darkly dreaming girl.

chaoticasphyxia — Mon, 14 May 2012 01:53:12 GMT

I really ought to use this more. :x

Hopefully, I will when I'm not stressing out with University work. Guh.

MASTER POST OF DOOM

chaoticasphyxia — Sun, 29 Jan 2012 18:53:09 GMT

FANDOM CHARACTERS






ORIGINAL CHARACTERS







ALT. JOURNALS

Meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeme

chaoticasphyxia — Sun, 20 Nov 2011 02:09:26 GMT

Memetime. :)

Take a look of at my cast list found here.

Post as one of your own characters asking a question to one of mine or to several, you choose! Anything at all! Yup, I mean it. And the pup will have to answer. ... guys, don't look at me like that, you will be answering stuff.

Whatever is asked of them, they have to answer it, truthfully. Yep.

HAVE FUN. :D

Prompt Meme (Lovingly stolen from Ai <3)

chaoticasphyxia — Sat, 25 Jun 2011 20:23:54 GMT

I'm desperate to get back into writing because I love it and miss it so very much. So I saw this amazingly awesome meme which Ai had and this will hopefully help me start again. :)

RULE NUMBER ONE: Wait for Godot. While you are waiting, instead of contemplating your existence, click on dis link. Do you know where it will take you? A magical list where all of my truly fascinating characters are.

RULE NUMBER TWO: Rejoice that you can read and therefore have made it past rule number one. Alternately, rejoice that you are a clicker of links. It is good. While you are rejoicing, poke your nosy butt around a little. Not literally. That would be. I don't even want to think about it. ANYWHO. Take a peek at my characters. Do some more reading/link clicking. They are interesting, yeah? I am very protective of them. DON'T TOUCH. Okay, you can touch with two fingers. GENTLY. On the arm.

RULE NUMBER THREE: Pick some of your favorite characters of mine. Alternately, pick some random ones. Ones with nice journal names, or pretty PBs. Yeah, I know how people pick characters for these sorts of things. You don't have to fool me.

RULE NUMBER FOUR: Is Godot back yet? Probably not. But you should come back to this page to check. Guess what? He's not. While you're moaning about how fucking late Godot is every goddamn time, you can comment below with a specific character. You should also have a prompt of some kind--a quote, a song lyric, one of those picture things that Ella likes so much (and is so good at finding).

RULE NUMBER FIVE: Face facts that Godot is probably never fucking coming, for srs. Cry a little bit about this, then click away and forget that you ever came here to wait for Godot. Only remember this when I comment on your comment, probably with a character's journal, with a response to the prompt you left me. Rejoice that SOMEONE finally came through for you, even if they weren't Godot.

RULE NUMBER SIX: There is no rule number six. It is a figment of your imagination--or is it? Do you even exist? DO YOU? DO YOU????

don't blame this sleeping satellite.

chaoticasphyxia — Wed, 22 Jun 2011 01:09:31 GMT

Today / tomorrow is my day off work. If it's sunny we go to a fairground in Newcastle. If it's raining I get to go back to sleep.

This seems to be a win-win situation I have on my hands.

I like this.

I want to write more of a journal entry. I really do. But even writing about my life is something I'm struggling with.

Time for bed methinks.

I shall leave you with this rather beautiful thing. I feel inspired by it, but can't seem to express it.

It's rather frustrating. :|

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O6g4HbVF_UQ

Ask Me Anything!

chaoticasphyxia — Sat, 11 Jun 2011 22:09:11 GMT

Memetime. :)

Take a look of at my cast list found here.

Post as one of your own characters asking a question to one of mine. They're free to ask anything at all and none of my characters will not be able to like. At all.

Whatever is asked of them, they have to answer it, truthfully.

HAVE FUN. :D

University Poetry Portfolio - Part Two

chaoticasphyxia — Fri, 10 Jun 2011 14:38:17 GMT

Part two of my portfolio, this selection of poems was from the work I did in class over the course of the module. Warning - poems deal with topics of death and terminal illness.

The Evening News

A sky full of static,
too noisy and bright.
Who is to say she lives,
and that he dies?
Too many people.
Too much grief.
Too much lost.
And it’s not fair.
But we become immune,
get on with our lives.
So I will tell you
that I’m fine.

But I’m not.
I’m far from fine.
I saw a dead loved one
on the news that night.

Words – Part One

The tests were entirely routine,
Scans and samples on screens,
Grim results to a trained eye.
The illuminated boards seemed dark,
And we all solemnly agreed:
“She’s a CTD, a definite AGMI.”
I sat her down one morning,
She was nervous, fretting the news,
With a stomach full of butterflies.
The words came out with ease,
Technical and medical - learnt by heart:
I explained that she was going to die.
A malignant cluster of cells,
Pressing and crushing her brain,
No doubt, she was going to die.
I spoke without pause or hesitation,
In a tone serious and sympathetic,
And she just sat there looking at my tie.

Words – Part Two

he talks
to me all these words and
it’s in my head something
in my head and i’m not
words words he has
lots of words.

and the words don’t make sense. but
i just look at his tie and
i wonder i wonder who bought him
that tie. birthday or christmas present
and they thought it looked funny
because he’s a doctor and meant to be serious.
and they thought hey get him it
a funny tie to cheer the patients up.
he explains things
to me they don’t make sense
there’s no sense at all in his words
but there’s that tie and
what will i tell the kids
i’m going to die
what a funny tie but
it’s not really cheering me up.
it’s a funny tie but i can’t
make sense so
i’ve missed the joke about
the funny tie that someone bought him
to cheer the patients up.

Bicycle and the Fisherman

Spindles and spokes spinning,
hurtling down the paths.
A flash of red,
zooming past the trees
Trill of the bell,
squeak of the breaks.
Racing the earth,
along the streets
and soaring down the bay.

That’s what I used to remember.
Now you’re gone,
off to roam the sea.
Such a dangerous job,
what happens if you don’t come back?
You can’t answer me,
can you?
Because you went under,
lost in a storm.

And I’m left alone,
rusting.

The Visitor Without Credentials

Late one night
under an empty sky,
the chimneys silently smoked
a heavy, killing smog.
The businessman sat
in his shadowy office,
and counted his money,
checking his boots, scrutinizing,
every scrawl of numbers in a giant ledger.

The businessman hunched over his desk.
Over looked by a portrait,
the grimacing face of his father
hidden in the gloom.
And he counted his money,
Chuckling, never a problem.
Powerful and rich,
The businessman knows
that he can buy his way out of anything.

And with a crackle of white,
a man suddenly stood before his desk.
Great wings rustled at his back,
his head bowed in majesty.
The businessman stared in shock
and a hand flew to his chin.
He reached for the bundles of cash,
hoping to buy his way out.
The angel stood tall and proud and still,
fiercely burning and sparking
a violent light of another world.
And with a hand outstretched,
he soundlessly spoke:
“It is time.
For in the end, we are all the same.
Rich or poor, all mortal men must die.”

University Poetry Portfolio and Commentary

chaoticasphyxia — Fri, 10 Jun 2011 03:53:32 GMT

My portfolio for ELL231 - Art of Modern Poetry along with my own commentary / self critique on the creative process. Warning - content deals with mild domestic abuse and dead things.

A Murdered Child

Motionless on the concrete,
A patterned slab of grey and black
Chipped and cracked and dirty.
One day I came across a body.
Huddled, curled up into himself,
So fragile in the morning dew
That had slowly settled over him.

He looked bright in the spring sunshine,
Tawny hues and copper browns glittering.
And I wondered for a moment
That perhaps he was only sleeping.
But I knew this wasn’t true,
As I peered closer to see blood,
The fang punctures dark on his chest.

I saw the parted mouth,
As if he was still letting out his final shriek.
And the beady eyes unmoving, quiet.
I moved his broken body gently,
So small and limp in my hands,
Bones snapped and fell away.
A tiny bird, killed by the cat.

Imagery, I find, is one of the most important aspects of poetry. As an artist as well as a writer – images are an important way of communicating with an audience. The use of this device has always been my favourite part of reading both prose and poetry from a young age. It’s been something I’ve always tried to incorporate into my own writings, I want to share the things I see in my own head with others and with practice over the years, I think it’s become my strongest aspect of my poetry.

In an exercise in class, in which we were require to take an illustration and write a poem focused on imagery. After this, I was inspired to take an image and write another poem to go toward my portfolio. ‘The Murdered Child’ was based off a metaphor I had often read in books several times before: Children being compared to small animals such as mice or birds. For example, small quiet children are like mice, or others being like fawns. I recall in one novel I once read – the death of a child and ultimately the destruction of her family from that was written as a warren of rabbits being poisoned and under the ground, they all curled up into themselves and died – which I believed to be a very powerful and emotional image. But when I thought about it, I had never come across the opposite – of an animal being compared to a child.

The idea for the poem came to me when I came across a small bird my cat had brought home one morning over Easter. I scribbled down a few thoughts and what it looked like lying out on the patio before using these for a poem. Unfortunately, I though this poem was one that not everyone understood and saw that some criticized me for being too over emotional on the subject. But I do feel a great deal of sadness when my pets bring home animals. I thought the idea of the bird being compared to a human was clever and wanted to point out that animals can be as human, just as humans can be viewed as animals through the use of metaphors. After all, isn’t the small bird lying out in my garden someone’s child too?

The Balloon

You held me,
A balloon on a string.
As a child I was close,
Bobbing cheerily at your side.
Reaching up to the skies,
But never straying too far.
You held me, so tenderly.

And I grew,
The winds of age came.
I struggled against you,
A balloon too big to be held so close.
Fighting to be swept away,
To be lost in the darkness of youth.
And you held me, so protectively.

I am grown,
You unwind the cord a little.
I float further away,
Searching for my own way.
Reaching for the free air,
For my dreams, but still too close.
And you held me, so stubbornly.

Let me go,
You fear the engines of planes.
But you made me so well,
Gave me life and the courage to float.
And I will touch the stars,
But one day, I will happily return.
And you will hold me, once more.

As it is obvious in ‘One Day’ – I have drawn from my own experiences and emotions when it comes to writing my poetry. My strength comes from writing on my emotions, often negative ones and I think that the poems I write based on my own personal experiences are the more powerful ones in my portfolio. ‘The Balloon’ was a poem written for my mother and about our sometimes stubborn relationship we’ve had whilst I was growing up due to us being so similar in nature. The balloon is used as a metaphor of our relationship – I’m the balloon and my mother is represented by the person holding the balloon.

As the eldest, I was the first in my family to do many new things; I sat through my A Levels and got to University. I felt that my relationship with my mother became a little strained due to my want to push out and enjoy life and her fear of me doing new things very much alone. However, sometimes the things I wanted to do as a teenager weren’t the best – the crowds of people I wanted to be part of weren’t good for me and as I would fight against my mother for steering me away – I look back on that now as she was just protecting me. It was the complete opposite of when I was very young, where I was nigh-inseparable from her because of growing up in a single parent family.

It was a concept we both struggle with and it’s a period of life I’m still trying to come out of. While still being held, I’m pushing out for what I want to do or where I want to go. The poem is almost like a plea, as a person – I know I’ve been brought up well and I know I can go out and live life. But I need to be ‘let go of’ in order to do so. The idea of ‘coming back down’ in the last stanza was meant to reflect that although in life, we do let our children go to lead their own lives – they will come back to us. I got the idea partly from the old saying: “If you love someone, set them free. And if they return, it was meant to be.” The helium in a balloon never lasts forever and eventually it will come back down from wherever it is floating. I likened this to that some point in my life, I will return to my family once again.

One Day

they were standing
in the
dry dirt and the
sun was bright.
and it hurt my eyes
and i didn’t like the shouting.
it would have
been a nice day if
they weren’t shouting.
pressed against the
car window or
huddling against my baby brother.
i forget but i
was crying.
i didn’t like the hitting.
it would have been
a nice day if
they weren’t hitting.

and i saw mammy cry
and daddy
with his fists high up.
and the car
was too hot.
it would have
been a nice day if
the car wasn’t hot.

and we went
inside the kitchen
and outside
they were still shouting.
and i could hear the tv
dunno what was on.
it was a nice day
cos grandma
she gave us biscuits.

My poem ‘One Day’ is based from a childhood experience when I was around four years old – where I witnessed a fight between my mother and father. Around the time, my parents had split up and were in the middle of a harsh custody battle. They fought often, usually when me and my brother weren’t around – but there was still times when I witnessed things. I could be asked of why I wanted to write a poem about something like this. It was indeed a very complicated and turbulent time for a child, but looking back it felt like an important time in my life in a creative sense. It was the first time I remember feeling emotions, even though on a basic level. The sadness and fear I felt has often been a fuel for my creativity; I write sad things because it’s the emotion I’ve known the longest and feel like it’s the strongest one when it comes to writing or drawing.

Sometimes I believe this is why I find it difficult to write poetry with a more happy voice or nature, looking at all my poems I’ve submitted over the course of the module – they all have a tone of sadness. As a writer, I find this both good and bad. While I know where my strengths lie in terms of writing, I feel that perhaps I’m not stretching out to take on all tones of poetry and prose. In future, I hope that I can expand my writing horizons in order to better my skills overall.

The memory written about in the poem was probably the strongest one I can remember, but it was something I was unable to understand due to my young age. I was old enough to take things in, but still too young to comprehend the complexity of it. I was aware of the certain aspects around me like the uncomfortable morning heat of the car or the dry dirt of where we were when it happened. Although I understand more about the memory now, at the time I didn’t realise why my parents were fighting or the amount of violence used. All I knew was that it was a largely unpleasant memory. I had very simple judgement on the experience; I could tell if things were ‘good’ or ‘bad’ – what I liked and didn’t like.

This sense of judgment is reflected in the voice of the poem and the language I used to write it. In order to achieve a realistic child’s voice, I kept the words very simple and wrote the events down as I saw or heard them before making a judgement on them. My poem lacked punctuation and grammar as naturally, young children don’t possess enough knowledge to understand the proper usage of it - apart from full stops. The use of ‘and’ also reflects a child’s voice more realistically as I’ve often experienced from hearing young children talk, they tend to reel off things in lists as they speak ‘And this happened and then and I did this.’ Overall, I think that using a child’s voice and view point on such a violent and somewhat complex matter makes the poem more powerful. When being critiqued by my classmates, they all commented on the voice being the strongest aspect of the poem and I agree with this. I felt this was a poem I’ve managed to ‘get right’ the first time round on writing it and found myself not wanting to change very much of the poem save from a few words.

Brain Tap.

My brain too full
of so many things.
If I could grab a tap,
And fix into my skull,
and turn it on
so many things
would all come pouring out.

Dirty little secrets
I've kept for so long.
Moments I long to forget,
so many pretty, pretty words.

But so many other things
would come tumbling out.
I'd just lose them all.
My talents and dreams
would come spilling out
and splash down my nose,
down my clothes
and drip
drip
drip
onto the floor.
Lost forever.

Perhaps I'd be better off
just keeping my brain too full.
At least no one may accuse me
of being empty-headed.

Brain Tap’ was based from a piece of prose I wrote about a year ago and wanted to work it into a piece of poetry. It was written around the time of my final assessments last year and I felt that the amount of knowledge I’d learnt over the last year was actually making my head hurt. I thought I’d learnt too much and kind of wanted to forget some things. This is how the image of the ‘brain tap’ came to be; it was just the idea of having a tap in the middle of my forehead and being able to empty my brain. But then, as I thought on the idea more, you can’t really control what comes out of a tap – and in the poem’s narrative, I wondered what would happen if I really did possess such a thing. I’d probably end up losing everything – not just what I wanted to get rid of.

I think with this poem, imagery was a very strong aspect too. The idea of the brain tap isn’t one I’ve even heard of before and I think for someone to imagine something new when they read a poem – the idea seems to be far more poignant, they seem to pick up on it more than an image they’ve already seen before. However, overall - I felt this was one of my weaker poems, as it required a lot of work on it. I agreed with the critiques given to me on this poem - I felt like I had rambled a little and it was too repetitive on some parts. While it received a good reception in terms of imagery, I felt that there was still work to be done on it – it was perhaps not as polished as my other poems seemed to be.

Overall / Conclusion

My poems are written in free verse as I find this to be a less constricting way of writing how I feel or what I want to put across to a reader. There is little rhyme to my poems and the times where it does happen to rhyme is mostly accidental. I feel that this does work extremely well with poets and their work, often some of the wittiest and most powerful poems I’ve read – for example Dylan Thomas’ ‘Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night’ is one of my most favourite poems and has a very strong emotional impact on me with its form as a villanelle. But when it comes to my own work, I feel like I’m forcing my words when I try to have some sort of rhyming structure. Saying this, that doesn’t mean that there’s no structure at all to my portfolio poems. Sometimes lines are repeated to enforce emotions to the reader, particularly in ‘The Balloon’ where I wanted to emphasise the emotional relationship between me and my mother.

Compared to poetry work last year, I think my writing has greatly improved and matured. In the last year, I’ve read more and begun to understand the values of poetry through the module. Through this, I think my poetry has gained more depth and meaning. I now feel like I’m not writing for the sake of writing. In the future, I wish to try and write poetry with a different voice – and attempt to come away from the often sorrowful tones that the majority of my poetry is written in.

chaoticasphyxia — Tue, 07 Jun 2011 00:03:33 GMT

I got a first for my Poetry Portfolio for ELL231 - Art of Modern Poetry. That's right. A first.

Excuse me while I just party hard.

/does so.

Ahem.

My lecturer's comments was:

"These are powerfully done, with lots of little surprises and interesting images. Your metaphors are well controlled and you have a good grasp of diction, the poems always seeming modern with an authentic voice. Moreover, your choice of topics is accessible and communicative."

I feel all happy and warm inside. He liked my poems. He actually liked them. This is such a surprise to me because last year - he didn't like them very much at all. But I think since then, my writing has really grown and matured. A lot can happen in a year, I guess.

Oh god, I am so freaking happy right now.

chaoticasphyxia — Sat, 04 Jun 2011 03:07:33 GMT

Suddenly getting a little hipster over Warpaint. When I really have no right to be. I first heard them in.. I think it was May last year when I heard 'Billie Holiday'. Now I've noticed that a lot more people are like "YEAH I LOVE WARPAINT!" - And inside in my head, I'm like "I liked them before you guys, gtfo."

Oh, someone please shut me up.

Phantom itchiness has returned. I'm now scratching my arms until I draw blood.

This is so not good. :\

Rarararararara pointless journal entry, should go to bed now as I may have work in the morning. Blah.

NO ONE HAS TOLD ME IF I HAVE OR NOT. FOR CHUCK'S SAKE.

/whiney whine whine

[RPG] Character List

chaoticasphyxia — Sat, 21 May 2011 02:41:57 GMT

FANDOM CHARACTERS
halfhuman_hero Doyle Angel: The Series	theychoseme Alison Mundy afterlife	ghostintheflat Annie Sawyer Being Human	darklydreams Dexter Morgan Dexter	dicloniiqueen Lucy Elfen Lied
strangest_black Bellatrix Lestrange Harry Potter	magicandpudding Luna Lovegood Harry Potter	pillsandpuzzles Gregory House House M.D.	junglegenius Natasha Karadjian King Rat	clichestheyare Claire Fisher Six Feet Under
olderthanearth Skellig Skellig	i_robert_capa Robert Capa Sunshine	mrkingofhell Crowley Supernatural	awol_archangel Gabriel Supernatural	shy_ronneh Shy Ronneh The Lonely Island
justlikethefish Susie Salmon The Lovely Bones	iseecentipedes Klaus Hargeaves The Umbrella Academy	No Journal Yet Sick Boy Trainspotting	charajournal</lj> Character Name pb name	charajournal</lj> Character Name pb name
ORIGINAL CHARACTERS
andidowhatiwant Adele Preston Glaysa-Labolas	askneonangels Atropine Liberation Wanderer / OC - The Fabulous Lives of the Killjoys	starryeyed_cass Cassie Riddle Wanderer / Darkness Elemental	fromdarkstreets Charli Vampire	fellfrommyheart Dylan Archangel
winewithabook Felicity Jones Witch / Harry Potter OC	sparkswillburn Jude Gray Electricity Elemental	bringthepoison Justine Ward Poludnica	ahopethatsreal Kelly Fraser Guardian Angel	alltobesaved Laurie Grace Angel of Healing
therebelruns Lola Hernandez Wanderer / Phaser	couldntstaydead Molly Lindsay Vampire	sofarfromthis Noel Fairchild Temeluchus	thesoundofblood Rufus Blake Behemoth	doitjustlikeyou Sam Reed Archangel
shethrewstones Scarlett Langford Temeluchus	oftheirdesign Theodore Hart First Angel	tonotbealone ”Winter” Wanderer / Being / Deity / Season	charajournal</lj> Character Name pb name	charajournal</lj> Character Name pb name
ALTERNATE JOURNALS – ORIGINAL CHARACTERS
astartoguideyou Cassie Riddle Children’s Angel	thestarswentout Cassie Riddle Rakshasa	starslonggone Cassie Riddle Rakshasa - AU	notsostarryeyed Cassie Riddle Vampire	tinystarryeyes Cassie Riddle bb!Cassie
No Journal Yet Cas Riddle Gender-swapped	herforsakenroad Cassandra Riddle Other Side Of The Coin-Verse	No Journal Yet Dylan (Evie Williams) bb!Dylan	fellfromurheart Dylan Gender-swapped	thefirststeps Lola Hernandez Guardian Angel
runtothehunt Lola Hernandez Archangel	horseyscarlett Scarlett Langford Horse!Scarlett	charajournal</lj> Character Name pb name	charajournal</lj> Character Name pb name	charajournal</lj> Character Name pb name
charajournal</lj> Character Name pb name	charajournal</lj> Character Name pb name	charajournal</lj> Character Name pb name	charajournal</lj> Character Name pb name	charajournal</lj> Character Name pb name
ALTERNATE JOURNALS – FANDOM CHARACTERS
fellintothesun Robert Capa Sunshine	charajournal</lj> Character Name pb name	charajournal</lj> Character Name pb name	charajournal</lj> Character Name pb name	charajournal</lj> Character Name pb name
charajournal</lj> Character Name pb name	charajournal</lj> Character Name pb name	charajournal</lj> Character Name pb name	charajournal</lj> Character Name pb name	charajournal</lj> Character Name pb name
charajournal</lj> Character Name pb name	charajournal</lj> Character Name pb name	charajournal</lj> Character Name pb name	charajournal</lj> Character Name pb name	charajournal</lj> Character Name pb name
charajournal</lj> Character Name pb name	charajournal</lj> Character Name pb name	charajournal</lj> Character Name pb name	charajournal</lj> Character Name pb name	charajournal</lj> Character Name pb name

Coding by http://asylums.insanejournal.com/rp_tutorials/

chaoticasphyxia — Sat, 21 May 2011 02:05:38 GMT

New journal.

'sup, bitches.