snapdragon . . .

Okay done! :mrgreen:


Alright, well .. I was super shocked to get immunity this week - but, when I did, I decided straight away that I was going to do something I've never actually gotten to do for a challenge - a beauty shot. Last week I had Ilya so grungy and sweaty and beat up that I was REALLY excited to show off just how beauitful she actually is.

I got assigned snapdragons - one of my favorite flowers. Legend has it that wearing (or even concealing) snapdragons on one's person makes the holder appear much more fascinating and even courteous... and because of this legend in the middle ages, women and girls used wear snapdragons in their hair (or even carry a pouch full of them) when turning down or breaking it off with unwanted courters. They were also said to protect the wearer from curses or deceit.

My inspiration for this challenge was turning Ilya into a beautiful courtesan in a corset, off to end a relationship with a lover - armed with snapdragons in her hair.

the day the music died.

Okay - I just re-installed windows; so I no longer have Limewire (because I have to reinstall windows a month after downloading it, every time). So, I'm listening to the XM radio stations on my satellite.

Just a quick question... WHAT IN THE HELL HAPPENED TO MUSIC?!

It's like ... I can't listen to the "Hottest Hits" or "Top 20" because it's these lame, lame, lame, WEIRD songs that sound like ... idk. They're supposedly R&B, but the sound like one of the newer, lamer Janet Jackson songs had a love child with a boy band and popped out this ignorant song around having sex in a club or girls on stripper poles. Neyo? Please never play him again. Ever. Ray-J? Sew his mouth shut.

Don't even get me started on this Emo crap. Emo used to be cool - like, TEN YEARS AGO. When I was a freshman, we had Taking Back Sunday, and Brand New, and Fall Out Boy at their start - and that was fine... But this crap that emo music has turned into? I swear - Emo music and Twilight have joined forces to single-handedly destroy America's youth.

Alternative no longer means Red Hot Chili Peppers and Counting Crows or even Nirvana, Collective Soul, Better Than Ezra. OR SUBLIME, for Heaven's sake. Nope. The "alternative" stations are filled with these make-up wearing emo crybabies.. singing about nothing!

Oh my God. Please God.
Give us back Johnny Cash.

We'll give you the Jonas Brothers! Free and clear!
You can even take that little one!

[/rant]

I guess I'll just stick to youtube.


PS - STACEY; IF YOU READ THIS - I'm listening to Van Morrison.
AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!

Confessions of A Dead Girl - Ch 2

Dear Diary,

I woke up a brand new girl.

He left me in a dark, cold parking garage, covered in my blood and his; left me with no memory of what had happened, not knowing what I was. I could barely stand, but I pulled myself into my car and somehow, my shaking hands managed to get the keys into the ignition. Even with the fear and the massive chunks of my memory missing, instinct told me one thing: I could NOT go home. I couldn't stumble back into my parent's house, covered in nothing but a man's button-down and blood. I had to figure this out myself. I still had my wallet; I hadn't been robbed. I still had plenty of cash ... I squeezed my eyes closed and tried to think. Did I have more cash than I had last night? Was that even possible?

I pulled on the turn-pike and headed for New Jersey. I didn't know it then, Diary, but I was about to find my calling.


I slammed the door to the filthy, second-story motel room, and sank onto the floor. I hugged my knees to my chest, and .. Diary, it was like I was sobbing - but no tears fell from my eyes. I raced to the bathroom, frantic. What had I taken last night? Why did walking in the sun feel like my body had been stuck in a deep fryer? What kind of drug could possibly dry up the tears in my body? I didn't know that my body could no longer produce tears, because I didn't know that I was dead.

"I must be dehydrated!' Was what I finally thought to myself. I drank and drank and drank from the filthy faucet, not realizing how [i]thirsty[/i] I was until the first drop of cool, sweet water passed my lips. I drank until I thought I'd suffocate - or drown. When I finally stopped, it was as if the entire world stopped with me, just for a brief second.

I stared at myself in the mirror - and almost didn't recognize the girl I saw staring back at me. Sure, she resembled me ... but it was like I was staring into a stranger's eyes. My skin was different.. pale, almost translucent. My eyes were lighter, a bright blue ring surrounded by almost white - rather than the gray they'd been the morning before. 'Who was I? What had happened? What was I becoming?' I kept asking questions you never think you'll ever have to ask yourself.



And then it started.

I didn't know it then, but as the sun went down that evening, by body had transformed into something that no longer survived on air and food and water. I fell to the ground, my face pressed against the cold, dirty tile (Something the old Alivia would have never done) and for a moment, let myself relax. And that's when it hit me - the stench. I gagged instinctively before I realized that it wasn't exactly nauseating... in fact, I knew exactly what it was. Death. I guess that's the thing about Vampire DNA. Humans have survival instinct, sure... But in those first few days, I realized that we come with a LOT more ingrained knowledge pumping through our blood. There was death in the motel room below me, but I could tell you more than that... it was a recent death, no more than a few hours old.

This was where Alivia 1.0 would have flipped. She would have ran screaming into the night, called the cops, climbed in her pretty canopy bed at her mommy and daddy's house, snuggled in under her pink blanket... Maybe even busted out her old My Little Pony Night-light... she would have tried to convince herself that the past 24 hours were all just a bad dream. Woken up and eaten waffles and watched Tyra with her mom. But, that girl was dead, Diary. Nope. Little Alivia just didn't exist anymore... And this Alivia was curious.

It's still a little hard to explain why I did what I did, not knowing what I know now... but in that moment, I felt no fear. I moved on animal instinct, cat-like curiosity... only somehow without even knowing WHAT I was, I knew that this kitty would not fall victim to it's own curiosity. I stalked down the stairs, barely aware that my feet made no sound, barely aware of the speed I possessed. I crept to the door. Instinct running on overdrive, I pressed my ear against the almost rotting wood and peeling paint. I knew what I was listening for, the slow, rhythmic thu-thump, thu-thump I'd heard from the clerk at the check in desk. I heard nothing, only smelled the stench of not even day-old death. The door was locked, but I forced it open, barely surprised to hear the deadbolt snap. I still think Fate was leading me, diary. Showing me my calling. Running my body, while I was just along for the ride.

The smell got worse as I opened the door... he hadn't even tried to conceal her. There she was, blonde and pretty ... at least, I'm sure she was pretty before what he had done to her. Had I been human, bile would have rose in my throat. I might have been sick. But I was hot with anger. Rage filled me, diary. Warmed my blood like sweet sunshine on a hot summer day. Somehow my body knew what it was - knew that it liked blood, but not hers. Not THAT blood. The beast inside me, the beast that I now know is me, wanted her killer. For a moment I mourned for her... she was a kindred spirit, in a way. Both of us ripped from our lives against our will. I still wonder from time to time who got the raw end of the deal, but in that moment, I was more angry for her than for myself. And that base, vampire instinct showed me exactly what to do. He'd be back. And I'd be waiting.



I smelled him before I heard his footsteps on the sidewalk... Dirt and sweat and fear and blood. I can't even explain it, Diary... but that scent of tainted, evil blood... it was like smelling Grandma's fried chicken or fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies, only I never wanted to rip out the chicken's throat with my teeth.

I was at the door, yanking him in by his collar before he could even open his mouth to scream for help. I stared into his wide, frightened blue eyes, wondering briefly if this monster had ever been frightened before... the thought made me smile a smile I'd never worn before, never knew I was capable of. What sweet irony - this man who'd tortured and killed that poor, pretty little girl was to meet his death at the hands of another poor, pretty little dead girl.

"This is for her," I whispered sweetly as I sank my fangs into the sweaty flesh of his neck. He fought at first, jerking, trying to overpower me, but it was useless. He was no match for my strength... and he was no match for my wrath.



I'll admit, Diary. My first kill was a little sloppy - I mean, I just left him laying in the motel floor. I stepped over his dead, bloody body and headed back to my room for a shower before heading south to Boston. And Diary? I didn't feel one twinge of regret. The old Alivia is gone - and this Alivia? Alivia 2.0? I avenged her death - just like I'll avenge my own.

Halloween 2

Part two of my entry for Scream Queens;
Current Horror - Rob Zombie's Halloween 2.

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow

Part One of my entry for Scream Queens;
Assignment: Old vs. New

OLD:
The Legend of Sleepy Hollow

(For the assignment - the photo had to be black and white or sepia toned - but I like the color version better, so I'm posting it here, too)

Katrina Von Tassel - just moments before turning around to find the headless horseman behind her.

the fighter still remains...

"In the clearing stands a boxer - a fighter by his trade;
& he carries the reminders of every glove that laid him down -
or cut him, 'til he cried out - in his anger and his shame,
'I am leaving, I am leaving...'
...but the fighter still remains."

Conflict? Ilya was born for conflict - it's the down time that's hard... It seems every day it's getting harder and harder to sleep without the memories and regrets pouring into her consciousness from some other part of herself. 'Past Lives,' she calls them; those memories of horrible parts of her life, horrible parts of her self that seem so foreign to her now. So she fights. It doesn't matter what she's fighting, a dummy, a bag, or a worthy opponent - She's always fighting the same battle against the same person: Herself. She throws everything she has into every punch, every jab, every hook - fighting until there's nothing left inside of her, until she can barely climb out of the ring - so that maybe, just maybe she can get some sleep tonight.


********
Detail on the face before photo filter:
BEFORE:



AFTER:

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Sims Next Top Model - Assignment 2
Avery in Zuhair Murad fall 2010


"And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!"

Save a Life. Love a Bull.

FLASHBACK: Both World Wars. American Pit Bull Terriers were treasured and celebrated companions, known for their loyalty, compassion and fierce tenacity; they were by far the most popular breed among American families. In WWII propaganda, posters were circulated with these dogs draped in American flags, guarding kittens symbolizing the American people ... the Pit Bull was a national symbol representing America. Pit Bulls were used IN the war, not only to deliver messages between camps, but to serve along side the soldiers. Stubby, the most famous war dog and half pit bull, served with the 102nd Infantry in the trenches in France for 18 months and participated in four offensives and 17 battles. After being gassed himself, Stubby learned to warn his unit of poison gas attacks, located wounded soldiers in no man's land, and — since he could hear the whine of incoming artillery shells before humans could — became very adept at letting his unit know when to duck for cover. He was solely responsible for capturing a German spy in the Argonne.

PRESENT DAY: The mere mention of the word "Pit Bull" incites fear and hysteria. They're vilified in the media - one news-woman even went so far as to say, "A fatal dog attack by any other breed just isn't as news-worthy as a non-fatal attack by a pitbull." You might be surprised to hear this, but pits are responsible for less than 2% of attacks a year - that's less than Labradors and Border Collies - even though the American pit bull population is twice that of the other two breeds combined. Yet Pit Bulls are still targeted. Many shelters will euthanize any incoming dog who looks even remotely like a pit-bull because, now, the breed is though of as "too dangerous," and "unadoptable." States are passing Breed Specific Laws, banning pit-bulls from their cities. Recognize Breed Specific Legislation for what it is: A Hate Crime. Let's work together to focus the blame where it belongs: irresponsible and unfit dog owners.