Entry tags:
Hap hap happy.
Today I like the internet. (Who knows how I'll feel tomorrow.)
I love my flist, I like LJ, I love the archives that voluntarily host my stories for free...I'm just happy.
Had lovely chats with fiesty girl
aerynstales and fabulous Muggle hunter
snapesforte, and they were wonderful.
Flist, if you see I'm online and want to chat, ping away. I may be zoned out or doing laundry, but if I'm there and I'm not working on Teh Ginormous Fic, I'll babble away.
Oh, and I applied for one of the Acolyte positions in
mortifyd's New Alan Order. Here's the "Alan Rickman hymn" I came up with:
He watches. He waits.
His voice cuts glass, soothes hurt, strikes when you least expect, binds your very breath. His voice can crawl inside. His voice can slide around corners and illuminate the dark interior of the box under your bed. His voice drips with honey and its edge is keen. His voice is burnished, coppery, cold against your throat. His voice burns like brandy in your mouth.
In the dark, he is a lion. His growl pins you to the wall, bites at the back of your knee, the tender skin of your inner elbow, it makes you his. He will draw blood and sugar from you, let you thrum beneath his fingers, decadent and breathing holy.
Looking through my Amazing Thesaurus, I found that a synonym for prayer was "Holy breathing" and I am completely transfixed with that phrase now.
Okay, enough randomness for one entry. I hope you all have a lovely day. I'm off to work now.
I love my flist, I like LJ, I love the archives that voluntarily host my stories for free...I'm just happy.
Had lovely chats with fiesty girl
Flist, if you see I'm online and want to chat, ping away. I may be zoned out or doing laundry, but if I'm there and I'm not working on Teh Ginormous Fic, I'll babble away.
Oh, and I applied for one of the Acolyte positions in
He watches. He waits.
His voice cuts glass, soothes hurt, strikes when you least expect, binds your very breath. His voice can crawl inside. His voice can slide around corners and illuminate the dark interior of the box under your bed. His voice drips with honey and its edge is keen. His voice is burnished, coppery, cold against your throat. His voice burns like brandy in your mouth.
In the dark, he is a lion. His growl pins you to the wall, bites at the back of your knee, the tender skin of your inner elbow, it makes you his. He will draw blood and sugar from you, let you thrum beneath his fingers, decadent and breathing holy.
Looking through my Amazing Thesaurus, I found that a synonym for prayer was "Holy breathing" and I am completely transfixed with that phrase now.
Okay, enough randomness for one entry. I hope you all have a lovely day. I'm off to work now.
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I second that. :)
His voice can slide around corners
I love this line, you can actually feel the slide. Such a lovely way of putting it.
"Holy breathing"... is when Severus Snape uses his lungs. ~sigh~ ;-)
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What luck---I chatted with both of the owners of my two most favorite Snapesites! What a day yesterday was.
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Am friending you BTW!
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I once described Alan Rickman's voice as follows:
It sounds like ice melting in a glass of whiskey.
;-)
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I was thinking about "holy breathing" all day. I love this thesaurus. It is totally outdated by today's standards, but it has such haunting images in it...
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