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[21 Jun 2010|02:22pm] |
Logorrhea: Noun. \ˌlȯ-gə-ˈrē-ə, ˌlä-\ - excessive and often incoherent talkativeness or wordiness.
For some reason I was not cursed with this yesterday. Or I'm always cursed with it. Maybe we can all go back to our private closeted lives after last week.
And Benjamin Montague - I believe I was dunked in the lake today. You saw me - water, muck, algae, and all.
You can remove the bounty on my head, you can live another day, and you can pay Callie and Ivy in full.
Happy almost Birthday Paul Muldoon.
Oh, and Ryan. I think I'm becoming a Slytherin. Slowly, but surely.
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[17 Jun 2010|05:27pm] |
LANDON RICKETT. You're amazing. That gazelle is now front and centre on my nightstand. That glass giraffe that my grandmum gave me has been trying to bite its head off. Had to charm it from moving. Harlow has been complaining about the noise it makes at night anyway when it walks around. I prefer muggle statues, anyway. But yes, to reiterate - you're amazing, thank you, I need more statues.
No one spike the pumpkin pie, I'm eating five slices tonight.
Ah, fucking spike it anyway, why not? More pie for me.
( Warded to Callie/Ivy )
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[10 Jun 2010|09:45pm] |
Callie! I made your bed as best I could since you had earlier classes than me today. I'm shite at making them, you know. But I refused to use magic and, instead, made it with love. And I'm sorry for breathing in your face all night. Thank you for being my friend regardless.
So. What else is new? I've yet to be thrown in the lake - another empty threat from Sir Benjamin Montague. And here I thought he was the type to keep threats and/or promises. And you people trust him with your, er... transactions.
Who would like to be my younger sibling from now on? Anyone who needs any particular reason for backup, defense, and/or name calling, drop me a line. I'll be happy to fill the position. Even if you're older. I don't discriminate. And FUCK ME, I've missed Walt Whitman's birthday. BY DAYS. Anyone up for a few drinks on Walt?
Also, who agrees Ryan and I out-adorable that there, uh, Grant and whatsher Sara?
( Ryan )
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[07 Jun 2010|04:46pm] |
I like this anonymous, secret-telling, gut-spilling thing going on with the War Witch. It's a beginning to a solid ownership of your fucked up parts of you. Which is good. Because they're most likely not going anywhere. I posted my own the other haven't joined in on the group therapy yet. Though I'm sure I will.
Even better - you should all take your ailing hearts, sexual deviances, and insecurities and write poetry. From the looks of it, the poems would be heart-wrenching. And that means brilliant! We could have our own rebirth of the American Confessionalist school. That would be fucking amazing. Amazing. Maybe post some in the school paper.
Or, even better, secret poetry club. I know you're all enthused about the very thought of it. We can meet in a cave somewhere and shout Plath, Byron, and Burnes. No? Suit yourselves, then, keep feeding your secrets to someone named "War Witch." I'm sure they're safe in his or her hands.
( Private to Ryan )
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[03 Jun 2010|05:17pm] |
( private )
Yes, so. Ball. Good? Yes. We all know - jolly good time had by some. Mediocre time had by others. Any piss poor time had by anyone? Anyone at all? Those stories are usually the best. Anyone's date throw up on their lap? In their hair? In their... drink?
You know, it was a bit risky to have that food dyed the colour of blood. What if one of us started vomiting blood? We'd just assume they had a bug or were drinking, which would probably be the smartest guess. But, then it turn out they were just dying? Real safe, Hogwarts, real safe.
Anyway, I decided on Wislawa, in case any of you saw, but didn't know who I was. There you go. You're welcome.
Mr. Landon Rickett. Where is my gazelle? My grandmum sent me a glass donkey. He is currently sitting in the spot I made up for the gazelle. I don't want him to get too comfortable there since he doesn't belong there.
Sometimes I wish I played Quidditch.
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[28 May 2010|04:35pm] |
In the spirit of underdog-ality, iconoclasms, and the artistic minority, I've decided to not go with the popular vote. Sorry, everyone. Well, except Landon, since she was your vote.
I'll be going as Wislawa Szymborska. Beards are fucking itchy, did you know that? That was the single most poignant moment in my being thankful I'm not a bloke. Thank you, Matthew Arnold, for having huge sideburns and helping me realise I'm glad I have the reproductive organs I do. And thank you, primary school sexual education for teaching me that. It's not as giggle-worthy as it once was. But still good for a laugh.
Also, I'm recruiting for the best fan club ever established.
RYAN ENTWHISTLE'S HAIR FAN CLUB.
Inquire within on how to join.
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[23 May 2010|04:55pm] |
Well hello everyone!
The Food Fight was fucking lovely, no? Nothing like a good egg bath in the morning. So long as no one threw any peanut products at me, I was quite all right. I happen to be highly allergic, thank you very much. I appreciated that you all aimed those types of food away from me.
Nothing a quick scourgify couldn't solve. Though some of the Ravenclaws looked fucking enraaaaaged.
But it's over and done with, sadly and fortunately. Depending on your disposition.
FOR HALLOWEEN, I have narrowed down my choices and I need some opinions.
let me know which you think I should be:
01 - The lovely Walt Whitman. I may think of dressing as a younger version of him, when he didn't have as much facial hair. But he'd be fun to be! Homo eroticism and universal soul and all that good stuff.
02 - Robert Lowell, the traditionalist turned Confessionalist. Apparently he dabbed in voyeurism, plus those glasses are amazing.
03 - The lone Brit, it seems, Matthew Arnold. I believe I can show my mastery of creativity if I perfect those sideburns.
04 - Wislawa Szymborska. The solitary woman. It wouldn't be too much of a costume, but she's fucking amazing. Along with super cute, intimidating, and powerful. Plus, I like her necklace.
HELP.
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[14 May 2010|10:34pm] |
A potion, eh? Wouldn't have guessed.
Landon. I am so sorry. I promise to pay for any therapy you may need to go through because of my forcefulness. Really. You'll have to keep in touch with me when you're older just in case. Once I publish my book of poems and then my book of short stories, I can cover your therapy bills for years.
Oh, and you must tell me your cologne.
Ivy. I love you. Pack up Callie and lets run away to the states tonight, yeah? I heard that there's motels where you can rent rooms per hour. Isn't that so convenient? Just dodge the hop heads and working women and we'll fit right in. My accent has gotten much better. I like to call it my "was born and raised in New York City, but got a higher education in the MidWest."
And no one grabbed me and snogged me senseless. I'm very insulted.
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[08 May 2010|05:14pm] |
My, my, what violent folks we have become. I took a lovely nap in the stands while the game went on forever. Of course, I was impressed with your stamina, teams, but unless it's Lions, napping in the sun is more interesting.
I had a lovely time the night of the fifth, as it seems everyone did. I'm afraid I ruined that short Ravenclaw boy's night, though, by pushing him off of me. Very touchy, it seems. I think it had been his first attempt ever. I do feel a bit bad, but that's life. You get fucked over and move on. Or don't and end up writing beautiful poetry. Or becoming an alcoholic or addict and... write beautiful poetry. For example:
First Fig by Edna St. Vincent Millay
My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends---
It gives a lovely light!
Moral: Get fucked up, life'll be short, but damn, it'll be beautiful. And, it'll rhyme, even.
So, anyone who isn't the short Ravenclaw care to escort me to Hogsmeade? Callie and Ivy may have first dibs.
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[03 May 2010|11:52am] |
Guess what! While it's a bit early, I think this man deserves an early Happy Birthday from beyond the grave!
That's right, you guessed it, Dylan Thomas' birthday is quickly approaching at the end of this very month!
Here he is, partying it up Dylan Thomas style.
And he was 19 in that photo, not much older than us. Plus, he's Welsh!
What? Don't know Dylan? Well, shit, he's the one who wrote:
"And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
From a villanelle as perfectly fucking formed as this hunk himself.
Too bad he's dead.
Wish him a Happy fucking Birthday.
Other than that, who's excited for the mother loving prank week to start up again?
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[30 Apr 2010|04:35pm] |
NOW I MUST MAKE MY BEST OF THE ONLY WAY HOME
MOLLY DEALS ONLY IN STONE
I'M LOST ON THE MIDWAY I'M RECKLESS IN YOUR EYES
JUST GIVE ME A COUPLE MORE THROWS ( • )
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