A heart stained in hate. A feeling a fear will play circles...
Profile Information
- Birthday:
- March 25, 1994
- Hometown:
- the city i'll eventually blow up for fun.
- Nickname:
- demi, skittles, flamingo, veggi
- Favorite GC Song:
- http://The Story of My Old Man
- Relationship Status:
- In a Relationship
- Other Bands I Like:
- Favorite TV Shows:
- i dont watch tv much anymore...there's never anything good on
- Favorite Movies:
- I Always Know What You Did Last Summer, Scream, Urban Legends: Bloody Mary, Harry Potter, Thief Lord, night at the museum, Jackass, Saw, The Circuit, The Invisble, The Last Of The Mohicans, Poltergeist-1 and 2--, The Sixth Sense...and a lot more....Men in Black, Indepoendence day
- Favorite Quotes:
- “It’s starting to bug me with the fact that you can see right through my thoughts,” I said. “Could you like, stop?”
“No. I can’t, Aero. Now eat.” A cheeseburger appeared in front of my face.
“Okay. I’m going to want another one of these,” I said, as I ate the last bite of the burger.
“Fine.” Another burger appeared in front of me like the first one did. I ate that in about 8 seconds.
“Les gew,” I said with my mouth full. We walked up the path that led to the tomb door. There were two identical statues there.
“Okay, who want’s to go first?” I said nervously.
“Not I,” Melanie said.
“Nor I,” said Evanna.
“Fine. I’ll go. But this is totally violating the ‘ladies’ first’ rule.” I walked in to find a statue crammed room.
“Sure have been a load of people trying to slay her.”
“Legend is humans wanted to beat her, and they all lost. These are the Romans and Greeks,” came Melanie’s voice behind me.
“Enough with the legends,” I said. “If we’re not quiet, we’ll be a legend too.”
“Okay. Fine. But—” There was a rattling noise. At first, it pierced my ears. But my ears got used to it.
“Evanna, you have to go first,” Melanie said.
“No way.” Evanna didn’t say it, I did.
“You met him once,” said Dustfinger. “It’s a long time ago, you won’t remember you were so little.” He held his hand at knee height in the air. “How can I explain what he’s like? If you were to see a cat eating a young bird I expect you’d cry, wouldn’t you? Or try to help the bird. Capricorn would feed the bird to the cat on purpose, just to watch it being torn apart, and the little creature’s screeching and struggling would be as sweet as honey to him.”
Meggie took another step backward, but Dustfinger kept advancing toward her.
“I don’t suppose you’d get any fun from terrifying people until their knees were so weak they could hardly stand?” he asked. “Nothing gives Capricorn more pleasure. And I don’t suppose you think you can just help yourself to anything you want, never mind what or where. Capricorn does. Unfortunately, your father has something Capricorn has set his heart on.”
Meggie glanced at Mo, but he just stood there looking at her.
“Capricorn can’t bind books like your father,” Dustfinger went on. “In fact he’s not that much good at anything except terrifying people. But he’s a master of that art. It’s his whole life. I doubt if he himself has any idea what it’s like to be so paralyzed by fear that you feel small and insignificant. But he knows just how to arouse fear and spread it, in people’s homes and their beds, in their heads and their hearts. His men spread fear abroad like the Black Death, they push it under doors and through mailboxes, they paint it on walls and stable doors until it infects everything around it of its own accord, silent and stinking like a plague.” Dustfinger was very close to Meggie now. “Capricorn has many men,” he said softly. “Most have been with him since they were children, and if Capricorn were to order one of them to cut off your nose or one of your ears he’d do it without batting an eyelash. They like to dress in black like crows—only their leader wears a white short under his black jacket—and should you ever meet any of them then make yourself small, very small, and hope they don’t notice you. Understand?”
There is a sort of busy worm,
That will the fairest book deform.
Their tasteless tooth will tear and taint
The poet, patriot, sage or saint,
Nor sparing wit nor learning.
Now, if you’d know the reason why,
The best of reasons I’ll supply:
‘Tis bread to the poor vermin.
A thousand enemies outside the house are better than one within.
The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with weary feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And wither then? I cannot say.
“The reason there’s no use looking,” said Mr. Beaver, “is that we know already where he’s gone!” Everyone stared in amazement.
“Don’t you understand?” said Mr. Beaver. “He’s gone to her, to the White Witch. He has betrayed us all.”
This grove, that was now so peaceful, must then have rung with cries, I thought; and even with the thought I could believe I heard it ringing still.
My library was dukedom large enough.
“All right,” said Spiff. “Now this is what I say, anyone who thinks they’ve got a better plan can say so afterwards.”
“If ye see the laird, tell him what ye hear; tell him this makes twelve hunner and nineteen time that Jennet Clouston has called down the curse on him and his house, byre and stable, man, guest and master, wife, miss, or bairn—black, black be their fall.”
But they woke him with words, their cruel, bright weapons.
“I don’t know what it is,” answered Fiver wretchedly. “There isn’t danger here, at this moment. But it’s coming—it’s coming.”
My heavens are brass my earth is iron my moon a clod of clay
My sun a pestilence burning at noon and a vapour of death in the night.
In books I meet the dead as if they were alive,
In books I see what is yet to come…
All things decay and pass with time…
All fame would fall victim to oblivion
If God had not given mortal men the book to aid them.
For plainly this miscreant has sold himself to Satan, and it would be fatal to meddle with a property of such a power as that.
The minstrel must go on his way,
As he has done so long,
And so a note of sad farewell
Lingers around his song.
Ah, will he e’er come back again?
My dear, alas, who knows?
The heavy hand of death is laid
On many a budding rose.
I woke up and knew he was gone. Straightaway I knew he was gone. When you love somebody you know these things.
“I do practice remembering, Nain,” I said. “Writing and reading and remembering.”
“That you should!” said Nain sharply. “Do you know what happens each time you write a thing down? Each time you name it? You sap it’s strength.”
Time is a horse that runs in the heart, a horse
Without a rider on a road at night.
The mind sits listening and hears it pass.
I thought it said in every tick:
I am so sick, so sick, so sick;
O death, come quick, come quick, come quick.
All I need is a piece of paper
And something to write with, and then
I can turn the world upside down.
There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any courser like a page,
Of prancing poetry.
This traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of toll;
How frugal is the chariot
That bears a human soul!
Out in the world not much happened. But here in the special night, a land bricked with paper and leather, anything might happen, always did.
I want to see thirst
In the syllables,
Touch fire
In the sound;
Feel through the dark
For the scream.
The strongest memory is weaker than the palest ink.
Do you see the tongues of fire
Darting, flickering higher and higher?
Do you see the flames all dancing,
Flaring, off the dry wood glancing?
It was a page he had
Found in the handbook
Of heartbreak.
All words are written in the same ink, “flower” and “power,” say, are the same, and though I might write “blood, blood, blood” all over the page, the paper would not be stained nor would I bleed.
And what is word knowledge but a shadow of wordless knowledge?
Thoughts of death
Crowd over my happiness
Like dark clouds
Over the silver sickle of the moon.
Lo, on the whiteness of the wall,
Behold, appeared a human hand,
Which wrote and wrote, in letters tall,
A fiery message for the land.
You never cam out the way you came in.
Here are we five or six strung up, you see,
And here the flesh that all we too well fed,
Bit by bit eaten and rotten, rent and shred,
And we the bones grow dust and ash withal.
no shit, sherlock
I think that living is dangerous.
For him that stealeth, or borroweth and returneth not, this book from its owner, let it change into a serpent and rend him. Let him be struck with palsy and all his members blasted. Let him languish in pain, crying aloud for mercy, and let there be no surcease to this agony till he sing in dissolution. Let bookworms gnaw his entrails…and when at last he goeth to his last punishment, let the flames of hell consume him forever.
curse on the book thievs
From the monastery in San Pedro, Barcelona Spain
"In ur dreams, sucka!!"
"How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?"
---When some eight-year-olds said 'duck', you might be facing a stream from a water pistol. When Gazzy said 'duck', you prepared for all hell to break loose and pretty freaking fast, man.--- Finally figured out where that saying comes from! congrats to me
Would u?
Would I?!
Would you?
Would I?!
Would you?
Would I?!
Would you?
Would I? Would I what?
Would you?
Would I?!
- Interests:
- Grossing my mom out by killing ants on the sidewalk with my bare finger, Violin, Guitar, Drums, Skateboarding, Track and Field,fooseball, billiards(also known as pool), darts, writing, emailing, drawing, fishing, tennis, swimming, baseball, football, reading, and sometimes palying chess. if i'm playing someone smart enough.
- About Me:
- um, i'm 14. 5'4".
i hav 5 favorite colors: black, grey, orange, red, and purple
i go to a catholic school.
i only like rock music.....and i like to read...a lot.
anything else, just ask me.
Random Pics!
♥♥I've been found in the Darkness; he revived me♥♥'s Blog
KNIFE=CUTS 9/24/08
Knife.
My best friend.
Cut. My. Wrist.
And. Let. Me. Bleed. To. Death.
Support. Me.
Care. For. Me.
Save. Me.
And you might save. My. Life.
Save. Me.
I. Will. Cut.
And. I. Won't. Stop.
Cuts.
Beautiful. Cuts.
Pain.
Sting.
Good. Feeling.
I. Love. The. Sting.
Cuts.
Deep.
Thin.
Life.
Death.
Die.
Cut. Too. Deep.
And. You. Die.
Every. Cut.
Is.
A.
Risk.
I. Will. Risk. It.
Risk.
Death.
Life or.
Death.
Why. Should. I. Choose?
If. I. Die.
It. Is. Both. Mine. And. Your. Faults.
You. Hate. Me.
I. Hate. Mysel… Continue
Posted on September 27, 2008 at 6:32am — 3 Comments
Cry Out(a poem by me) written 8/27/08
She turns around and smiles at her friend
Her friend shrugs, nods his head, and follows her
They find an entrance, entering by purpose
Walking through the doorway, they notice the door shut
They're trapped in the room--no windows, no other exits
Her friend cries out--but no one hears.
He turned to his house
Thinking of his escape
Running toward the bus stop, he fixed it
The watch on his wrist said it was time
The day is Friday
He ditches class, runs away from school, and walks toward the beach… Continue
Posted on September 1, 2008 at 9:00am — 1 Comment
individual pictures of my band (only one person at a time. i didn't take them)
Posted on August 31, 2008 at 3:00pm — 9 Comments
this boy (a poem by me) written 8/25/08
this boy--he sits by himself; he likes to be by himself. people try to be his friends, but he turns them all away. he sits alone--isolating himself--thinking of sad thoughts. thinking of sad thoughts. these thoughts aren't sad to him--but he knows that if he exercised them, he'd tear people apart. he thinks of killing himself. he cuts himself for no reason. he cries at night for no reason. his parents argue every night; swearing and using violence. they tell him that they just don't love each ot… Continue
Posted on August 30, 2008 at 2:54pm — 3 Comments
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