?

Log in

No account? Create an account
LiveJournal for Chimera.

View:User Info.
View:Friends.
View:Calendar.
View:Website (Don't burn out or fade away...).
View:Memories.
You're looking at the latest 7 entries.

Wednesday, November 5th, 2003

Time:8:09 am.
Mood: lonely.
I'm not really certain why I chose now to write in here, again. Nothing much has been happening. I have a second job, which further takes my time away from things I enjoy. I desperately need the money though.

I've been in very thoughtful moods, of late. Wistful, with my mind feeling...full...of so many things. But most of all, I've been feeling lonely. Were I to at least have those around me I could call friends, then I don't think the feeling would be that strong... but I don't. I've been getting more apathetic, and more saddened in general. It just keeps getting stronger and stronger, truth be told.

Fuck society. If it weren't for it, then my mind and heart wouldn't be making me think having a significant other is what I really need. I wouldn't be wishing I had a boyfriend or girlfriend to hold, or to hold me. I wouldn't wish that I had someone around, with whom I could have a deeper relationship with, than a mere acquaintance. Without it, I would be content with having a friend or two, rather than a lover. But because of society, and the way it makes us think...that is precisely what I want. And I want it so badly.

I think I need to start wandering around town again, if only to interact on a base level with others. It might help hold this at bay, even if I haven't spoken to another human being in days, other than at work. Maybe its been weeks. I'm not sure. Even at work, it's usually only a "hi", or a nod, every few days.



I don't like feeling this way. Or that I'm too apathetic right now to do anything about it.
Lace me up.

Wednesday, October 15th, 2003

Time:5:23 am.
Mood:awake.
I live. I breathe. I am here. I am also apathetic.

Updates:

Work has made me its bitch.

I saw him, again. More eye contact. No words spoken.

I bought a beautiful journal, but don't have the guts to write in it, simply because it is so beautiful.

I have several ideas for stories, but no energy to write them.

I desperately want to role play with other people. But no one wants to role play with me.

I fight of despair of my own lack of a life, and no longer wonder why no one finds me interesting; I don't even find myself interesting any longer, further feeding the flames.

On the good side...I found several old CDs.

And I have chocolate.

And I'm downloading new music. Who says life can't be good in the face of apathy and laconical tendencies?




I should sleep. It's late, and I have to work tomorrow. Again.
Lace me up.

Wednesday, October 1st, 2003

Time:5:54 am.
Mood: content.
I saw him at the Barnes and Noble, again. This man, perhaps in mid to late twenties, with his bookbag and wandering ways. His dark hair, just long enough to barely get in his eyes. And those eyes, so beautiful. I saw him, again.

This makes the number of tmes at least five, perhaps more. He haunts the aisles, and generally roams my favorite sections. I use the word roam in full truth: he may set his bag down, may even spread out his paper, his notebook, set his books down... but then he walks here and there, to and fro, searching for something. Always searching. I wonder, what is he looking for?

The first time I saw him I was in the cafe, sitting in a corner and sipping my coffee. He was moving in restless patterns back and forth, drifting in and out of the seating area toward the books, and then back again. Every once in a while I would watch him; as if he could feel my eyes, he would look my way, and our gazes would meet. The first few times this happened, I looked away, feeling a blush creeping over my cheeks. But later, I grew bold. The longer it went on, the more emboldened I grew. Over the space of perhaps three hours, we played at this, until finally, when our eyes met, I didn't look away immediately. I smiled a bit, and he continued to look. A hint of a smile played upon his mouth. Once again shy, I blushed more deeply and looked away. I didn't look back up until he stood to leave for the final time. Then I watched him go. I think he knew I was watching him.

Another time, I saw him while I was wandering through the stacks of books, reading the jackets or back covers to find out what they were about, picking and choosing at random. There was no need to take over much care with the selections, as I was merely trying to find something interesting, not any particular book. He passed by the open area I hd my back to. I saw him pass, and watched while he walked by. Later, we almost bumped into each other as we were moving around a corner. We blinked; I stuttered an apology, blushed, and looked down at my shoes. We moved past each other. Every once in a while I would glance around the corner of the shelf I was now hiding behind, and watch him read. A few times, again, our eyes met.

This latest time...

I was sitting in an open area, where there are many chairs and small tables for the customers to use. Reading a current favorite book, which I am waiting to buy until it comes out in paperback, I saw someone moving around, back and forth. Without even looking up I knew it to be him. Slowly, I glanced up past the words which had suddenly run together, and I saw him wavering, and then deciding which seat to take. There had been several small groups of people who had recently left, so many were free. I was near the side, and yet not too far from the main brunt of seats, on my own rather than in a grouping. Our eyes met, and he took a seat less than ten feet from me. I went back to reading, and he began his own. Again, the game of looks played, though I wasn't as hesitant as I had been the first time. Before things could go further though, I had to leave. I almost thought about saying goodbye, or waving a bit, but that seemed too intimate, yet. We haven't actually met. Hardly know each other. But I did look at him as I stood to leave, and smiled a faint smile.

I found out he wears reading glasses. The frames are sturdy and thick without looking ancient or horrible; the lenses themselves aren't think, merely the frames themselves. I've always liked glasses on people, but only if they have just the right ones for them - these were his glasses. They looked wonderful on him.



Part of me wonders -- when I start going there more often, simply as a way to get out more, will I see him more often? Will I continue to play these games, or will it all just stay the way it has been, and not actually change? Or will I never see him again? Perhaps I just need to get out and aboud more in general, because this is rather pitiful in its own right. Yet I won't deny that even that much attention, no matter how slight, is very nice.
Lace me up.

Sunday, September 28th, 2003

Time:3:53 am.
Mood: melancholy.
[rant] I don't post this because I think it would be the "trendy" thing to do, or because this band is so popular right now. I post this, because I love the lyrics. [/rant]




Evanescence
"My Immortal"

I'm so tired of being here
Surpressed by all my childish fears
And if you have to leave
I wish that you would just leave
'Cause your presence still lingers here
And it won't leave me alone

These wounds won't seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There's just too much that time can not erase

When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you screamed I'd fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all of these years
But you still have all of me

You used to captivate me by your resonating mind
Now I'm bound by the life you left behind
Your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams
Your voice it chased away all the sanity in me

These wounds won't seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There's just oto much that time can not erase

When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you screamed I'd fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all of these years
But you still have all of me

I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone
But though you're still with me
I've been alone all along

When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you screamed I'd fight away all of your fears
I held your hand through all of these years
But you still have all of me.
Lace me up.

Saturday, September 27th, 2003

Time:11:03 pm.
Mood: accomplished.
There, pictures added. I feel better now. If anyone wants to see the full sized images, just ask - they're gorgeous, and very well done. Kudos to the artists.
Lace me up.

Subject:Missed practice...
Time:10:37 pm.
Mood: complacent.
Again, I write about my character... my apologies. I think its either a subconscious dislike of sharing information about myself, or merely a moment of pride with me saying, "Look! I feel accomplished!" It's been so long since I've done anything with this character... I've missed playing her. Anyway... this is a message board post, copied for you to read.




Licorice girl



Steady life break me apart .:. Winsome dreams crush my heart .:. Fluid needs stop and start

.
.
.


Tongue of fire and anger and hatred, all rolled up into one fully anatomized blend of fueled longing and lack of respite. Linger here out of respect for the newly dead; they might object to your laughter, your tears, your pleasured cries of pain. Life is tantamount to greed and has little use in other respects, so fall at my feet and give me all you've got; nothing else is good enough for me. Desperation can win over even the most wretched of men, garnering it all into one horrible loop of apathy. But it will never have me.

.
.
.

Lonliness demanded and she was but its willing chalice to be filled, and then manipulated at will. Upon receipt of large amounts of curiousity, Tabitha decided to look over those establishments that caught her eye; enter in, and see if they seemed of further interest. Cinder Alley was the first one, out of untold others, to pique her, to bring her to the point of application. Such a thing was rather difficult, in its own way, for her to do, simply because she was uncertain: what if this wasn't the place for her, what if she wouldn't truly fit in, what if... etc. It wasn't in Tabitha to simply tuck her tail between her legs and skulk away, though. No, she filled out the application, returned it to the proper persons, and then waited. The wait wasn't long, at all. Told before long of her acceptance, she made ready to get a deeper, more intent look at the association and its peoples.

Dreaded malcontent of a heart's broken desire drove her toward careful preperations. Always before leaving her rooms within studio, did she apply a new look. For her to be without her widow's weeds and makeup was an impossibility, and she had no room for those in her life. Everything had its place, even if such was rare, and strange.

Before leaving even her bedroom, Tabitha paused to review her appearance within the mirror hooked upon door's framework. Hair was a glossy mass of sable, coiled and twining amongst itself in a simplistic (in appearance only, I assure you), toned down replication of medusa, though much of hair remained down, cascading over shoulders and down over curvatures of body. Paleness of skin, remarkable in its unblemished state, too pristine for words down the line of body, gleamed with a faint luminescent glow that was constant and eternally hers. Eyes were limned heavily in kohl, while shadings of black powder had been applied to the outer corners of her eyes, only to fade through the scale of gray on its way toward the inner slant of lids. Adornment of silver hoop through right eyebrow, and lambishment of blackened coat to pouted mouth brought entirety of facial manipulations to an end. Sight shaded in pale moonstone silver was reflected back in critical proportions.

Clasp of garments were simple, and yet wholly not in their fullfillments. Shoulders were bare, a screamed protest against cloth, glaringly white skin shown off. Deepest midnight corset cinched at already petite waist, clasping it more securely, forcing her already hourglass shaped figure into a dark gothique semblance of beauty. Fullness of breasts were caught securely, yet held the illusion of impending escape, a bit of lace fringe tickling at her flesh where it lashed over the boning and silk of the corset. Down, to flared taffeta skirts which ended just below mid thigh, layers of crinoline allowing for volume, almost making her appear to be a demented French Maid, with with so many differences that it was impossible for true comparison. Smattering of inches of bared skin, then, before nylon picked off where skirt ended, black grasping at limbs. Down, to mid shin, where leather clasped and laced to coltish legs, three inch platform heels adding to her already above-average height.

Bare arms were gifted with strips of velvet, clasping and twining in bondage style, the tips of the ties dangling at mid bicep and wrist. The only adornments in jewelry style were the leather collar with its single, large O ring, and the clasp of fitted moonstone bracelets to both wrists, slightly different fittings for each to seperate them. In such, she was prepared for a day or night doing whatever she pleased... in such, she could be as spontaneous as the most ADHD minded person could want: she could go to the library, work at her shop, go clubbing, or simply stay home and watch movies long into the night.

Through with the pretense of preparing, it was easy enough to gather her keys, place them within a hidden pocket amongst the limited poof of her skirt, she moved from her rooms, down the stairs, and to the door of her apothecary. Street was traversed with little issue, lengthy strides carrying her down the street. Cab, or even subway? No, she walked. The distance from new place of employment was hardly too great to be managed, and the days of late had been nice for a simple walk or two. The addition of good health simply made the choice obvious, in her mind.

Would she be welcome? Would her impinging presence be met with anger and resistance, or would she be greeted courteously, openly? That was the biggest question making its mark upon her mind. Door was found within a few more moments walk, and breath was caught within throat carefully. Lungs expanded to allow for a eepened breath, only to stultify again. Lengthened fingers, the nails lacquered in Wet Shine onyx, titled "Black Rage", wrapped around the handle. The door was then opened according to its make, pulled or pushed depending. Into the door; no pause of grandeur, to gather spotlight. No skulking in the shadows as if she didn't belong. No, there was no hesitation, no fear. Tabitha may have been uncertain, but never would she crawl on her belly in order to keep from displeasing someone. That simply wasn't the way she worked. Portal closed behind her with a soft "snick" of sound, and she continued inward. First to the bar, bearing its sign of self service. Slight sashay of perfectly rounded hips was made, to allow for the turn to go around the bar.

For a moment, she took a simple survey of what was offered. Every motion she made was controlled, not wasted in any fashion, so that she might better save energy should she need to think quickly and move even faster. Finally, she decided on something simple; a glass of red pinot noir to improve the night in some small fashion. It wouldn't do much in the long run, but oh would it taste delicious. Glasses were found after a brief perusal, and she poured herself a decent measure - it was to last her the rest of the night, if she had anything to say about it. A few dollars were placed in the tip jar, and then she moved to bypass the bar once more. Though no one had at yet made their presence known, Tabby took it in stride. Booted feet moved across the floor, toward one of the couches rather than a table. Settling down in comfort, seated in a corner of the couch and crossing one leg over the other in demure enough posing, she sipped at the wine she had taken pains to get...delicious. Our gothique pet settled more comfortably into the couch's grasp, and then gave the room a second perusal, both to better see the minor details missed previously, and to see if there were anyone about. Either way, she would wait there, until something of note presented itself. Strikingly beautiful woman had all the time in the world - or at least seemed to. Controlled. Contained. Yet not frigid or cold.
.
.
.






I need to get user pictures. Hmm. I might work on that tonight.
Lace me up.

Subject:Suicide Blond
Time:3:49 pm.
Mood: creative.
Ah, the first post...the popping of my journal's proverbial cherry. And so quickly after its creation... ah well, some things simply need be done. I don't know that I necessarily have something horribly important to say here, merely that I am going to post, and get the first one over and done with. It always needs to happen at some point, yes?

Ugh. I'm so tired. I haven't slept yet, and I have practice tonight. I should get at least a couple hours of sleep in, before I take a shower and head over there. So I can function. I don't want to miss another meeting; last practice I was on vacation, and quite literally out of the state. This time it would merely be my screwy sleeping pattern calling. And though I don't feel very good, I'm going to at least see how I'm holding up by seven, or seven thirty. If I'm not feeling better by then, I'll go ahead and e-mail the people in charge. Gah. I really need to start sleeping more regularly, because this is getting out of hand. If/when I get a job, this won't be feasable any longer.

My computer is horrendously slow right now. I'm trying to download updates for Windows, and so everything is going so very slowly. Any and all browsers are all but decrepit, moving at a snail's pace, while even my media player seems to need to pause every few moments before starting back up again.

Livejournal is yelling at me for not proving that this is my journal, but they never emailed me, so its rather hard to go to the email, and then click on the proper link. Bah. I'll figure something out. Maybe its just the horrible lag and amount of work I'm putting my computer through at the moment. Lord knows it hasn't been happy with me lately.




________


A bit of writing, for my role playing character. I was proud of it; I haven't played in a while, and this makes me feel confident that I'm not as rusty as I thought I was.



Here's a basic rundown of my character, and how I see her to be:
Tabitha is nothing if not under her own code of self control. Everything she does is completed with a measure of calm, of absolute lack of emotion. Cold? No, she isn't cold. There is no freeze, no sudden temperature drop when she enters the room. Truly, she is warmth; bright, vibrant, merely contained. Rarely does she release the chains of self-constraint long enough to truly shine, but the potential for so much is there; and the truth of that is also displayed in the best of motions. She never overdoes anything, instead slips past the radars, and finds her own way to personal glory - she doesn't need others to pat her on the back. No, she can merely know, within her own mind, that she has done a good job on something. And then she'll start something else new. At the same time though, she has deep fascinations and intellects that are rarely broached by the motions of day to day living. So many things in this society are overlooked by people hyped up on the act of finding the next best thing, or on hunting down the hottest young man or woman to screw. Tabitha rarely looked to the future in such a respect. Most of her time, indeed, was spent looking at the past, or in searching out the most morbid of knowledge itself: her fascination lay in death. Not just in the ending of a human life, but all around, utter death of everything around her. She dabbled in many things that most people, nay, most women wouldn't even think to touch in this day and age, simply because they fascinated her. It wasn't to get into the spotlight; it wasn't to rebel; it wasn't to fit into any particular theme or group. She did it because it intrigued her, because it brought her pleasure. Poison was her favorite, the way it could both heal and ruin, the way it could stop a life in moments, or in a month of Sundays. Tabby is both lost in times long past, and fully endeared into the world as we know it - she couldn't live without technology, and yet scorns many of its uses all in the same breath; and yet she manages to stay away from becoming a hypocrite or cliche all in the way she does it. How? She has her own bit of class, her own charisma that keeps it from getting old.

Here's a generalized post, one simply made to get myself back into the swing of things:
.:. When you're miserable, I just want you to know... how happy I am. Languid in boredom's shackles. Fermentation of plots and planning rimmed the depths of a Mensa worthy mind, dulled in vague motions by the bit of wine and absinthe - a glass a piece - she'd had that day. Seated within the parlor of her business / home, sprawled along the line of a chaise lounge, Tabitha felt she might as well have been utterly weighted down by valium, as mellow as she felt. Slowly, her hand rose, lengthy fingers spread out so that she could get a full, pore-expounding look at her palm. For a moment, as her hand moved into her line of sight, it was almost as if her entire hand blurred with the motion. Turning her head away, letting eyes fall closed with the motion, Tabitha took a careful breath. Lack of sleep combined with the heavy narcotics of the emerald drug and the red wine, all added to one very affected woman. Curve of lashes against the apples of pale cheeks were felt, mascara laden lids seemingly too heavy to lift once more. Hand, still suspended in air, moved so that pads of fingers pressed gently to the curvature of her forehead... and there she felt a bit of relief. Full, darkly painted mouth opened a fraction to allow a breath inward, lungs filtering the crisp, barely scented air and processing it, sending oxygen to her brain and firing a bit of life and energy into her flagging body. Those few others who were in the room with her paid no mind, a blurred bustle of motion and movements. As the owner of the shop, she was surprisingly unnecessary at the moment. Those within were all confidantes, whom she trusted to move about as they would. If they caused a problem, well... she could take care of things quite well with only a heartbeat of thought. Feeling a gnawing pain in her stomach, Tabitha groaned inwardly. Lack of food was also detrimental to her ability to handle the liquer, making her certain that she was further gone than she had previously thought. Tongue tip eased forward, to taste at the rounded portion of her lower lip, lightly tapping it and moistening the flesh, only for eyes to once more open, sight returned to her with a slight lurch of vertigo. The wash of colors though made it worth it. The renewal of life, however bland, rushing back to optical nerves, splintered and twisted around so that she might be able to partake of the room about her. Crinoline sounded a choked protest to the motion she made next, sitting up and lightly rumpling her skirts under her. Raven-winged cloth was smoothed back into place, lengthy limbs coated in fishnet stretching out before her. Heavy soles of shoes were situated onto the floor in flattened motion, whilst knees pressed tightly together and toes pointed toward their fellows. An elbow nestled itself to her bared lower thighs, and she cradled the elfin point of her chin, watching everything as she caught her wits about herself once more. .:.

And here... is a basic physical description. I could have gone on, but I was rambling enough already:
.:. There were several ways to describe Tabitha, but the easiest was summed up in one word. Striking. No matter her temperament, she had the type of features that, when she walked into a room, people simply noticed. Her charisma was not just in her personality and the way she set herself for others to see, but also in her appearance. Her skin was entirely too pale, proof that she rarely, if ever, ventured out of doors for any length of time. It always looked as pure and white as freshly fallen snow... or freshly cut cocaine powder. Her usual choice of black clothing did little to take away from this appearance, accenting it in the best of manners, adding to her pallor without making her look sickly; this coloration wasn't pasty, or patchy... no, it was a full shading of her body in the crisp color. Hair color changed on a whim, though it was most often sable, or a similarly dark shade. Sometimes it would follow colors that were hard to find on the spectrum, with titles on their bottles such as "Deadly Nightshade" or "Indigo Death", or others it would be bleached and then dyed in an intentionally patchy pattern, done for a reason usually, though sometimes done simply for the sake of doing it like that. Often she kept the mass of tendrils up in some fashion, easing it from her face so that she would have full view of the world, to look it in the eye unflinching. Twists and coils of elaborate fashion looped it back and away as her current fashion statement, drawing it in an almost Greco-Roman style away, sweeping the heavy mass of slick, straight onyx back and away, coiling on itself only to fall loosely down. Eyelids were painted in a striking, yet understated motion, shadow heaviest at the outside corners, fading toward nothingness toward the corners of her eyes. Kohl limned the lids in a near heavy Egyptian state, though it matched the powder used to coat the skin, heavy at the outer edges, fading to nonexistance once more inward. Above right eye rode a gleam, a small hoop of silver, just barely piercing through the brow, cutting across the thin swath of darkness. Features were otherwise bare, until one spotted the curvature of mouth. This was painted in simplistic fashion, and yet it was striking; blood red, vibrant and crimson, making it appear that she'd just finished consuming something quite rare and juicy, gleamed in shimmering glory at full pout, silent query as to why meal was taken away before she was finished. Down past chin, to the slender throat that was glorified by a simple spiked choker, the metal protruding from leather a mere half inch in protrusion. Down once more, to the taffeta coated shoulders, black in coloration of material, of course. Grip of onyx material, down over the upper curves of full mounds, only for the line of material to be ruined by a deep indigo corset, grasping and cinching at waist, conforming her into a cookie cutter imagery. Naturally gifted with an hourglass figure, aided by whale boning and constrictive fabric, she held herself in definite glory. Full skirts flooded under the waist line of the corset, also in the black taffeta and layered underneath with crinoline to add to the volume, sweeping around her legs. The dress was almost Victorian era meets goth "culture", a curious blend that somehow went together. Sleeves were fitted the entire length of slender limbs, leading down to moonstone bracelets and bare fingers, nails manicured and capped in gleaming midnight lacquer, shining and given that "wet" look and gleam for added visual ambiance. Feet were perched upon old fashioned boots that were added to in modern tendancies for height and thick soles, adding three inches to her already nice height. Even stilled, lacking motion, she was a deleterious doll, one whom wouldn't be missed in a crowd. No matter what, her inherant appearance was eye catching, a draw of visual delights to savor even the most critical person's appetite.:.




And there we go. A taste of my writing. Like it? Don't like it? Helpful criticisms or flaming critiques? I welcome all of it. Feel free to reply, let me know that someone is actually interested in this other than me.
Lace me up.

LiveJournal for Chimera.

View:User Info.
View:Friends.
View:Calendar.
View:Website (Don't burn out or fade away...).
View:Memories.
You're looking at the latest 7 entries.