"Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty, I'm free at last!"
A quote-of-a-quote, back-attributed to Martin Luther King, Jr.
Anyway...
I "fixed" the error (apparently the original style-sheet has a double-type mistake that leaves one of the taggy-thingums open or nullifies it or something, sort of like if you type < b > < / b > > and then wonder why you've got funny-looking text ;^)
In the "Bad But Not Horrendously So" news department, one of my favorite sites is temporarily down due to bizzarre difficulties with FTP. :,^(
In the "Good News as Edited for Television" department: I made a few new accquaintances and things are going well in that department :^)
Am I annoyed? Yes. Am I edgy? Yes. I'm also blissfully happy. And somehow, right at this moment, it makes perfect sense to be all of those things at the same time.
Dreams. I actually had one, after several nights without them--funny how you don't miss them until they're gone. Aww look, I gave it a title and everything. My high-school guidance councilor would be so proud ;^) FAIR WARNING: Written with utter disregard for grammar and the basic integrity of the English language ;^)
Bridges
The sword-maker and her mate, the grizzled old one, much older than she--old wizard who knows the secrets buried in the metal she molds. She wears a dress red, burgundy, sun-splash yellow at the shoulders and her hair is the color of blood. He is blue, blue and silver, silver hair, silver eyes
--solid-silver, like puddles of chrome set deep in his face. They stand on one side of a canyon which is covered in natural bridges. Two are slightly parallel, one above the other.
The couple are sad. He is dying and she must leave him for the place on the other side of the bridge, so that he may die in peace. They embrace tightly but it does not, will not, cannot last. They part and the tears from her face leave dark spots in the orange dust of the bridge, and she moves on.
Halfway across the bridge, a wayfarer interrupts her crossing. He is young and insolent, and wears white and red.
"You weep for a dead man," he says.
"Leave me be!" she screams, bereavement giving way to fury. She swipes at him with her hand--long-nailed silver-taloned hand, a bit like Edward Scissorhands. He laughs at her, springs backward, Jackie Chan-style, onto the bridge above her. Still laughing he runs, light-footed and easy, all the way across.
"You'll have to catch me if you plan to do any real damage," he says.
Running after him, outraged...I wake up.
There. That ought to entertain the masses for awhile :^P
A quote-of-a-quote, back-attributed to Martin Luther King, Jr.
Anyway...
I "fixed" the error (apparently the original style-sheet has a double-type mistake that leaves one of the taggy-thingums open or nullifies it or something, sort of like if you type < b > < / b > > and then wonder why you've got funny-looking text ;^)
In the "Bad But Not Horrendously So" news department, one of my favorite sites is temporarily down due to bizzarre difficulties with FTP. :,^(
In the "Good News as Edited for Television" department: I made a few new accquaintances and things are going well in that department :^)
Am I annoyed? Yes. Am I edgy? Yes. I'm also blissfully happy. And somehow, right at this moment, it makes perfect sense to be all of those things at the same time.
Dreams. I actually had one, after several nights without them--funny how you don't miss them until they're gone. Aww look, I gave it a title and everything. My high-school guidance councilor would be so proud ;^) FAIR WARNING: Written with utter disregard for grammar and the basic integrity of the English language ;^)
Bridges
The sword-maker and her mate, the grizzled old one, much older than she--old wizard who knows the secrets buried in the metal she molds. She wears a dress red, burgundy, sun-splash yellow at the shoulders and her hair is the color of blood. He is blue, blue and silver, silver hair, silver eyes
--solid-silver, like puddles of chrome set deep in his face. They stand on one side of a canyon which is covered in natural bridges. Two are slightly parallel, one above the other.
The couple are sad. He is dying and she must leave him for the place on the other side of the bridge, so that he may die in peace. They embrace tightly but it does not, will not, cannot last. They part and the tears from her face leave dark spots in the orange dust of the bridge, and she moves on.
Halfway across the bridge, a wayfarer interrupts her crossing. He is young and insolent, and wears white and red.
"You weep for a dead man," he says.
"Leave me be!" she screams, bereavement giving way to fury. She swipes at him with her hand--long-nailed silver-taloned hand, a bit like Edward Scissorhands. He laughs at her, springs backward, Jackie Chan-style, onto the bridge above her. Still laughing he runs, light-footed and easy, all the way across.
"You'll have to catch me if you plan to do any real damage," he says.
Running after him, outraged...I wake up.
There. That ought to entertain the masses for awhile :^P
posted by Jheti at
7:36 PM
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