Black:
So, I was sitting in Consuite when a ______ ______ walked in.
This one time at a con...Wait. I can't tell you that story because _____
This year, I want to do a panel on ________
To keep Consuite from getting boring, they're experimenting with ________________ for snacks.
I was in line to see Shatner when ________ showed up and gave him ________.
I found _________ in one of the bathroom stalls
Sometime after 3am ______ always shows up
White:
Hugo-award winning
Men's Rights Advocate
Steven Brust cosplayer
Slush reader
the Master Sword
Angry Robots
Senior Editor
A guy with a guitar
Neil Gaiman
John & Mary's Insect Army
blue goo
A roundhouse kick from Summer Glau
Suggestions Welcomed!
So, I was sitting in Consuite when a ______ ______ walked in.
This one time at a con...Wait. I can't tell you that story because _____
This year, I want to do a panel on ________
To keep Consuite from getting boring, they're experimenting with ________________ for snacks.
I was in line to see Shatner when ________ showed up and gave him ________.
I found _________ in one of the bathroom stalls
Sometime after 3am ______ always shows up
White:
Hugo-award winning
Men's Rights Advocate
Steven Brust cosplayer
Slush reader
the Master Sword
Angry Robots
Senior Editor
A guy with a guitar
Neil Gaiman
John & Mary's Insect Army
blue goo
A roundhouse kick from Summer Glau
Suggestions Welcomed!
This journal is Friends Only. If you would like to be friended, please comment on this post. All comments are screened, so you don't have to publicize your identity when leaving your name. No, not everyone will be added. My apologies if this offends you. My journal, my space. Deal.
Again, because 
elisem is an inspiration, written before reading anyone else's take on the pendant.
( The Ninth OracleCollapse )
elisem is an inspiration, written before reading anyone else's take on the pendant.( The Ninth OracleCollapse )
elisem started it with Nine Things about OraclesI very deliberately didn't read the other 4 nines before I started, but when I sent the ficlet out for beta, I decided to catch up. This is the result of every one else's gestalt.
ETA: the first one is also now posted.
The heart of glaciers
have long
been home to those
we dismiss as myth and legend
Long journeys
preclude hasty questions
Only humans would travel so far
to fetch
a pearl of wisdom
that Granny knew.
My phone was stolen at the thrift store this evening - I have no numbers. I do have a new phone, so if you think I need your phone number, please leave it in the (screened) comments below.
1. If you have a grievance against me, I would appreciate it if you would take this opportunity to discuss it with me, either by leaving a comment, emailing me at liadan_m@livejournal.com , or by calling me. I rarely offend deliberately, so I probably don't realze I did something. I would like to make amends if I can.
2. If your opinion of my character is that I am "a lying, conniving, backstabbing bitch of a whore" (this is what I remember being said, I was a bit upset at the time), you are invited to leave this journal. immediately.
3. As of Sunday this journal will be going friends-only. Significant trimming of the friends list will also happen.
4. If you are now confused, my apologies. Further elaboration will not be forthcoming.
2. If your opinion of my character is that I am "a lying, conniving, backstabbing bitch of a whore" (this is what I remember being said, I was a bit upset at the time), you are invited to leave this journal. immediately.
3. As of Sunday this journal will be going friends-only. Significant trimming of the friends list will also happen.
4. If you are now confused, my apologies. Further elaboration will not be forthcoming.
Greetings to all on this, the Feast of St. Hilda of Whitby, patron of learning
Also, probably, patron of reconcilation, since she's the one who called the irish confrence on the Roman versus the Celtic rule in the Irish churches and monestaries...and enforced the outcome within her own house.
Also, probably, patron of reconcilation, since she's the one who called the irish confrence on the Roman versus the Celtic rule in the Irish churches and monestaries...and enforced the outcome within her own house.
Greetings to all upon the feast day of St. Margaret of Scotland, she who is patron of large families, learning, queens, widows, and Scotland.
Greetings to all on this Feast Day of St. Albertus Magnus, patron of scientists, philosophers and students.
"It is by the path of love, which is charity, that God draws near to man, and man to God. But where charity is not found, God cannot dwell. If, then, we possess charity, we possess God, for "God is Charity" (1 John 4:8)" -St. Albert the Great
"It is by the path of love, which is charity, that God draws near to man, and man to God. But where charity is not found, God cannot dwell. If, then, we possess charity, we possess God, for "God is Charity" (1 John 4:8)" -St. Albert the Great
Today's priceless HistEcon quote: "Children, esp. sons, are useless as labor for the first 15 years and only cost the family money without bringing anything in."
Age of Empires quote again:
"Dude! The priest can heal sheep?" -_valencia_
"Yeah, for Christ is the Good Shepherd" - me
"Dude! The priest can heal sheep?" -
_valencia_"Yeah, for Christ is the Good Shepherd" - me
A Terre
Wilfred Owen
Sit on the bed. I'm blind, and three parts shell.
Be careful; can't shake hands now; never shall.
Both arms have mutinied against me, - brutes.
My fingers fidget like ten idle brats.
I tried to peg out soldierly, - no use!
One dies of war like any old disease.
This bandage feels like pennies on my eyes.
I have my medals? - Discs to meke eyes close.
My glorious ribbons? - Ripped from my own back
In scarlet shreds. (That's for your poetry book.)
A short life and a merry one, my buck!
We used to say we'd hate to live dead-old, -
Yet now... I'd willingly be puffy, bald,
And patriotic. Buffers catch from boys
At least the jokes hurled at them. I suppose
Little I'd ever teach a son, but hitting,
Shooting, war, hunting, all the arts of hurting.
Well that's what I learnt, - that, and making money.
Your fifty years ahead seem none too many?
Tell me how long I've got? God! For one year
To help myself to nothing more than air!
One Spring! Is one too good to spare, too long?
Spring wind would work its own way to my lung,
And grow me legs as quick as lilac-shoots.
My servant's lamed, but listen how he shouts!
When I'm lugged out, he'll still be good for that.
Here in this mummy-case, you know, I've thought
How well I might have swept his floors for ever.
I'd ask no nights off when the bustle's over,
Enjoying so the dirt. Who's prejudiced
Against a grimed hand when his own's quite dust,
Less live than specks that in the sun-shafts turn,
Less warm than dust that mixes with arms' tan?
I'd love to be a sweep, now, black as Town,
Yes, or a muckman. Must I be his load?
O Life, Life, let me breathe, - a dug-out rat!
Not worse than ours existences rats lead -
Nosing along at night down some safe rut,
They find a shell-proof home before they rot.
Dead men may envy living mites in cheese,
Or good germs even. Microbes have their joys,
And subdivide, and never come to death.
Certainly flowers have the easiest time on earth.
'I shall be one with nature, herb, and stone,'
Shelley would tell me. Shelley would be stunned:
The dullest Tommy hugs that fancy now.
'Pushing up daisies' is their creed, you know.
To grain, then, go my fat, to buds my sap,
For all the usefulness there is in soap.
D'you think the Boche will ever stew man-soup?
Some day, no doubt, if...
Friend, be very sure
I shall be better off with plants that share
More peaceably the meadow and the shower.
Soft rains will touch me, - as they could touch once,
And nothing but the sun shall make me ware.
Your guns may crash around me. I'll not hear;
Or, if I wince, I shall not know I wince.
Don't take my soul's poor comfort for your jest.
Soldiers may grow a soul when turned to fronds,
But here the thing's best left at home with friends.
My soul's a little grief, grappling your chest,
To climb your throat on sobs; easily chased
On other sighs and wiped by fresher winds.
Carry my crying spirit till it's weaned
To do without what blood remained these wounds.
Wilfred Owen
Sit on the bed. I'm blind, and three parts shell.
Be careful; can't shake hands now; never shall.
Both arms have mutinied against me, - brutes.
My fingers fidget like ten idle brats.
I tried to peg out soldierly, - no use!
One dies of war like any old disease.
This bandage feels like pennies on my eyes.
I have my medals? - Discs to meke eyes close.
My glorious ribbons? - Ripped from my own back
In scarlet shreds. (That's for your poetry book.)
A short life and a merry one, my buck!
We used to say we'd hate to live dead-old, -
Yet now... I'd willingly be puffy, bald,
And patriotic. Buffers catch from boys
At least the jokes hurled at them. I suppose
Little I'd ever teach a son, but hitting,
Shooting, war, hunting, all the arts of hurting.
Well that's what I learnt, - that, and making money.
Your fifty years ahead seem none too many?
Tell me how long I've got? God! For one year
To help myself to nothing more than air!
One Spring! Is one too good to spare, too long?
Spring wind would work its own way to my lung,
And grow me legs as quick as lilac-shoots.
My servant's lamed, but listen how he shouts!
When I'm lugged out, he'll still be good for that.
Here in this mummy-case, you know, I've thought
How well I might have swept his floors for ever.
I'd ask no nights off when the bustle's over,
Enjoying so the dirt. Who's prejudiced
Against a grimed hand when his own's quite dust,
Less live than specks that in the sun-shafts turn,
Less warm than dust that mixes with arms' tan?
I'd love to be a sweep, now, black as Town,
Yes, or a muckman. Must I be his load?
O Life, Life, let me breathe, - a dug-out rat!
Not worse than ours existences rats lead -
Nosing along at night down some safe rut,
They find a shell-proof home before they rot.
Dead men may envy living mites in cheese,
Or good germs even. Microbes have their joys,
And subdivide, and never come to death.
Certainly flowers have the easiest time on earth.
'I shall be one with nature, herb, and stone,'
Shelley would tell me. Shelley would be stunned:
The dullest Tommy hugs that fancy now.
'Pushing up daisies' is their creed, you know.
To grain, then, go my fat, to buds my sap,
For all the usefulness there is in soap.
D'you think the Boche will ever stew man-soup?
Some day, no doubt, if...
Friend, be very sure
I shall be better off with plants that share
More peaceably the meadow and the shower.
Soft rains will touch me, - as they could touch once,
And nothing but the sun shall make me ware.
Your guns may crash around me. I'll not hear;
Or, if I wince, I shall not know I wince.
Don't take my soul's poor comfort for your jest.
Soldiers may grow a soul when turned to fronds,
But here the thing's best left at home with friends.
My soul's a little grief, grappling your chest,
To climb your throat on sobs; easily chased
On other sighs and wiped by fresher winds.
Carry my crying spirit till it's weaned
To do without what blood remained these wounds.
Textile resources. once again stolen from Making Light
Mostly here so I remember to go over this in more detail at home.
Mostly here so I remember to go over this in more detail at home.
Today's priceless HistEcon quote: "Of course, you may prefer the coarse thickness of handloomed cloth..."
Bored now.
10 am class was canceled, so I've been sitting in the library since then. Now I'm waiting for my computer to charge enough that i can go get some dinner before my 5:45 class.
Also wanting to make the British Museum and the V&A get some more info about their textile collections online. They aren't being very obliging.
10 am class was canceled, so I've been sitting in the library since then. Now I'm waiting for my computer to charge enough that i can go get some dinner before my 5:45 class.
Also wanting to make the British Museum and the V&A get some more info about their textile collections online. They aren't being very obliging.
