Post-it ノート: .______.

Imagine how a gangsta walks like.

NOW WITH 120% MORE SWINGABLE ARMS!

That's what I did.

*swing* *swing* *swing* *swing* *swing*

I am bursting with ideas. And yet unable to write them down. I am able to picture them, but not pen them down. This is disastrous.

And facilitating sessions... I really, really don't want to use 'Twilight' as an example. Sigh.

HP fanvirus still going strong.

Musing-- God of Death

Have you ever thought so much about Death that you got addicted to it?

I have--I am.

It just seems so peculiar as to where we're going after Death, and I can only picture black, darkness and numbness. If Death is such a place, perhaps I want to go there. Still, it's only what we can imagine. But the thought of a place simply being an absence of everything is rather scary.

And it sounds rather tempting. Rather simple, as compared to the restless clockwork of life.

... And it's so simple that it terrifies me. How can one thing be so simple,so straightforward? I don't dare to open my arms and fling myself towards it. It is a lack of faith. An overdose of suspicion, cautiousness.

... Oh bananas. I sound so suicidal and creepy. Let's talk about fluffy ponies and nyan-cats that poop rainbows.

...
oh, bananas. =3=

Montage is due, due, due.
... I forgot what date it was.
Let's write a poem for Meggi :D

Dead childhood

I stack them up in a pile.
Cube by cube, their colours don't match;
Flaring red and pale lavander.
Scratched edges and worn out paint.
I stare at the remaints.
Are these all that are left?
Yes, you answer cautiously.

Momma... bring me cube! Gee-raff!

I stroke the pitiful toys with a slender finger.
It's bright red, and stains the wooden white block.
I draw a symbol randomly and puncture it with my claws.
The floor is maroon, warm and... pulsing.
The whole room is covered with the blood of my childhood.
I leave it there, whimpering as every tiny vial of life is sucked out.
Nothing is spared as I fling them carelessly away.

No survivors.
Though in my blood lust, I hoped there was just one strand of innocence that was alive.
No, impossible.
Because this is what it takes to mature.

Kill them, all.