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Post by Galadrie*snackle*den on Nov 16, 2004 13:36:49 GMT -5
I have a few souls from people giving them to me on Halloween, and then I lost mine to a guy at a party on Saturday, but then I won my other guy friend's soul, so, now I guess, soul-wise, my name is Justin. -Menelien
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Post by Mippin on Nov 16, 2004 15:46:31 GMT -5
Hi Justin! Well, I suggested that Joe should buy souls.. an' be the official Soul Trader.. yes.. but.. ah well.
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Post by Marigold Gamgee on Nov 16, 2004 19:43:55 GMT -5
*looks at you oddly*
But I am a Soul Trader. And don't really liked being called Joe. You know it's bad for my reputation. Higgins, if you must.. but not Joe, please.
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Post by Amarië on Nov 17, 2004 16:42:39 GMT -5
*sobs* but I wanted to be the Soul Trader... I'm the one who posted the lyrics on Lyrical Lyrcalness, thus, I should have the rights to being the Soul Trader.. *nods*
Or atleast, I remember posting the lyrics on Lyrical Lyricalness.. *goes back to check*
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Post by Mippin on Nov 17, 2004 18:38:20 GMT -5
Ye did. 'S a good song. ^^
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Post by Amarië on Nov 17, 2004 18:51:33 GMT -5
Yes, I did.. So I basically called the Soul Trader title.. because I was the first to post it here... I may not have been the first person to hear the song, but I posted the lyrics... so ha!
I win!
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Post by Marigold Gamgee on Nov 17, 2004 20:45:26 GMT -5
No, no ye really really don't.
Because my name is Josiah.
Thus, I Am Joe.
So bwah.
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Post by Amarië on Nov 21, 2004 15:49:42 GMT -5
No, see, I said I win first, and whoever says it first, is the one who wins... so I actually win. so HA!
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Post by Marigold Gamgee on Nov 21, 2004 16:43:36 GMT -5
No, see, it doesn't work that way. It's the first person to claim it.. and that, of course, if ye look up the page.. was me.
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Post by Amarië on Nov 21, 2004 18:48:17 GMT -5
uhm.. just because I win, doesn't mean I get whatever was being 'claimed'.. and it wasnot ye that said it first.. Mip did.
And how are you sure you claimed it first? I was the first person to post the words 'Soul Trader' on the forum, thus I claimed it and should have the right to say who the Soul Trader is...
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Post by Mippin on Nov 26, 2004 21:17:10 GMT -5
Moving on from this topic of discussion...
It's time for another Mippish Dedication!
Today's topic is: Remembrance
Let's start with the simplest form. Memory. Long or short term? Here's a random question for you all - is having a good memory a blessing or a curse? What sort of memory do you guys have? I don't know about ye, but I've got a fairly good memory, and it seems to be both a blessing and a curse. It's been on my mind, and I've talked about it before, so I decided to just re-ponder all these ponderings and just go on with this dedication.
Ever watch TV with your family and point out that you've all already seen a certain movie? You can almost quote it line for line and nobody else seems to remember it? In fact, they believe that they have never seen it before. That's happened about five times in the last week now, and believe me, it gets annoying...
So, here's a little survery-ish thing you guys can all do to see how much your memories affect your mood. Just fill in with your own answers... and see how that makes you feel.
Earliest Memory: I was three, standing in the back of a plane. My brother was on one side, and my mother on the other. I was lifting myself up over the seats and swinging my legs back and forth. I wore blue jeans, and a white t-shirt with pink-cuff-like-things and the front of it read "Skating Rules!" or something along those lines. It had a cartoon-like drawing of one girl skateboarding on one side of the text, and one girl was roller-skating on the other side. I recall that that was my favourite t-shirt. ^^
Anyway, I was looking around, we were already in the air and everything, and I became curious. I turned to my mum, and asked, "Where's Daddy?" My mum explained that he had taken his own plane up to the US earlier to find a place for us to stay and to bring our stuff up there. I was saddened by this news, and I wanted my dad there. But it was okay. After a while I had to sit down and buckle in and everything. The airplane food wasn't that great, but is it ever? And any real hyper-ness I had earlier, as evidenced in the swinging back and forth, was drained by the realisation that we had left without my dad. Of course, we met up with him shortly after, but still... I don't remember much more of the trip, but I'm told for an earliest memory that the description is pretty detailled. *shrug* I don't remember anything from before then.
Best Memory: I'm not sure. It could've been the countless times Ala and I would hop around the various carpets and rugs in my house until we got to the laundry room where we'd have to climb on top of the washing machine so as not to step on the linoleum flooring...
It might have been the times I put my beloved kitten in the green cracker tin and gently put the lid over him. He'd paw at the top, and then when he pushed it off, he'd jump out and into my lap, purring.
It could have been building a castle in the middle of a classroom. Sitting on the drawbridge, listening to tales of old, and how Arthur became a king. Listening to how he met Guinevere, and hearing of all the battles. Building a giant mosaic of a dragon, and then having my teachers sneak us all off campus to the park near-by. The one that was so beautiful in the fall. The leaves everywhere. Everything was so beautiful and green. The innocent laughter of my friends and I as we darted around this secret spot that only my class would know, while everyone else played on the ratty old playground on campus. Breathing in the fresh air that lingered in that park. Playing four-square with my classmates, and balancing on the seesaw.. swinging forever with my eyes closed, listening to the air whistling in my ears as I went higher and higher and fell back and forth faster and faster.
It could've been those wonderful rainy days in the winter when I wandered down the road with my family. My dad would hold my hand. We'd always forget the umbrella, so we'd rush down the right side of the road as quick as ever we could and run into Woolworth's. Everyone would be a little damp, but the water beading up on my mum's jet-black hair was beautiful. Like a crown of tiny silver beads gracing her thick locks. And her smile was as bright as ever.
And we'd go into the little McRory's and grab a delicious bite to eat. Back when breakfast was something to be had. Then I'd go and ask for a toy, and usually wouldn't get one, but that was okay. And on occasion, I would get something. A little doll that played a small tune and danced to and fro, wearing a sparkling green dress... and we'd go back into the dampened streets and walk from building to building. Going upstairs and downstairs. From elevator to escalator until we could go no further, and we'd walk back to our car, and head home.
Heck, maybe it was just sitting on the bench in front of the movie theatre at eleven-something at night, yelling at passers-by in German, while we waiting anxiously for the midnight premiere of Return of the King..
Scariest Memory: It's always that shortness of breath, isn't it? That time I sat on a bench waiting for my father to stop arguing with the man at the piano store. They were bickering, and the argument was heated.... I had begged my dad to leave. I wanted to go home. Eventually, I couldn't stand to watch anymore, and I headed for said bench. My dad worked his way to the exit, but the man followed him. They were still arguing with each other, and the man got so angry that he came up behind my father and hit him. My dad fell on the ground, face first... his glasses flew away from his face and across the floor of the mall. I ran to get them, and to help him up. I was trying to fight off tears, and I felt like killing that man right then and there. With my bare hands if I could've. But I was so scared at the same time. I couldn't breathe, I was just scared, and oh so angry. That store isn't there anymore... but even to this day, walking past its previous location brings back a little of that fright, a little of that rage. It takes away my breath in the most unpleasant way. I try to avoid it...
Then there was the time, after we found out about my mum's problem. She was going through what the doctor liked to call 'a crisis'... My dad woke my brother and I up in the middle of the night, pleading with us that we try and get my mum calmed down. Immediately I got scared. There was clanging in the kitchen, and we all bolted there as fast as we could. Everything was on. The kitchen was in shambles... my mum was crying and babbling about how she can never do anything for us now. How it hurt so much and she felt so useless.
She decided that the only time she could be a normal housewife was in the wee hours of night.. when we were all asleep. She'd clean everything then, and she didn't need the sleep. So maybe we'd wake up to a nice clean household... she sounded mad. The pain was in her eyes. My dad yelled something to my brother about making sure she hadn't hurt herself. And he yelled at me to clean the stuff up off the floor.
I was reaching for the cord of the vacuum when I saw two knives lying on the carpet. My head was spinning, and fear took me. Why did she need these knives? Why were they there? They weren't in the kitchen, no, but in the room adjacent to it. But why? What was she doing with them? I shook with fear, and tears streamed down my face. I told my dad as best I could about what I found.. at last I couldn't take it. I ran off to my room and cried myself to sleep, praying that my mum would come to her senses.. praying that the pain would never drive her off the edge again.
Worst Memory: The time I got in a fight with my parents. Undoubtedly the worst one I've ever had. I was fuming at them. Why couldn't they accept the fact that I'm the only one in my family with a different opinion of things? Just because I'm the youngest, they automatically decide I'm completely ignorant.
There was a lot of yelling, a lot of screaming, a lot of tears. I had run off to my room, because I couldn't take it anymore. I'd always been one to shut myself off when I didn't want something to continue. They took this as 'bad attitude'... I heard them asking each other where they went wrong with me. What mistake they could've made. I lay on my bed, harbouring terrible thoughts... my dad would come in, threaten me a bit... but at least he wasn't carrying anything to hit me with... I remembered the scars from the last time... he left me alone, saying he loved me, and wished I'd straighten out. I resented that.
At last my mum came in, and wanted to see if I was asleep. I had such awful, angry feelings, that I turned to her and bitterly told her that her mistake was in giving birth to me in the first place. She nodded, and left. I cried tears of utmost anger, and I drifted in and out of sleep.
Some hours later, my dad woke me up, and told me to go see my mother. I did so, and I found her absolutely sobbing. Never in my life had I seen my mother sob. Cry, yes.. but she was absolutely.. sobbing She looked at me and told me that she could die from the pain I caused her when I told her that. I looked her in the eyes, and burst into tears, begging for forgiveness... I can't recall much of what happened afterwards... but at last she told me that none of this had happened, that it wouldn't be good to remember that moment. That we'd start anew, and forget the pain. But it isn't that easy. Everytime I remember that moment, I can't help but cry. The pain I put her through... and the pain she's already in.. constantly... how could I have ever said such a terrible thing? I'm not sure I've ever forgiven myself for that... or that I ever truly will..
TBC...
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Post by Mippin on Nov 26, 2004 21:17:32 GMT -5
Most Painful Memory: Well, the above sure is one of them...
But another... could be reintroducing myself to an old 'friend', I guess. One I held rather dear... it's happened time after time, but I think as I grow older, and the more recent things are easier to remember, the pain just gets worse... The pain of their glance. The way they'd see right through me. I was of no value to them - just a stranger. There's one particular case I was struggling with a few months ago... everytime I saw 'im... memories... oh the memories that would come back. Terrible memories of the years I first moved here to Port Charlotte. A bit after I became friends with Ala... but after we came upon the realisation that we could be so close to each other, and still we'd be apart. It was that time when I really learned what hate was. Because I hated nearly everyone I was around. I was struggling with myself. Somehow I ended up in a relationship with someone I wasn't so sure I wanted to be friends with. My first impulse about her was to stay away, yet here I was being friends with her. Being false. For years that game went on, but that's another story entirely. Yes, I was a morbid child. I wanted an iron maiden. I wanted to stick many people in an iron maiden. There was but one person that year.. (other than Ala.. but she was in another class, see...) that I didn't hate. One I was rather fond of, actually... and here he was, looking at me with no sign of recognition whatsoever.
I knew it was silly of me to expect anyone to remember me after so many years.. especially if I went away every so often and all... and never saw said person until this year.. but there was still the pain of the memories flooding back to me everytime.. without fail. I had never had memories come back to me... so vibrantly. It was as if someone was playing a bloody movie in my head, y'know? And it was terrible. There were moments I'd look at him, and have to try with all my might to fight off tears. And it wasn't him at all.. it was just the memories he seemed to trigger. It was... painful to have to interact with him in school. It was painful to have to look him straight in the eye and see a blank expression, when all these memories would flood back to me. More breathlessness, indeed.
Today, that doesn't happen so much. Doesn't really happen at all, thankfully. Sure, there are times memories come back... but I guess being used to people forgetting me rather equipped me for that. It was the worst case to date, but I got through it. It was still painful at the time. I didn't have anyone to talk to at the time. Thank you, Charley... I can look back on it, and it's just this grey spot.. but sometimes it's uber-painful... understandably, no?
*wheeze* Wasn't that fun? I could've gone on... but the greyness of retrospect got to me. Interesting, innit? How we can look back on things and they'll be either more vibrant than they were at the time.. or they'll seem unimportant. Maybe I'm just not letting myself get down about things.
Anyway.. I'd be interested in hearing some of your memories.. if ye'd like to share them, that is. Happy ones.. sad ones.. painful ones, if ye'd like... whatever is alright with you. I've heard it's not healthy to think about the bad things that have happened in our lives... but heck.. in my opinion.. if you don't think about them.. you'll end up looking at something or someone one day and BAM! it'll all come flooding back in the most overwhelming manner... fun stuff, that... though happy memories like that really are. ^^
*dances off in the rain* It's interesting. I've not got many happy memories about Port Charlotte. Nothing physical, anyway. I met Ala here... which the best, and makes up for lack of other happy memories here.. but it's always been here that I'd look up in the sky, see the clouds circling by in what could just be mesocyclonic activity, the wind would rush by, chilling everything just a smidge, and I'd think "I don't belong here. I want to go home..." and then I'd have to ask myself where home is... and never will I be able to give a straight answer to that question... not with a phsyical location, leastways...
So memories. Blessing or Curse? Are they one or the other of our own accord? And isn't it interesting how they've led so many people to madness... ah yes.. what is that driving force that keeps us away from the bad kind of insanity?
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Post by Mippin on Nov 26, 2004 21:20:13 GMT -5
Great. I've gone and made myself feel all bleh-ish... Joy.
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Post by Arwen on Nov 27, 2004 13:28:40 GMT -5
"Anyway.. I'd be interested in hearing some of your memories.. if ye'd like to share them, that is."
Okay, I liked hearing your memories, so here are mine.
Earliest Memory: Looking up at my Mom. She was holding my older sister, and behind her was three of my other siblings. My dad in front of her. That's all I remember.
Best Memory: Playing with my older sister. Making acorn people, pretending to be fairys. Before we were interested in being Spiffy, before she thought I dressed weird. Eating salt out of the salt shaker.
To be continued...
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Post by Arwen on Nov 29, 2004 18:50:24 GMT -5
Scariest Memory Do dreams count as memories? I remember them for a long time, but since they don't really happen, I guess they don't count. I had seen the movie Jumanji. Now that I think back, it wasn't a too scary movie. But I sat in bed that night, thinking of the boys fingers growing longer and longer, and being sucked into the board. I was too scared to go to sleep. Maybe it was when I was angry at my life. I screamed at Jake, who was only two, and I screamed at Josh and Hannah. I locked myself in the bathroom, and opened a bottle of pills. I wanted to die. It was then that I got scared. Scared of what I had become. Scared at what I might do. I ended up calling Firi, who didn't know anything was wrong. Talking to her calmed me down, and made me think straight.
Worst Memory Sitting in the emergency waiting room, knowing my little brother or sister (we found out later that it was a boy, but we didn't know the gender then) was dying. It was just me and my little sister. She didn't know why we were there. For the first time, I felt responsible for her, responsible to make sure she was okay. No one would tell me what was happening. My dad came out once to make sure we were okay, but he wouldn't say either. To all my questions, he just responded that "everything would be okay". I wanted to find out something, and know why he was dying. But I just sat there, staring at the window, watching the sun come up. It was a pretty sunrise. Maybe it was when my other brother was dying. Maybe sitting at his funeral, unable to cry was the worst memory. I felt guilty for not crying, but it was as I couldn't. It was raining. In my mind, the sky was crying. We never had a funeral for the other baby. He never had a name. It was as he had never existed. But he did.
Most Painful Memory Sitting at the table in the youth room, writing my goodbyes. Knowing nothing would be the same. Waving goodbye. ____________________________________
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