avarielwings | (no subject)

(no subject)

I declare this post one of random spamming, from all of you.

Notifications are off, so comment until you hit the limit. About anything you want.

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*rolls up sleeves*

Will possibly bug you all day long to distract self from evil Sosc paper of DOOM.

So to begin...

I'm fixated on this song at the moment, both because I'm in the chorus in a production of Medea on campus and in light of certain DOOM and foreshadowing Bar-wise. Nothing to do with Medea-plot and doubtful anyone's going to die, but the song clicks for me all the same.

Applying to school on any and all levels sucks. :/

Where did mpreg come from? Why can't I find any references before 2001?

Devilled eggs. *drools*

Oh! And putting Cadbury Mini Eggs in the fridge makes them taste even better. (I know, you thought it couldn't be done.)

My lap is full of cold chocolate.

Oooh. I must remember that.

One other thing to remember: this also makes them more fragile. So if you drop the bag (or possibly even set it down very hard; I dropped it) the eggs will break and/or the little candy shell will flake off.

This does not make them any less tasty, just a bit more problematic.

(is sun but is too lazy to log out)

That sounds rather tasty, it does.

*random aodration!*

BACON!

I have lived my life by a simple philosiphy.

"When you take life seriously, it'll take you seriously too. But when you laugh at life, it laughs back."

It works, wonderfully. As long as i keep myself ina humorous frame of mood, absolutely nothign brings me down.

I'm what my friends have oft called "A free spirit." I have absolutely no qualms about just packing up and heading off. I don't let myself be chained by reality. It's a good frame of mind to live in, I feel.

post theme stealer ;_; (http://metaphor.livejournal.com/274641.html)

Anyway.

I must reply again for using my typical spam posting method, which is to tell a story one comment at a time and use the next icon in my iconset for each.

Or recite a story, anyway.

I have fewer icons than I did when I went to

madame_enjolras' 666 post, though.

No, actually.

Shel Silverstein, a line at a time.

Once I spoke the language of the flowers,

Once I understood each word the caterpillar said,

Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings,

And shared a conversation with the housefly in my bed.

Once I heard and answered all the questions of the crickets,

And joined the crying of each falling dying flake of snow.

Once, I spoke the language of the flowers ...

... how did it go?

NEXT POEM.

I am writing these poems

From inside a lion,

And it's rather dark in here.

So please excuse the handwriting

Which may not be too clear.

But this afternoon by the lion's cage

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