The Sacred Basilica of Linguini

I have only two things to say:

Polyvore is a truly vicious time suck.


Carbo Diem

I've had many conversations over the years about the inherent weirdness that is Japanese culture. Most often, dropping the bombs at Hiroshima and Nagasaki, or the bizarro censorship practiced during the Occupation are pointed to as pivotal mechanisms for the weird. After some very interesting research, I've come to the conclusion that it's just how island biodiversity manifests itself in the hearts and minds of these particular islanders. I'm not saying that brainwashing and radiation might not play a part but I resent the implication that tentacle porn is somehow my fault. Historic shunga says otherwise.

I once knew a woman so self-absorbed she manifested all the signs of being a black hole. Light couldn't escape, nor anything else. I suspected, but had no proof, that she emitted a kind of all-purpose radiation; people tended to die inside when she was around and animals cringed. True story.

To all the mothers

Here's to you, moms~

You kissed boo-boos and owies and noses and toeses.

You sang lullabies on an endless repeating loop.

You cuddled away night terrors and boogie men by the closetful.

You laughed at nonsensical jokes (though I've recently discovered a way to kill a knock knock joke dead!email me privately).

You drank invisible tea or perhaps were taken prisoner by ninjas and pirates in unholy alliance. Maybe you did both. At the same time.

You did your part to civilize the savages (your children, the ninjas and pirates).

You read 'Goodnight Moon' and 'Velveteen Rabbit' more times than anyone should have to.

You were the best Easter Bunny, Santa Claus, Tooth Fairy, and Great Pumpkin a kid could have.

You angered slowly and forgave quickly.

You meted out just enough punishment to get your point across.

You never seriously considered selling your hormone-crazed teenager for spare parts.

You let go when the time was right.

You kept your arms and heart open.

You're the best.

That's why we love you.

Lucky Seven-- Ages of Lilith

Who slays my children? He thundered, his wrath buffeting me like a mighty wind. His face was fined down to skin and beautifully sculpted bone, but he had only one baleful violet eye and it was fixed on me with singular purpose. Fear froze me, but the swarm answered.
ZHEHURTZZUZZ! They chorused. He crouched and gathered a handful of the scattered husks. Tears fell from his eye as freely as the socket on the other side spilled maggots.
Oh, my small brave ones, what has happened to you?

Lucky Seven -- Caught Napping

Early exposure to the exotic dancers and burlesque performers that his mother worked with had certainly given him an appreciation for a gilded lily but she was something else, a pitcher plant maybe. Carnivorous plants made for a fascinating study, but it always struck him that the difference between a venus fly trap and a pitcher plant was a matter of intent; the flytrap was actively a killer. Sonia was arguably more passive about it. She was also way too smart for her own good. His too, come to that.

Lucky Seven -- Chrome Dragon

“I hate you,” she told him.
“Yes, I know. But I content myself that I will survive without your regard. It may be difficult, I may experience the occasional pang, but I will muddle through.”
“I'll give you pangs,“ she promised hoarsely.
“Now, now. Wait to kill me until you're feeling better. Drink.”
So she drank and gagged and glared so menacingly that Jahi laughed until tears ran down his face.