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| 2008-03-20 22:33 |
| ...*prances in slightly askew* |
| Public |
| *eep* |
| Iron Chef |
| epp |
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For those of you that don't know (which is most of you since I don't think I've really said anything about it), I'm applying for an artist-in-residency program.
*panics*
It's a really big deal and I need letters of recommendation (which I have wrapped up...mostly) and I have to decide on 9 pieces to send for application. So, I thought I'd share the 6 I've decided upon thus far.
( pretty little squid pictures )
\o/
Interesting, yeah?
So, yeah, that's what I've decided upon thus far. Wish me luck.
*eep*
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--or, not, as the case may be.
So, it is officially 2008.
*throws confetti and blows noise-maker*
It's been a hectic year and, honestly, I think I'm glad it's over. Better things to come maybe?
'Though, I've committed fic (both original and fan), made a mess of art, and have done several other things that are of the good, but not to be shared with the general populace 'cause I'm stingy that way. *thppppt*
*scratches head*
I guess it wasn't all bad then, yeah?
*holds up booze*
To the bad being better and the good being wonderful.
Happy New Year, my dearest f-list!
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Before I am remiss, happy thanksgiving American-f-list and happy Thursday to the non-American-f-list.
*thinky*
Are there any non-Americans on my f-list? *is curious*
Dinner was good. Lovely gastroporn.
And, last night, we had our first snow. It wasn't much as was pretty much gone by noon, but we had it and it was puuuurtty. *does snow-dance*
Have I mentioned that Lil is now free-range? Yes? Well, it bears repeating for, low, it is shiny.
Free-range Lil!
Yay!
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| 2007-11-21 11:16 |
| SQUEE |
| Public |
 bouncy |
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There is much squee--barrels and barrels of squee.
Finally, with Eric, Ian, and I working together, Lil has wireless!
(let's not mention that it really only took unencrypting the router and turning on Lil's airport)
*wanders apartment freely*
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| 2007-11-19 10:51 |
| ...free to good home |
| Public |
| blah |
| wangst |
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A small, slightly over-used squid free to good home.
She can cook and bake and clean.
She's relatively tidy.
She is conversant on a variety of topics
She can write, research, and proof papers.
Please comment here if interested.
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I was going over some of the reviews that I had gotten over at www.wraithbait.com (I'm just squid over there) and was thinking about how I deal with Rodney and John and Radek. When it's angst and hurt and betrayal, I almost always use Rodney.
Or a major bollixing of a situation.
I associate myself a lot with Rodney--the Rodney in my head, that is, my interpretation of the canonical-Rodney, my cannon-Rodney. He's experienced a lot of disappointment. He's impatient with people. He hurts in ways that all the bluster is there to cover-up. He's smart and unexpected and doesn't fit into a societally-acceptable category of attractive.
He's the epitome of "geek is the new hot", though that only seems to work in fandom. (insert disclaimer here, if you need to)
And, even though we now know, canonically, that Jeannie is Rodney's younger sibling, she is stuck in my head as Rodney's much older sister who took care of him and was the only person that really understood him growing-up. After seeing Jeannie and their interaction, Jeannie is still the "older" of the two--emotionally, socially, maturity-wise--but there is still a lot of little sister to it too.
When I'm going to negotiate my own sexuality and gender or tread those places between socially acceptable and socially aberrant (which is where I usually live), I use John.
John--my cannon-John and my sub-textual-John--both seem to sit in this place of uncertainty. Uneasy in command, but confident--at least, he's good at faking it. Uneasy in most things, really--cite, "I never see it coming." It's as if he spent so much time hiding in the military, hiding what he is, that he's never really become who he is supposed to become and, for me, Atlantis is this place that he's slowly working this out for himself.
And Radek--poor put-upon Radek--he is my mediator. He understands Rodney--his arrogance, his bluster, what he's hiding, how vulnerable and frightened he feels all the time--and, because Radek understands Rodney, he has the unique ability to explain Rodney to other people. As far as John goes, Radek seems to be the only person who would be patient enough to not put hair-remover in John's hair-gel. I mean, seriously, Teyla and Ronon just knock him down 'til their ever-present serenity-amusement is restored. Hell, that's probably how they handle Rodney most of the time too. Rodney snarks and makes Kirk references and, although it's not canonical, freezes John out of his quarters and shower.
He is Czech ex machina. And, yes, there is a fic rattling in my head for this.
The only other person, for me, who could be mediator was Carson and, really, threat of large needles and painful tests kinda ruin that.
But, this is why John, Rodney, and Radek are important to me--they have become extensions of my psyche, archetypes of those voices in my head that are all me, but speak from different perspectives.
I know that this has been the conversation in fandom for an eternity: Why we write what we write? Who do we ultimately write it for? What is the individual author's interaction with their cannon-characters and their sub-textual-characters? It's been beaten to death, but I still think it's important to look at the characters that we, as individual writers, are drawn to and to explore the what and why of that attraction.
And that was basically a long-winded way of avoiding working on my art history paper, distract myself from wigging about my doctor's appointment this afternoon and the myriad of other things that are in my head today.
*bows gracefully*
*falls over from lack-of-grace*
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| 2007-11-10 01:10 |
| ...sga ruminations and a ficlet |
| Public |
| ...Lil |
| blah |
| ...Better Than Chocolate |
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Atlantis is making me love it again this season.
Teyla-in-leather is awesome and shiny and nummy.
I wasn't fond of Dr. Keller at first, but she's totally growing on me. And the fact that Jewel Staite has gone from being a friendly-Wraith to an uber-Wraith to Dr. Keller just kills me.
And she totally rabbit-punched the Wraith-worshipper! And shot him!
The Bolliki as the Pegasus Galaxy version's of Reavers is hysterical and having Jewel Staite in the episode totally wins.
And the boys playing calvary is funny--even though the girls didn't need the help.
Rodney: Not arrows! *flails*
John and Rodney playing movie-stars was completely cute and boyfriendy.
And, land-squid! There was a land-squid! Teyla killed it and ate it! *squee*
And I love Keller and Teyla in this. How they bond and how Keller is so totally "omg, I'm not a warrior-woman, but I'm glad I'm with one even if she kills people in front of me and makes me eat land-squid" and how she's all concerned face with Teyla's tests.
Teyla kicks severe ass throughout the episode, which is so cool and not-unusual, but it's still shiny. And having Keller finally grow a pair and shoot the Wraith-worshiper in the leg just make it for me. And when Teyla was telling Keller that she would survive, she would see her father--home--again, I just wanted to cry 'cause that usually means something horrid is gonna happen and Keller comes back all bloody-lipped and "they said they'd kill you" and her giving them a wrong address so that they'd have extra time like Teyla told her they'd need was perfect.
Here's an Atlantis ficlet. Completely meant as a catharsis from the last week's farce. I am feeling better and some of it's been resolved--sorta.
It's not as horrid.
Maybe.
...I hope?
Well, I'm not melting down, so we'll take what we can get.
Title: not again
Beta: unbeta'd 'cause he's asleep right now
Rating: W for wangst
Pairing: Rodney/John in a very-over-sorta-way
Summary: Was he so wrong to feel this way?
Rodney took a step back, afraid to touch again, afraid to be hurt again, afraid to love again.
Was he so wrong to feel this way? Was there any reason for him not to? Was he cowardly or wise to be so cautious after being torn asunder again?
It hurt so badly; a nice neat hole clear through his chest, except, that there wasn’t anything there.
Just skin.
Shouldn’t it show when it hurt this badly? Some physical manifestation so that people could see and say, “Oh, what happened”?
There should be some way to tell the walking-wounded from the rest of the world.
But there wasn’t.
Nothing.
Just inarticulable pain.
Just shadows and want and rejection; lost in memories that had never been meant for him, memories that were singed around the edges and burned like acid in his mind.
Memories of things he had thought meant something.
Anything.
Yet were only ashes in his mouth now.
Rodney would like to think that John would change his mind, realize that he had destroyed someone that had cared for him.
That had loved him.
But, ultimately, as much as John insisted he wanted intelligence and wit and someone that would love him the way he should be loved, deserved to be loved, he was only interesting the surface.
Wanted beauty.
Wanted perfection.
Another devotee of phi.
And Rodney had been found lacking.
Inferior.
Less-than.
Again and again and again.
There was nothing he could do—not really. Rodney was only what he was; couldn’t even live up to his own expectations.
He might never be able to take that chance again—not with John, not with anyone. He would palely loiter, be ghostwritten by John to others in soul-rending misrepresentations.
He would fade to shadow—another sadly funny joke to tell at cocktail parties, to entertain John’s epitome of phi.
Rodney would become something for John to comfort himself with; that John was better off—he had spoken the truth and that it wasn’t his fault if Rodney couldn’t cope with how he was framed in John’s mind.
And Rodney knew that, whether there was some sort of reconciliation or not, a part of him would always be suspended in liminality, trapped by John’s words.
And--I'm done.
On a more scary note, I get to go have bloodwork done Monday.
Eep.
'Though my rheumotologist is rather cute.
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| 2007-11-07 08:33 |
| ...the techno-remix of "awful, evil poly-people" |
| Public |
| ...work, work, work |
 sad |
| ...the Inner Greek Chorus |
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*shuffles*
I wanted to apologize to my f-list for the melodramatic meltdown. I'm usually fairly good at not screaming my problems quite so loudly at the interwebs...'kay, maybe not, but I try. Sometimes, I have to say/write it out loud to make certain that it was real, that it wasn't something I imagined, a waking-mare that can be soothed away by a cuppa tea and a cuddle with Sebek.
Sometimes, it hurts so badly that I have to howl into the darkness, to be heard, to wound as badly as I have been wounded.
Sometimes, to hold it inside and not give it word and speech and action is the most pain-full, pain-filled of things.
And you--you, my dear f-list--do not deserve such treatment.
I apologize.
</ends-self-flagellation>
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| 2007-11-05 14:24 |
| ...an evil to be wiped from the minds of men forever |
| Public |
 blank |
| "The Pack", Buffy the Vampire Slayer |
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Disclaimer: Herein is information you may not care to know about me and my emotional issues. Read at your own risk.
I can now officially add stupid and unethical to my repertoire. I read something that I shouldn't have, became Tosh in an instant of pain and curiosity--and, he'll attribute it to his liking the Girl--and, maybe he's right, but I don't think that's what it was. I think I wanted confirmation, a complete heart-destroying end that I was something--someone--to be used and discarded. I was never anything but a distraction, a way to feel better about himself, a way to get out of his parent's home because he couldn't do it on his own.
I'm stupid to have ever believed him, to have ever helped him, to have loved him even a little.
To have called him Family.
I want to scream and yell and throw him out, but I won't 'cause, in the end, I'm too nice and don't want to hurt anyone.
And that's the worst part of this. Somewhere, somehow I made him hurt, made him think that I didn't want him to be happy, made him think I wasn't his friend. When, from my perspective, I'm insecure and need the reassurance that he's never once given me.
He thinks I'm horrible and bad and jealous--and, maybe, I am. I've never been jealous of my other boys 'cause I've always known exactly where I stand and I have never known with him. All he's ever had to do or say was that he'd still care for me, but, as always, that's expecting too much. I don't appreciate that he's made me out to be something horrible and greedy when I've helped him even in the midst of a "jealous fit" and been friendly with people I've never liked to make him happy.
To make things easier on him.
For two years, I've helped him through broken hearts, helped him woo girls, made sure he got places, dealt with his parents and his moods and half-truths. I've been supportive and let him move-in with us when my Inner Greek Chorus was screaming that it was monumentally stupid and I have made myself and Eric miserable through the entire process and now? Now, I find out that he thinks--or, at least, his friend thinks and he didn't contradict her--I'm a horrible person who wants him to feel less-than, that I was using him, that I don't really believe in "free love" (and what is with that terminology, that's not really what poly is about, at least, not the way I interpret it) 'cause I have my own issues that are described as "hissy fits" and who knows what else 'cause it seems I wander in about half-way through an ongoing conversation.
And, I could say all sorts of things to defend myself--attempt to defend myself--but it doesn't matter 'cause, in his eyes, in his mind, that's what I am and all the kind or pretty words before and since mean nothing--lies to hide how he really feels so he doesn't lose his comfortable arrangement.
And I am the stupidest person ever for even attempting to believe him.
I am betrayed and have betrayed him and I've put Eric through a ton of misery because of it, because I love whole-heartedly and am insecure enough to worry that I am a "for the moment" preoccupation (which, evidently, I was) and because being poly doesn't mean you stop being human and making mistakes and that your emotions don't get the better of you.
I guess I can add cowardly to my list 'cause I want this to stop and it won't and I can't figure out how to make it stop.
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| 2007-09-30 20:17 |
| ...a squid named Mort with no friends |
| Public |
| anxious |
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I went to the bookstore today and, as I often do, I found myself amongst shelves and shelves of blank books. Books with blank pages filled with lines waiting for ink, for word, for thought; books with unblemished bareness waiting for images and equations. These are books that have leather covers so distressed they seem liable to dissolve, wooden covers for the terminally destrustrive *bows gallantly*, molded covers with the three Graces--Agleae, Euphrosyne, and Thalia--dancing, twined about each other as they always are, covers with antique maps that lure one into considering travel...
And, as I often do, I long for the potential with them--the waiting, the longing that a blank page seems to exude, the moment of possibility that is never the same, but is always the same.
I also lingered amongst the appointment books, engagement books--lovely antiquated terminology for something that so few people seem to be able to live without. While I was glancing through them, touching slick-shiny pages that possessed that same emptiness that I love in blank books, I thought of how intriguing they are. In purchasing a physical engagement book, you are holding time and all the possibility of time and the ability, to a greater or lesser extant, to control time--the where, the how, the when.
To control time and Time, even if it is illusory, is a seductive thought.
I've spent a great deal of time thinking about things like feeling alienated here, not knowing people, seemingly not being able to make friends, having my days splintered in such a way that it become nearly impossible to spend time creating, learning, loving...and it feels like I lack time and Time.
And this lack is not an 'I'm too busy. There aren't enough days in the hour.' sort of lack.
It feels like I lack Time--like it's running out.
...like the drums are coming closer.
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| 2007-08-19 19:53 |
| ...a beginning which ends in death by consumer-frenzy |
| Public |
| ...couch, couch, couch |
| accomplished |
| King Arthur 'cause Ian hadn't seen it yet |
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*peers about*
This seems a nice place to be.
*settles*
It's comfy and warm and dry.
...and, there's no witch-hunts.
*snuggles up in portable-kelp-bed with a cuppa*
*waves tentacle*
Hi, I'm squid. I'm new. I'm a refugee.
But, so everything seems normal--a normal, everyday type post.
I do hope that I'm entertaining.
Yesterday, purchased waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too many books. The newest Dresden Files, HP and the Deathly Hollows (*sigh* don't wanna, but, if I don't read it, my brain will 'splode from lack of resolution), Chocolat (since my copy disappeared somewhere), and two Sandman graphic novels.
*bounces*
But, books.
And, then, today I purchased season 7 of Buffy, seasons 2-5 of Angel, and Dresden Files.
*looks shifty*
They were on sale. They were cheeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaap.
*clings*
Mineminemineminemineminemineminemine
mineminemineminemineminemineminemine
mineminemineminemineminemineminemine
mineminemineminemineminemineminemine
mineminemineminemineminemineminemine.
*pets and croons*
In other news, the studio is very nearly usable. Yay! A place to make a mess.
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artistic
amused