Somewhere around the Horsehead Nebula, 20 seconds out of sync with the rest of the universe.

"We made it! We're alive, oh my god, we're alive," Oblitia said, looking around the pod, which looked much better than she last remembered, all bent and flaming up.

She looked around the pod, now reinstated to its former state of monotony, a silver pod, bare, save for the sophisticated quantum system that had saved their lives.

It was then that the silver cage popped open, and Ren fell out of it. "What the-"

Oblita grinned at him. "Welcome! How was it in there?"

"Where am I?" asked Ren, bewildered by the fact that he was in a silver room with large buttons on one end. For Ren, this was something out of a futuristic space movie - not much different from the world portrayed inside the movie theater he had just walked out of. "How long have I been out, Rosa?"

"That's Oblitia to you. Also I'll need your-"she trailed off as he gave her a dirty look. "What? SO I used a fake name on you. How weird would Oblitia have sounded on the tongue of an Ancient?"
Now it was Ren's turn to look offended. "Ancient? Excuse me? And why would you use a fake name?"

Oblitia stared at him, confused. "You mean the system rules and regulations didn't register in your brain? Only the language?"

This was enough for Ren. He stood up, overcoming the waves of nausea that threatened to take over, and walked over to where Oblitia was. He looked at her, square in the eye, and said, "I don't know where I am, or what you've done to me. The only thing I know is that I don't like it, and you're going to quit playing around like an idiot, and explain everything to me, as if I don't know it. If I'm confused by the end, I'm going to be very, very angry. And people don't like me angry. Got it?"

Ren wasn't very sure what happened next, because all he saw was a fist coming up to meet his nose, and then he was on the floor. Oblitia stood tall above him, her brown hands clenched, a stark contrast against her silver suit. The contrast was too stark for Ren to take, blinding his eyes, so he stared at the floor instead.

Oblitia now spoke, her voice steely and cold. "I don't tolerate being talked to like that. You will treat me with the respect I deserve, because I just saved your damn life. As for what happened, I will explain everything to you, on my own terms. And I can get angry too, and so far, my anger hasn't suited your face. So you'll watch where that little tongue of yours runs."

Ren sat up, nodded his head once, and watched as Oblitia settled herself a few feet away from him, ready to tell a tale. He had no clue that this was the second strangest tale he'd hear in the course of his life.

"So let me start at the very beginning. This is all about the technicalities, but you're a physicist, so I expect you'll be entertained by all of this crap."
Ren looked at her very pointedly and said, "So I'm assuming you're NOT the aspiring young bread scientist you told me you were, Rosa."
"Shut up," Oblitia said. She resumed speaking, however, with a little grin. 
"So, as I was saying, Mr. Physicist, here are the details. It all begins with our allure for time travel. About five decades ago, a physicist by the name of Dr. Sharma  hypothesised that to time travel, you can't exist in two places at the same time. So, for someone to time travel, they could have never traveled into their past, and their future was too dangerous to consider. Sound good so far?"
"Yes, but only one problem. They'd exist, technically, in the minds of people. Don't memories have a certain weight or something? And when you travel to the future, the present becomes the past. And the future becomes the present. There's no way..."
"I know. But they found a way out. They made these people, who weren't remembered by anyone - through the process of memory wipes of course. They designed a foolproof process. And people do time travel. Only, they never interact with anyone from their present, obviously. They use fake names and appearances in the past and future. Never remembered anywhere."
"Then what's the point?"
"We wanted to fix that, you know. Make scientific advances, prevent disasters, change timelines, etc. And we noticed that the further away we got from a certain time, say, 100 years, the effect of someone remembering them was reduced. So we started bringing in people from the past, They didn't exist in the minds of the present. They were people who would randomly be remembered, but without any disastrous effects. Just the memory remembered would be taken from the traveler's mind."
"So that's where I came in? But why am I here, and not in some lab?"
It was at this point that Oblitia got up, and paced. 
"We're near a blackhole," she said. "But I managed to save us. I'm better than the rest of the time travellers. I can manipulate it. I placed this pod 20 seconds out of sync with the universe. We're hanging on by a thread, 40 seconds away from never existing. But I'm good. We're still alive. Only, the damn system died, so we're stuck here until the blackhole slowly pulls us back."
"Which could take forever," Ren said  
"Which could take forever," she repeated. 

There was an awkward pause, and both of them shifted uncomfortably, each without any clue as to what to say or do in this situation, until Oblitia got up and faced Ren.

"So, like I said in the beginning, I'm going to need your help." Ren looked at her like she was crazy. 
"And what exactly would my skills help you with? We're out of battery I assume, because 20 seconds out of sync with the universe, no one invented a power source."
"Don't baby me. This ship should be running on an emergency battery. It's an escape pod, for goodness sake. It has all kinds of energy."
"Then what's stopping it?" Ren wondered. 

Suddenly a large rumbling began in the ship, and it shook uncontrollably. Ren and Oblitia tumbled about uncontrollably, until it came to a stop. 

"What!" Oblitia screamed. "My watch! It jumped time! We're 25 seconds out of sync with the rest of the universe. The blackhole should be pulling us towards it, not away from it!"

Just as Ren was about to reply, the ship's engines came to life, and a hologram appeared in the centre.  It was a woman, except she didn't have a face. The featureless terrain of where her face should've been made Ren horribly uncomfortable. She simply stared at them for a minute, looking at Ren and Oblitia in turn. When Ren turned to look at Oblitia, he saw nothing but terror in her face. He wondered why, until the faceless entity spoke. 

"Oblitia, you have been charged with one of the most serious crimes in the history of nameless time-voyageurs. Putting yourself out of sync with the universe. Do you have a reason for doing so?"
Oblitia struggled to speak, empty air instead of words spilling out of her mouth. "I - I was trying to save us, um, er - faceless entity?" 

"Horae, Mother of Time. Do you know not of your own gods?" the faceless entity questioned her. Ren knew that the faceless entity was really... faceless, but somehow he saw a shadow of an angry face in the faceless entity's ... face? upper area? He didn't really know how to describe it, but he saw her becoming angry, almost to the point where the image of a woman shaking and struggling to control her anger jumped into his mind. Horae seemed to sense that he could see her, the voice that was mostly directed towards Oblitia changing it's focus.
"You can see me?"

Ren nodded, his throat dry. He was at a loss for words too. Satisfied with his answer, the goddess' voice angled back to Oblitia. "Trying to save yourself from what? A blackhole?"

Oblitia nodded again, her head facing downwards. 

Horae spoke again, her words slow and angry. "If you were telling the truth, Oblitia, then it would be perfect. Going out of sync with time to save yourself from not existing is an efficient, albeit ironic way to save yourself from never existing. Your kind has discovered this from their travels, yes? But they have never had a criminal run away from justice...with a hostage in tow."

Ren spun around to face Oblitia directly. "Hostage?"
"Ah, so she has lied to you too? What did she tell you? A little experiment on memory recall was about to take place?"
"She told me I'd be an experiment if it weren't for the blackhole but...a hostage?"
Horse's face, at least the one in his mind looked at him as if he were crazy for a second. "Then what else would constitute hostage for you?"
Ren jumped up to defend himself. "She made it sound like there were more? It sounded harmless too! I don't see any shackles!"
"Neither do you see any other test subjects. Oblitia was on an illegal chase. She was being chased. Straight into the blackhole region too. Oblitia is one of the most crafty criminals known to this time."

Oblitia neither denied nor acknowledged their little conversation. She slumped to the floor, and then spoke. "So what happens to me?"

Horae's tone was severe. "I intend to kill you. Ren shall return to tell his story but you, Oblitia, must die. Be forgotten."

Although Ren was upset with Oblitia, Horae's directness and stinging tone startled him. "Wait, but, shouldn't you give her some sort of a chance? A trial? Something?"

Horae spoke shortly. "I don't like those who meddle with time too much. The voyageurs made a pact with me when it first begun, promising never to change time apart from going back and forth, but this. Using my son to save criminals? I won't have it."

Oblitia rose suddenly to her feet. "What did you say? You made a pact with the voyageurs?"
In Ren's mind, Horae nodded, and he had a feeling the goddess wanted him to tell her. "She, uh, nodded." he said unsurely. 
Oblitia looked at him, puzzled, but continued. "Was this, perhaps, the pact made in the year 2109? The one that stated I would receive a trial by you? The one part of the pact you forgot to mention, perhaps?"

At this, Horae's amorphous form began to take shape, the white mist that seemed to swirl around the faceless body changing, moving and clearing away. When Ren looked at her face, which had finally appeared, he was shocked to find it the same face as the one in his head. He looked at her quizzically, and the goddess held a finger to her lips. 

"Very well then. Stand in front of the true form of Horae, Oblitia. Come and receive your trial, for it is to be this:
You shall fight. 4 times, two for the two offenses you have committed. Trying to manipulate time against the rules stated in the pact that you were well aware of, and carrying a hostage. Is that understood?"

Oblitia looked at her, bewildered. "But? Wait, how is this a trial?"
"It is a trial of your character." Horae answered. "Oh, and to make it better, I have just decided that young Ren over here, with the brilliant mind and eyes that can see my face when it is hidden must play too. Are you ready?" 

Before Oblitia could say anything, Horae disappeared. 

Oblitia yelled, "But who are we supposed to fight, and how? And why Ren? We don't know anything."
Horae's voice boomed over them. "With every fight, you jump 10 seconds closer to the edge of time. 3 jumps puts you precariously close, but the fourth jump takes you right over the edge. Win, and you don't make the 10 second jump. Lose however, and only one of you lives."

This time Ren yelled, "But we know nothing!"

There was an eerie silence for a minute, and they thought the goddess was contemplating a response. There was a rush of air, and then nothing. 

And then the lights went out.

Hey guys!

I'm starting a new blog for my school (as a club) where we write book recommendations monthly. I'm also working on a short series for the blog called "5." It's very mysterious and a little bit different, but I hope you like it!

Have a day,
Featherpaw.

Hi guys!

There was this day where I just felt smacked in the face by inspiration, and I wrote this really short story. I'm not really sure where it came from, but here it is. In case you want to know, the song this guy is listening to in the story is Pills by The Perishers. I decided to experiment with writing in second person ever since I read The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern, and this is the least messy story that's come out of it.

Have fun!

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You sit across her on the tube, like you do everyday, slipping in your headphones. She looks at you, and you look at her, just like you do everyday, but then both of you avert your gazes, not sure whether you’re strangers or secret lovers, because you feel this strange affection, but it’s not really love is it? Pieces of song drift into your ears as you recover.

My fists can fight for two...

And then suddenly, you’re walking over to her, just for once, being someone that you aren’t, and then, suddenly, you are you, just sitting next to her, talking to her, and you both know you’re best friends in an instant, but her eyes are too pretty to look into platonically, so when slipping your earphone bud into her ear, you ask her if dinner at Il Volo is fine. Of course its fine, only both of you know Il Volo is where every flies off the ground, into romance, which drips off of the air, and that both of you are very okay with this, because your romance for each other already cloaks the air and of course everyone can tell, of course, this is love this is love this is love and we are all in love both of you sing, the distance only deepening what both of you knew to be true. 

My love can blind you…

That night at Il Volo is where you take off, where the ground beneath your feet is finally removed. Sex on the first date, of course this is true love, and sharing dessert is also great on the first date, true love is true love and anything can happen oh anything can happen and both of you are singing as you take off and that’s the last both of you knew about the ground. You are floating on clouds, and this is true love.

Within the next month, both of you are living together, and you are living together in a fairytale and love is literally dancing in the air. You can see it in the bow of the tuxedo as you walk down the aisle, and all he can see is you, you in your little white gown, all ready to kiss him as his Mrs. Perfect and this is so much of a fairytale with the wind blowing your hair, and February whispering beautiful promises in the air.

Ooooh, ooh.

Then suddenly you are having your first fight because he is tired and you are also tired and this is the first slip up but it’s also the last isn’t it? Isn’t it?

One may think we’re doing fine…

Then suddenly that slip up seems so mild, and some nights when it’s not that bad, you can actually creep up into the same bed and share some human warmth with this person who is a stranger, who you once loved and with who you took off the ground at Il Volo, but you are landing and this is not okay, this is not okay.

I hope my arms can blind you…so you'll never have to see what we’re going to be...

Sometimes you are okay, and you smile stranger smiles across the dinner table, but once you take a walk after dinner, if any road takes you near Il Volo, both of you shy away, because suddenly the song this is too hard and we are too fast and crashing is inevitable is stuck in your head and both of you smile and hard, tight smile, and you turn around and head home in a chilly silence.

We need lies to make it through the day...

Both of you are only hanging on by a thread and that thread is thin and only one of you can hang on but this was true love and true love always lasts, always, and both of you were picture perfect but now it’s not and the voice of doubt it singing in your head saying is this it? is this it? can it be it? I can’t sing anymore god please end this for me I don’t want any pain. 

We’re not okay...

This is hitting both of you quick so you both recreate fairytale scenes, but they need actors, and actors are not what you are and both of you once prided yourselves for your honesty, but now you are shabby pretenders, shabby thieves with unshaven beards and hair that hasn’t been washed in a long, long time, but you cling to each other like you need each but you don’t.

But that’s one thing I would never…say to you

And then suddenly you remember the words of the song, and the song is not telling you your fists can fight for two, the song is desperately hoping you can, because this song knows your secrets, and this song knows you’re not okay. This song hopes loves can blind you but this song knows because it is a knowing song and when it sings in your head it sings in the key of paranoia paranoia and you are collapsing, collapsing and going to sleep shaking in the dark. You have hit ground zero. This is an airplane crash, no, a nuclear bomb inside the both of you, with no survivors.

...But that’s one thing I would never…say, to you.

And then suddenly the song ends, and it ends in three sad piano chords, and you are sitting in the Tube again, and she can see through your eyes that something has gone wrong.

Next morning, when she sits on the Tube, she sits in the corner, and you sit exactly where you used to sit, but something has changed and the air is not the same when she is not in it. Repeat, repeat, you have hit ground zero.

Hey people!

I know that I haven't written in forever, but today, I want to talk about a social issue.
The equality between men and women, boy and girls, and how their childhood is shaped, to be specific. To get my point across, I'm going to use myself as an example, because, well, you won't really realize what's happenning until it's narrated like this.

When I was five years old, my parents began to send me to a tennis class. I was hesitant at first, but I loved it. I spent two hours afterschool there everyday, and my teacher was pleased with me because I was able to hold my own and actually play a match with all of the older kids. This was beautiful, and I began to think of it fondly, but, then came a major setback. The school I was going to lasted until 3pm, and I got home by 4pm, which was when my tennis classes started. I also had homework to do. So, we stopped my tennis classes, and as a compensation, I began to ride my old, discarded bike with my friends, and I had started a trend. All of us began playing on our bicycles. Healthy, active, and great.

I thought I had a pretty active childhood, and that my parents had encouraged physical activity for me despite the stereotype of dolls, playing house and other things. But then my brother was born.

From the beginning, it was the expectation that he go to the park everyday. That was fine, you know. I had to go to the park too. Everyone in my neighbourhood did. But then, we moved to a different country, and my brother got older. For some reason, my parents got all worked up about him having a sport. My mother put him in swim classes for competitive swimming, football (Americans, that means soccer in English), and when the schedule didn't work out, insisted my dad make him play a sport on the weekends.

To be fair, they did the same for me. But the weird part was, with me, my parents tried once. If it didn't work out, then it was too bad. But somehow, for my little brother, playing a sport was of the utmost importance, and if he didn't find one (which he still hasn't) then the world would supposedly come crashing down.

Now, my parents aren't sexist, and they're the ones who put me in the more liberal mindset, telling me that I didn't have to be a conventional girl, getting me toys meant for boys as well as girls (which shouldn't exist, as in, toys are for both sexes what the hell, but okay). But what I'm trying to point out is that certain stereotypes are ingrained in the minds of people. If you EVER find yourself thinking, "But that's such a 'guy-thing' (replace synonyms with things such as 'manly') to do" or "That's only something a girl could think of" or "That's so girly" or, my personal favourites:
"You're so manly" and "I cried like a little girl".

The thing about these things is, we've grown up with them. My parents would've never realized it, and they still haven't, that all my life, through my physical activity, I have been trying to prove to them that I wanted to do a sport too. And I never got the chance because of circumstance, or because of difficulties staying afterschool with the team, my shyness, the fact that I broke my leg, and so many other things.

When I was 7, I got a basketball hoop in the backyard. My brother went to soccer classes with a professional coach.

This stuff is seared into our minds like it's normal. And only now, people are beginning to realize, it's NOT fair. I am branded as the weak and unable to play girl in PE. Whereas other boys got passed to and scored eaily in basketball, I had to steal the ball from my opponents, guard it from even my teammates and score a swoosh shot to prove myself to my teammates. My 'guy-friend' who wasn't even able to dribble 5 meters without passing was passed the ball instead of me even though everyone knew he couldn't play. I was closer to the hoop, open, and able to shoot, because no one thought I was even worth guarding. Three reasons I should've been passed the ball, but I wasn't. Sexism is everywhere. It doesn't matter what you're thinking, if you ever catch yourself thinking something is typical of boys or girls, or that someone won't be able to do something because they're a boy, or a girl, stop yourself. Please. The only way to make people less sexist is to start the change with you, to make yourself aware, so you don't endorse sexist things by accident, so you yourself can teach the others around you through just thinking a little bit more.

Is it really that much to ask?

The Problem with my Bluebird

Charles Bukowski once wrote about a bluebird.
The one who he wouldn't let sing,
the one who couldn't see the sun shining.

But I have a different problem -
I want my blue bird to shine,
to cause commotion.
I want my buebird to be alive.

Have you heard of blue babies?
They haven't enough oxygen,
and my bluebird is starting to feel a lot like one.

They smother it down,
not asking whether it can breathe,
but whether the pressure is enough,
can I still pump out a tune in the key of A?

My bluebird is dying
crying
screaming.

But no one hears it.
I am running out of breath,
and my bluebird is suffocating.

Locked inside a cage of my own volition
I cannot scream nor can I shout,
and I am stuck with my own bluebird
asking me why I don't get out.


Based on: x

Hi my cutie patooties!

So, recently (or two months ago), I had this idea for a story that revolved around the Pied Piper of Hamlin, and the children that disappeared. So, I'm going to sit down and write the introduction for it now, because I figured, better now than never, and because I'll never do it unless I force my self to sit down and write it. Enjoy! (This will suck, so get out the popcorn and be ready to laugh disdainfully, plus, give me sassy feedback!)

_________________________________________________________________________________

Waking Up

She opened her eyes, feeling strangely old and new at the same time. She was in a cave, she thought, vague memories of the past slipping through her mind, as she tried to gather where she was and how she got here. Around her were a thousand stalctite, glittering like daggers from the roof of her mysterious abode. Suddenly, she heard a great grating noise at the end of the tunnel, as if someone were trying to open the doors pf the cave. She dropped down immediately, her instinct telling her to blend in, shielding her eyes from the little light that trickled through from such a great distance. She was so, so weak and tired, as if she had slept for thousands of years, only to wake up for a great destiny.

Suddenly there were two men, traipsing down the mass of bodies that she had neglected to notice, their eyes filled with horror and wonder. They thought aloud, wondering what a mass of chlidren were doing here, and why behind a cave? Were they even alive? She wanted to raise her hand, to ask for help and ask for them to help her survive, but she was so, so, befuddled by everything.

 She had questions of her own.
 What was the name she was recalling in the grey darkness? Who had led her here?
Only one thing seemed clear to her foggy mind, the only thing that she knew was as true as the stone floor she lay on, and as sharp as the rocky dagger sky she knew lay above her:
The Pied Piper will save you. 


_________________________________________________________________________________

Here it is guys! Tell me what you think, and please tell me how I can improve it! I only had 15 minutes to write this, and it's not a full fledged introduction, but I'm trying my best, since I've never written a story before. What should I add to it? Is there anything that's boring/too literary and not enough information? Help me tons!

Good night my little ducklings!
Anoushka

Dear Future Husband,

How are you doing? I do hope I like you. My curiosity (or is it fear?) is eating me up. I want to know how we met!

Did we collide into each other, me dropping my books like the flustered angel that I am, and your hand brushed mine as you helped me pick them up?
Or did we share an umbrella in the rain, the proximity of our bodies creating more lightning than the storm above our heads?

Neither, I hope.

You see, future husband, I have a problem. I hate perfect love, and I hope you're nothing like the perfect boys I see on TV. I want you to be as normal as possible. In fact, when we meet, please don't bother doing your hair ( I won't). When we collide, laugh at me for being clumsy because I was probably reading when I so rudely became the prow of the boat to your Ursula's chest. Then, proceed to hold my page for me, so that I can pick up my books, because you udnerstand perfectly well that no girl (or boy) needs help picking up a couple books (or maybe this time I was smart enough to use that extraordinary invention called a backpack?!). Anyways, comment on the book I'm reading and ask about it, then proceed to sit down with me at the table and prevent me from reading. I will certainly be unpleasant and may make many subtle comments about how I would prefer to be alone and reading, but you will already have found out that pestering me is something you enjoy, so you will cheerfully ignore anything I say.

Next, I hope, we do not have instant crushes on each other. I hope to like you as a human from the very start, but please, do not expect me to swoon into your arms at first try. Hopefully, maybe by the times we've known each other well enough to exasperate the living hell out each other, I'll begin to notice I like hugging you. You'll begin to like hanging out, just the two of us. Slowly, we get comfortable with the idea of liking each other, and maybe I'll tell you that I have never kissed anyone, and you'll laugh and call me lame. Promise me you'll do it, or I'll be too embarrassed to ever show my face to you again. Admitting is not something I easily do. I need my back-up comic relief when I am not capable of making my own particular brand of punny jokes.

Then maybe the first time we'll kiss you'll call me inexperienced. And laugh. Make me laugh a lot or I won't even think of marrying you. And be prepared to live with a bunch of dogs once you complete that requirement. You'll be feeding and walking them, while I get to pet them and witness clever tricks (you'll be in charge of those too, oh we're going to have so much fun!). We're an equal opportunity kind of couple. Or rather, we will be.

And going on dates. Right.
I'm promising you, our first date will be hell. I'll probably think up something really romantic like wall climbing, and in the middle, I'll faint from my undefeatable fear of heights, but you'll catch me. And then I'll yell "Just kidding!" in your face, cleverly untangle my harness and rope from yours, and monkey up the rocks while you hang suspended (and dumbfounded) in midair. Ha.
Just kidding. I'm really bad at wall climbing.
WAIT. Maybe our first date will be one of those typical dinner date things. Or going to the movies?
I'm crossing my fingers, because if you take me to an Avengers movie, I swear to God, you will be the last boy who I'll be looking at in that theatre. And you better agree with me that everything Nick Fury says is to be followed by either "Nick Fury is a religion" or simple admiration with the phrase "Oooooooh!" Otherwise bye.

Oh, and when you propose to me, please don't write a speech. Please don't tell me your life changed after you met me, because the only life changing thing I made you do was switch to NickFury-ism, the greatest religion of them all. And maybe I did encourage you to get a tumblr account, which might have led to your higher procrastination levels. Okay, don't mention that when you propose to me. I'll say no out of consideration for you.
Convince me. 
I already know you're great. That's probably why I let you in this far. I don't do that with many people. Convince me that I'm worth marrying. Make me laugh (I have a bad sense of humour so this part's easy). This is why I asked you to leave out anything that I worsened for you in life. You already know that I'm too shy to even ask someone to close the window if it means that it might inconvenience them. I wouldn't even let you tie my shoelace when I broke my hand. I honestly don't think I'm worth it. Please, go make me look in the mirror at that face of mine, and tell me that behind it lies the most superlative person you've ever known. Don't tell me I'm pretty, because I'm tired of people who think that's the one thing a girl wants to hear. But you already know that. So you 'll call me lame, with a dash of poor humour and nerdy, all of the things I really am, and you will tell me that it's worth knowing.

Dear future husband, whoever you are, thank you for coming this far with me. I probably love you, and have a harder time saying that than I should. Just kidding! I shower for your sake, so you should know that I am already putting 100% more effort than I did for anyone else.

Long live Nick Fury,
you-remember-your-wife's-name-so-yeah-hey-it's-me

Hi guys!

I'm here to tell you: thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you so much!
In case you guys didn't infer from the title, my blog hit 1006 subscribers at around 11am today (April 23).

I know that 1,000 isn't a big number, but for a new blogger like me, it's a big deal! I'm so happy!
So now, it's time for the usual cheesy dedications!

Firstly, this achievement goes to my friends Firescales and That Weird Girl at http://fictionallitostandaleatory.blogspot.com.br/ who inspired me to start writing a blog. If it hadn't been for you guys, I wouldn't even have realized that 1006 was an important number for me, and that people care enough to read something a silly 15 year old lke me has to say. Thank you.

Secondly, to my crazy second family (you know who you are), thank you. Moving from the Philippines to Brazil can really give someone a writers block, but you guys put me through. You might be the only reason I survived this year. I love you, and you mean tons to me.

Thirdly, to the people in Brazil (you won't be reading this, but) I want to thank you for the tons of comic relief, and for accepting a random weirdo into your group, and making me feel like one of your own. You're the only reason I feel welcomed in Brazil. :)

And lastly, to you who reads!! I know that some of the people mentioned before have been forced into reading my blog tons of time, but I know that random people from Ireland, Germany and France are paying attention to outlandish me. YOU THERE! Thank you! You guys are the most important people in this process, and it would be kinda impossible to have 1000 views without you guys.

So you guys, thank you for keeping this featherpaw'd awkward giraffe's dream alive.
You guys inspire me to write more.

Have a day,
FeatherPaw.

Hey guys!

I was walking my dog just now, and thinking about this tumblr post http://pizza.tumblr.com/post/83215322972, which basically says "what so you call someone who's obsessed with the moon - a lunatic"

What a great pun! But basically, it made me poetify it, and now I have a pretty poet-let in my head, and I can't stop singing it in my head. And I can't help but think there are so many little "wayward thoughts" floating aronud in my head that I'd really like to share with people, but I never get to. So why not make a section about it? (Hahaah. Exploiting lack of skills)

So here's the one wayward thought I came up with today:

"But darling how to make you swoon?

   Because all I see are stars
   and you're a lunatic in love with the moon."


And something I have written down from a few days ago:
(Bear in mind, anything written here could be a poem or a little undeveloped thought paragraph. Sorry!)

"I crumpled up the papers because I thought I couldn't write poetry. But when I held them again in my

hands, ready to throw them away, I felt the anger and sadness in those pages, and that was a moment of

fire, of frustration, and of everything I'd ever failed to be. Locked in those pages were memories, dark

thoughts swirling like a slushie gone wrong. And then I learned something. In destroying, I had created."

Heyy guys! How's it going? What's cookin' good lookin'? (Again: you're complimented if you read my blog (shameless promotion, I know))

I wanted to talk about something important today: body types.
And more importantly, thin people. Let me make this clear: thin/fat/pudgy/normal/busty/WHATEVER.
It's really not that important. What's important is that we respect each, and understand that it's okay to be anything.
You don't have to be anything if it makes you unhappy.

But this is important to say: thin people.
All my life, I've been told crap things like "You need to gain weight!" or "You're too thin to be healthy!" or "Look at those boney arms, it's awful!" or some variation of either.
NO.

People have to understand, that ust as you cannot blatantly tell someone to lose weight, you cannot tell anyone to gain weight.
Being underweight and scrawny is NOT a blessing.
Telling me I'm a human stick won't make me smile. Comparing yourself to me is NOT how to make friends with me. Telling me I'm as light as a feather only makes me remember the dissatisfied clicks my doctor made every year as he filled up the height/weight index.
Being underweight is NOT a blessing.
It's hours of staring in the mirror, watching how your ribs show when yu inhale normally, wondering why you can't be as tall or as nice rounded off as everyone else.

Don't get me wrong though, it's not a curse either.
It's like all other body types: there are pros and cons to it!
But when you idolize it, or condone it, things become bad for the people living with it.

So here's my PSA (sort of, more like rant) It's like any other body type, and it's not a curse or a blessing. It's not something to be worshipped or glorified.

So please, stop treating it like either, and be comfortable with who you are. Concentrate on what makes you YOU. Make it about your opinions, about what makes you laugh, and how you're going to change the world. Not which dress you fit into.

You're amazing. Whichever way you are. It really doesn't matter.

Bye. <3

Hello anybody that reads my blog!
(Since y'all don't comment - and I don't know that you're not robots, I have no way of gauging what you want)

Okay, so basically I've realized something: My blog is place where I give myself literary challenges. So hy not give myself more? That's why I've got a ton of new ideas for stuff that will make it easier for me to write, but also challenge myself to come up with something.

Ideas:

1. Six word Stories, Ten word Poems, etc. etc. 
This is fun! I'm a Tumblr user (http://awkwardgiraffe98.tumblr.com/) and often I see six word stories or ten word poems, and I think it's a challenging way to express ideas and also, it's really hard to come up with something that fits in six words! Or ten word poems for that matter. Gah. I will eat my proverbial hat if I can get through this without gnashing my teeth and wanting to murder at least 5 different people. (Creators of these English challenges, you'll be one of the first people I curse if I do this).

2. Short stories!
In how long have I not written a short story? That's right, you don't remember. I should write more. More, as in, one per month. In fact, that's the only thing I muster up the courage to write. Long stories are haaard. Which is why it's my next challenge.

3. At LEAST One actual story!
Yeah, I have an idea for a story. It's cool. It's got cool deatails. I think I can write it. Maybe I'll post chapters? I'm fleshing out the character details. It'sll be FUN. :D

Hello anyone that reads my blog, (you're sexy. that's right. you're sexy. I complimented you. I love on if you read this. yeah. that's right. read my posts more often. because I love you. I know my punctutation sucks. it's your opposite. that's right. one more compliment. love you. now read the rest of my crap, ya beautiful piece of ass.)

Apart from that long intro, hi.
I know I haven't written in a long time. I keep on meaning to, but today I had a lot of homework, so I decided, hey, you know what? Instead of doing all this work I should do, let me just procrastinate. I know, I'm responsible as hell.

Okay, but today I have a challenge for myself. Let me explain it to you. We're doing a poetry unit in English right now, and I want to show you a poem someone(aka a GOODASS AUTHOR) wrote:

In a Station of the Metro

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;

petals on a wet, black bough.

Ezra Pound

That's it. THIS BLEW MY MIND. *keyboard spasm* There's such a great amount of imagery in this. Seriously. What a kid/man/poet/ungodly thing that sold his soul to the demon for this kind of SKILLZ.

Anyways, my English teacher said you have to be a pretty strong writer to do this kind of stuff. So I decided, since I'm not a strong writer, why don't I go and try to humiliate myself on the internet? Yes. 

So, the challenge is that I'm going to look out my window and find two images, and try to write them as a one line poem. No dictionaries, nothing. Just an everyday test of the literary skills (NO). Anyways, I had best be starting.

Alright, let me look outside. 

Things seen:
- River

- ripples because it's raining

- yellow street lights

- twlight darkness settling in

The pearly raindrops dance on the river surface,

twilight darkness seeping through the weary bones of the city.

That didn't take too long(5 seconds max, I blew it, damn.). But it's probably poop(yes, that's right. I like saying poop. yes. no, it's not a swearing thing. I tell my mother I love her with this mouth and I have quite a dirty one on occasion. yes. back to actual writing now).

Okay, next thing I'm going to do is look around my room now. This is going to be harder. All I see is evidence of entropy. Crap. This is going to suck even more. I'm sorry to inflict literary pain on you.

Things seen:
- curtains billowing because of open window

- grossly messy bed because of all the pillows/stuff from school I dumped on it

- ME (oh yes, sexy little me, MMM. jk. that would be weird. or narcissistic.)

- wires from my charges dangling over my bedside table (potential poem piece? alliteration there? didya catch it? you're welcome)

- books on the shelves. tons of them.

No, I'm not going to write a two line poem on all of this stuff. You can only fit so much in one line.

A room with a view of the endless entropy that a busy life grants us,

books scattered on shelves like water splattered across the window after it rains.

I tried SO hard. I like the first one better. Okay, my dog just walked into the room. I want to write a poem about him

Things seen:
- ONE CUTE DALMATIAN DOG AND HE IS MIIINE

He gazes up at me with his adoring, brown eyes,

his ears flopping over  his face like petals on a tired flower.