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A Little Political Rantage

2006-09-04T02:48:40Z

Here's why moving out of the country sounds good to me at times. That's sad to say, but really, I'm getting sick of it all. If I were in charge of another country, I'd not so politely tell the U.S. to leave us alone. Besides, it's not likeAmerica is any way near perfect. Oh, and,Ann Coulter, I hope someone stabbs you in your over-developed atom's apple.

computer good times!

2006-07-02T17:50:58Z

so, I really need to learn html code. Yvonne really inspired me to learn it, because her new web design kicks ass. Plus, I just think it would be fun. so, here's to computer fun times. Like windows isn't being mean enough to me right now? God, I want a mac.

je t'aime

2006-05-25T04:57:28Z

Oh man, I think I’m completely obsessed with House. Give me a sarcastic man with lots of angst issues, and I’m totally there. Throw in a couple vices like addictions to pain medication, and just being a cynical asshole, and I’m a very happy woman. The cane pimpage helps too, oh yeah, and those splendid blue eyes… He and I would get along wonderfully, and not because I’m like Cameron. She’s way too nice.
Sarcasm is hot. Intelect is even hotter.

something to ponder...

2006-03-18T21:56:02Z

so, I was reading "Les Misérables" for like, the third time, and came across this lengthy passage. What do you think of it? How does Victor Hugo view love and dependence, and are they intertwined? What of a blind woman? He only mentions man, and the love the woman can impart.
I just love this book, and this little part really struck me for some reason.

Let us remark by the way, that to be blind and to be loved, is,
in fact, one of the most strangely exquisite forms of happiness
upon this earth, where nothing is complete. To have continually at
one's side a woman, a daughter, a sister, a charming being, who is
there because you need her and because she cannot do without you;
to know that we are indispensable to a person who is necessary to us;
to be able to incessantly measure one's affection by the amount
of her presence which she bestows on us, and to say to ourselves,
"Since she consecrates the whole of her time to me, it is because I
possess the whole of her heart"; to behold her thought in lieu
of her face; to be able to verify the fidelity of one being amid
the eclipse of the world; to regard the rustle of a gown as the sound
of wings; to hear her come and go, retire, speak, return, sing,
and to think that one is the centre of these steps, of this speech;
to manifest at each instant one's personal attraction; to feel
one's self all the more powerful because of one's infirmity;
to become in one's obscurity, and through one's obscurity, the star
around which this angel gravitates,--few felicities equal this.
The supreme happiness of life consists in the conviction that one
is loved; loved for one's own sake--let us say rather, loved in
spite of one's self; this conviction the blind man possesses.
To be served in distress is to be caressed. Does he lack anything?
No. One does not lose the sight when one has love. And what love!
A love wholly constituted of virtue! There is no blindness where
there is certainty. Soul seeks soul, gropingly, and finds it.
And this soul, found and tested, is a woman. A hand sustains you;
it is hers: a mouth lightly touches your brow; it is her mouth:
you hear a breath very near you; it is hers. To have everything
of her, from her worship to her pity, never to be left, to have
that sweet weakness aiding you, to lean upon that immovable reed,
to touch Providence with one's hands, and to be able to take
it in one's arms,--God made tangible,--what bliss! The heart,
that obscure, celestial flower, undergoes a mysterious blossoming.
One would not exchange that shadow for all brightness!
The angel soul is there, uninterruptedly there; if she departs,
it is but to return again; she vanishes like a dream, and reappears
like reality. One feels warmth approaching, and behold! she is there.
One overflows with serenity, with gayety, with ecstasy; one is a
radiance amid the night. And there are a thousand little cares.
Nothings, which are enormous in that void. The most ineffable
accents of the feminine voice employed to lull you, and supplying
the vanished universe to you. One is caressed with the soul.
One sees nothing, but one feels that one is adored. It is a paradise
of shadows.

A nachtmare about.. Emmy!

2006-03-09T06:06:17Z

I had this terribly bizarre dream that I was standing in front of Emmy, and she was singing the jewel song! Oh, it was not at all good, as those of you in the Emmy sucks community can attest. Her tone was airy, and of course, she had that habitual vacuous look that did not scream Marguerite. Luckily, probably out of self-preservation, I woke up before the end of the song, which is really good, because I don’t think I would have been able to deal with the resulting horror that would have been the high c, and the notes back to the f. She was wearing one of the dresses I might have worn when I was sixteen, and it made her look more anorexic than she already does. It was just… sooooooo wrong. I’m glad I can share it with people who know how dreadful she is, and can therefore relate.
All things considered, I much rather would have liked to see Gerik and his non-disfigurement.

phantomy thoughts

2006-03-06T02:52:53Z

So, I’ve been seriously thinking about writing a little fic, in which Christine, in her papers which were left with the Persian, describes her experiences receiving singing lessons from the one who is the angel of music to her. The only catch is that I really really want to write it in French. Now, I have no qualms about English, really, I don’t, its just that English would make it lose all it’s authenticity to me. I’d just love to write about the technical aspects of Christine’s voice, how he would teach her, what methods he would use to make her voice among the best in Paris, that sort of thing. I’ve got three months to work with here, as that’s how long she confesses to Raoul that she’s been taking lessons from the angel of music.
I only want to explore the plutonic side of their relationship; firstly, because I’ve gradually come to the conclusion that Christine and Erik do not belong together, and that there should not be any hint of their affections, save in the case of Erik, Who, after all, is seen through Christine’s eyes. Secondly, too many people have made the fanfics all about sex already, even some of the Leroux! Fics, which scares me. I don’t know what others think, but I don’t think the Leroux! Erik is sexy, except for when he sings, or when he looks at Christine… in that way… “La sauvagerie de sa passion” oooo! How I love that phrase. Everything else, he’s either crazy, or way to clingy. At the beginning, he likes her, but I choose to believe that this is because of her voice, not because of how she looks. Then again, men are very visual creatures, so why would Erik be any different? At any rate, I’ll see how it goes.

Finally...

2006-03-05T00:53:16Z

Well, I’ve finally done it. I’ve made a live journal. Go me! I used to think these were all for little adolescents, but, they’re pretty cool. Just as long as I can blog here in relative happiness, it’s all good.
Enough for now, going to serf more...
Ciao,
Emilith