Intaglio

Handily divided into the only categories that matter. Check under cuts for details. Added in order found--that is, most recent finds at the top.

( Not Romulans! )

( Romulans! )

Moar as I find moar.

If you have moar, especially if it is moar WITH ROMULANS, and extra-special bonus for DARK FIC IS DARK (WITH ROMULANS), comments are love.

I'm making tea.

There's lots of fun reverse racefail on the bus. But that's not news.

There are people in this world, that dealing with them? It's like I am a dishtowel.

I have been wrung of all the water and down past blood into, apparently there are smiles and nods at the bottom of the cup.

O, Barbiest dregs, drink to me only with thine eyes, and I will pledge with mine.

(That's only my second-favorite poem ever. When a guy quits the sauce for you? Princess, that's love.)

So.

My next internship coordinator's name? Is genderswitch for Petrelli.

I am stupidly geeked out right now. Possible editing experience, mmm.

I have a sadomasochistic habit where I start reading material related to my courses of study while I'm in them.

In the order in which they are currently visible on my tabletop.

( Oh god, don't stop; it only hurts when you stop. )

The best part of this list is that, once I have incorporated it into my existing collection, I will have three full shelves of nothing but pretentious grownup books, all of which I have actually read at least once.

Glee?

Is KIDS Incorporated with a budget.

The Red Hot Chili Peppers? Are funk? (Wiki, what do you smoke?)

See, this is why I need some help. I am looking for the "hardcore funk", heavily retro sound.

Is James Brown "it"? (And I guess Rick James, biiiiiitch, though he's later, and DUH Marvin Gaye.) There's got to be more.

I do not like the new stuff. I want to, but I do not.

Go-go is too atonal for me! I finally found my dischord limit XD

OTIS REDDING wow *thud*. <3 MORE LIKE THIS PLEASE.

Do other artists like Jamiroquai exist? I'm thinking sort of maybe no.

Whether, man. Let's go see the whether, man.
Everyone died again today. Tomorrow, sun.
The real rain has yet to fall.

That's out of a bad movie I saw, once, just like everything else in this corny dream.

Why Lucy, your eyes are filled with tears.

Oh!
Listen!
The orchestra
Is getting ready--
Dance with me, George!

( Mystic crystal revelations, and the mind's true liberation! )

Partial listening example for those whose piracy-fu is weak.

It was designed to be uplifting and fun, so I don't yank the steering wheel out of the bus driver's hand and kill us all kill feel good and get along with everyone! ^_^

BE HEALTHY; FEEL GOOD.

Harmony and understanding! Sympathy and trust abounding

Some people got more than sleet, I guess.

And here I was ALL EXCITED about the ice on my windshield. Because it was in tiny flakes rather than frost fans.

I have an Itunes card that needs replacing with badass songs of awesome!

What are some of your favorite songs, c. 1980 - 2001?

All genres welcome; vague adherence to the dates preferred.

I listen to everything except Kenny G./Yanni type "easy listening".

(Did you know Sting is "easy listening" now? It was like, to gag. To gag me with a spoon. Like, totally.)

*Ahem.*

Hit me with your best shot; fire away!

I don't even care what fandom this belongs to.

Ohwait, slash, R. *Shrug.*

UHURA FINALLY GETS TO DO SOMETHING. YOU GUYS.

Well. Merry Christmas to you, too.

ajsdkfhjlkhs; AWESOME.

A good deal of backstory mangling must be had in order to shoehorn CANON REMAN WOES and Actual Hearthworlds Storytelling into the same space; so.

BIRTHDAY.

STAR TREK MARATHON. STARTING AS OF NOONISH.

There's a HUGE hawk living in our oak tree. This wouldn't be a problem, except I own small dogs of 8-15 lbs.

The littlest is white and fluffy and fast. In short, prey on puppy legs.

I am understandably nervous.

And teaching her how to use the indoors potty mats. Oh yes.

I had things to say.

Have some 90's music instead.

We were supposed to be superheroes.

La! Have also a Vulcan poem?

Dethrone your pasts:
This done, day comes up new
Though empty-hearted:
O the long silence, my son!

--Surak

(the Last Stave)

I'm not sure I want--
Oooh, la la la
(I don't remember who came back with me)

I Was Drunk, lookin' for that peak experience--let's burn that highway down!
Everything I'd hoped to be
Or ever thought I was
And then the morning comes

I can math on paper The Hard Way faster than you can in your head, jackhole.

YOU HAVE TO START ON THE LEFT.

I assure you, I do not.

To begin: force the end digits (rightmost) to equal zero.

Only the forward digits change, because you insist on left-right reading order.

There are only two laws in this most exalted shell game:

Two four six eight zero.

One three five seven nine one.

These never change. With them you can estimate absolutely anything, and arrive at a better answer faster than the definitive.

Speed always matters more than accuracy.

If you can murmur the incantation

Two three five seven eleven thirteen fifteen seventeen nineteen twenty-three twenty-nine, you are already beyond what you NEED for "life", per se.

And then there is the law of twos: twenty-two halves, and twenty-four halves, but twenty-nine (recall our previous enchantment!) does not.

Any number with a terminal digit of zero can be split at least in half.

Yes, presumably more, but when the whole business of numbers is literally nauseating to one, one starts where one must. Isn't it so.

The rest is buttons on a machine, which, again, can be memorized as a series of shapes, to spit out the answer with, if not alacrity, then an average amount of speed, while pressing the wool of Normal tight across all the eyes in the room. Which requires additional effort, understand.

Similarly, Newtonian physics are entirely sufficient to explain the world in which most of us live. The science of patterns is pretty, but not sufficiently absorbing to hold my attention when there's delicious history to examine.

I am by nature a cataloger of things, but only of interesting things.

For example: celerestory, lightwell, apse.

Basic, mafic, ultramafic. I'm still not clear on extrusive versus intrusive. The majority of very interesting pretty facets are silicate and acidic in origin. (They are such things as countertops are made on.)

...Don't touch your Google in public!

Unless it's to type in Cueva de los Cristales and DEMAND PICTURES.

I. Am having trouble sleeping! I have been awake since 4:30.

Three Two things happen when this happens:

I write. Not happening. OR. I cook! Be afraid. Be very afraid.

I wanted eggs! We have none! Imagine my sweet, sweet sorrow.

Mmm, Ayel tears...Wait, what?

ANYway, moving right along, ipse dixit, temps fugit, ONWARD.

Boldly going forward, for we cannot find reverse!

( Soup! With Angel Hair! FOR BREAKFAST OM NOM NOM. )

The anticipation is the tastiest part.

Note: if you are impatient like me, and have a habit of cooking super-firm pasta because you CANNOT WAIT, the good news is, Waiting For Your Soup To Cool will soften the pasta nicely.

Final Verdict: hot, heavy, a bit rich, a little bland, PERFECT FOR COLD OUTSIDE.

Would be more awesome if I knew how the hell to make a wine sauce.

Or had beef. And potatoes.

OR DUDE WILD RICE, WILD RICE WOULD BE SO AWESOME IN THIS, IT'S AWESOME IN EVERYTHING.

And the texture variation would be to die for.

If I were a better cook. La.

I would just like it on the books that happiness really is a warm puppy. The scientific proof is presently curled under my left arm, puffing warmth against the inside of my wrist as I type with the opposite hand.

(How do right handed people even survive, omg seriously.)

For myself, I'm debating the merits of fun and wacky new age crystal cultism versus those of secular humanism--which, while fundamentally opposed to my conviction that earth is literally hell, will probably cost me less and also has a vague veneer of intellect about it. (And, apparently, it's guided the majority of my moral choices for the last two decades anyway.)

There will be Nero/Ayel, and Sherlock Holmes movieverse (dear god the source material is boring, but la, the movieverse slash could write ITSELF) despite the last six minutes or so of the entire film being utterly unwatchable.

Save your pity for the weak.

He snarled and then pitched over the side to his death. Mortal Kombat! Dun dun DUN DUN ksh ksh techno, roll credits.

The entire universe is one great sneeze followed immediately by a shrug and a "fuckit".

Mostly I just enjoyed RDJ hitting people.

It is my new year's resolution to thoroughly enjoy The Book Of Eli.

Denzel Washington with a machete.

Why hello there, fetish fuel.

Make him live as I live; again and again.
They went searching for your body
They went looking, but there's nobody
When it rains on your head, mate; cheers for that.
I think I loved you more than me
What a strange affection

I am incapable of regret

It is, meanwhile, my christmas wish to dream of something other than tenements and car crashes. They're increasing in duration, frequency, intensity; the alcohol, it does nothing, but so fair a nothing flashing past my lips like silk and razors, oh.

Gin. That's what's missing.

MOAR VIOLENCE IS ALWAYS PROBABLY FICTIONALLY THE ANSWER.

Joy to the world!

TO THE CITIES OF THE FUTURE.