dancingintheink

I'm planning an attack!
Of love!
Towards my little sister!


So I hope you'd recall that my dearest Darling (my tablet) has been unable to perform her duties as a tablet due to a missing chord.

My little sister found one ;u;

I need all of you to go to her profile ( ) and give her love. Hearts, emoticons, drawings, words of thanks c:

I think it'd be a nice way to tell her we appreciate what she did XD (and she and I got in an argument the other day and I think this is a pretty sweet way to apologize)

But I need your help~ D: So go, go, go!

Last night I had a dream about my little sister. This isn't too out of the ordinary, especially since it is her birthday today. If you've ever been with us at a mall, you know that us getting lost in this dream isn't too uncalled for. Well, get lost we did. We were finding an apartment in a maze of apartments, but one thing stuck out to me.

We teased and had fun like we usually do. We fought and we bickered like we usually do. But in the end, no matter what my little sister did and no matter that it was a dream; I was so scared when it was her turn to put her life at risk.

We tend to be a bit stupid, but one thing is for certain about my little sister, wolf-of-ink.
I love her. She's one of my best friends and closest confidants and though it's scary that she's growing up - so incredibly scary - I'm happy she's growing up with me.

Happy birthday, beautiful.

So, if any of you know me on Facebook, you know I post a lot of my silly writings on there because... I can

I decided, because I have seemed to regect you, my lovelies, for far too long I will post a few of those silly little notes here on DA. (I'd also like to assure prize winners and traders that their art is coming, I just got Darling back) <3

First up: Coffee.

As I sit here, ever so daintily sipping my small mug of coffee (for I'm never one to drink in bulk, which I may or may not explain later) I consider... I consider many things but I mostly consider the miracle that is sitting in that pretty little mug.I don't visit coffee shops often. I don't have the resources, the drive or the ability to drive to such places so when I do have coffee it's the occasions that I'm at home and I am (or someone else is) willing to prepare a mug.
I don't say this because I'm lazy, though I guess you could say that I am (I prefer efficient) but because I know that I could very well become addicted to this, if I do say so myself, very addictive drink of caffiene (a dash of caramel syrup) milk (whole, or cream. Never 2%) and sugar. (Two tablespoons)
I don't actually require the caffiene, oh no I do not, but it's a pleasant sensation when I have it and I appreciate it when it's there. And so, if someone were to give me a decaf coffee (splash of caramel syrup, a touch of cream and a generous amount of sugar) I would still find myself exhilarated by the very taste of it. I, in response to the familiarity of coffee, am tricked into believing that I must be more awake (not alert, but awake)
This response, which is a fantastic combination of psychological and nuerological "problems" is what often induces these really silly little writings.Don't you just love coffee?



Second: To make a choice.

His or her soul is represented through his(or her) eyes.For now we'll assume the one I refer to is male.The black pupils seemed to be especially sparkling, due to the power of contrast. I must choose carefully, as I look to the one beside him.The first is calm, kind of pale and full of promises of warm hugs and a shoulder to cry on...But, the other was dark and handsome, with a long face and big grey eyes. There was adventure to be found with him and his bulky, manly physique. He was there for fun, but could I depend on him to be around when I cry into my pillow?I stepped back, eying them both warily. Neither flinched under my gaze, as they were both confident in their capability of being a good companion and fitting in with who I surround myself with. And they probably would.
But wait, a third, large eyed fellow sat away from the rest. He promised smiles and laughs when tears brim my eyes, adventures when we venture out for a picnic in the spring and warmth on those cold and lonely nights.
Though he didn't talk much, I found his name in his big, dark eyes. I chose a fantastic stuffed animal to add to my collection.When I was a kid, I was very particular about what stuffed animals I would choose. I always loved a rabbit one, though.



Third: Story-teller

I've written stories for a long time. Or, perhaps, I mean to say I've invented stories for a long time... I learned to read when I was four, maybe five. I would read bedtime stories for my little sister when I got better at reading, around the age of six. She was four (and a half)

One night, after reading all of our little books I was capable of reading, she still wasn't sleepy. I didn't know what to do, I pitter-pattered across the bathroom to my older sister's bedroom.
"Amanda, Amanda!" I shook her until she woke.

She blinked at me, she didn't look happy but I ignored it.

"Amanda, Katelynn won't sleep!"I was frantic, not sleeping after not only one bedtime story but seven?! What on earth was I to do?

Amanda wasn't pleased, "Read a bedtime story..."

I hopped from one foot to the other.

"I've already done that!"

Amanda sighed, heavily. I didn't believe people could sigh so heavily, waking Amanda up suddenly seemed like a bad idea.
Amanda mulled it over, though I think that the more I remember it the longer it takes for her to answer me.
"Tell her a story."
"What story?"

"Make one up!" She was getting aggravated, I was just then picking up the vibes of it. Forgive me, Amanda, I was slow.

I returned to our room. Pitter-patter. And I told Kate a story.
It went somewhat like this:


"Have you ever heard of the smurf's cousins? (We were avid watchers of the smurfs) No? Oh, well, they're very similar... except they are green!

Not many people think of them, because they don't live anywhere magical. They live under beds! When it is very dark, and all the good girls and boys are asleep, they run out and tidy up a few things."


Needless to say, my little sister was less than happy. Creepy little green people living under her bed?

I headed over to Amanda, for her ever so wise advice. Pitter-patter.

"What?!"

She rolled over and squinted into the bathroom light streaming in through the door. I like to imagine I was a small fluffy silhouette. I figure she imagines I was a nuisance.

"My story didn't work."

Amanda groaned. "What was it?"

I repeated my story, she laughed a little but mostly raised an eyebrow. "You weren't supposed to scare her into sleeping..."

I sighed, I pitter-pattered back, I added to the story.

I was stuck picking the room up a little in the middle of the night for years. I learned my lesson. Stories hold power, you have to be so careful in telling them... And, not everyone has your sick sense of humor, so if you're writing for yourself, don't expect anyone else to love it. When someone does, it'll just add more to that enjoyment.



Fourth:
What freedom did I have to gain,
By social standards well sustained,
By popularity that I've now stained,
To keep me from revolt, again?
What was my loss when I loosed my tongue,
Spoke my defiance to a bully young,
What head was turned, what thought begun?
I've lost nothing, I have truly won.
For lo, I know not how I affect,
(When to their torment, I object!)
Though condition of this is derelict,
Though try may you, to subjugate.
I will indeed, be a strange girl
Not content with stone or pearl,
Not to strive for straight hair or curl,
But to be the gossamer touch
that will change the world.



Fifth:
I hate leaving the protection of my blankets to turn my bedroom light off. By this time, the warmth radiating from my body has been enough to heat the pocket of air beneath the blanket, successfully keeping me comfortably warm. So when I venture out across the tundra, avoiding a book or a shoe or some stuffed animal lying about - left in the unforgiving cold - I find myself dancing tiptoed to the light, hurrying within adequate distance of the bed and launching myself forward to land in such a way to slide back into my lair as easily as possible.
Yup.
I need a clapper.

Does anyone else find that they want to remove art they've favorited from their favorites because of an artist's personality?
I mean, you see something you liked on "newest" or something and you favorite it and decide to go to their page and find stamps/phrases/images/journals/polls that're so offensive that you just want to go back and remove their work from your favorites regardless of how great an artist they are?
I never know if I should, but I'm about to go through my favorites and I think I probably will. I:

So, how do you respond to someone with talent but a poor personality?
What kind of artists do you prefer to watch?