Tralla

The person above me has yet to write poor Peredhil out of the weenie-induced involvement in his...weeniedom. Which leads one to wonder, did the person above me's weenie status *also* disappear with the transfer to the new boards, which resulted in the person above me's portrait returning to normal, which resulted in Peredhil's status reverting to normal, which resulted in... ... ... Oi. My head hurts.

... I don't see them. They're red X's. Bastards! Kas, shoot them red X's good!

It's in my blood. :woot: <-- Oh, that is SO my smilie of the day!

Tralla, making a less-than-customarily-late entrance. I was a Quill-Bearer, if I remember correctly. The title "Professionally Dishevelled" ( <--- I like this guy. Can I keep it, too? (And Gyr, I swear, if you hand me another leash....)

Your eyes really aren't deceiving you. I sat down and wrote something postable. Just goes to show... who knows what you can accomplish when enough people bitch? Bittersweet Pour the thinner to my portrait, Wait for the face to smear away; I've left that place so far behind I won't return at all today. Or tomorrow. I won't return to that painted cage, To which my own mind is Artiste, I've run out of paint And I've broke my last brush; I refuse to maintain it in the least. I've no need. Store the face away in a corner Of the attic, to gather a cloak of dust About itself; Watch, unseeing, the lips slowly fade, The empty eyes run, The memories undone… And forgotten. Hide her away; The last joke’s on you: I'm already free of the frame. You'll be the one Forgotten, my friend, When I progress on to fame And my realized dreams. Thank you for your faded friendship.

Take care, and don't forget us! The reason dogs have so many friends is because they wag their tails and not their tongues.

Sure, Vlad, send it on over. War does not determine who is right. War determines who is left.

Elder of Indexes? Or would that intrude too much upon our Elder of Lists? War does not determine who is right. War determines who is left.

=) Congratulations, all promotees. btw, I hope you all had a very Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, Qwanza, Solstice, etc, and a Happy New Year. War does not determine who is right. War determines who is left.

so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens. - Also William Carlos Williams Translation: Great, what's your point?

SWEET I just finished Amber Spyglass, Rhapsody. =D Isn't it great? I just love the series. I cried in that book, though... O.o *sniffle*

I'm born close enough to that something always comes up to make us celebrate thanksgiving on my birthday... Four years in a row now and counting.

Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate it... of course, mine is long been and gone... Bastard holiday steals my birthday, every year... *grumble* =D Eat lots of turkey for the Canadian girl!

*sigh* much better.

While waiting nervously, poor Griever suddenly finds himself sprawled flat on the floor by an unseen hugtackle! "Griever!" Now why is that view familiar... He thinks. "About bloody time you got here. Geez." Picking herself up - and Griever along with her - Tralla dusts herself off and scurries from the room with a breezy wave and a flippant, "Things to do, essays to write, work to go to... Blech." (And Pere, unless YOU intend to fix it, my sig stays as is until I'm not running at frantic speeds to keep up with my damn classes...)

Dude. I'm a Quill Bearer! Cool. =) Hm... must make new banner... and write more... *scurries off to delicious soft bed*

The intangible Tralla, as always completely bereft of any physical manifestation, felt a tugging at her consciousness and meandered her scholastically-hazed brain in the general direction of the Pen. Eyes bugging as, through the mist, a chaotic and ultimately horribly distracting scene on a sunny embankment unfolded, she turned and ran as far and fast as she could in the opposite direction, back to her macroarchitecture and binary opposites... For those were, in the end, all that occupied her thoughts, these days.

Fears? Mine are common, I suppose, but terrifying in their own way. The biggest one is drowning. Not so much the drowning bothers me, but being *stuck* somewhere and having no choice in the drowning. That bothers me... I am highly uncomfortable watching all those movies centred around water rising, being trapped, etc. =/ The second is not so much a fear for myself, but... I've lived all my life in the same house, practically in the same room, with the same things... I'm always afraid of housefire. Keeping all of your things all your life makes you a little terrified of losing them.

Tral-ah (not Trail, not eah, not tra-la-la-la...)

hehe cute.

haha ohh I know this experience as well. Keep it up, Rahsash =)

weee I'm tapping my shoe too! (well, my toes, but same diff.)

ooh... we just had to do a mean essay in English comparing two star-related poems... *twitch* I like this one soo much better =) Well done, Sil.

ooooh... this is fantastic. Everyone seems to be talking about how dark the pyrite child is, but to me, the speaker as dark, due their bitterness and... spite? He/she sees the truth, but doesn't seem much more gold than the person he/she is talking about. Am I making sense?

This is *so* *cool*. 'nuff said.