|My nerdy writer's corner|
Age of The Empires: Chapter IIIt was cool in here. Damp, even. But was it, really?—Yao frowned into the dim, reptilian light. Was this the new temple? The golden Buddhas stared down at him with smiling gazes, the light gleaning from their sides; slick and yellow, like the candles themselves. He stared at them for awhile, at the wood of the shelves, the incense tickling his nose.Age of The Empires: Chapter II by ~PTDaHood
No, not damp—incense is dry.
He inhaled a bit, the smoky aroma wavering in the air, and continued. He was looking for something here, if he had not found it already; was it in the walls, that echoed his steps down the maze?
He was looking for something here.
He padded off a little, shoes soft against the floor. Continued walking, inhaling woody air. A scent that one would never grow too old to love, if indeed age could dispel fondness; the thought of it sent a tease into his brain, a feather brushing against the organ (with the vagueness of an itch). The ceiling was high above him, with rafters. He was looking for something here
stars are a tentLet me be Nellie Bly today.stars are a tent by ~PTDaHood
Let me be the freest wuxia wanderer
With fifteen coins—fifteen!—in my pouch,
Clothes and body light and only,
On the long journey.
New York or Hangzhou?
Fly across the world,
Crawl if I must:
Sweat equity and ten coins.
Watch the Mauerfall
With its shadows etched,
What I etch
Across the world.
In one fell swoop—
Ten coins, they are gone.
Gold from the sun.
Saint Petersburg tolling;
Many birds crowd
And clamor; I count them,
So count them:
I have no coins—
And each bird is a month
I will stay—
Which street to wander now? Without bed and board.
Shall I record
Or shall I pass,
To Kyoto today?
Shall I wade in Siberia,
Pen the ice and snow buried there,
Greet Mao yeye at the gate of heaven,
Ski Thai jungle,
And wander to India,
Then Syria?—try not to die—
Where there is nothing to protect me
But my spirit.
Age of The Empires: Chapter IChina sways in the winds. With the sap of his blood, he is a bamboo forest never breaking. His leaves rustle and the air strikes him; he bends back in an arch, then in the other way, all four sides.Age of The Empires: Chapter I by ~PTDaHood
He should have died a long time ago, he thinks, but the fact is that, he has not. Like a dragon, he has lived thousands of years. Sometimes, when he paints calligraphy, he finds himself writing it all down again—Confucius’s words permeated the air and lulled him to peace; the Qin emperor played with zither with deathly sting; General Guan’s son grew too quickly; Madame Mao, an old lady, was strong to the end...
And Taiwan had the most beautiful eyes, like the night without moon. And Hong Kong loved hawthorn berry sweets, and the Koreas were inseparable, and Japan had the quickest hands. And China pours wine down the rivers, watching the drops disappear into ocher. The tide, shrinking and swelling, never ceases. His land, sad and ancient, will never fail his people. And nei
Balaton - Chapter ThreeWhat does “Ich liebe dich” mean?Balaton - Chapter Three by ~PTDaHood
An expression of love, repeated over and over, so that it is numb and abused—but not “ich liebe dich” in its purest German, for the Germans dislike children, and their solid lovers. They are cold and hard, like the steel that the Prussians bit, tasted. Prussia thought of that, and how it could or could not have described that bit of lost love between him and Ungarn, when they were children; that fresh rivalry, and the strangest friendship between men.
He thought about it a lot—how they had been...frenemies. That would work, right?—it had to. There was no one else to talk to, about this and that, and this or that—secrets to share, though he knew she had Poland as well. But—but it was he she had told of her chest pains to; weakness. She had shot him and beat him, and she still shot him and beat him.
Over and over, he thought about it—he always had, because he could not think of many other nations
|My nerdy writer's corner|
Japanese Traditional Rite of Passage For KidsHello everyone!Japanese Traditional Rite of Passage For Kids by *WindyLife
Do you know Shichi-Go-San ( 七五三, seven-five-three ), a traditional rite of passage and festival day in Japan?
We celebrate the growth and well-being of our children, when the boy being 3 or 5 years, and girls being 3 or 7 years.
Usually we worship the Shinto shrine on the rearest weekend of November 15th.
Last year we celebrate our son for being 5 years, and this year our daughter for being 3 years.
*by clicking you can see large sized pics*
My son wearing Hakama for boys, shot in last year.
And photos below were shot in this year.
gossamer, and yousome peoplegossamer, and you by ~escap-ing
(the lucky ones)
get songs stuck in their heads.
i, on the other hand,
am left with words
that beat incessantly against
the confines of my brain.
last week, it was "gossamer."
i thought it was whimsical;
that was pleasant.
i saw the word
every which way i turned:
a gossamer veil of sunlight,
a silk shirt like gossamer,
a spider hanging by a thread of it.
i hate the word now,
with all its whimsy washed away;
the hard g is too harsh and garish
against the roof of my mouth,
the double s too serpentine.
it feels numbingly stiff on my tongue,
like some sort of linguistic anomaly,
a could-be word that really shouldn't be.
today, it was your name.
(i never thought
proper nouns counted, but
evidently, they do.)
i didn't see you as much as i heard you,
in the whistling of the breeze
or the creaking of the hardwood floors.
your imposing yet warm presence
near the nape of my neck.
i admit that somewhere
in the recesses of my mind,
|All awesome deviations ...I go on a fave spam every once in a while though, because usually two people I watch put features in their journal.|
Take a look, nee?