Pigeons
Clothed in storm clouds;
Blustery-winter-sunset-sky-feathers.
With shimmering necklaces of hummingbirds
Strung about their throats,
They strut and preen, and coo and trill,
And declare,
"I am more beautiful then you."
I remember...
I remember small things. Snippets of memories that shine brighter then life; I remember hiking with my dad, one summer when it was hot enough to make me go swimming in a glacier-fed river with all my clothes on. I remember what the water felt like- so cold, but perfect with the sun beating down on us, and crystal clear. I could see the speckles on the round, rabbit sized rocks on the riverbed, and every single bubble Buster's paws made as he swam beside me.
I remember shrieking with laughter, alive as I'll ever be in the midst of hurricane force winds; the thrill of standing in the gust and watching a day-light, storm-tossed s
It was like something out of a movie or doctor who; down lane, exiting from arrivals, was a man. He wasn't very remarkable: average height, brown hair, little bit on the skinny side. No, the man wasn't too note worthy- but the toaster. Now, that toaster, it was a find.
Brilliant white, with big black spots, it was the toaster to end all toasters. It was the Branjolina of toasters, the Picasso, the, well, if it's idolised around the globe, and fawned on by the media, then this toaster was it. And it knew it. The tall skinny guy was just a butler, someone to carry it's elegant form where it needed to go; someone to keep the dainty white
Mother Tongue.
As a child, her voice imprinted on me. It was unique, special- it meant safety, and warmth, comfort and sustenance. As I grew, hers would be the voice that taught me words, that spoke softly in times of distress, and firmly in disobedience. I grew up to her voice, her words and phrases; her laughter, her smiles, her jokes and her curses.
Even as I aged, her voice grew with me; it became sad, it became tired, but it still held joy. There were hard years, and those times it reflected in her; determination, spine. Will. She had everything she needed, even when we had little; her voice, ever constant, was a verbal reflection of h
Pigeons
Clothed in storm clouds;
Blustery-winter-sunset-sky-feathers.
With shimmering necklaces of hummingbirds
Strung about their throats,
They strut and preen, and coo and trill,
And declare,
"I am more beautiful then you."
I remember...
I remember small things. Snippets of memories that shine brighter then life; I remember hiking with my dad, one summer when it was hot enough to make me go swimming in a glacier-fed river with all my clothes on. I remember what the water felt like- so cold, but perfect with the sun beating down on us, and crystal clear. I could see the speckles on the round, rabbit sized rocks on the riverbed, and every single bubble Buster's paws made as he swam beside me.
I remember shrieking with laughter, alive as I'll ever be in the midst of hurricane force winds; the thrill of standing in the gust and watching a day-light, storm-tossed s
It was like something out of a movie or doctor who; down lane, exiting from arrivals, was a man. He wasn't very remarkable: average height, brown hair, little bit on the skinny side. No, the man wasn't too note worthy- but the toaster. Now, that toaster, it was a find.
Brilliant white, with big black spots, it was the toaster to end all toasters. It was the Branjolina of toasters, the Picasso, the, well, if it's idolised around the globe, and fawned on by the media, then this toaster was it. And it knew it. The tall skinny guy was just a butler, someone to carry it's elegant form where it needed to go; someone to keep the dainty white
Mother Tongue.
As a child, her voice imprinted on me. It was unique, special- it meant safety, and warmth, comfort and sustenance. As I grew, hers would be the voice that taught me words, that spoke softly in times of distress, and firmly in disobedience. I grew up to her voice, her words and phrases; her laughter, her smiles, her jokes and her curses.
Even as I aged, her voice grew with me; it became sad, it became tired, but it still held joy. There were hard years, and those times it reflected in her; determination, spine. Will. She had everything she needed, even when we had little; her voice, ever constant, was a verbal reflection of h
Current Residence: Some strange place filled with weird people and rain deviantWEAR sizing preference: Medium. Print preference: colour, colour colour! Size don't matter to me! Favourite genre of music: COUNTRY! Favourite photographer: Miss Pants. Favourite style of art: fanstay/realistic/manga MP3 player of choice: SONY, bytch! Skin of choice: MINE. Favourite cartoon character: Sokka from ATLA Personal Quote: "She's like C4 in the popemobile- DANGEROUS!"
Favourite Movies
Anything by jackey chan
Favourite Bands / Musical Artists
Great Big Sea
Favourite Writers
Tamora Peirce
Favourite Games
Final Fantasy/Jack and Daxter
Favourite Gaming Platform
PS2
Tools of the Trade
pliers, pencils, needles and thread, beads, markers and bits of dreams.
Wow! the worlds largest Bull Aharks live in the Breede River in south africa, but because of the unique hunting strategy these massive sharks use, instead of being the feared maneaters they are in the rest of the world, these BUll Sharks live in harmony with the people who live on the river. Well, near harmony; the nine-foot plus sharks pick the fish off the fisherman's lines, eating half of fish that are world-record breaking in and of their own right. How neat! The community was angry when the world-record shark of Thirteen feet (that's three feet longer then the previous record holder!) was released back into the waters of the Breede river
That's right, Microsoft, my computer installed the latest Explorer update.
MICRO BITCH, WHERE'S MY FAST LINK?
Yeah, not pleased with it. Where's the 'Classic' lay out, Microbitch? Give me back my shit!
*throws wrench at*
smal langry rant is small and angry.
I'm watching as my city goes to hell. I can only say I am so very, very ashamed to call these people my fellow Canadians, and my peers. They set fire to the Hudsons Bay Company building, one of our most historical buildings. I do not know how many of my watchers live in the Vancouver area, but I hope that if any, you are safe, and not involved in this.
We are better then this. We are not these people, and their actions are shaming. It is such a stupid reason, for such damage; We are better then this. When you remember the 2011 Stanely Cup, try to remember the stadium full of fans, cheering the other team, congradulating them on their win. D