker ones emanating before him. As the two stood, motionless, the city’s vast parade began to slow, proceeding like a thick temporal molasses, coating the consciousness of the world’s only two real participants. Her eyes like hands, beckoning, and mandating stringently the direction of the king’s attention, the woman in hypnotic fashion walked towards him, approaching as if propelled by force of a fleeting sigh. She very carefully paced forward until standing almost upon the king’s feet. Finally the woman blinked, and upon opening her eyes, found both her and her male partner atop one of the great segments of grandiose wall far above the city. Mingling in heaven, the king observed the deafening immensity of absolute silence as he resumed gaze into the woman’s eyes. Slowly, the structure upon whose top the two stood began to melt. The golden body of the wall contorted, and with the changing reflections of light seemed animate in the dawn of so powerful a movement. The huge mass bent at the top and, almost deliberately, cast the two figures falling through the air to the blinding, shiny silver ground below.
When next he opened his eyes, King Aldron the Second found himself in the bed of his royal palace. He sat up slowly, attempting to remember the events of the day before, but found it difficult to approach any resolute account of what had happened. No longer had he collected himself than had a knock on the door jarred his attention. His maid, an elderly, fragile-looking woman, approached him apprehensively with his daily morning meal and placed it on a small wooden stand beside his bed. She quickly turned and went to leave the room. Like every other day, as per the king’s unbendable request, a meal of one breast of chicken, mashed potatoes, red wine, and a small white pill sat staring back at the soon-to-be consumer of their being. However, one small feature shattered this daily convention; the formerly small white pill was replaced with a somewhat larger, blue pill.
“She tries to kill you. Kill her first.”
“I will kill her first.”
Throwing the entire tray across the room, the man inspired an indecipherable mixture of glass, food and wine to be propelled across the small living space, hitting and also shattering an old lamp on another small desk across from the bed. The infuriated king spat fire at the maid who had not yet had time to leave the room: “Wench! Ungrateful wench! Be gone from my quarters, you who try to poison your own exalted god! Guards, take the woman away!”
The old woman began to sob uncontrollably after being markedly startled when her master threw the tray to the other side of the room. She fell to her knees and clasped her hands together, looking at the man, tears coating her entire face. She pleaded:
“But Ronald, the doctors-”
“Speak not vile incubus! Guards take her away!”
Suddenly, as if coming from the residence’s inanimate walls, three guards wielding swords and wearing royal bright red business suits followed the woman out of the room as she slammed the door behind her. There were several more bangs, a series of shuffling noises, and then one final bang- the sound of a door being again slammed shut. The king sat back, his heart painfully racing after the sudden altercation. However, instead of falling back upon his bed, the king’s back was met with a naked arm- the arm of a nude woman lying next to him, holding a small child to her bosom. The king sprang up, startled, but the woman gently put her hand upon his shoulder. Just as the day before, the naked woman’s dark eyes entranced the royal figure and he was suddenly placated by her presence. She leaned in towards his face, and placed her supple lips upon his.
No softer thing had ever been felt- had ever existed, resonated within his inner chasm of unused love as did this kiss. The first touch of her lips to his fashioned a minute, passionate tear which fell directly to the bottom of his heart- and with every succeeding kiss, such was the process- until within the empty heart of a king, rivers, oceans- vast currents of love pulsed through his being. He let his lips dance upon hers until one could not tell between the two succulent pairs.
The child cried.
The king had almost completely forgotten about the third member of the room’s population, and was startled to hear the small person cry. He looked confusedly at the woman who sat still with a look of serene confidence. She said nothing.
“The child is yours.”
“The child is mine.”
The king’s expression markedly changed, and the woman nodded her head in approval of his realization. Passionately, the two looked at the child, and then at each other.
And so it continued that for the weeks after, the king, woman and child would meet every morning upon the king’s wake and spend the days in devoted contentment. Every morning he would arise and every morning the two missing figures would appear beside him. What was once the rule of a physical kingdom- the land of Niork- now became the rule of inner kingdom; King Aldron left his palace no longer, and chose to stay with his new found family, venturing no more into the city over which he once so adamantly resided. The old maid ceased to appear any longer, and the nude woman began the process of bringing the man food, although the food did not resemble his former selection of chicken, potatoes and wine. Often meals would consist of water, and typically, a single serving of bread, corn, or beans. He assumed that the woman’s food consumption took place while readying his meals- not once did the king ever see his partner eat.
The great ruler would spend hours at night and sometimes all through the day talking to the woman, and together they would care for the young child. After what seemed years, the king decided that he was to ask the woman to be his queen- to marry him in blissful companionship, for he had never loved anyone or anything so much as he grew to love her. One early morning, he decided to pose the inevitable question, and when the woman was sitting upon the bed, he knelt before her.
“Will you marr-”
Before the king could finish his sentence, the woman smiled, and held out her hand. In her naked palm sat a large blue pill. King Aldron stared up in surprise at the woman who continued to smile, though now slightly giggling. A hot flash of discomfort overcame the king.
“Do not take the pill. She deceives you.”
“I will take the pill.”
After pausing for a moment and looking at the woman, in dignified and regal fashion, the man slowly took the pill to his mouth, swallowed, and kissed his wife.
The food stopped coming. Now, every morning the king’s wife would bring a single blue pill and a glass of water- no food. He would protest, but the woman would do nothing but smile and kiss him in return. He was helpless to her placid confidence, and his energies began to diminish as the hungry pain in his stomach grew. He continued to take the pills. The trend continued until one morning King Aldron the Second, keeper of the great order of the Brook, in the holy land of Niork, woke up alone. It was the first time in what seemed to be years that he had woken without the presence of his wife or child. He panicked. Sitting up, vomit soon was ejected on to the floor, close to a tray of shattered china and rotting meat. The smell nauseated the king so much that it was not without several more bouts of vomiting that he willed himself to inspect some other part of the room. Dust covered an old television, and around the entire residence were other old selections of frames with pictures of his former disappeared maid and other various characters- including himself. He looked down and saw that he was covered in a tattered, stained cotton shirt and a pair of soiled shorts, and again he had to hold back the impulse to become sick with the emergence of his own smell. Looking to his right, the windows were permanently tinted so as not to let anything more than a dim ambient light into the room. He could not see outside. He walked out of the room and beheld the kitchen of an old apartment. Petrified at what he saw- the alien shapes and smells- his instinct began to take hold of his impulses as he felt the daggers of hunger tear at his insides; he began to scour the foreign landscape for food, throwing open every door and small drawer he could find. Cringing, he managed to consume what seemed like a box of old stale crackers, all the while doubled over in the pain of shock and near-starvation.
After eating the old food, the disillusioned king noticed a small cylinder on the table in the middle of the kitchen. It was labeled, “Clorazil,” and on its label had the name “Jacobs, Ronald Jr.,” followed by some other safety warnings and directions. The cap was opened, and he could see that it was partially filled with large blue pills.
A frenzy came over him, and Ronald screamed in confusion.
He ran out of the main door of the apartment after discovering two more rooms, again shocked by their musty, rotting appearance. After trying every locked door in the hallway, Ronald finally found a staircase, and followed it down until he reached what looked like a lobby. A security guard behind a small desk at the entrance to the lobby yelled at the crazed man but was unable to make him stop. Ronald, former King of Niork, burst out the two glass doors, and into the street. The world exploded.
What had once been a great protective wall of gold and silver was now disassembled and cut into huge rectangles- devoid of its lavish façade, and scattered throughout the city. People and vehicles sped hastily in every direction, adding to the scene’s chaos. No roads of silver lined the city, and a thick, infectious, heavy mass of black waste spread virulent along the ground. Ronald panicked, and ran.
He ran through the crowds, pushing and plowing inelegantly through the masses of people, and between lines of cars. He spotted an area of dense forest, and quickly ran inside for cover. The city stood on its feet, placing its mouth before Ronald’s ear and wailed its most obtrusive curses into his head. He could not escape.
After running through the trees for several minutes, he found himself collapsed with his heart trying to tear itself out of his chest, before a stagnant pond and amongst a pile of grey, dead leaves. He stared with his chest on his knees into the pond at a reflection of himself, dirty, powerless. Numbness overcame him.
All was quiet.
With nothing but the throbbing pulse of his own heart and the presence of his image in the pond existing, Ronald thought about his dead wife. He thought about his dead child. He thought about his dead city and his dead empire. The grey leaves gently danced in the autumn breeze. The sun came out from behind the clouds. Ronald sat, looking at his image in the pond, and laughed.

lstnt0bobmarley @ 2005-04-06T22:15:00

2005-04-07T02:21:41Z

yesterday kat and i celebrated our 6 month...

she feels so comfortable now.... it's fun to think of when i first met her
i called it a 'relationship' before she did.

thinking about her makes me smile.

i am absolutely in love.

lstnt0bobmarley @ 2005-03-05T19:07:00

2005-03-06T00:11:51Z

lstnt0bobmarley @ 2005-03-04T00:25:00

2005-03-04T05:32:05Z

http://ivos.ivillage.com/assessment/exec/iqindex?o=dcm,iq,bn,728a

"RESULTS:
Your IQ score is 45. A person whose IQ score falls in the range of 69 and below is considered to be "far below average intelligence".

Your IQ score is based on your scores across 12 distinct aspects of intelligence. Like everyone, you have a unique intellectual makeup, with strengths and weaknesses that affect your methods of understanding, communication and relating to others. According to your results, your greatest intellectual strength is Processing Speed."

Well obviously if I am so utterly and acutely unintelligent, what good is my essentially inconsequential 'processing speed' apt to achieve??

zilch.

lstnt0bobmarley @ 2005-02-19T18:39:00

2005-02-19T23:40:08Z

hey talia

you're a fucking weirdo

<3

lstnt0bobmarley @ 2005-02-04T17:36:00

2005-02-04T22:42:31Z

The piece in the last entry was an assignment I had to do for English Lit 2; it is a prequel to the Lord Byron poem, "So, we'll go no more a roving."

So, we'll go no more a roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart still be as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.

For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
And love itself have rest.

Though the night was made for loving,
And the day returns too soon,
Yet we'll go no more a roving
By the light of the moon.

lstnt0bobmarley @ 2005-02-04T00:17:00

2005-02-04T05:18:04Z

The moon failed, as it had most every night that week, to blink but once in its astral gaze upon the earth. Pausing to rest, I returned my share of starry fixation for only a moment, contemplating the commitment of these skies to remain steadfast in their lifeless obligation to provide the winter world with light. A lonely occupation, I confirmed, it would be- lamp-holder, illuminating the backside of the hole-poked canvas hanging above. Still, only the snow dared glance back, mocking the night’s impermanence, relishing its own residence within the world of both light and dark. As if to display like an over-proud child, the frozen sheets held greedily up the previous day’s light like a prize, pointed vertical and high, and reflected the sky’s poor attempt to mimic the time of the living. I exhaled, watching my breath dance and play and mingle before my eyes. Freedom. I was slave to the night- slave to my obsession with the mystery of darkness, enraptured by the sweet hope of warmth somewhere inside the depths of this winter. My heart was one with these winter skies until barren of every last crimson drop, for as long as I pined for love- for some cosmic completeness of my soul- I was cursed; night was to me, the boulder of lost Sisyphus. The single answer to an endless question. As when a cold, wintry gust puts daggers to one’s face, I was lacerated with the heart’s heavy lung, left without visible evidence of the object of my heart’s insatiable pining; I had but trees to watch sway in the breeze of nothingness.
Ending my mind’s now taxing procession, I continued onward, and kept my feet moving amidst the soft white powder. The route was familiar- as I was able to demonstrate- nimbly weaving in and out of tree and tree, over many miles of natural terrain. Twigs and other small tenants of that year’s autumn cracked and yelped in opposition of my intrusion; however, still I did continue, puppet of infatuation, both driven and drawn to the apparition who materialized within these woods; both driven and drawn to the entity whose oppressive grip held together an otherwise broken heart. For hence, this heart- although never truly mine, when with her, found meaning in placement, found life in transplant, found infinity in mystery.
I arrived at an open patch of land on the bank of a small gurgling brook. The air was silent with repose, and I could have assumed at that moment that all creatures of the earth- save me- were with eyes turned inward, to the dreamy sight of the mind’s imagination. A gentle wind seemed the conglomeration of all the world’s sleepy exhale, leaving only myself to quiver in the breeze. Hearing the wind start once more, I covered my face from the cold, but felt surprised when there was none.
She emerged from the wood, slowly, as if balancing her weights upon a string miles above the land of the living; the entire time, her eyes locked with mine, making foolish the amateur’s fear of breaking concentration and splashing into oblivion. Or perhaps a fall from such heights, an act of whole, unadulterated freedom, resonated within her existence, ran like life through her veins. Maybe a missed step would be embraced more passionately than a thousand necklaces of pearl or stitches of golden thread. I watched as her soft countenance rose from the ground and elevated itself into the air, into the heavens; like a cloud, a gentle puff of smoke, she swam through the atmosphere and landed lightly before my feet. I stared though hazelnut filters into her soul, and into a myriad of tears, smiles, joys, heartbreaks, contradictions- a thriving bubbling life force, so carefully folded and fitted into her subtle exterior. I motioned to speak, but was met by the touch of a cold finger against my lip, and a commanding stare causing the suddenly aged words to fall from my mouth like dead leaves from an autumn tree. Letting her finger remain, she slowly leaned in and kissed my lips. The stars exploded. Suddenly, my blood began to boil with seething passion, with carnal desire- my fists clenched. The clothes of my past, my mundane present- those reminders of all I had been walking away from- were unanimously shed into the abyss of risk, of deep purple passion. At a moment, I lifted my head, and saw the trees and the world and light and dark explode erect in my sight- the world spun, and I was enveloped, with her, made into one being, shooting up into the stars.
Youth pulsed through my body, though with an ever dying intensity, while I walked back through those miles of terrain. Just as the golden peaks of morning started to diffuse and turn blue to purple, purple to red, my consciousness was made extinct; I fell asleep on a bed of black, next to caricatures of everything past and present worthy of escape. This life, this time was bounded by passion rules, and for as long as I stayed awake, every toss and turn provided another perspective of my own hate and irresponsibility. I was an addict, and she was the drug; the night was our means of transmission.
The next night I sought fulfillment of my addiction, as this was the point around which all else now revolved. Again I subjected myself to the cold, to the quiet, and again, the world of beings resolved to sleep, while I kept on. I traversed the familiar path to an open patch of land on the bank of a small gurgling brook. I listened to my own breathing- my heavy anticipation. My ear was acute in its awareness of other sound. I observed a twig snap beneath my feet. Silence. A small wind began, and there I listened to the low whisper of warnings in my ear. The breeze quickly turned and accelerated into strong spirals of energy and earthly power- they began to elevate and become sharp with speed. With a blow of inhuman force, the night shrieked and screamed and pelted my eardrum with cries of agony, cries of admonition- curses of damnation. The gust rose to a deafening apex and I shielded my skull from the onslaught. Then, with such power, I observed silence. No longer had I waited, that I had taken to realize that this night truly was for me, and me only. I was not joined by my apparition; I was alone, and without fulfillment. I was alone.
I spit in curse to the ground and to the complacent sky. I kicked the mocking snow, and in rage, yelled out, hoping to wake the world with my cries. I sneered at the moon and its disgusting consistency, the sickening sparkle of a sheet of ignorant stars- a dunce army, dancing in rejoice in the pits of hell. I reached my residence- my hell- and promptly enlisted in sleep.
Upon waking, I was haunted by a dream of my apparition; the sky was a blinding white- she and I were situated atop a desolate mountain, upon the very, very peak, looking down many miles to the rest of the earth. I attempted to touch her, but my very presence inspired a hurricane of winds; I found a crevice upon which to hold- she however, tried not to grab hold, and in one grand motion, was tossed from atop the mountain. I became sick with regret for not having flown with her, and I let free my grasp. As I let go, the wind changed direction, and forced me into the mountain- I tried to adjust, to get away, but I was being pushed, crushed into the rock. I woke up at this point in a sweat, and with the resolution to return that night.
That night and the night after, I returned to the same spot by the gurgling brook. I returned every night for a month, for two months, and until the first buds of spring broke free of their hibernation underneath the winter’s ice. I returned still through the spring, and, drenched and saturated with self-hatred, into the shallow nights of the summer. As hate began to crystallize into apathy, autumn brought with it now fading memories of those winter nights.
The first snow of the season brought back especially the memory of one night the year before- the pinnacle of my lusty fulfillment, and the last drop of a serum for which I insanely thirsted. Withered from longing and cold with resolution, I walked slowly at the fall of night- the moon’s light burning my eyes- many miles over a tragically familiar terrain. I stopped at an open patch of land on the bank of a small gurgling brook. As was usual, during my approach I heard nothing but the whistling of loneliness in my ear, hardened to the feeling of loneliness- a night demon, walking without soul among the world of the sleeping and innocent.
I sat down, tired from my journey, and was on the verge of sleep when I suddenly awoke, startled by the sound of disturbed brush. I whipped my head around, and caught the flash of a delicately white piece of flesh, before a figure quickly disappeared into the woods. Then, I noticed a sound, similar to that of the river- an almost lifelike gurgling resonating from a small patch of leaves along the bank of the brook.
The small hazelnut eyes- lightly speckled with the pale color of my own- stared up at me with a vivid wonder, similar to that of the moon on an especially clear night. I crouched down to observe the infant’s soft white skin, and it extended a tiny finger towards me. I touched the supple extremity. I collapsed to the ground, crying, weeping away my fiery passions. My hatred soaked the ground in small salty drops, and I clenched my fists, as if to squeeze the past out of my rock hard resolution. After some time, I looked up and collected my thoughts. Staring into the snowy reflection of the baby’s skin, I took off my coat and wrapped it around the child. I stood up with the child, and gave a single glance from where the figure had appeared. After pausing, I set back home. Never again did I visit the gurgling brook.

lstnt0bobmarley @ 2004-12-26T00:07:00

2004-12-26T05:08:07Z

1. Reply to this post, because I would like to say a couple words about you.
2. I will also tell you what song(s) remind me of you when I hear it.
3. I will also tell you what celebrity/public [or anime/manga] person you remind me of, either personality-wise or looks-wise.
4. I will also give ONE WORD that I associate with you when I think of you.
5. We all could use a boost now and then, so steal this for your journal and make someone else's day as well.

lstnt0bobmarley @ 2004-12-14T23:05:00

2004-12-15T04:05:55Z

so capture me,
the string to my balloon

.

lstnt0bobmarley @ 2004-12-14T00:24:00

2004-12-14T05:42:32Z

this is what happens when i'm the only one home... ... ...

You are one of the few out there whose wings are
truly ANGELIC. Selfless, powerful, and
divine, you are one blessed with a certain
cosmic grace. You are unequalled in
peacefulness, love, and beauty. As a Being of
Light your wings are massive and a soft white
or silver. Countless feathers grace them and
radiate the light within you for all the world
to see. You are a defender, protector, and
caretaker. Comforter of the weak and forgiver
of the wrong, chances are you are taken
advantage of once in awhile, maybe quite often.
But your innocence and wisdom sees the good in
everyone and so this mistreatment does not make
you colder. Merciful to the extreme, you will
try to help misguided souls find themselves and
peace. However not all Angelics allow
themselves to be gotten the better of - the
Seraphim for example will be driven to fighting
for the sake of Justice and protection of those
less powerful. Congratulations - and don't ever
change - the world needs more people like you.

Image Copyright Sheila Wolk (prints available
through treefreegreetings.com) - words added by
myself.

*~*~*Claim Your Wings - Pics and Long Answers*~*~*
brought to you by Quizilla

Your World (Part One): What is your world made of? [boys]
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Your World (Part Two): Your social world [boys]
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Your World (Part Three): How do you see your world [boys]
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Werewolves of folklore differ greatly from modern
renditions seen in movies and shows. People
believed there were many ways to become
werewolves, such as drinking rainwater
collected in a wolf's pawprint, eating meat
gnawed on by a wolf, or being born with a full
set of teeth or covered in a caul. And unlike
movie werewolves, werewolves of old were
oftentimes harmless and highly honorable!

As a werewolf, you are loyal, strong and honorable,
and you will protect all you hold dear with
your very life. Although you are not a violent
individual at heart, you will fight for what
you believe in. You are a good friend and truly
are a wonderful person to be around.

Who is your inner Shapeshifter?
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***

woah, does anyone else think he looks like he's scratching his own ass? that wasn't in the description.
however, it's still amazingly accurate.

i mean, what?

***

Your an ice dragon! Congrats! Out of all the
dragons, you are most powerful but do not like
to show it. A rare and special creture, you
have artistic style and are great at expressing
yourself. You think friends and Familly are the
most important, and are a hopeless romantic.
But of course, as ice goes, you can be a little
cold or harsh at times. But not to worry, you
always apoligize later!

What elemental dragon are you?
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lstnt0bobmarley @ 2004-12-13T13:34:00

2004-12-13T18:39:02Z

ok

so the final verdict seems to be that the whole thing, from back pain to acute kidney failure, was due to mono. It seems that there is some rare complication of mono where it attacks the kidneys, and in bad cases, causes kidney failure like i had. I'm going for a bunch of follow up tests soon, but it's looking like everything is getting much better, minus a really shitty sore throat :) thanks mono... or should i say,

the worst case of mono ever

i'm back home in ny now, and i'm VERY bored; anyone free soon??

things are getting much better, thanks again everyone for the concern and support

I LOVE YOU GUYS!!!

lstnt0bobmarley @ 2004-12-12T03:31:00

2004-12-12T08:47:32Z

Your Element Is Water

A bit of a contradiction, you can seem both lighthearted
and serious. That's because you're good at going with the flow - but you also
are deep. Highly intuitive, you tune in to people's emotions and moods easily.
You are able to tap into deep emotional connections and connect with others.
You prefer a smooth, harmonious life - but you can navigate your way around
waves. You have a knack for getting people to get along and making life a little
more peaceful.

What's Your Element?

Your Dominant Intelligence is Linguistic Intelligence

You are excellent with words and language. You explain yourself well.
An elegant speaker, you can converse well with anyone on the fly.
You are also good at remembering information and convicing someone of your point of view.
A master of creative phrasing and unique words, you enjoy expanding your vocabulary.

You would make a fantastic poet, journalist, writer, teacher, lawyer, politician, or translator.

What Kind of Intelligence Do You Have?

LiveJournal Haiku!
Your name:	lstnt0bobmarley
Your haiku:	two missing figures would appear beside him what was once the rule
Username:

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