So, let's see last visit I made was to the Belem Cultural Center, It's not exactly a museum... but there's a museum there, and that the part i visited. So let's move on to the report of that visit.
"This morning when I woke up, it was about mid day already, but that's common, because I like to sleep late on Saturdays. I had decided yesterday to go to Belem, to eat so cream cakes. Belem's cream cakes are the best in all of Lisbon, if not of the entire contry.
I searched for something to dress (always an adventure) and then picked up my purse ans went on to catch the bus. I went in the bus to the train station in Cais do Sodré. Once there I caught the train in the direction of Oeiras, and stopped at Belem.
After i got of the train, and walked away from the train station, I went to buy the delicious cakes and while eating then, i decided to go visit the Belem Cultural Center, because it's right there in from of the castle , and of a most beautiful park. The place in itself, looks like a big commercial mall, but it has an open area in the center, with water fountains and coffee shops, and lots of little chairs around small, round tables. 'The Belem Cultural Center has four exhibition areas and a Design Museum that presents exhibitions of plastic arts, architecture, design and photography.'
Or so it said in the brochure, they gave me at the entry. Oh! and the nice men with the brochures also gave me the most adorable pin, shaped like a red heart, and saying: "Culture is life". Finally i got to the entry of the actual museum part, i knew immediately that it was the entry to the museum part of the kind of Commercial Mall structure of the building, because it had a huge green monument, that looked like a statue made from Green glass bottle's shaped to look like a really big tree, or the Eiffel tower, one of the two.
Either way, i entered and there's was just a really big hallway, with completely white walls. As I walked along the hallway, pictures started to appear in the fartest walls, after a closer examination, they proved to be photographs of several events, there didn't appear to be them, but there probably was. The one that remained more in my memory was one of a plain crash.
Along the walls there were several planks providing different information about the museum, like: 'Inaugurated in 1999, the Design Museum opened with a show of 200 pieces, chronologically ordered, allowing the visitor to see the evolution of the concept of design through the 20th century.' and also some information about the exposition, currently on hold: 'The collection, known as the Francisco Capelo collection, is divided into three themes: luxury, pop and cool.'
And then by the end of the hallway, the different works of art begin to appear: from what i was able to gather, the first part of the exhibition is dedicated to pieces originally from France and Italy, the second part is more the post-war era, and finally the third, is mostly European works, painting and such, there's also some statues and paintings that look like they are from the industrial era, with a nice new design.
I particularly liked the painting that represented the pop art.
In overall, it was a pretty nice visit, although i thought that the museum, lacked organization, and maybe a little more coherence in the all of the collection, but it was fun, and very instructive.
I took the train and the bus home and that was my visit day.
segunda-feira, 22 de junho de 2009
50 WORD SAGA:
A 50-word saga, it's a challenge to write a shot story with beginning, middle and ending, with exactly 50 words
There's a website: http://dailylit.com/forums/other/etc/2009/03/18/50-word-challenge
From here, I've two personal favourites:
"She awoke and began her daily routine. Brushing her teeth she noticed the pile of library books on the table. Hearing a strange sound she moved to the window. The streets were empty, and a strange orange light lit the sky. Fate could be very cruel to the over sleeper."
And this one:
"Anna and Piotr anxiously waited for the knock on the door. They would come. It was ineveitable. They had been spotted by one of the cities surveillance cameras. There was no place to hide. "Are you ready" Piotr asked? Anna punched the wall and said "F@ck no", I should have picked up that damn dog poop afterall."
I was so inspired by this extremely fun challenge that i decided to give it a try and after much consideration, i made my own:
I have a strawberries allergy.
Fine, you say, then don’t eat strawberries,
and read the “may contain strawberries” warnings.
And remember: stay away from that little desert section in the menu.
That doesn’t change the fact that my soul mate is the strawberry.
You see, I am Chantilly.
Poor me.
So what do you think?
Good? bad?
This thing is harder than it seems!lol
From shortshortshortstories.com:
This is definitely my favourite short story ever. Beautiful in a dark, brooding way, so deep and yet so simply written. Truly, short stories are not my speciality, I'm used to writing long chapters ones, I find that it takes an extraordinary amount of imagination, not to mention vocabulary. Unfortunately I personally lack the amazing ability to resume, pity.
The Dead Boy at Your Window
By Bruce Holland Rogers
In a distant country where the towns had improbable names, a woman looked upon the unmoving form of her newborn baby and refused to see what the midwife saw. This was her son. She had brought him forth in agony, and now he must suck. She pressed his lips to her breast.
“But he is dead!” said the midwife.
“No,” his mother lied. “I felt him suck just now.” Her lie was as milk to the baby, who really was dead but who now opened his dead eyes and began to kick his dead legs. “There, do you see?” And she made the midwife call the father in to know his son.
The dead boy never did suck at his mother's breast. He sipped no water, never took food of any kind, so of course he never grew. But his father, who was handy with all things mechanical, built a rack for stretching him so that, year by year, he could be as tall as the other children.
When he had seen six winters, his parents sent him to school. Though he was as tall as the other students, the dead boy was strange to look upon. His bald head was almost the right size, but the rest of him was thin as a piece of leather and dry as a stick. He tried to make up for his ugliness with diligence, and every night he was up late practicing his letters and numbers.
His voice was like the rasping of dry leaves. Because it was so hard to hear him, the teacher made all the other students hold their breaths when he gave an answer. She called on him often, and he was always right.
Naturally, the other children despised him. The bullies sometimes waited for him after school, but beating him, even with sticks, did him no harm. He wouldn't even cry out.
One windy day, the bullies stole a ball of twine from their teacher's desk, and after school, they held the dead boy on the ground with his arms out so that he took the shape of a cross. They ran a stick in through his left shirt sleeve and out through the right. They stretched his shirt tails down to his ankles, tied everything in place, fastened the ball of twine to a buttonhole, and launched him. To their delight, the dead boy made an excellent kite. It only added to their pleasure to see that owing to the weight of his head, he flew upside down.
When they were bored with watching the dead boy fly, they let go of the string. The dead boy did not drift back to earth, as any ordinary kite would do. He glided. He could steer a little, though he was mostly at the mercy of the winds. And he could not come down. Indeed, the wind blew him higher and higher.
The sun set, and still the dead boy rode the wind. The moon rose and by its glow he saw the fields and forests drifting by. He saw mountain ranges pass beneath him, and oceans and continents. At last the winds gentled, then ceased, and he glided down to the ground in a strange country. The ground was bare. The moon and stars had vanished from the sky. The air seemed gray and shrouded. The dead boy leaned to one side and shook himself until the stick fell from his shirt. He wound up the twine that had trailed behind him and waited for the sun to rise. Hour after long hour, there was only the same grayness. So he began to wander.
He encountered a man who looked much like himself, a bald head atop leathery limbs. “Where am I?” the dead boy asked.
The man looked at the grayness all around. “Where?” the man said. His voice, like the dead boy's, sounded like the whisper of dead leaves stirring.
A woman emerged from the grayness. Her head was bald, too, and her body dried out. “This!” she rasped, touching the dead boy's shirt. “I remember this!” She tugged on the dead boy's sleeve. “I had a thing like this!”
“Clothes?” said the dead boy.
“Clothes!” the woman cried. “That's what it is called!”
More shriveled people came out of the grayness. They crowded close to see the strange dead boy who wore clothes. Now the dead boy knew where he was. “This is the land of the dead.”
“Why do you have clothes?” asked the dead woman. “We came here with nothing! Why do you have clothes?”
“I have always been dead,” said the dead boy, “but I spent six years among the living.”
“Six years!” said one of the dead. “And you have only just now come to us?”
“Did you know my wife?” asked a dead man. “Is she still among the living?”
“Give me news of my son!”
“What about my sister?”
The dead people crowded closer.
The dead boy said, “What is your sister's name?” But the dead could not remember the names of their loved ones. They did not even remember their own names. Likewise, the names of the places where they had lived, the numbers given to their years, the manners or fashions of their times, all of these they had forgotten.
“Well,” said the dead boy, “in the town where I was born, there was a widow. Maybe she was your wife. I knew a boy whose mother had died, and an old woman who might have been your sister.”
“Are you going back?”
“Of course not,” said another dead person. “No one
ever goes back.”
“I think I might,” the dead boy said. He explained about his flying. “When next the wind blows....”
“The wind never blows here,” said a man so newly dead that he remembered wind.
“Then you could run with my string.”
“Would that work?”
“Take a message to my husband!” said a dead woman.
“Tell my wife that I miss her!” said a dead man.
“Let my sister know I haven't forgotten her!”
“Say to my lover that I love him still!”
They gave him their messages, not knowing whether or not their loved ones were themselves long dead. Indeed, dead lovers might well be standing next to one another in the land of the dead, giving messages for each other to the dead boy. Still, he memorized them all. Then the dead put the stick back inside his shirt sleeves, tied everything in place, and unwound his string. Running as fast as their leathery legs could manage, they pulled the dead boy back into the sky, let go of the string, and watched with their dead eyes as he glided away.
He glided a long time over the gray stillness of death until at last a puff of wind blew him higher, until a breath of wind took him higher still, until a gust of wind carried him up above the grayness to where he could see the moon and the stars. Below he saw moonlight reflected in the ocean. In the distance rose mountain peaks. The dead boy came to earth in a little village. He knew no one here, but he went to the first house he came to and rapped on the bedroom shutters. To the woman who answered, he said, “A message from the land of the dead,” and gave her one of the messages. The woman wept, and gave him a message in return.
House by house, he delivered the messages. House by house, he collected messages for the dead. In the morning, he found some boys to fly him, to give him back to the wind's mercy so he could carry these new messages back to the land of the dead.
So it has been ever since. On any night, head full of messages, he may rap upon any window to remind someone -- to remind you, perhaps -- of love that outlives memory, of love that needs no names.
THE END
The Dead Boy at Your Window
By Bruce Holland Rogers
In a distant country where the towns had improbable names, a woman looked upon the unmoving form of her newborn baby and refused to see what the midwife saw. This was her son. She had brought him forth in agony, and now he must suck. She pressed his lips to her breast.
“But he is dead!” said the midwife.
“No,” his mother lied. “I felt him suck just now.” Her lie was as milk to the baby, who really was dead but who now opened his dead eyes and began to kick his dead legs. “There, do you see?” And she made the midwife call the father in to know his son.
The dead boy never did suck at his mother's breast. He sipped no water, never took food of any kind, so of course he never grew. But his father, who was handy with all things mechanical, built a rack for stretching him so that, year by year, he could be as tall as the other children.
When he had seen six winters, his parents sent him to school. Though he was as tall as the other students, the dead boy was strange to look upon. His bald head was almost the right size, but the rest of him was thin as a piece of leather and dry as a stick. He tried to make up for his ugliness with diligence, and every night he was up late practicing his letters and numbers.
His voice was like the rasping of dry leaves. Because it was so hard to hear him, the teacher made all the other students hold their breaths when he gave an answer. She called on him often, and he was always right.
Naturally, the other children despised him. The bullies sometimes waited for him after school, but beating him, even with sticks, did him no harm. He wouldn't even cry out.
One windy day, the bullies stole a ball of twine from their teacher's desk, and after school, they held the dead boy on the ground with his arms out so that he took the shape of a cross. They ran a stick in through his left shirt sleeve and out through the right. They stretched his shirt tails down to his ankles, tied everything in place, fastened the ball of twine to a buttonhole, and launched him. To their delight, the dead boy made an excellent kite. It only added to their pleasure to see that owing to the weight of his head, he flew upside down.
When they were bored with watching the dead boy fly, they let go of the string. The dead boy did not drift back to earth, as any ordinary kite would do. He glided. He could steer a little, though he was mostly at the mercy of the winds. And he could not come down. Indeed, the wind blew him higher and higher.
The sun set, and still the dead boy rode the wind. The moon rose and by its glow he saw the fields and forests drifting by. He saw mountain ranges pass beneath him, and oceans and continents. At last the winds gentled, then ceased, and he glided down to the ground in a strange country. The ground was bare. The moon and stars had vanished from the sky. The air seemed gray and shrouded. The dead boy leaned to one side and shook himself until the stick fell from his shirt. He wound up the twine that had trailed behind him and waited for the sun to rise. Hour after long hour, there was only the same grayness. So he began to wander.
He encountered a man who looked much like himself, a bald head atop leathery limbs. “Where am I?” the dead boy asked.
The man looked at the grayness all around. “Where?” the man said. His voice, like the dead boy's, sounded like the whisper of dead leaves stirring.
A woman emerged from the grayness. Her head was bald, too, and her body dried out. “This!” she rasped, touching the dead boy's shirt. “I remember this!” She tugged on the dead boy's sleeve. “I had a thing like this!”
“Clothes?” said the dead boy.
“Clothes!” the woman cried. “That's what it is called!”
More shriveled people came out of the grayness. They crowded close to see the strange dead boy who wore clothes. Now the dead boy knew where he was. “This is the land of the dead.”
“Why do you have clothes?” asked the dead woman. “We came here with nothing! Why do you have clothes?”
“I have always been dead,” said the dead boy, “but I spent six years among the living.”
“Six years!” said one of the dead. “And you have only just now come to us?”
“Did you know my wife?” asked a dead man. “Is she still among the living?”
“Give me news of my son!”
“What about my sister?”
The dead people crowded closer.
The dead boy said, “What is your sister's name?” But the dead could not remember the names of their loved ones. They did not even remember their own names. Likewise, the names of the places where they had lived, the numbers given to their years, the manners or fashions of their times, all of these they had forgotten.
“Well,” said the dead boy, “in the town where I was born, there was a widow. Maybe she was your wife. I knew a boy whose mother had died, and an old woman who might have been your sister.”
“Are you going back?”
“Of course not,” said another dead person. “No one
ever goes back.”
“I think I might,” the dead boy said. He explained about his flying. “When next the wind blows....”
“The wind never blows here,” said a man so newly dead that he remembered wind.
“Then you could run with my string.”
“Would that work?”
“Take a message to my husband!” said a dead woman.
“Tell my wife that I miss her!” said a dead man.
“Let my sister know I haven't forgotten her!”
“Say to my lover that I love him still!”
They gave him their messages, not knowing whether or not their loved ones were themselves long dead. Indeed, dead lovers might well be standing next to one another in the land of the dead, giving messages for each other to the dead boy. Still, he memorized them all. Then the dead put the stick back inside his shirt sleeves, tied everything in place, and unwound his string. Running as fast as their leathery legs could manage, they pulled the dead boy back into the sky, let go of the string, and watched with their dead eyes as he glided away.
He glided a long time over the gray stillness of death until at last a puff of wind blew him higher, until a breath of wind took him higher still, until a gust of wind carried him up above the grayness to where he could see the moon and the stars. Below he saw moonlight reflected in the ocean. In the distance rose mountain peaks. The dead boy came to earth in a little village. He knew no one here, but he went to the first house he came to and rapped on the bedroom shutters. To the woman who answered, he said, “A message from the land of the dead,” and gave her one of the messages. The woman wept, and gave him a message in return.
House by house, he delivered the messages. House by house, he collected messages for the dead. In the morning, he found some boys to fly him, to give him back to the wind's mercy so he could carry these new messages back to the land of the dead.
So it has been ever since. On any night, head full of messages, he may rap upon any window to remind someone -- to remind you, perhaps -- of love that outlives memory, of love that needs no names.
THE END
quarta-feira, 22 de abril de 2009
GODIVA
So... i was listening to Queen, "Don't Stop Me Now" and caught this one:
"...I´m a racing car, passing by like Lady Godiva...".
Which led to me searching the story on wikipédia, it's a pretty fun story and there are tons of references to it in popular music, literature, TVs series and even movies. So you can search for the story yourselves, I'm just going to put the poem i found in wikipédia, and that i think is so cool.
Oh! and say this: "Poorly clothed or naked man have little or no influence in society... of course, the reverse happens with women."
Godiva (poem)
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Godiva is a poem written in 1842 by the poet Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809 - 1892). It is based on the story of the Countess Godiva (c. 980 - 1067), an Anglo-Saxon lady who, according to legend, rode naked through the streets of Coventry in England after her husband promised that he would remit oppressive taxes on his tenants if she agreed to do so.
"I waited for the train at Coventry;
I hung with grooms and porters on the bridge,
To watch the three tall spires; and there I shaped
The city's ancient legend into this:
Not only we, the latest seed of Time,
New men, that in the flying of a wheel
Cry down the past, not only we, that prate
Of rights and wrongs, have loved the people well,
And loathed to see them overtax'd; but she
Did more, and underwent, and overcame,
The woman of a thousand summers back,
Godiva, wife to that grim Earl, who ruled
In Coventry: for when he laid a tax
Upon his town, and all the mothers brought
Their children, clamoring, "If we pay, we starve!"
She sought her lord, and found him, where he strode
About the hall, among his dogs, alone,
His beard a foot before him and his hair
A yard behind. She told him of their tears,
And pray'd him, "If they pay this tax, they starve."
Whereat he stared, replying, half-amazed,
"You would not let your little finger ache
For such as these?" -- "But I would die," said she.
He laugh'd, and swore by Peter and by Paul;
Then fillip'd at the diamond in her ear;
"Oh ay, ay, ay, you talk!" -- "Alas!" she said,
"But prove me what I would not do."
And from a heart as rough as Esau's hand,
He answer'd, "Ride you naked thro' the town,
And I repeal it;" and nodding, as in scorn,
He parted, with great strides among his dogs.
So left alone, the passions of her mind,
As winds from all the compass shift and blow,
Made war upon each other for an hour,
Till pity won. She sent a herald forth,
And bade him cry, with sound of trumpet, all
The hard condition; but that she would loose
The people: therefore, as they loved her well,
From then till noon no foot should pace the street,
No eye look down, she passing; but that all
Should keep within, door shut, and window barr'd.
Then fled she to her inmost bower, and there
Unclasp'd the wedded eagles of her belt,
The grim Earl's gift; but ever at a breath
She linger'd, looking like a summer moon
Half-dipt in cloud: anon she shook her head,
And shower'd the rippled ringlets to her knee;
Unclad herself in haste; adown the stair
Stole on; and, like a creeping sunbeam, slid
From pillar unto pillar, until she reach'd
The Gateway, there she found her palfrey trapt
In purple blazon'd with armorial gold.
Then she rode forth, clothed on with chastity:
The deep air listen'd round her as she rode,
And all the low wind hardly breathed for fear.
The little wide-mouth'd heads upon the spout
Had cunning eyes to see: the barking cur
Made her cheek flame; her palfrey's foot-fall shot
Light horrors thro' her pulses; the blind walls
Were full of chinks and holes; and overhead
Fantastic gables, crowding, stared: but she
Not less thro' all bore up, till, last, she saw
The white-flower'd elder-thicket from the field,
Gleam thro' the Gothic archway in the wall.
Then she rode back, clothed on with chastity;
And one low churl, compact of thankless earth,
The fatal byword of all years to come,
Boring a little auger-hole in fear,
Peep'd -- but his eyes, before they had their will,
Were shrivel'd into darkness in his head,
And dropt before him. So the Powers, who wait
On noble deeds, cancell'd a sense misused;
And she, that knew not, pass'd: and all at once,
With twelve great shocks of sound, the shameless noon
Was clash'd and hammer'd from a hundred towers,
One after one: but even then she gain'd
Her bower; whence reissuing, robed and crown'd,
To meet her lord, she took the tax away
And built herself an everlasting name."
You've got to admire a women who know how to get her way!
Go Godiva! To women around the world, her name means more than just good chocolate!
"...I´m a racing car, passing by like Lady Godiva...".
Which led to me searching the story on wikipédia, it's a pretty fun story and there are tons of references to it in popular music, literature, TVs series and even movies. So you can search for the story yourselves, I'm just going to put the poem i found in wikipédia, and that i think is so cool.
Oh! and say this: "Poorly clothed or naked man have little or no influence in society... of course, the reverse happens with women."
Godiva (poem)
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Godiva is a poem written in 1842 by the poet Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809 - 1892). It is based on the story of the Countess Godiva (c. 980 - 1067), an Anglo-Saxon lady who, according to legend, rode naked through the streets of Coventry in England after her husband promised that he would remit oppressive taxes on his tenants if she agreed to do so.
"I waited for the train at Coventry;
I hung with grooms and porters on the bridge,
To watch the three tall spires; and there I shaped
The city's ancient legend into this:
Not only we, the latest seed of Time,
New men, that in the flying of a wheel
Cry down the past, not only we, that prate
Of rights and wrongs, have loved the people well,
And loathed to see them overtax'd; but she
Did more, and underwent, and overcame,
The woman of a thousand summers back,
Godiva, wife to that grim Earl, who ruled
In Coventry: for when he laid a tax
Upon his town, and all the mothers brought
Their children, clamoring, "If we pay, we starve!"
She sought her lord, and found him, where he strode
About the hall, among his dogs, alone,
His beard a foot before him and his hair
A yard behind. She told him of their tears,
And pray'd him, "If they pay this tax, they starve."
Whereat he stared, replying, half-amazed,
"You would not let your little finger ache
For such as these?" -- "But I would die," said she.
He laugh'd, and swore by Peter and by Paul;
Then fillip'd at the diamond in her ear;
"Oh ay, ay, ay, you talk!" -- "Alas!" she said,
"But prove me what I would not do."
And from a heart as rough as Esau's hand,
He answer'd, "Ride you naked thro' the town,
And I repeal it;" and nodding, as in scorn,
He parted, with great strides among his dogs.
So left alone, the passions of her mind,
As winds from all the compass shift and blow,
Made war upon each other for an hour,
Till pity won. She sent a herald forth,
And bade him cry, with sound of trumpet, all
The hard condition; but that she would loose
The people: therefore, as they loved her well,
From then till noon no foot should pace the street,
No eye look down, she passing; but that all
Should keep within, door shut, and window barr'd.
Then fled she to her inmost bower, and there
Unclasp'd the wedded eagles of her belt,
The grim Earl's gift; but ever at a breath
She linger'd, looking like a summer moon
Half-dipt in cloud: anon she shook her head,
And shower'd the rippled ringlets to her knee;
Unclad herself in haste; adown the stair
Stole on; and, like a creeping sunbeam, slid
From pillar unto pillar, until she reach'd
The Gateway, there she found her palfrey trapt
In purple blazon'd with armorial gold.
Then she rode forth, clothed on with chastity:
The deep air listen'd round her as she rode,
And all the low wind hardly breathed for fear.
The little wide-mouth'd heads upon the spout
Had cunning eyes to see: the barking cur
Made her cheek flame; her palfrey's foot-fall shot
Light horrors thro' her pulses; the blind walls
Were full of chinks and holes; and overhead
Fantastic gables, crowding, stared: but she
Not less thro' all bore up, till, last, she saw
The white-flower'd elder-thicket from the field,
Gleam thro' the Gothic archway in the wall.
Then she rode back, clothed on with chastity;
And one low churl, compact of thankless earth,
The fatal byword of all years to come,
Boring a little auger-hole in fear,
Peep'd -- but his eyes, before they had their will,
Were shrivel'd into darkness in his head,
And dropt before him. So the Powers, who wait
On noble deeds, cancell'd a sense misused;
And she, that knew not, pass'd: and all at once,
With twelve great shocks of sound, the shameless noon
Was clash'd and hammer'd from a hundred towers,
One after one: but even then she gain'd
Her bower; whence reissuing, robed and crown'd,
To meet her lord, she took the tax away
And built herself an everlasting name."
You've got to admire a women who know how to get her way!
Go Godiva! To women around the world, her name means more than just good chocolate!
domingo, 29 de março de 2009
Star Light, Star Bright
Star Light, Star Bright,
I wish you may,
I wish you might.
Grant me my wish
that I wish tonight.
Love the poem, used to sing it every time I saw a star when I was in my family camping trips.
I wish you may,
I wish you might.
Grant me my wish
that I wish tonight.
Love the poem, used to sing it every time I saw a star when I was in my family camping trips.
quinta-feira, 5 de março de 2009
Speak Out for the Right to Diference
I was wandering on the net and found a site called Speak Out
GLBT Speakers -http://www.speakoutboston.org/
Its the official site of a gay, lesbian, bisexual and trangender speakers bureau.
And they are on a mission: To rid the world of homo-bi-transphobia and other forms of prejudice!
Go and take a look!
Speak out about everyone's right to diference!
GLBT Speakers -http://www.speakoutboston.org/
Its the official site of a gay, lesbian, bisexual and trangender speakers bureau.
And they are on a mission: To rid the world of homo-bi-transphobia and other forms of prejudice!
Go and take a look!
Speak out about everyone's right to diference!
terça-feira, 3 de fevereiro de 2009
Language Abusers Anonymous
I haven't written anything in this blog for a while now, because I've been too busy with my hobby of reading Harry Potter fanfiction.
So here it is:
...I’m calling to order a meeting of Language Abusers Anonymous.
After reading hundreds of Fanfictions, where the writing is in the least ridiculous, from people who claim to have English has their first language, and who I (who only have English as second language) think they can only know English in idiot-vile.
I have come to the conclusion that you all need a language abuse class.
Let's begin and in easy sentences, remember here are the wrong things to do, with the right words:
So here it is:
...I’m calling to order a meeting of Language Abusers Anonymous.
After reading hundreds of Fanfictions, where the writing is in the least ridiculous, from people who claim to have English has their first language, and who I (who only have English as second language) think they can only know English in idiot-vile.
I have come to the conclusion that you all need a language abuse class.
Let's begin and in easy sentences, remember here are the wrong things to do, with the right words:
- Prey/Pray: I prey that together we shall find our pray.
- Council/Counsel: The counsel badly needs your council on this matter!
- Two/To/Too: I'd like two go too so I can get to the final.
- There/Their/They're: Their was a loud bang, which hurt they're ears, and there going to have to punish someone.
- Draught/Drought: In order to counteract the effects of the draught she took a hydrating drought.
- Throes/Throws: Lost in the throws of passion, Draco knocked one of the throes off the bed.
- Brake/Break: During my summer brake I learned how to use the emergency break in my car.
- Summary/Summery: She was wearing a summary sort of dress, but that wasn't mentioned in the summery, as the author wasn't that cruel.
- Shutter/Shudder: The shudders gave a dangerous shutter as the wind picked up.
- Wither/Writhe: She withered on the floor as her lifeforce, writhed away. (Gah, that was pathetic.)
- Wonder/Wander: She told him very firmly not to wonder around the castle at night, no matter how much of a sense of wander the ancient structure held for him.
- Explicit/Implicit: Our explicit trust in each other means I'm not all that bothered by those implicit porn sites he likes to visit.
- Wary/Weary: I am so wary of you sounding like a broken record. And lately, I've been peeking down corridors before entering, weary of the possibility of you being present.
- Loose/Lose: Don't let him get lose or we'll loose!
- Clothes/Cloths: My cloths were incredibly expensive looking, despite the fact that Madame Malkin used a fairly cheap selection of patterned clothes to fashion them.
- Rogue/Rouge: My rouge character in EverCrack isn't allowed to wear rogue!
- Elicit/Illicit: We need to illicit some information about her elicit actitivies.
- Calm/Clam: I've never seen such a clam bed of calms before. Wow.
- Accept/Except: You should except that all dobermans are vicious, accept the one I own, because I trained him real good.
- Weather/Whether: Weather or not I can see outside, the state of my sinuses are a good indication of the whether.
- Sore/Soar: If you sore around like that with those new wings you're going to be really soar in the morning.
- Your/You're: I don't know what you think your doing thinking that's you're food, you muffin-napper!
- Bear/Bare: The scars I bare are only visible if I sweep aside my hair and bear my neck.
- Fowl/Foul: That foul smells really fowl.
- Cue/Queue: Oh! That's our queue to form up in a cue.
- Quiet/Quite: He asked us to keep things quite, and I'm quiet sure he'll become angry if we don't.
- Here/Hear: Now see hear. I don't want to here anything else like that!
- Where/Wear/Ware: Wear the castle! It's a place ware if you where red you could be shot.
- Choke/Chock: Harry chocked on hearing the news, accidentally kicking the choke out from under the wheel of the wagon.
- Mute/Moot: It's a mute point that he's moot. I already knew he couldn't speak!
- Altar/Alter: God will punish you if you altar the alter!
- Maybe/May Be: It maybe true, but may be he'll change his mind.
- Apart/A Part: Apart of me simply can't stand to be a part from you.
- Tome/Tomb: The tomb was retrieved from a dusty Egyptian tome.
- Bane/Bain: The bain of my existence can often be found at the bane I frequent.
- Vein/Vain/Vane: I'd be careful given that you're so vein. The vain on that windmill could open a vane if you get too close.
- Discreet/Discrete: He used a discreet variable, because among his set it was considered the discrete thing to do.
- Past/Passed: I past him in the hallways, as I had often done in the passed.
- Bored/Board: If you're that board, I could smack you upside the head with a bored.
- Sight/Site: The sight is within site, if you look in that direction.
- Heal/Heel: Hold still and let me heel your heal.
- Precedence/Precedents: There are precedence which must take precedents.
- Rein/Reign: Harry took up the reigns of power in the new rein.
- Died/Dyed: He dyed due to a violently allergic reaction after having died his hair....
*sorry, you are forgiven if you can't stop laughing long enough to comment... lol
domingo, 25 de janeiro de 2009
Hi there!
I created a new personal blog.
It's called FUEL4LIFE.
And you access it here: http://fuel4lifemystyle.blogspot.com/
please check it out! and comment!
You will have my eternal thanks! and my everlasting appreciation!
I promise to return the favor and comment the blog of whoever comments my blog!
So please comment! I will give you cookies! :)
It's called FUEL4LIFE.
And you access it here: http://fuel4lifemystyle.blogspot.com/
please check it out! and comment!
You will have my eternal thanks! and my everlasting appreciation!
I promise to return the favor and comment the blog of whoever comments my blog!
So please comment! I will give you cookies! :)
quarta-feira, 21 de janeiro de 2009
Love
well, i knew i had to post here someday and now the time has come. what i'm gonna post it's not "well-written", for example, i didn't use capital letters and there's a lot of commas. there's an explanation for that. i always write like that, as you can see now. it's a way to organize my thoughts, so it's easier for me. hope you don't mind me writing like that, because you can understand everything i wrote this way. i wrote this today, just a few minutes ago. you will see by the context of my text that all i wrote is true, it's not some made-up story. it's about my life, about something very recent. something that i would like to have back. well, i don't know what else to say, so i'm just gonna copy paste it here. hope you like it.
-> nothing will ever be so clear: i love you. i cannot live without you. it hurts so much to be away from you. it hurts so much when we're not together. i just wanna be with you. i just wanna make you happy. i just wanna make you smile. i just want you to love me. i just want you to be with me. if you're by my side, i don't want nothing else. i'll try to be a better person. i'll try to never let you down. i'll try to never make you unhappy or sad. i'll do it. i know i will. because i love you. i do love you. you're my soulmate. you're the best thing that ever happened to me. and i know we can be happy together. i know. and i swear that's all i want, to make you happy. i wanna see that smile again. i wanna see that look again. i want those kisses. i want those hugs. i want those days, where we used to be together doing nothing, just being together. i want those hands that used to confort me all the time. i want those words, the words you said to me, always in the right time. i want those cold days, when we used to lie down together, warm. i want you to pick me up at the train station. i want you to knock at my door. i even want that bad temper you have. i have it too. see how we match ? i want to say that i love your hair. i want to say that i love your beard and that i don't want you to shave it off. i want to say that your eyes are the most beautiful eyes i've ever seen. i want you to say that your nose is big, so i can answer that yes, it is big, but i love it. i want to say that i'm fat, so you can make that face like: "you're so silly". i want to be with you and your friends, because truth is: i like them all. i want to go out at night with you and tell you not to drink too much, waiting for you to make that lovely face. i want to go out at night with you, so we can sleep together in a tiny couch. even when you're going out without me, i want to say: "be a good boy". i want you to take care of me when i'm sick, and i wanna take care of you too. because you're one of my most important persons. i miss you explaining me all about star wars while we were watching the movies, beause i'm really dumb. i and i miss calling you nerd. i want to go to the japanese with you. to the italian. to the zoo. to the oceanarium. to the beach. on vacation. because we never had the chance to do that. i want to fulfill all those silly plans we made together. and i want to make some more. guess they're not so silly if they're with you. i even miss your friends making fun of me, of us. i miss talking with you without shuting up while you, seriously, are paying all your attention to what i'm saying. i miss being silly with you. our games. our tickling. our afternoon teas. our movies. i even miss your sleepy face. i want to watch you sleep, like i did a lot of times, and to touch and kiss your face while you do that. i want to sleep with you like we did, embraced. i want to say: "come to bed, it's cold" or "cover me, i'm so cold". i even miss the angry face you used to made when you saw the cuts in my hands, did by my cat. so you can see how much i really miss you, i even miss when you used to said: "i hate your cat". and when i asked you: "why?", you always answered: "because he hurts you". don't you miss it ? doesn't it makes you laugh when you remember how he used to piss us off when we were lying on the couch ? how he was jealous of you and when you said: "she's mine, get off". doesn't it brings good memories ? good memories we could repeat, and even make better. better memories. better days. something you don't know, but i miss my mom asking for you, asking when were you going to meet me at my place, how she said that she really liked you. i even miss your mom saying: "you don't need to be shy" and giving me a hug. your dad with that big big smile saying hi to me, and calling me: "little one", like you did all the time. and i even miss my father asking me: "what's his name ?" and my brother saying you had some nice jokes (yeah, he really liked you). my friends saying: "it can really show that you love each other" and "his eyes are sooo beautiful !". yeah, that's right, and they used to be mine. i want them again. there's nothing like your eyes, looking at me so deeply, enough to make me melt away. i miss those times, those moments we spent together. it seems like a lifetime to me. but i know it's not, and that's why i want you back, to make them last for a lifetime this time. no more pain, no more sorrow, just happy moments, just happy faces and a lot of smiles ! and a lot of love too. they say that love is the greatest feeling in the world, that when you love you can overcome pain, sorrow, sadness, well, everything that's bad. i love you, and i want to take your pain away. i want to bring that same old smile to your face. i don't know what else to say. there's so much i could say, so much i would never finish. i just want to say i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you. and i want you back. so give just one chance to our love, one opportunity. i know we can make it happen. i know we can make it better this time. i know we're meant to be happy together.
Filipa Marques
-> nothing will ever be so clear: i love you. i cannot live without you. it hurts so much to be away from you. it hurts so much when we're not together. i just wanna be with you. i just wanna make you happy. i just wanna make you smile. i just want you to love me. i just want you to be with me. if you're by my side, i don't want nothing else. i'll try to be a better person. i'll try to never let you down. i'll try to never make you unhappy or sad. i'll do it. i know i will. because i love you. i do love you. you're my soulmate. you're the best thing that ever happened to me. and i know we can be happy together. i know. and i swear that's all i want, to make you happy. i wanna see that smile again. i wanna see that look again. i want those kisses. i want those hugs. i want those days, where we used to be together doing nothing, just being together. i want those hands that used to confort me all the time. i want those words, the words you said to me, always in the right time. i want those cold days, when we used to lie down together, warm. i want you to pick me up at the train station. i want you to knock at my door. i even want that bad temper you have. i have it too. see how we match ? i want to say that i love your hair. i want to say that i love your beard and that i don't want you to shave it off. i want to say that your eyes are the most beautiful eyes i've ever seen. i want you to say that your nose is big, so i can answer that yes, it is big, but i love it. i want to say that i'm fat, so you can make that face like: "you're so silly". i want to be with you and your friends, because truth is: i like them all. i want to go out at night with you and tell you not to drink too much, waiting for you to make that lovely face. i want to go out at night with you, so we can sleep together in a tiny couch. even when you're going out without me, i want to say: "be a good boy". i want you to take care of me when i'm sick, and i wanna take care of you too. because you're one of my most important persons. i miss you explaining me all about star wars while we were watching the movies, beause i'm really dumb. i and i miss calling you nerd. i want to go to the japanese with you. to the italian. to the zoo. to the oceanarium. to the beach. on vacation. because we never had the chance to do that. i want to fulfill all those silly plans we made together. and i want to make some more. guess they're not so silly if they're with you. i even miss your friends making fun of me, of us. i miss talking with you without shuting up while you, seriously, are paying all your attention to what i'm saying. i miss being silly with you. our games. our tickling. our afternoon teas. our movies. i even miss your sleepy face. i want to watch you sleep, like i did a lot of times, and to touch and kiss your face while you do that. i want to sleep with you like we did, embraced. i want to say: "come to bed, it's cold" or "cover me, i'm so cold". i even miss the angry face you used to made when you saw the cuts in my hands, did by my cat. so you can see how much i really miss you, i even miss when you used to said: "i hate your cat". and when i asked you: "why?", you always answered: "because he hurts you". don't you miss it ? doesn't it makes you laugh when you remember how he used to piss us off when we were lying on the couch ? how he was jealous of you and when you said: "she's mine, get off". doesn't it brings good memories ? good memories we could repeat, and even make better. better memories. better days. something you don't know, but i miss my mom asking for you, asking when were you going to meet me at my place, how she said that she really liked you. i even miss your mom saying: "you don't need to be shy" and giving me a hug. your dad with that big big smile saying hi to me, and calling me: "little one", like you did all the time. and i even miss my father asking me: "what's his name ?" and my brother saying you had some nice jokes (yeah, he really liked you). my friends saying: "it can really show that you love each other" and "his eyes are sooo beautiful !". yeah, that's right, and they used to be mine. i want them again. there's nothing like your eyes, looking at me so deeply, enough to make me melt away. i miss those times, those moments we spent together. it seems like a lifetime to me. but i know it's not, and that's why i want you back, to make them last for a lifetime this time. no more pain, no more sorrow, just happy moments, just happy faces and a lot of smiles ! and a lot of love too. they say that love is the greatest feeling in the world, that when you love you can overcome pain, sorrow, sadness, well, everything that's bad. i love you, and i want to take your pain away. i want to bring that same old smile to your face. i don't know what else to say. there's so much i could say, so much i would never finish. i just want to say i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you. and i want you back. so give just one chance to our love, one opportunity. i know we can make it happen. i know we can make it better this time. i know we're meant to be happy together.
Filipa Marques
domingo, 18 de janeiro de 2009
Apparently I've a problem...
Addicted to books part 2...
the Truth is in here...
Never judge a book by it's movie
A bookstore is one of the only pieces of evidence we have that people are still thinking.
Where is human nature so weak as in the bookstore? ~ Henry Ward Beecher
Never lend books, for no one ever returns them. The only books I have in my library are books that other folks have lent me.
A good novel tells us the truth about its hero; but a bad novel tells us the truth about its author. ~ G. K. Chesterton
When a new book is published, read an old one. Unknown
This paperback is very interesting, but I find it will never replace a hardcover book - it makes a very poor doorstop. ~ Alfred Hitchcock
The covers of this book are too far apart. ~ Ambrose Bierce
The multitude of books is making us ignorant. ~ Voltaire
I find television very educating. Every time somebody turns on the set, I go into the other room and read a book. ~ Groucho Marx
The most technologically efficient machine that man has ever invented is the book. 
Library in nature...
I love reading
I love writing.
I love writing ABOUT reading!
I love writing ABOUT reading!
Ok...
So, on Addicted to books part 2
we are going to take a tour on
we are going to take a tour on
great quotes and images about
our favourite topic...
our favourite topic...
BOOKS!!!
Welcome to BookLand...
All the "rides" are own by different people on the Internet
So none or very little actually belongs to me
So none or very little actually belongs to me
Except my photo...
I'm not gonna say which one it is,
because if you know me you already know and if you don't
well... though luck!´
well... though luck!´
Popcorn is free
Coca-Cola was free, but then I got thirsty...
and if you are a Prince of Tennis Fan,
(such as myself) I can offer you some Grape Ponta...
OK... Let's Begin...
SPEAK OUT turns to READ OUT
Never judge a book by it's movie
***
There's many a bestseller that could have been prevented by a good teacher.
Books are the quietest and most constant of friends; they are the most accessible and wisest of counsellors, and the most patient of teachers. Charles W. Eliot (1834 - 1926), The Happy Life, 1896
Be as careful of the books you read, as of the company you keep; for your habits and character will be as much influenced by the former as by the latter. Paxton Hood
From the moment I picked your book up until I laid it down I was convulsed with laughter. Some day I intend reading it.
Books are uniquely portable magic. Stephen King
Thank you for sending me a copy of your book - I'll waste no time reading it.
Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me
From mine own library
with volumes that
I prize above my dukedom.
William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616),
The Tempest, Act 1 scene 2
It had been startling and disappointing to me to find out that story books had been written by people, that books were not natural wonders, coming of themselves like grass. Unknown
A bookstore is one of the only pieces of evidence we have that people are still thinking.
Where is human nature so weak as in the bookstore? ~ Henry Ward Beecher
Wear the old coat and buy the new book. ~ Austin Phelps
A room without books is like a body without a soul. ~ Cicero
A room without books is like a body without a soul. ~ Cicero
Never lend books, for no one ever returns them. The only books I have in my library are books that other folks have lent me.
A good novel tells us the truth about its hero; but a bad novel tells us the truth about its author. ~ G. K. Chesterton
When a new book is published, read an old one. Unknown
***
My sole literary ambition is to write one good novel, then retire to my hut in the desert, assume the lotus position, compose my mind and senses, and sink into meditation, contemplating my novel. Unknown
This paperback is very interesting, but I find it will never replace a hardcover book - it makes a very poor doorstop. ~ Alfred Hitchcock
The covers of this book are too far apart. ~ Ambrose Bierce
The multitude of books is making us ignorant. ~ Voltaire
I find television very educating. Every time somebody turns on the set, I go into the other room and read a book. ~ Groucho Marx
Everything comes to him who waits, except a loaned book.
I just wrote a book, but don't go out and buy it yet, because I don't think it's finished yet.
Library in nature...When I get a little money, I buy books. And if there is any left over, I buy food.
Wear the old coat and buy the new book. ~ Austin Phelps.
My Favorite Novel! "Pride and Prejudice" by Jane Austen
My Favorite Novel! "Pride and Prejudice" by Jane AustenNot my favorite book tough... My Favorite book is "A Thousand and one Nights".
This is not a novel to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with great force.
***
One always tends to overpraise a long book because one has got through it.
One always tends to overpraise a long book because one has got through it.
***
I take the view, and always have, that if you cannot say what you are going to say in twenty minutes you ought to go away and write a book about it.
***
God forbid people should read our books to find the juicy passages.
***
Once you've put one of his books down, you simply can't pick it up again. (talking about Henry James)
***
There are two motives for reading a book: one, that you enjoy it; the other, that you can boast about it.
***
Every night, I have to read a book, so that my mind will stop thinking about things that I stress about.
***
I was reading a book...'the history of glue' - I couldn't put it down.
***
I just got out of the hospital. I was in a speed-reading accident. I hit a bookmark.
***
There are two motives for reading a book: one, that you enjoy it; the other, that you can boast about it.
***
Every night, I have to read a book, so that my mind will stop thinking about things that I stress about.
***
I was reading a book...'the history of glue' - I couldn't put it down.
***
I just got out of the hospital. I was in a speed-reading accident. I hit a bookmark.
The difference between fiction and reality? Fiction has to make sense.
That's All...
Review and Write on!
Hi! My Name is Sara and I'm a book-addict...
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I'm addicted
What about you?
...So, what's your addiction?
When I found myself confronted with this question in English class, I faltered...
Not because I don't know what I'm addicted to, or because I have no addictions, but because I'm overly dependent on too many things and since I've too many addictions, I've managed to reduced them all to this quote:
I'm addicted to books.
I love everything about books.
Big and small books!Old books, new books! dictionaries and encyclopedias!
Love the stories, the humour, the suspense, the adventure, the romance (the dashing knight always saving his damsel in distress in some new, equally fascinating way) the magic, the fun, the entertainment pocket-size! you can playback anytime, you can do-overs and stop at anytime you're bored or just don't feel like reading anymore... and it counts as studying!
I adore not just the stories, but also the printing of the letters on the paper pages, the feeling of the pages as they slip by my fingers and the whooshing sound they make as they pass by.
The black and white images adorning the first letter on the beginning of each chapter, the colours and images on the covers (I especially like hardcover books, and buy them whenever I can get them) damn! I even like the way books smell! old and new, and like paper and ink.
I love the act of buying books.
I like to always be informed on what books are out or to come out, and I stop by the book store near my house, at least once every two days. Every time I see a new book store I always enter and check the shelves, for both familiar and unfamiliar titles. The lady in the book store near my house even knows my name, and what kind of books I like to buy. She always greets me by my name and says, if there is anything new that, she thinks I might like to read.
But I'm learning not to buy any book I want, just because I want it.
I must learn to do this fast, because I'm running out of bookshelf space very quickly, and I've began to pile my books in towers and castles on the floor...
Right now I'm building a bridge with my Terry Pratchett's collection.
My Harry Potters' are on the base of my central tower and my Anne Rice and Sherrilyn Kenyons' are fighting for a spot in the front wall. What can I do, if I look at the shelves and the books just stare at me?
So yummy and shinny and all lined up...
I love book stores!
Not so found of libraries though, the book are all looked away under key and look, (and in my library, even chains) it looks like they are on prison and it upsets me. It just seems kind of cruel...
Anyway, the books are always there... just for you.
They are never bored of you, never tired from playing, never occupied with something else.
They always have time for you... they always listen and they never complain.
They never judge. They always care.
You can call them at any time, all the time or don't call on them, at all...
They don't get upset, because you don't spend enough time with them or because you trade them for some other book.
Books are the best of friends and the wisest of teachers.
Because they teach you the greatest of life's lessons... they teach you to be yourself.
Let me explain...
A lot of people these days don't like to read, I know.
They think that they can learn everything from the TV but they are wrong.
Do the TV explain and describe all the emotions, that you can feel when you read?
No,it's just exposing them.
Does the TV give you the freedom of imagination?
No,they make you fit into their imagination.
Yes, it's easier to just turn the TV on with the click of one button, but reading...it's much more beautiful...
sexta-feira, 16 de janeiro de 2009
Tell us what you think: What's better Harry Potter or Twilight?
I've recently been on a site posting this question: what's better Harry Potter or Twilight?
I still don't understand... what’s with comparing Harry Potter to Twilight?!
Are you idiots? Come On!
The only things these two series can be compared on is the size of the fandom and, in that case, Harry Potter wins, because practically EVERYONE everywhere knows at least what Harry Potter is. That is not true for Twilight. Plus, anyone can like Harry Potter (of course not everyone does), but most Twilight fans are either 12-year-olds, high school kids who prefer to read at a junior high school reading level, housewives who seriously need to get a life, and a couple guys (whom I understand the least). Harry Potter has a funny and sometimes witty prose, and amazingly well-thought-out plot, well-developed characters and an author who is a true plot genius, if not more. Twilight is the product of a wet dream of a woman who doesn't know anything about writing. Her plot is practically nonexistant, her characters are one-dimensional, impossible to relate to, and boring.
And, by the way, Edward Cullen is not "perfect." He is abusive, controlling, and Bella's reactions to his abusive set feminism back to the days when women were expected to do everything the man said and needed to get married and have kids and stay at home.
In conclusion: Twilight sucks lots. HP is way better.
Every time you compare the two, a kitten dies. So please stop.
And there are still a couple of things I have to say, especially after reading book two of the series:
1.VAMPIRES DON'T SPARKLE!!!
2. Edward even though he is hot, is a creepy stalker who watches people sleep while he thirsts for their blood.(serial killer, anyone?)
3. Bella should hate Edward for leaving her and not welcome him back with open arms so the hole in her chest can heal.WTF?!
4. Harry Potter > Voldemort
Voldemort > Cedric Diggory
Cedric Diggory = Edward Cullen
therefore....
Harry Potter > Edward Cullen
My views on it are my own of course. But the book in question...is garbage. I (like most teenagers) read fanfiction, the authors there write far better.
And the characters are more organized and have faults like REAL people.
Bella is what we like to call a Mary-Sue. Sickeningly perfect yet utterly disgusting.
Edward made me laugh hysterically. This book may just have ruined vampire sensuality for years to come. Not only does he sparkle but he stalks her too.
I know from experience, this is anything but romantic.
It’s shameful to compare a great series like Harry Potter to Twilight. Harry Potter is in depth, descriptive, the characters grow and change.
Twilight? An immortal vampire, who is supposed to be extremely attractive, is... a virgin? That is simply ridicules. A teenage boy, with powers and looks, stays a virgin. Like I said before, anything but romantic. That would make me question his sexuality more than anything. I can’t even say that this book is good for girls younger than me( I’m 18). Anyone with a brainstem who has ever been in an actual relationship would do a double-take while reading. Edward is arrogant and mean. How can you sleep at night saying he’s romantic? On top of that, the plot is unoriginal. Harry Potter on the other hand is amazing compared to Twilight. (Note, I am not a Harry Potter fanatic either, but I enjoy the books)
You mock it with ‘Hocus-Pocus’, but Twilights vampires can sparkle all they please?
Its Repugnant…
I believe more in the magic of the Wizarding World rather than a damn virginal, old, sparkling, maniac who stalks a Mary Sue.
That's all.
I still don't understand... what’s with comparing Harry Potter to Twilight?!
Are you idiots? Come On!
The only things these two series can be compared on is the size of the fandom and, in that case, Harry Potter wins, because practically EVERYONE everywhere knows at least what Harry Potter is. That is not true for Twilight. Plus, anyone can like Harry Potter (of course not everyone does), but most Twilight fans are either 12-year-olds, high school kids who prefer to read at a junior high school reading level, housewives who seriously need to get a life, and a couple guys (whom I understand the least). Harry Potter has a funny and sometimes witty prose, and amazingly well-thought-out plot, well-developed characters and an author who is a true plot genius, if not more. Twilight is the product of a wet dream of a woman who doesn't know anything about writing. Her plot is practically nonexistant, her characters are one-dimensional, impossible to relate to, and boring.
And, by the way, Edward Cullen is not "perfect." He is abusive, controlling, and Bella's reactions to his abusive set feminism back to the days when women were expected to do everything the man said and needed to get married and have kids and stay at home.
In conclusion: Twilight sucks lots. HP is way better.
Every time you compare the two, a kitten dies. So please stop.
And there are still a couple of things I have to say, especially after reading book two of the series:
1.VAMPIRES DON'T SPARKLE!!!
2. Edward even though he is hot, is a creepy stalker who watches people sleep while he thirsts for their blood.(serial killer, anyone?)
3. Bella should hate Edward for leaving her and not welcome him back with open arms so the hole in her chest can heal.WTF?!
4. Harry Potter > Voldemort
Voldemort > Cedric Diggory
Cedric Diggory = Edward Cullen
therefore....
Harry Potter > Edward Cullen
My views on it are my own of course. But the book in question...is garbage. I (like most teenagers) read fanfiction, the authors there write far better.
And the characters are more organized and have faults like REAL people.
Bella is what we like to call a Mary-Sue. Sickeningly perfect yet utterly disgusting.
Edward made me laugh hysterically. This book may just have ruined vampire sensuality for years to come. Not only does he sparkle but he stalks her too.
I know from experience, this is anything but romantic.
It’s shameful to compare a great series like Harry Potter to Twilight. Harry Potter is in depth, descriptive, the characters grow and change.
Twilight? An immortal vampire, who is supposed to be extremely attractive, is... a virgin? That is simply ridicules. A teenage boy, with powers and looks, stays a virgin. Like I said before, anything but romantic. That would make me question his sexuality more than anything. I can’t even say that this book is good for girls younger than me( I’m 18). Anyone with a brainstem who has ever been in an actual relationship would do a double-take while reading. Edward is arrogant and mean. How can you sleep at night saying he’s romantic? On top of that, the plot is unoriginal. Harry Potter on the other hand is amazing compared to Twilight. (Note, I am not a Harry Potter fanatic either, but I enjoy the books)
You mock it with ‘Hocus-Pocus’, but Twilights vampires can sparkle all they please?
Its Repugnant…
I believe more in the magic of the Wizarding World rather than a damn virginal, old, sparkling, maniac who stalks a Mary Sue.
That's all.
quarta-feira, 14 de janeiro de 2009
The Seven Lists:
SEVEN THINGS THAT SCARE ME
1. No computer .[...which is followed by...]
2. No internet .
3. cocaroches
4. Foodless-ness, it's more than basic hunger, indeed...
5. Any small wounds [glass, knifes, papercuts, anything small, especially on one's hand, hurts like hell! Do. Not. Like. Needles]
6. The World's economy crashing *knocks on wood* A crash = no or less money/food budgeting = real issue
7. Desecration of my records and collections [books, manga, paper, docs, etc.]. An attempt to do so will ensure the offender a fate beyond worse than anything the Count of Monte Cristo may think of...or equal to what he may think of with today's modern...toys.
SEVEN THINGS THAT I LIKE THE MOST
1. Watching anime, comedy, movies, etc.
2. Reading
3. Good Music
4. Travelling [which then leads to...]
5. Good authentic food
6. Summer storms [which then makes me want to...]
7. Sleep
SEVEN RANDOM FACTS ABOUT ME
1. I like to make up new words and expressions.
2. I am usually the mediator when my friends get into arguments.
3. Good music greatly affects my mood.
4. I get weird bursts of energy/happiness/joy.[oh the joy!]
5. I have a very short attention span.
6. I'm a casual hardcore gamer [love blackjack! and in computer games I ADORE The Sims!]
7. I get lots of inspiration, which converts into short-movies in my head, actually is more like mind theatre… but I never write them because:
a. I forget the flow of the plot already;
b. I got distracted by something else. Again;
c. And/or new other plot is currently showing on the mind theatre.
Therefore, I make fanfictions, when I remember to write.
Most of these are unpostable.
SEVEN THINGS I PLAN TO DO BEFORE I DIE
1. Learn to play any instrument... well.
2. Produce an heir[ess] so that I can impart *ore-sama no bigi*...abstract things that they need to learn unto them before my [possibly un]timely demise rather than others brainwashing them3. Pull a Shakespeare and add enforce donate new words to the world's language.
4. Pull a Berlitz and learn at least 100 languages. Fluently. *sigh* Not impossible but still... I can't even get my spanish classes, right...
5. Get a degree and do some real work, maybe produce some ground breaking and remarkable to society.
6. Meet Prince Charming and…
7. Kick him in the butt them marry the Frog.
SEVEN THINGS I CAN DO
1. Make life hard complicated interesting for some people.
2. Sing, [some times…COME ON! It’s possible right?].
3. Understand insults in several languages even if I don't understand the languages fluently themselves.
4. Understand Irony, Sarcasm and subtle jokes.5. Write [and it’s all a bunch of good things too!]6. Stare at others blankly with them interpreting it as a glare, scorn, sneer, derisive stare, condescending stare, mockingly amused stare, etc. Weirdly enough.
7. Do several gymnastic positions. *I’m quite flexible*
SEVEN THINGS I CAN'T DO
1. Tolerate ignorant, discriminatory wastes of space
2. Concentrate on studying for more than 15 mins. Weirdly enough, I still manage to do rather well in school.
3. Strong smells. Strong scents will immediately equate stench even if you're prancing with the latest, most intoxicating Chanel perfume. I will place a 30 metre ban on you and your stink.
4. Read anything for more than 40 mins on a computer screen, without breaks. Including fics.
5. Outscream my brother. Bloody hell.
6. Tolerate boredom.
7. Hurt people.
SEVEN THINGS THAT ATTRACT Me TO THE OPPOSITE SEX
1. Intelligence
2. Pretty hands, long fingers, preferably artistic hands
3. ...ah...Talents *cough*
4. *Animal magnetism*...Charms
5. Eyes
6. Voice
7. Personality
SEVEN THINGS I SAY THE MOST
1. Indeed
2. Hnn or hmmmm
3. Mada mada dane. [ ok…so I don’t say it, but I could!]
4. I didn’t or I did
5. For god's sake
6. Nop
7. Oki Doki
1. No computer .[...which is followed by...]
2. No internet .
3. cocaroches
4. Foodless-ness, it's more than basic hunger, indeed...
5. Any small wounds [glass, knifes, papercuts, anything small, especially on one's hand, hurts like hell! Do. Not. Like. Needles]
6. The World's economy crashing *knocks on wood* A crash = no or less money/food budgeting = real issue
7. Desecration of my records and collections [books, manga, paper, docs, etc.]. An attempt to do so will ensure the offender a fate beyond worse than anything the Count of Monte Cristo may think of...or equal to what he may think of with today's modern...toys.
SEVEN THINGS THAT I LIKE THE MOST
1. Watching anime, comedy, movies, etc.
2. Reading
3. Good Music
4. Travelling [which then leads to...]
5. Good authentic food
6. Summer storms [which then makes me want to...]
7. Sleep
SEVEN RANDOM FACTS ABOUT ME
1. I like to make up new words and expressions.
2. I am usually the mediator when my friends get into arguments.
3. Good music greatly affects my mood.
4. I get weird bursts of energy/happiness/joy.[oh the joy!]
5. I have a very short attention span.
6. I'm a casual hardcore gamer [love blackjack! and in computer games I ADORE The Sims!]
7. I get lots of inspiration, which converts into short-movies in my head, actually is more like mind theatre… but I never write them because:
a. I forget the flow of the plot already;
b. I got distracted by something else. Again;
c. And/or new other plot is currently showing on the mind theatre.
Therefore, I make fanfictions, when I remember to write.
Most of these are unpostable.
SEVEN THINGS I PLAN TO DO BEFORE I DIE
1. Learn to play any instrument... well.
2. Produce an heir[ess] so that I can impart *ore-sama no bigi*...abstract things that they need to learn unto them before my [possibly un]timely demise rather than others brainwashing them3. Pull a Shakespeare and add enforce donate new words to the world's language.
4. Pull a Berlitz and learn at least 100 languages. Fluently. *sigh* Not impossible but still... I can't even get my spanish classes, right...
5. Get a degree and do some real work, maybe produce some ground breaking and remarkable to society.
6. Meet Prince Charming and…
7. Kick him in the butt them marry the Frog.
SEVEN THINGS I CAN DO
1. Make life hard complicated interesting for some people.
2. Sing, [some times…COME ON! It’s possible right?].
3. Understand insults in several languages even if I don't understand the languages fluently themselves.
4. Understand Irony, Sarcasm and subtle jokes.5. Write [and it’s all a bunch of good things too!]6. Stare at others blankly with them interpreting it as a glare, scorn, sneer, derisive stare, condescending stare, mockingly amused stare, etc. Weirdly enough.
7. Do several gymnastic positions. *I’m quite flexible*
SEVEN THINGS I CAN'T DO
1. Tolerate ignorant, discriminatory wastes of space
2. Concentrate on studying for more than 15 mins. Weirdly enough, I still manage to do rather well in school.
3. Strong smells. Strong scents will immediately equate stench even if you're prancing with the latest, most intoxicating Chanel perfume. I will place a 30 metre ban on you and your stink.
4. Read anything for more than 40 mins on a computer screen, without breaks. Including fics.
5. Outscream my brother. Bloody hell.
6. Tolerate boredom.
7. Hurt people.
SEVEN THINGS THAT ATTRACT Me TO THE OPPOSITE SEX
1. Intelligence
2. Pretty hands, long fingers, preferably artistic hands
3. ...ah...Talents *cough*
4. *Animal magnetism*...Charms
5. Eyes
6. Voice
7. Personality
SEVEN THINGS I SAY THE MOST
1. Indeed
2. Hnn or hmmmm
3. Mada mada dane. [ ok…so I don’t say it, but I could!]
4. I didn’t or I did
5. For god's sake
6. Nop
7. Oki Doki
sexta-feira, 9 de janeiro de 2009
Once again three am...
It isn’t like I didn’t try to drop this unreasonable addiction a few times in the past, to fight this ridiculous craving.
I did, but it always ends the same way, with me waking up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, fighting the urge to scream.
My mind is so full and confusing, my hands shake, my body feels hot and cold at the same time, it’s like I have just run a marathon. I can’t seem to fight this mystifying urge to write.
Three in the morning know all of my secrets, and there is no hiding from those moments without something to dull my mind.
That’s why I eat chocolate. Chocolate, the only known cure to sudden attacks of plot bunnies, excited muses and many other fantastical inspirations!
I did, but it always ends the same way, with me waking up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, fighting the urge to scream.
My mind is so full and confusing, my hands shake, my body feels hot and cold at the same time, it’s like I have just run a marathon. I can’t seem to fight this mystifying urge to write.
Three in the morning know all of my secrets, and there is no hiding from those moments without something to dull my mind.
That’s why I eat chocolate. Chocolate, the only known cure to sudden attacks of plot bunnies, excited muses and many other fantastical inspirations!
segunda-feira, 5 de janeiro de 2009
The Boxing Day
The " Boxing Day", when heard about this holiday, the first thing that came to mind was boxing. The boxing Day, is right after Christmas on the 26th of december. Then I thought it was a day, when we would box someone else in revenge for what we didn't get or didn't get all. So I imagine me puching someone because I got clothes instead of videos games. But no, in fact it's a much better thing. It's a is a bank holiday or a public holiday, in the UK, Australia, Canada, New Zealand and contries in the Commowealth of Nations. In South Africa this public holiday is now known as the Day of Goodwill. It is based on the tradition of giving gifts to the less fortunate members of society.
Still if it was the way I first thought of it, it would be pretty cool.
V.H. Miranda, stay tunned for more
Still if it was the way I first thought of it, it would be pretty cool.
V.H. Miranda, stay tunned for more
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