I stood naked in front of the mirror and I looked at myself and I said: "I love me. I love me for what I am. I love my whining aggression," you know, "I love my hideous suffocating self-pity, I love the fact that I'm a neurotic and that I demand the world's respect without having to do a single thing to earn it. I'm me. I'm special; I'm crazy about ( Read more... )

After the Italian P0rn Fest, the R+ rated RPG and 13+ R/NC-17 rated fics, it's always nice to remember I. HATE. WRITING. SMUT.

Thesis, still at square one.

Reading Elsie Venner by Oliver Wendell Holmes. Anno Domini 1860, more or less.

The ringleader of the mischief-makers, the young butcher who has before figured in this narrative, looked at him stealthily, whenever he got a chance to study him unobserved; for the truth was, he felt uncomfortable, whenever he found the ( Read more... )

Anyway, Fiore, you're 20. You can't feel like crying from listening to 'My heart will go on' like when you were 12 and the world was such a bad place. Time to grow up! *hits herself*

(By the way, is it just me or the scene with the two old lovers hugging onto the bed while the Titanic is sinking is really heartbreaking?)