(no subject)
I still haven't done the photo meme. I'll make myself do it tomorrow, but feel free to give me more things to take pictures off.
Today has being fun. Xbox, writing, and hanging out with Kelly. The only thing I wish had happened was my filming, but due to reasons of Kelly's mum being weird, I'm waiting until Tuesday to film. If I can't then, I'll have to film it in my house and clean my room. *hopes I don't have to*
Ryan is definatly fine now. Nothing out the ordinary, other then his weight. But I keep his bowl topped up so he'll gain it quicker.
Here: on a completely different note, have a small bit of my english coursework based slightly of Top Howl. I was reading bits of it when this idea hit me. It's suprisingly easy to write in the style of Edgar Allen Poe.
I make no claims at my sanity -- far from the truth -- I claim I am mad in a world that does not wish to accept this fact. Instead of peace, I see violence; see pain, which tortures my mind, leaves me wishing this darkness would go away. Over the years of my homeless state, I have wandered further into this darkness with no light or comfort. No friends or carers. I have no companions -- for I have made none -- other than one stray like myself.
A white beast of matted fur that came to me one winter’s night as I sat beneath the darkened sky, with sorrowful eyes that told no lies -- only belief in what I see. I could only accept this company in my drunken state -- finishing another day of confusion in the shadows of the local tavern. But somehow in the early mist of the following morning -- the bitter cold stinging my skin -- I couldn’t turn her away. Many more cold days have awoken me since I have found her -- many times have I relished in the fact I have the company -- at least of someone who cannot speak back and dispute my claims.
Alas, madness is a funny thing -- I am the example of this -- makes you do things that cannot be reasoned. Perhaps this is why I sit in my usual seat of the tavern, hidden in the shadows with her laid beside my feet. Sat thinking about some of the many things I have seen -- still see --and think about how much the world has turned against me.
I look down at my animal companion, see her lift her head up to look at me and almost stare at my soul. The eyes, somehow, had changed their softness to something more brutal and harsh. The only attraction I have towards her are the very eyes that have changed. I smile weakly -- to reassure myself more than her -- before taking another drink of my ale. An attempt to rid me of the believed lie I saw. How could ones eyes change to such malice with no reason or intention?
I return my gaze to her and gave a small sigh of relief at the change of her eyes. “It was the devil of the drink, nothing more.”
But was it? I stare at the brown liquid, slightly seeing her reflection, before I place it down on the worn wooden table and stand -- nearly falling over in the same moment. Few people turn to look at me, frowning or whispering but all expecting me to start explaining myself again. I felt like I should -- entertain them from the boredom that had driven them to drink for the devil -- but a paw tugged at my trouser leg and pulled the reason as to why I should away.
Walking forward, leaving some looks behind, I wobble my way to the exit using the white creature beside me as a guide. She had -- many times before -- guided me out of the tavern and so knew her way around. She properly knew each and every person that came regularly to drown themselves from horrors that were lies.
Today has being fun. Xbox, writing, and hanging out with Kelly. The only thing I wish had happened was my filming, but due to reasons of Kelly's mum being weird, I'm waiting until Tuesday to film. If I can't then, I'll have to film it in my house and clean my room. *hopes I don't have to*
Ryan is definatly fine now. Nothing out the ordinary, other then his weight. But I keep his bowl topped up so he'll gain it quicker.
Here: on a completely different note, have a small bit of my english coursework based slightly of Top Howl. I was reading bits of it when this idea hit me. It's suprisingly easy to write in the style of Edgar Allen Poe.
I make no claims at my sanity -- far from the truth -- I claim I am mad in a world that does not wish to accept this fact. Instead of peace, I see violence; see pain, which tortures my mind, leaves me wishing this darkness would go away. Over the years of my homeless state, I have wandered further into this darkness with no light or comfort. No friends or carers. I have no companions -- for I have made none -- other than one stray like myself.
A white beast of matted fur that came to me one winter’s night as I sat beneath the darkened sky, with sorrowful eyes that told no lies -- only belief in what I see. I could only accept this company in my drunken state -- finishing another day of confusion in the shadows of the local tavern. But somehow in the early mist of the following morning -- the bitter cold stinging my skin -- I couldn’t turn her away. Many more cold days have awoken me since I have found her -- many times have I relished in the fact I have the company -- at least of someone who cannot speak back and dispute my claims.
Alas, madness is a funny thing -- I am the example of this -- makes you do things that cannot be reasoned. Perhaps this is why I sit in my usual seat of the tavern, hidden in the shadows with her laid beside my feet. Sat thinking about some of the many things I have seen -- still see --and think about how much the world has turned against me.
I look down at my animal companion, see her lift her head up to look at me and almost stare at my soul. The eyes, somehow, had changed their softness to something more brutal and harsh. The only attraction I have towards her are the very eyes that have changed. I smile weakly -- to reassure myself more than her -- before taking another drink of my ale. An attempt to rid me of the believed lie I saw. How could ones eyes change to such malice with no reason or intention?
I return my gaze to her and gave a small sigh of relief at the change of her eyes. “It was the devil of the drink, nothing more.”
But was it? I stare at the brown liquid, slightly seeing her reflection, before I place it down on the worn wooden table and stand -- nearly falling over in the same moment. Few people turn to look at me, frowning or whispering but all expecting me to start explaining myself again. I felt like I should -- entertain them from the boredom that had driven them to drink for the devil -- but a paw tugged at my trouser leg and pulled the reason as to why I should away.
Walking forward, leaving some looks behind, I wobble my way to the exit using the white creature beside me as a guide. She had -- many times before -- guided me out of the tavern and so knew her way around. She properly knew each and every person that came regularly to drown themselves from horrors that were lies.