Perfectly Normal Sane Ramblings' Journal|
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Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in
Perfectly Normal Sane Ramblings' LiveJournal:
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|Wednesday, April 18th, 2007|
Neverland -> Crit please?
She's never been the type to sit still. She's moving around, walking from window to window across the concrete floor, past the rounded, blue box bench seats, side to side and end to end around the bus station. Skinny jeans and a brilliantly yellow jacket. He's always been more stationary. He wanders in tight circles, aimlessly, or takes a seat, slouching slightly, on a the end of a bench. Off-white cargoes, butt stained and too big, under a dark top. She wanders out the doors, then in again, and back to him, then out the doors and around the building, then in again by the other doors, and to him. They speak. He slouches. She wanders. He jingles and counts his bus change.
She has a face that just shows pranks and jokes and laughter at its edges. The planes of her face display tired and long years when things weren't as easy as they had been like a mask that isn't quite big enough. Her eyes are dark but hide a spark. Her gait has spring.
She finds fun. She made people laugh, she made up the fun, she always knew where to go and she always knew what to do there. Fun is still there, but there aren't as many people to go with.
He will always go.
Young, they came together like magnets, eyes meeting in a group, plans making links. He to her fun, she to his appreciation of fun. Before they wore the masks of Real Life, when there were more people to go with and fun came oftener. Old, he always comes.
His mask shows more wear and fits better. Lips sagging into a pout, skin marked and wrinkled. Tired. His body shows more wear. Stance bowed, limbs weakened, gait swishy. He fumbles into his pocket as he stands by a wall, jingling his bus change, and calls to her, "hey!" then whispers urgently and joyously in her ear. They grin as if sharing a secret. She wanders on, he counts his bus change. They wear their pants tucked into their ass cracks.
No lovers. Just fun.
Crit please? I don't like the ending.
|Saturday, September 24th, 2005|
This one's massive, and gets into the BIG plot.
Thanks to everyone who helped me pick a name for the wild man. <3s
Also, critcism is welcome, and encouraged.( Oh! But wait...Collapse )
|Friday, September 23rd, 2005|
|Wednesday, September 21st, 2005|
|Wednesday, November 12th, 2003|
myth backstory "other life"
There might have been a part between that and when we sat down at the kitchen table when I, um, collapsed in an ungraceful heap on the floor, but I think it was justified. And anyway, I woke up in like a few minutes, so it didn’t affect anything. If we can move on now . . .( Read more...Collapse )
“So, a virus has become godly and pure? That seems kind of …” I was trying to avoid the word ludicrous, but I didn’t know what else to say. Current Mood: hungry
|Monday, November 10th, 2003|
|Tuesday, November 4th, 2003|
A Voice in the Darkness: ambulance call, RID, and cooking
Another deal gone bad. Four men shot up, blood all over, the call said. Damn. Too many of these lately. Dave pulled the ambulance out of the coffee shopparking lot, flicking the lights on with his right and steering with his left. "God damn PEOPLE," he thought, "don¹t know how to MOVE out of the way of a frickin AMBULANCE." ( Read more...Collapse )
|Thursday, December 5th, 2002|
|Tuesday, December 3rd, 2002|
|Saturday, November 30th, 2002|
*I finished it! Yes! Unfortunately, to do so, I had to resort to some cheap tricks like giving everyone two names, and using the cat's full name all the time. So, what I had now is ridiculously embarrasing because of those things. I'll fix them soon, it won't take long, but right now I want to bathe and sleep. So, coming soon . . . the conclusion to Worthy!* Current Mood: accomplished
look at me go! I'm on crack!!!!!!!!!! monkey crack!!!!!
It was difficult for her to follow, but she began to make sense of it. It was about a boy, she thought, or maybe a girl. At any rate, it was about a person named George. He or she had a pet hawk with a name so complicated that Helen could not even read what she had written for it. Then there was something about some sort of sacred quest. Helen figured that part out because there was an arrow connected the words ‘George’ and the strange name of his or her hawk, and the words ‘sacred quest’, which were in bold letters. ( Read more...Collapse )
Back into the city, where Sophia lived. Back into the city, where high school was hell, and everyone who knew her knew her only as their victim. What alluring factors did the city have, wondered Mary, struggling to think of one. Trudge, trudge, trudge, trudge, trudge.
Mary wondered when the bus to the city would be leaving. It was about one o’clock now, she guessed, looking at the sun’s position in the sky. Mary hadn’t seen a clock or a watch in days. Current Mood: awake
|Thursday, November 28th, 2002|
Oh, thought Helen. Yes, that would be a good place to start.
Now, what other story could she tell? It wasn't that Helen had no ideas, it was more that Helen's ideas tended to . . . well, to be honest with herself, they tended to run all over the place. No one would want to hear a story that changed direction every few minutes, and had no consistent main characters.
Helen headed over to her cabin. She had brought paper and pens with her. Maybe if she wrote her ideas down, instead of following them for hours, she could come up with a good fictional story.
As Helen neared the cabin, she could hear talking inside. It sounded like Anne and Lydia were discussing something. Helen was about to say 'Hello' to them and walk inside, but something made her pause. Instead, she stood silently out of view and listened.
"I still think we should tell her now," said Lydia.
"No, let's wait until the time is ripe," Anne said.
"So, you want to just spring it on her?" asked Lydia.
"Yes. Besides, by then, the fourteenth member may have left," said Anne in a sensible tone of voice.
"I hope so," said Lydia.
What am I doing, wondered Helen. I'm not being very trustworthy now. She continued to walk towards the cabin door, making noise in a manner that she hoped was convincingly realistic to Lydia and Anne. It wasn't.
Their conversation broke off. The two of them said 'Hi' to Helen as she came in the cabin, and then they left.
Anne and Lydia seemed quite secretive, thought Helen as she began scrounging around in her bag for paper and writing implements.
Okay, focus, thought Helen to herself. She located the paper and a blue pen. She uncapped the pen and held it gently above the paper.
What's a story they would want to hear, wondered Helen. As an experiment, she closed her eyes and let her thoughts wander. She wanted to see if she could write without paying attention.
"Helen . . . Helen . . . What are you doing, Helen?" asked Mary's voice.
Helen's eyes snapped open. She looked around. The sun was much lower in the sky than it had been when she had closed her eyes. Oh no, she thought, I fell asleep.
Mary was sitting in front of her. She looked like she had just been working. There were dirt smudges on her clothes, and sweat glistened on her brow.
"I slept through my chores, didn't I?" she asked Mary.
"Don't worry, I took your place," Mary said.
"Thank you," Helen said sincerely.
"What were you doing?" asked Mary.
"I wanted to find out if I could write unconsciously, but I just fell asleep, so I guess not," answered Helen.
"What were you writing?" asked Mary.
"A new story to tell for the people here," said Helen, continuing, determined to say what she had realized, "Mary, I shouldn't have told that story. I'm sorry."
"It's okay," said Mary.
Mary gave Helen a quick hug, then walked out of the cabin.
Helen began to set down the paper she had held, then paused. There was writing on it. It wasn't in sentences, mostly words and arrows, and underlines, but it was writing.
My god, thought Helen, I did it.
Helen began to read the story she had created without thought. Current Mood: busy
He hadn't followed her. Helen could console herself with that. But every piece of that distasteful incident seemed strange to her. By the ways Raymond had acted, it did not seem like he belonged here. The whole idea behind Shangri-La was that you didn't have to worry about other people, that every person was trustworthy and polite, and that every person would do their fair share. ( Read more...Collapse )
How can I stop, wondered Helen. How can I treated her with the respect she deserves?
Well, commented a wry thought of Helen's, you can stop telling the story of Mary's life like it's some kind of soap opera. Current Mood: tired and warm
yay for random plot change! (p.s. it should have said twelve strangers)
Mary's thoughts were interrupted by hearing her own name said quietly. She immediately gave the conversation that was taking place outside, on the right side of the door of her cabin her full attention. Part of her chided her rudeness in eavesdropping, but her curiousity overrode that sentiment of Mary's. ( Read more...Collapse )
"Hey Mary," she said cheerfully. She was already fully dressed, as was everyone else.
All talking ceased at the sound of Helen's words.
Mary sighed inwardly. Wonderful, she thought, so now I am 'taboo'. Current Mood: determined
oops, the scene ends here.
Her questions continued, but the Shangri-La commune contained none of the answers Mary wanted. ( Read more...Collapse )
This last one bothered Mary the most. Then had Helen seen her, listening in the dark the last few nights, afraid to come sit with everyone else, afraid they wouldn't let her, or afraid they'd figure out that it was her story Helen was telling so dramatically? Current Mood: awake
|Wednesday, November 27th, 2002|
grrrr. wordpad doesn't do wordcount.
Was I just your pawn? Mary asked her memories of Sophia, but got no response. The Sophia in her head was as beautiful and confident as ever, but mute.
From inside his bag, Mary could hear Sir Edward of Owl Thorne gnawing on the blankets.( Read more...Collapse )
Helen's story still contained enough truth to bring tears to Mary's eyes. This time they fell freely. She could shed them now, no one would see. A silent question joined Mary's lonely, soundless weeping. Why? she asked Sophia, again and again. Why did you treat me like a friend? Why did you turn on me? Current Mood: aggravated
*Can't open Word last 18 times I tried. So filled with rage. Expect long post when finally can.*
|Monday, November 25th, 2002|
People on the bus would notice. Someone would wonder why Mary’s face was bleeding. Some concerned individual would end up getting Mary and Helen kicked off the bus. ( Read more...Collapse )
Who does that sound like? Me, admitted Mary, I guess I didn’t really understand Sophia at all. I was invisible, thought Mary of her, until you moulded me into the perfect friend for you. That thought hurt Mary too much for tears. Current Mood: chipper
what does the lj-cut conceal? *spooky music*
Shut up, Sir Edward, please, thought Mary desperately to the bag beside her. She wasn’t certain if the people sitting near her on the bus could hear him, but she was still worried. Mary decided to bring the bag into the bathroom, so she could check on Sir Edward without anyone noticing. ( Read more...Collapse )
Having felt the scratch of cat claws on her right cheek, Mary quickly made an executive decision about what to do about Sir Edward. She opened the little plastic bag of cat food, and dumped it into the cat’s bag. Then she zipped up Sir Edward’s bag again.
Having contained the dangerously vengeful cat, Mary looked up to examine the scratch on her cheek in the mirror. Sir Edward had drawn blood. Oh shit, thought Mary. Current Mood: awake
|Sunday, November 24th, 2002|
witness the 109 word sentence . . . of DOOM!
Marilyn Nicole Trevor is the most indiscreet person I have ever met, thought Helen. Since the dark haired woman had sat down next to Helen, she had almost never stopped talking. Helen had endured Marilyn Nicole’s opinion of every person on the bus, her speculations on the private life of the driver, specifically that he ‘looked like an alcoholic’ and the many things she and her sister, Melody Sue Trevor, would do together once Marilyn Nicole reached her sister’s home.( Read more...Collapse )
“What’s so funny?” interrupted the voice of Marilyn Nicole. The sound of her voice wasn’t irritating, thought Helen, so much as her frequency in using it was. Current Mood: accomplished