EMFBI? YT? WUU2? WCA? I have a VBS coz MEGO now. SOMY?
AISB; Excuse me for butting in. You there? What are you up to? Who cares anyway? I have a very big smile because my eyes glaze over now. Sick of me yet?
So, how many people actually understood me before, my hand ain't up. The only reason I knew those was because I was recently scrolling down a website looking at all the different abbreviations used. It makes you wonder where some of them came from. 1432. Now someone tell me if you see that and think 'I love you to.' I see, 1432, and if someone was going to me they loved me with 1432, I would probably slap them and tell them to man up (more or less). You could have a whole conversation with all these different things, but I would be surprised if someone actually did.
If someone talks to me with a g8, I will spend hours trying to figure out what they're saying. But the one that I hate the most, the one that I loathe (and still don't know why), is dat. Just say that. One extra letter is not going to kill anyone, and it makes reading a lot easier. My limit is normally 'u' instead of 'you.' That is as far as I will go, and even then I won't do that all the time. Sorry, I won't do dat all the time.
So now, I have had my rant on that wonderful language, I will leave you with this to figure out.
QOTD: YABA
Friday, 17 February 2012
Thursday, 16 February 2012
Monday, 13 February 2012
Lettie's Love | WritersCafe.org
This is a short story about a girl, who when her sister dies she find consolation in her sister's boyfriend. I'm not going to put it all up because it will take up too much room, but if you want to read more you can use the link at the end (if it works). Otherwise you can go to one of the sites on my profile section and find it on there.
I knew he was behind me, but I could not hear his muffled
sobs. All I could hear was my own yearning cries. The ones that tore through my
heart, and ripped away a part of me. As we stared at the stone erected over the
grave, I felt a hand enclose around mine, and looked to see a suffering as
great as my own.
“Matt?” I had opened the door, to find him standing
there.
“Hey Cass. My Mum baked a lasagne, I thought I’d bring
some over.” He smiled, though I could tell that he had to put it on.
“Thanks. Want to come in?” I pulled the door open wider,
stepping aside as he made in way in. “Want a drink?”
We sat at the table, talking easily. Easier than we’d
ever been able to talk when she was with us.
“It would’ve been three years on Tuesday.
“Lettie couldn’t stop talking about it. You were so young
when you were eighteen. We all were.” We paused, a sigh coming from him.
“She was beautiful, wasn’t she.”
“There was more beauty than I ever thought to look for.”
“Did you see it before…” He trailed off, not needing to
finish his sentence.
“Whenever I looked at her. Whenever I commented on her
ugliness people would say that I couldn’t say that because we looked the same,
but I never believed it, she was always more beautiful. Always will be.”
“It’s hard to think of her, down there-” tears choked in
his eyes.
As mine became foggy I reached out and took his hand,
finding comfort in the sense of another.
“Her beauty won’t die with her as long as we remember
it.” The words came from my mouth, and I knew he heard.
“I promise.”
He left when my parents came home. They were tired, as
they always were now, and thanked him for the food before he took his leave. I
waited until he disappeared up the street.
We ate silently that night, as we always did now. It was
good to have real food. Mum hadn’t cooked for a while. Mum didn’t do much
nowadays. Dad had started going to work again. He went per normal, came home as
normal. Dad seemed to be coping the best. I had stopped crying myself to sleep,
instead tossing restlessly. I woke several times, thinking of her. And yet, she
never entered my dreams. I would lumber about in the days, wishing the
university term could start again. But it wouldn’t for another two months.
People would come over occasionally and they creep around the house as if every
step would unleash a ghost. My friends would treat me cautiously,
double-checking before they spoke. All I wanted was my normal friends, I didn’t
care if they cracked a joke that broke me into remembrance. But they never
dared.
The next time I saw Matt was two weeks after. I was
sitting on the bus when he came and plonked himself beside me.
“What’s new?” He said.
“Hi Matt.”
“Going home?”
“Yeah.” I didn’t feel much like talking, not to him right
now. All I wanted was someone I could spill my thoughts to.
“It’s lasagne night on Thursday, do you want me to bring
some over?”
“Only if you make it.”
“Sure.”
“What! No wait, Matt, you don’t really have to cook the
lasagne.” I staggered, trying to take back my challenge.
“Nonna’s over, she’s too eager to refuse.”
I recalled the one time I had met his bubbly Italian
grandmother. “Belle belle belle.” She
had kept repeating as she gestured towards me and my alike.
“Then I’ll look forward to it.”
He brought the lasagne round and invited himself to
dinner that night. And though the pasta was soggy, the meat chunky and the
sauce runny, it was the best lasagne I had ever had.
It was a year since she died now. So long since I’d seen
him. I never thought I would again. Yet I sat on a park bench when he came and
sat beside me.
“Matt?”
“I’m not that unrecognisable am I? I still haven’t grown
that beard.”
It was definitely Matt.
“Lettie always said that she would never let you.”
“I made her promise that you know.”
“She crossed her fingers you know.”
We laughed, together, a sound I had not expected today.
“How are your parents?”
“They were to the cemetery today. They want us to take a
holiday.”
“You didn’t?” I sensed the question in his tone.
“Her body may lie there but her heart doesn’t.”
He was silent, contemplating I think.
“Where does her heart lie Cass?”
“With you. She loved you so much Matt, so so much.”
“I know, I know.”
Lettie's Love WritersCafe.org
I knew he was behind me, but I could not hear his muffled
sobs. All I could hear was my own yearning cries. The ones that tore through my
heart, and ripped away a part of me. As we stared at the stone erected over the
grave, I felt a hand enclose around mine, and looked to see a suffering as
great as my own.
“Matt?” I had opened the door, to find him standing
there.
“Hey Cass. My Mum baked a lasagne, I thought I’d bring
some over.” He smiled, though I could tell that he had to put it on.
“Thanks. Want to come in?” I pulled the door open wider,
stepping aside as he made in way in. “Want a drink?”
We sat at the table, talking easily. Easier than we’d
ever been able to talk when she was with us.
“It would’ve been three years on Tuesday.
“Lettie couldn’t stop talking about it. You were so young
when you were eighteen. We all were.” We paused, a sigh coming from him.
“She was beautiful, wasn’t she.”
“There was more beauty than I ever thought to look for.”
“Did you see it before…” He trailed off, not needing to
finish his sentence.
“Whenever I looked at her. Whenever I commented on her
ugliness people would say that I couldn’t say that because we looked the same,
but I never believed it, she was always more beautiful. Always will be.”
“It’s hard to think of her, down there-” tears choked in
his eyes.
As mine became foggy I reached out and took his hand,
finding comfort in the sense of another.
“Her beauty won’t die with her as long as we remember
it.” The words came from my mouth, and I knew he heard.
“I promise.”
He left when my parents came home. They were tired, as
they always were now, and thanked him for the food before he took his leave. I
waited until he disappeared up the street.
We ate silently that night, as we always did now. It was
good to have real food. Mum hadn’t cooked for a while. Mum didn’t do much
nowadays. Dad had started going to work again. He went per normal, came home as
normal. Dad seemed to be coping the best. I had stopped crying myself to sleep,
instead tossing restlessly. I woke several times, thinking of her. And yet, she
never entered my dreams. I would lumber about in the days, wishing the
university term could start again. But it wouldn’t for another two months.
People would come over occasionally and they creep around the house as if every
step would unleash a ghost. My friends would treat me cautiously,
double-checking before they spoke. All I wanted was my normal friends, I didn’t
care if they cracked a joke that broke me into remembrance. But they never
dared.
The next time I saw Matt was two weeks after. I was
sitting on the bus when he came and plonked himself beside me.
“What’s new?” He said.
“Hi Matt.”
“Going home?”
“Yeah.” I didn’t feel much like talking, not to him right
now. All I wanted was someone I could spill my thoughts to.
“It’s lasagne night on Thursday, do you want me to bring
some over?”
“Only if you make it.”
“Sure.”
“What! No wait, Matt, you don’t really have to cook the
lasagne.” I staggered, trying to take back my challenge.
“Nonna’s over, she’s too eager to refuse.”
I recalled the one time I had met his bubbly Italian
grandmother. “Belle belle belle.” She
had kept repeating as she gestured towards me and my alike.
“Then I’ll look forward to it.”
He brought the lasagne round and invited himself to
dinner that night. And though the pasta was soggy, the meat chunky and the
sauce runny, it was the best lasagne I had ever had.
It was a year since she died now. So long since I’d seen
him. I never thought I would again. Yet I sat on a park bench when he came and
sat beside me.
“Matt?”
“I’m not that unrecognisable am I? I still haven’t grown
that beard.”
It was definitely Matt.
“Lettie always said that she would never let you.”
“I made her promise that you know.”
“She crossed her fingers you know.”
We laughed, together, a sound I had not expected today.
“How are your parents?”
“They were to the cemetery today. They want us to take a
holiday.”
“You didn’t?” I sensed the question in his tone.
“Her body may lie there but her heart doesn’t.”
He was silent, contemplating I think.
“Where does her heart lie Cass?”
“With you. She loved you so much Matt, so so much.”
“I know, I know.”
Lettie's Love WritersCafe.org
Sunday, 12 February 2012
That Number
Why is it that deaths of larger numbers seem less heart-wrenching than smaller numbers?
Well at least that's how it seems to me. I heard a number today, one over 10,000 and it was about the number of people who died in a certain crisis. It was just said in passing though and some way on another number was commented on, one in comparision was a mere 80. But it seemed to be the 80 that held the most effect to the people quoting it. And to me even, it seemed more important. It's not that it was any more relevant to my life, both equalling the same. So why did it hold more impact?
Maybe because when the number is larger it is just shrugged off, people do not want to dwell on it and so they don't. There was more deaths and so it is a number too high to believe, to comprehend. Maybe.
It is something that will change I'd say between opinions.
Well at least that's how it seems to me. I heard a number today, one over 10,000 and it was about the number of people who died in a certain crisis. It was just said in passing though and some way on another number was commented on, one in comparision was a mere 80. But it seemed to be the 80 that held the most effect to the people quoting it. And to me even, it seemed more important. It's not that it was any more relevant to my life, both equalling the same. So why did it hold more impact?
Maybe because when the number is larger it is just shrugged off, people do not want to dwell on it and so they don't. There was more deaths and so it is a number too high to believe, to comprehend. Maybe.
It is something that will change I'd say between opinions.
Saturday, 11 February 2012
Swinging Minds
A thousand thoughts flashed through my head as my heart raced wildly. The pause had not been noticed a split second all it taking for my mind to be made.
How many times have you read something like that in a book, where all these thoughts go through a person's mind and then only a second has passed? I know I've read it quite a few times, and also never really believed that so many things could be thought so quickly. But now, I'm starting to think about it again.
Just minutes ago I did the wonderfully smart thing and started swinging on my chair, only to have it topple over, taking me with it. But there was a moment, 3 seconds I would say, where I was balancing, realising that I was about the fall. And the number of thoughts that went through my head... I am falling. What do I do? Can I stop myself? Will I crack my head open? Will I break something? What can I hold onto? Why am I even falling in the first place? What's the best way to break my fall?... And that was when I fell. All these thoughts went through my head in 3 seconds. It's odd the amount of things you think of in such a short amount of time. And yet whilst I asked the questions, I didn't give myself any of the answers. So next time I read that in a book, I'm gonna believe it.
And the moral of this story is; don't swing on chairs.
How many times have you read something like that in a book, where all these thoughts go through a person's mind and then only a second has passed? I know I've read it quite a few times, and also never really believed that so many things could be thought so quickly. But now, I'm starting to think about it again.
Just minutes ago I did the wonderfully smart thing and started swinging on my chair, only to have it topple over, taking me with it. But there was a moment, 3 seconds I would say, where I was balancing, realising that I was about the fall. And the number of thoughts that went through my head... I am falling. What do I do? Can I stop myself? Will I crack my head open? Will I break something? What can I hold onto? Why am I even falling in the first place? What's the best way to break my fall?... And that was when I fell. All these thoughts went through my head in 3 seconds. It's odd the amount of things you think of in such a short amount of time. And yet whilst I asked the questions, I didn't give myself any of the answers. So next time I read that in a book, I'm gonna believe it.
And the moral of this story is; don't swing on chairs.
Ever present slumber
The one thing that education has taught me, is that there is always a deeper meaning, even when there's not. A story always relfects a person's life, how they're feeling, the such. And that is when I look back at my stories and find very few of them are like that. They are just ways to escape the boredom. And that is why below, you will find another story, that does not reflect my life in any way, apart from the point that I wrote it.
The words clenched through his lips as a wave of hair
breezed across her face. He pushed it back, solemnly, letting the air return it
to its freedom before the action was repeated. He looked at her hands, chose
not to take them, changed his mind, felt their soft encompass. Her eyes never
left the same expression, not darting awkwardly, not gazing with the same that
he gave to her. And he cried. With all guard gone from his placid face, with
nothing but the truth left to fill through his tears. Though his drops were
left to dry on her skin, she did nothing to brush them off, nothing to show they
were there. Her lips were cracked, gasping for the moisture they determined. He
longed to brush his against hers, but still now waited for the day when she
would nod at his eyes. His hands still grasped hers, still held them in the
warm grip. The eyes still dared not to dart, the skin still dripping with
tears.
No cries sounded from his throat, tears stunting in their
flow. He had nothing left to give. So with a swift movement, he reached,
touched the knob, pressed without a pause. And so it was he never found out
that she was a damsel in distress, waiting for a prince to wake her from her
sleep.
Evil Rising
Now I am very rarely in a state to write poetry. And that is why, if poetry is what you have a hunger for, you move on elsewhere. But I shall one poem, which will probably be the only poem you will see on here. It is about the seven deadly sins, which if you do not know what they are, you can find out if you read below.
These evils of which you speak
Hold me tight whilst I dare to seek
The way in which to go
To find that love that speaketh though
Wrath begins as it comes fast
Reaping the mind that it doth grasp
Envy dares to creep in next
A wary qualm with a deadly hex
Greed amounts as wishes grow
Turning into a toxic foe
Lust for that which cannot be
But never unlocking the secret key
Gluttony comes as hunger rises
Trickling in small tempting guises
Sloth will happen as pleasures appear
Taking away the little fear
Pride it ends with all that is
Facing death as life doth give
Those sins that wrap me in thy arms
To capture me in all its charms
I look on them as they see me
Evil in entirety
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