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22 November 2015 @ 08:26 am

Livejournal was the superior social media, so let's bring this shit back.

Facebook is designed to see who got knocked up after you graduated. And let's be real--how many pictures of puke-covered babies can you really stand? Reddit is a great source of entertainment and a fabulous way to waste time, but the recurring sense of anonymity takes something away from the experience. Funny pictures are awesome, but all 9gag, cheezburger, imgur are is the less-sucky half of facebook.

I want some real content. From people I know and respect. I want a dialogue that's public enough to be dynamic and private enough to be personable.

After several years of silence the TL;DR of my life is I'm sadly about to turn 27 and I haven't successfully smashed my head through a TV yet.

I'm in the process of recovering from a fairly routine surgery, stressed to the max about my boring financial desk job, and struggling with the concept of going back to finish a degree when I'm nearly 30. It might be the recent pressures, or the impeding birthday, or just the color of the sky, but I'm starting to realize that while I'm not wholly disatisfied with my life, I am definitely discontent.

Things are not the way I thought they would be, but then again, things have never been the way I thought they should be. That was the purpose of writing. It's funny to think back about all of the fosff wars of old. It was just a female version of Call of Duty. Teenagers fighting on the internet, pretending it was important. We were all going to be writers. We were all perfecting a craft. Most people didn't acknowledge that the bottom line of the whole endevor was almost always escapism. We made play-pretend appropriate for our age and it felt good.

I miss that feeling. I haven't found a play-pretend appropriate for 30. I'm starting to think the writing was the right answer.

So: Livejournal. I don't want to play-pretend with everybody, because I don't need to. At the end of the day review count/up-vote/comment number gratification is never really satisfying. It's the act of creating and daydreaming that was actually pleasurable.

At the same time, I'd like to be able to de-stress about my day and get through the week of numbers, and chores, and bills.

Behold, the utlimate forum.

Current Location: Hoth
Current Mood: discontentdiscontent
Current Music: alarmclock noises
31 October 2011 @ 03:56 pm
Hey guys,

I miss you. Facebook's not like being Turks at all.

So I was thinking... if I wrote Hunger Games would anyone even know what it was? 'cause I pretty much killed Super Director Hikou.

I like the books a lot. They reminded me of making wahr, but I don't know if I could pull it off. I'm too busy to record my GROWING and INNUMERABLE dissastisfactions with my life. That and I'm just plain old.


Current Location: Work
Current Mood: discontentdiscontent
26 November 2010 @ 08:29 am
I got the LJ ap for droid. Not sure how this will impact my total lack of blogging...
03 November 2010 @ 11:00 pm
03 November 2010 @ 10:24 pm
A/N: Yay, timeskip. To be perfectly honest I had no intention of finishing this until Fable 3 riled up everybody's search for Reaver-fiction and sparked my review engine back up. I'd forgotten it had existed for all intents and purposes, so... if things feel disconnected or unexplained that was the best way I could think of to restart it. I'll try to fill in the holes as I go.


The only sounds that can describe the frigid air of the Northern Lands are breathless. They are the last whisper of heat escaping frozen lips, the quick whistle of wind spasmed from lungs that cannot function. They cannot be written. However, they are accented solemnly in the heavy clunk of too expensive boots on frosted planks.

The ground crunched thickly under our feet as the ship shrunk behind us. Snow floated sideways, from the sky, from the trees, swirling from the ground. It came as an onslaught from all sides. I did not narrow my eyes at this fury because he did not.

It was silly of me to forsake fur for my crown, but the diplomatic importance seemed such an critical thing to convey. Now, it was only silly with just Reaver left to witness it.

He seemed impartial to the weather, which was simply another maddeningly aggravating trait, one of thousands I was slowly learning to choke back. Sadly, only another I was learning to mimic. I was becoming a student of stoicism, and Reaver had become and extraordinary teacher, regardless if he realized it.

A heavy sigh broke through the whipping of the wind, melted its way between flakes of snow to my ears. It was a well-practiced, queued signal that he was ready to speak and that I should be ready to listen. These were all small touches I had memorized carefully, dilligently practiced human expressions to be learned through example, practiced by someone decidedly inhuman. A way to know him, but still only another layer of paint.

It was scary to think I had a fresh coat myself.

"And what precisely do you propose we... propose to the Great Monk?"

It took an immense effort to scrunch my face at the well-hidden jab at Hannah's size, finding most of my pores filled with ice by this point, but I still completed the gesture. Another small study in the roll of human expression. Another modeled habit.
"I'll think of something," I assured him, sidling my way over a downed tree trunk. "Something to do with duty and defense and light, and all of that nonsense."

"Nonsense," he snorted, extending a gloved hand.

I took it, but did not mind it. Instead my gaze swept from side to side, trying to locate the source of the echo, but perhaps he was only learning as well. Six weeks on a ship could do terrible things to people.

"You'll have to wait for me to finish with her," I explained plainly.

"And what makes you think I'll stand outside the gate and wait for you to beckon me like a good dog?" His face smashed together into a familiar expression. He seemed to be stuck only seconds behind me. "Not that I need a go at her." 

The monestary was looming in the distance, as well as something so small could loom. It was demanding my attention and my time, and it needed dealing with immediately. "Because no Hero in her right mind would believe anything you'd told her." 

There was a sinking sensation that rang higher than my feet slipping through the frost, a brief pang of guilt that I was the Hero so misguided.

His reply was snide, the tone finally chiming with a bit of realism, irritation, "Well, get on with it then. I haven't got all day." 

The fury of the snow was obscuring him in white before I even turned away, hiding his face from my view, but I was disconcerned. Ever the thorn in my side, he would find his way back unscathed, never lost for too long.

His hand released and my finger slid through his, as implied as everything else.
11 July 2010 @ 12:55 pm

Title: Noncommittal
Warnings: Self insert, language, violence
Story Link: Not posting.
Summary:  Tonight I want to watch something die.

[Self-Insert, Turk-tastic]
Notes: Hikou is terrible depressed and has no idea what she's talking about or where she's going.

Part One

Tonight I'm in the mood to rip the world in two.

I pretend it's for the greater good. That two will make everyone less lonely than one, but really it's means over end. I actually just want to watch something bleed. I'm getting ready to cross the border between secret soldier--both duty and honor bound to her job and it's terrible side effects--and cold blooded terror.

Tonight I don't much care for the difference between killer and murderer.

There's a slice of integrity we pride ourselves on, and it's the sliver that separates the two words. I have no mission statement, though. There's no file or code. There are no directions, no photographs, no intelligence. I burst out onto the streets of Midgar with no direction and only one goal.

Tonight I want to watch something die.

I suppose I could look anywhere to witness this sort of commonplace tragedy. People were dying slowly everywhere. I might've stopped to watch the planet stumble to it's inevitable grave. In the age of efficiency, I was much more attracted to the speed of the processes. The pistol tucked closely to my hip agreed, dressed nicely in standard-issue black, chosen carefully to match my standard-issue blue.

I find him outside the station.

Both of his hands are cupped toward his face, trying to shelter the small flame his nurturing, essential to the cigarette dangling from his lips. He looks more like he's trying to tell himself a secret--the perfect candiate to make one two. He gets bigger as I approach. His back straightens apprehensively, and it's startling how much taller he is than I, but this is an important feature. It enhances the surge of empowerment. I get a sick thrill at the tension between us.

It dissipates as he smiles, leaving me empty and unsatisfied.

"Hi," is the best he has. "Can I help you?" 

The tone is recognizable and vaguely innocent; I'm still a pretty killer.

Tonight I don't want to smile, but it escapes me anyway. "I hope so." 

He waits for the elaboration, and I wait for a sensation that never passes. There's no proper way to proceed. It's not like I haven't done this sort of thing before, but I find myself with nothing to say and no elegant way to introduce the weapon at my side.

I've always been a showman above everything else.

"Nevermind," I tell him. There's a clicking somewhere down the tracks. I pretend I'm waiting for the tram and pretend to ignore his startled look.

It's unremarkable he has no way to proceed either. His window is closing as quickly as mine is. The doors to the train car open.

"Well, if you remember," he says as if we've known each other forever or ever, "call me." 

The scribbled over receipt he curls into my palm is dirty and I fight the urge to drop it but the thrill is creeping around the edges of my vision.

Maybe I'll feel better tomorrow.

Tonight I'm not the killer.


Current Mood: discontentdiscontent
Current Music: Lady Gaga - Paparazzi
25 April 2010 @ 08:55 am
22 April 2010 @ 07:59 pm
Misses conference calls.
21 April 2010 @ 08:53 am

Final Fantasy 8 is so fucking gay. I completely forgot.

So, PNC sent me a new credit card so I had to reneter all my info on the Playstation Network and for some reason the new card didn't take my address and I tried too many times so the system locked me out, so I ended up having to go to the store and buying a PSN card, which was $14 more than I actually needed for the game I wanted. ):

SO Don offered to give me $10 if he could d/l FF8. Instantly regret this decision. This game is where everything started to go wrong with the FF series, and I conclude is also the reason why they felt it appropriate to bedazzle Sephiroth in Dissidia. The buildings are so fucking ridiculous and the clothes even more so. Squall is wearing a GIRL JACKET. This is not the VK scene. IT'S BATTLE.

Fuck you, Squall.

Also, a SCHOOL? C'mon, really? That's fucking retarded. 7 starts out and BAM you kill two guys and raid their bodies. 8 starts out and you're jerking off in a fucking school infirmary.

Which is clearly the superior game here? 

I also find the card system to be ridiculous.

ANYWAY. RAE AND CHERRI: I need puppy kibble on my farmville or my dog will DIE. PLOX send some.

And do any of you have a PS3? You should def. friend me. I'm EMPHikou.

17 April 2010 @ 11:49 am
So Jenny asked me if I wanted to be a shift lead last night. I don't know for which store or when, but I assume this means I'm on the bench for management. Which ultimately means more hours and more money. Hey, maybe I won't even have to work two jobs.

): Running out of foodstuffs and have little money to buy more. I just paid the insurance bill because Don still hasn't gotten himself checks so now I'm gonna be waiting for him to pay me back for that and our rent is gonna run very close to late because I'll be waiting for cash to put in my account to send the check. It's gonna be even worse if I work a double the day he gets paid because then I have no time to get to the bank.

He's just really stressing me out with money. I don't need checks bouncing because I'm waiting to do all these ass backwards transfers with him.

Beat FF7 again and all the weapons. Getting ready to finish up Dante's Inferno.

Megan and I are going to see How to Train Your Dragon in 3D tonight. I hope there won't be exorbitant amounts of kids. D: We picked a shit day to go.