railenthe: The Guy Too Derpy for the UAE (SUPERDERP)
The high is intentional. Thanksgiving's food coma postponed the other tradition. And I've been on a break so THIS HIT LIKE WHOA. (On the upside, my hives aren't on my mind and my knee is quiet.)

I got up like ten minutes ago to get the plate to make pizza rolls and broke a glass double-walled insulated tumbler when a pyrex bowl didn't land on my head. (I DODGED.) Then I forgot there were pizza rolls.

Just now I had the thought, "YOU KNOW WHAT WOULD BE AWESOME? PIZZA ROLLS."

And I look at my stove and HEY LOOK, THERE'S PIZZA ROLLS! AWESOME.

Then I look at my phone and forget about it.


In fact, this is as much a "Hey, feel free to laugh at me here, I sure am" story as it is a reminder that THERE ARE IN FACT PIZZA ROLLS, I CAN IN FACT HAVE PIZZA ROLLS.
railenthe: (Default)

"I'm actually starting to get tired of looking at maps," Marlon said as he sipped his tea at the table. "I've been looking at them for so long that when I look at a blank wall, I see a map. Clear sky--there's a map on it. Still pool of water--maps. By now I bet I could fly over a city I've never seen before and make an accurate map of it without any mistakes just from that one flyover."
"That's actually a useful skill, Marly," Ainu said, sprawled out over a few cushions, the escorts that had been with him on either side. "You might want to practice that when you get the chance."
"I thought I told you not to call me Marly," Marlon said irritably.
"And I thought I told you to loosen up and join me one of these nights," Ainu said, "but we can't always have what we want, right?"
Marlon scoffed. "What are you thinking with?"
"I think you know the answer to that."

So far we've established:

  • Marlon HATES being called Marly
  • Ainu's a horndog
  • Cabin fever is a bitch
  • Ainu's so shameless his picture's next to the definition
  • And last but not least if it wasn't obvious the answer to that question is "his cock."
railenthe: (Default)
  • Reiluz stood in the middle of the Grand Temple of Yesodh Araya, its vibrance and shimmer drained. As he looked around, he noticed nothing unusual about anything else in the temple. This was also par for this particular dream. Acolytes moved about the grounds, aimless and faceless, just like what was normal for this particular dream. A crystalline statue of a Seraph-mark Illuminatus stood in the central dais of the temple, just like what was normal for this particular dream. As he watched the quicksilver crystal statue, there was a sharp sound—a ringing, almost musical crack of a noise—as the crystal began to fissure and break.

    This was not normal for this particular dream.

So, Da'ath's getting dark.


Also, pardon the Courier-esque font. I quoted direct from my draft and the formatting carried.

Have I decided who to kill yet?

…I'm sooooooooooooooooo not answering that. =D


railenthe: (Default)

So…I got something done.


And then.

railenthe: (Default)

With this set of ten we switch subjects again, and dive a little bit into my favorite television things. Yes, people still watch it, and yes, there are a few things worth watching—but looking at me here you’ll get a weird impression, as I’ll go from people getting their limbs ripped clean from their bodies to…foodporn.

With that in mind, let’s talk Supernatural!


I remember when this show got started. I was in high school and I was still annoyed at the fact that Charmed was soon to be not a thing—hey, they went from ‘well researched(ish) witchcraft with a snarky but dramatic flair for demon slaying and how the rules of Wicca work’ to ‘OK let’s just throw this in here and see how the fans react’ which usually means they’re trying to wind it down. (It got better before it went bai-bai, luckily…but it left a void.) I figured “Hey, witchcraft with boys and hey he’s kinda cute let’s watch.”

Well, I could not have been wronger.

But in the good way.

Supernatural is horror done right—you’re allowed to see just enough to know that things are going to get really, really bad in about three…two…one…with a healthy dose of incredibly bizarre, almost surreal, humor. I don’t remember another leading duo with snark like that working so well—and didn’t run into it again until introduced to the Sherlock universe(s).

There’s those that think that things ended quite well at the end of season six (I think that was the one), and don’t much watch after that. I used to be one of them, but then I actually stopped to watch again after a long hiatus and found out how they kept things going. …Apparently you can’t fix the impending doom of the world without something going horrendously—and sometimes hilariously—awry.

…also, the male leads are hot.

The series has no shortage of meta, from the episode where the Winchester brothers discover that there’s slash of them, to the one where, to be helpful, they’re thrown into a parallel universe in which they are a pair of actors…playing characters named Sam and Dean Winchester…on a show called Supernatural…

Yeah. It gets WEIRD. But awesome.

railenthe: (*halo*)

There was some...err, exciting weather this week.


It's why this...

...Was a thing that happened.


To be fair, this light is in better shape than one closer to the house is. At least this light is actually facing in the right direction.

railenthe: (OMGyay)

So first day in the FF XIV Beta test and I get a boot crash error.

On the one hand, I can't play yet because of the error.



Feb. 20th, 2013 01:15 am
railenthe: (OMGyay)
I started an LP.



Feb. 16th, 2013 09:11 pm
railenthe: (Beat)
Short version? Ow. Leg. No.

Shorter version? *shriek, fall*

Long version? Leg. Bounded to a ten on the scale. Took more of one pill than I am supposed to take at once, apparently, but it was the only thing that did anything.

Since I have no think, here is a thing.

railenthe: (Yummy)


In an epic feat of combined “just not paying attention” and “WOOPS LOL YOLO”-minded thinking, I’ve flipped my body clock upside down again. Tonight I’m going to go to bed at a REASONABLE HOUR—I’ve scheduled Jeannie to boot me offline and shut down at the appropriate time.

100 Things is tomorrow. I will go back to twice-weekly updates eventually, when my leg’s managed a little better.

I’m also battling an interesting problem lately: my digestion. For once in my life, it’s behaving in a way my doctor would describe as ‘normally.’ Fact is, I DUNNO IF I LIKE IT. On the one hand, it now takes me much, much less food to get the “oh sweet mercy I am FULL” signal, but on the other hand, this means that I’m stopping to eat a little snack every couple of hours.

“Oh, it’s two hours since your last meal? I AM STOMACH, AND I SHALL SING FOR YOU THE SONG OF MY PEOPLE.” I usually combat this with either a trio of those nutritional cookies or a pair of apples. About calorically equal, depending on whether I’m craving a sugar fix or a sour fix.


I got the most ludicrously strong craving last night for steak. Sirloin steak. I needed it then, and I needed it to be the best steak EVER. I borrowed my stepmom’s recipe, hacking up onion and garlic and then dousing the entire filet in liquid smoke before putting it in a low oven for three hours. …Incidentally, during this time, the fire alarm went off. I have a sneaking suspicion that someone smelled the bottle of liquid smoke that broke in my apartment and just KNEW someone was burning things up! NOPE. Just me cookin’ steak. No, you cannot have any, alarm-puller. You mad?

When I deglazed the pan, I noticed something—the resultant liquid, used as a baste during the cooking process, could make an awesome gravy.

*record scratch*

Dude. Don’t wreck my discs.

Problem with that is I’ve never been able to make a gravy that wasn’t depressingly bland and tasteless. But I tried it again—less water at the start, actually using salt (surprise! A lot of the flavor of gravy is depends on salt), stirring the whole time…eventually the gravy took shape. It was dark, brown, and rich. But the last time I had bland tasteless gravy it was that color, too. So I taste it.

“…Mother of fish, this is actually GOOD.”

I’d finally figured out how to make a good gravy.

*record scratch*

Anyway, I know what you’re thinking—“But Rai, gravies are so BASIC! Didn’t you learn those first?”

Actually, with the way I learned how to cook, a lot of the basics were outright skipped. Lots of the family didn’t have much confidence in my skills, so I had to show my initiative by ‘accidentally’ letting my ‘watching Food Network’ notes get seen. And when I asked about making an edible gravy, I either got a strange look or an outright disbelieving declaration of “YOU COOK SUSHI, YOU MUST KNOW SOMETHING SO BASIC AS GRAVY.” Funny thing is, a lot of the harder things to get are quite basic. Like gravies. They require a delicate sort of touch and significant intuition with handling heat. Anyone whose mom effortlessly whips up a delicious batch of brown gravy for the meatloaf and mashed taters? That took practice, lots of practice, to be able to make it look THAT DAMN BRAINLESS. Me, I was schecking my skillet temperature, the flame on the stove, the radiant heat off the oven, the stove flame again, then looking across at the bubbles on the top of the flour and flipping some over to see if it was close to the color I wanted yet…I gotta tell you, I wasn’t that OCD making crème brûlée.

*checks the records* Good. No damage.

I am officially OUTTA HERE for the evening. I have to readjust my body clock—and adjust to this being my last dose of head pills. This morning’s persistent hallucination? The walls had pulsing veins. It’s gotten to the point where I’ve stopped being frightened of them (mostly) to being fascinated, wondering how I could work something like what I’m (technically not) seeing into my writing somewhere.

railenthe: (Black Mage (literal))

If it wasn’t obvious by now, I love to write. I love putting words to paper—or screen, as the case may well be.

It wasn’t always this way.

Gimme a baseball bat. I swing left. If I try to swing right, I just can’t twist that way and it doesn’t work.

Gimme a volleball. Even though my right spike is harder, it’s…well, I’ve seen scatterguns with higher accuracy. So I serve left.

Gimme a sabre. I’ll fence right until my arm gives out—which is kinda fast. Then I’ll switch left and be slower, but more accurate and last longer. …I guess that’s one we can validly call ambidextrous.

But overwhelmingly, if I have to do something I’m going to reach left first.

Which is why writing frustrated me at an early age. I’d thin left, but them Mom would walk by my little yellow worktable and ‘correct’ me—which probably explains the serial-killer slant I have to hold the paper at to even write on a straight line. It was a necessary evil.

It wasn’t until I was about seven, when we got cable, that I thought about writing for a reason that wasn’t a homework assignment. Nickelodeon introduced me to a cartoon called Doug, the main character of which regularly wrote in a journal—giving rise to my realization that writing things like that didn’t have to be a super girly “Dear Diary” moment, something I actively avoided being because—well, I liked videogames and cars, I simply couldn’t do that!

I saved my juice money from lunch for two weeks, then on a family trip to Family Dollar I bought a cute little journal. It had pretty lined paper and a picture of a kitten on its glossy cover. At around the same time, I bought my first ink pens—journaling didn’t seem like something that you took to as lightly as a silly homework assignment. I was coming at this with a pretty blue pen, just like Doug did in his show.

…of course that first entry was a goofy, jokey affair in which I introduced myself to my new journal, gave it an idea of what to expect, and then closed off with a signature.

For the first time I noticed that things around me were interesting sometimes. It was hard to keep to that clearly delineated two pages per entry after a while, and I developed my distinctive TINY handwriting.

I was still journaling when I lost my mother. Most of the following year and a half seems to have been an extended fugue state, and even though I’d think that the time just hadn’t happened, reading over those entries every few months was a reminder that time had simply not stopped, and I hadn’t just fallen out of the world at some point. At that point things were very straightforward accountings of what had happened that day. There were no associated feelings, just facts.

It wasn’t until fifth grade that I realized that writing could also be inventive and fun—hilarious in hindsight now that I think about it—when we get a homework assignment. We were to rewrite the ending to a story we read for class. I remember having the woman go insane, snap temporarily back to forgive her friend for something that hadn’t actually happened, then snap right back into madness (at one point I had her conversing fluent French to a tree). The third part got copied off of me and the turkey never got called for it—but I didn’t care. I’d started having fun doing little narratives.

Fast forward to seventh grade I’m twelve, in literature class, and BORED. I’ve pulled out a sheet of my good looseleaf—the narrow-rule paper—and have started writing down things that come to mind. Nothing I’ve committed to, just little snips of ideas.

Suddenly an assignment. Creative writing. Write whatever, as long as it has a clear plot, progression, et cetera. It must be based off of a legend.

I wrote my first short story for an assignment in class.

I didn’t know if it was well-received for a while…but then there was a thing in the school paper.

For one, suddenly we had a school paper.

For another, my story was in it.

Later that year, when our principal/lit teacher left the school, she flagged me down, holding a box. It had one thing on it: A note, reading “Never stop writing.” Inside was a Cross pen and pencil set.

I haven’t stopped since.

That’s when I get my idea...

Chrysanth WebStory What's your WebStory today?
railenthe: (Default)

Took 2 nerve pills 2 migraine pills that don't so much work 2 anti-tics a seroquel a vitamin a muscle relaxer

I think there may have been other things but not so sure.

Back is killing me

There was something clever but I forgot what it was

High? Who me?

Posted via m.livejournal.com.


Nov. 11th, 2012 12:26 am
railenthe: (Default)
TL;DR'D in the lounge so hardcore I can't brain anymore. Go airship_lounge. I long talk. Need long sleep. Eerh. *thud.*
railenthe: (OMGyay)

I’m just saying…


I mean, I’ve done this thing before, but this is the first tine I noticed this particular milestone.


Hope no one’s superstitious!



railenthe: (Happy camper)

The Issue

Cheap, foreign-made cars are becoming increasingly popular, causing concern in Tephireth's automobile manufacturing industry.

The Debate


railenthe: (*sweatdrop*)

The Issue

  1. Religious and scientific leaders have clashed recently over the teaching of evolution in public schools.

    The Debate  LET ME OUT OF HERE! )
railenthe: (OMGyay)

I’ll say it right now: I enjoyed watching them entirely too much. Though I’ve almost certainly made up my mind for voting this November, I do like to hear from all of the candidates and sides to make sure that I am making the right decision. There is of course that whole “oh woo woo woo what difference can one person make in the elections woo woo woo” but I try not to listen to that—seeing as if I do that all of the time I’d never do anything at all.


The Biden-Ryan Showdown certainly jossed my feelings that Biden is just sort of noise that shows up once in a while to make a goofy fucked-up observation on an open mic. He was solid in his performance tonight. Biden came out swinging, and he didn’t pull any of his punches. Even his reactions were candid.


He very  nearly facepalmed at one of Paul Ryan’s statements. It was what they in the business call Blatant Lies™ and there wasn’t much that Joey-B could do but just sort of laugh it off. And he did. A lot. I get the feeling it was because it was a bit more ethical than just going, “You are so full of horseshit.”


Man, it was crazy. It was like a fencing match.

railenthe: (what the?)

Nobody Expects The Tephirethi Inquisition!

Read more... )

There appears to be trouble brewing in Tephireth.

Bottom of Form


railenthe: (AWESOMEFACE)

Jolly Roger Sighted Off The Port Bow!
The Issue

Tephireth's merchant navy has seen increasing attacks from swashbuckling pirates in recent months, devastating Tephireth's foreign trade.

The Debate

"We should blow them out of the water!" says First Lord Admiral Bianca Jamieson. "These waterlogged vagabonds have been plundering our ships for far too long! All our exports from the Tourism industry are going straight into their hands! It's downright dangerous for us to let this continue! All we require is some funding for coastal patrol boats, fleet carriers, and nuclear submarines and a free hand to show these freebooters what's what."

"Hello," says a grog-swilling, peg-legged scurvy dog entering your office. "I'm Hack Longbottom, a mighty pirate. I'd like to suggest that instead of wasting all that money on attacking pirates you simply buy them off with barrels of bullion, jewels and Maxtopian gold! There'll still be pirates around, sure, but as long as everyone's paid off, they won't hinder your trade. Not much anyway."

"That's the second biggest load of bilge I've ever seen!" says Captain Grapnel, CFO of Hispaniola Shipping Insurance, LLC. "Shiver me timbers, if these scurvy dogs don't be cutting into me profit margin! Me comprehensive coverage has to pay out for victims o' illegality, and of course theft be illegal in this country, bu' that be giving me an idea - what if we were to have privateers? That is to say, if ye were to make piracy legal but with a quotar o' sorts, like huntin'? That way me and mine can stay in business and ye can get a fine cut o' th' booty from licence fees! Savvy?"

"Come now, that's hardly fair," argues 'gentleman pirate' Taupebeard de Gauche with a bow and flourish. "There is an ancient tradition of actively redistributing wealth on the high seas, and we active redistributors serve an important role in the global economy. You would not keep a family-run bookstore from handing down its business from generation to generation, would you? We simply ask, nay, demand the same right! And get rid of the word 'pirate'. It's a slur. We are corsairs - not common sea-faring thugs."

Fearless Leader's options:

--YARR! or

September 2017

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