Your (adjective) hero finds himself only half dead today, after battling the forces of fever, phlegm and the galactically nasty cough alliance. While Superman isn’t all that super, he should be remembered for being the king of ‘eh,’ ‘okay’ and ‘fine,’ so the fact that he isn’t bouncing off the walls shouldn’t be all that shocking. He sits on the (noun), bored out of his mind, screaming at that bitch on (Daytime Programming choice), waiting for someone to call. Little does he know that N has threatened everyone with (insert penalty here) to leave him the (profanity) alone while he’s ill…. (evil laughter)

Gray is my second favorite color. I like the layout, but I’m not sure about the lack of red, which if you haven’t guessed, is my favorite color. There are a few features this theme doesn’t have which I’ll need to add later - Gravatar, of course, tags etc. I don’t like options not built in already because I don’t like the sensation of my eyes going crossed looking at code.

It’s open and by far one of the better ones out there - at least for my purposes. Developers don’t often design with a sadist in mind and the sex blog designs all seem to feature women - doesn’t work when the blog is about me, and hell, they are no where near my type anyway.

This, re-reading it, comes off a little stalker-ish. Perhaps that is why it was never published. If you have a hard time, I don’t know, figuring out that N isn’t in any danger from me, well, you don’t know me well at all.

(more…)

I wrote this several months ago, but never published. I didn’t think I could add anything else to it. -D

She cries for me, for things I don’t understand and can’t grasp. She cries for my lack of understanding, my inabilities, my blindness, she weeps for them openly, unashamed. That I look at her with such detachment, that furrowed brow she’s soothed so easily before only hurts her deeper.

She’s on her knees, her arms crossed over her chest as she tries to contain herself, keep it from spilling on the floor and staining my shoes, wetting my feet. Contain herself within her chest, her heart, but it’s bleeding, leaving her in spite of her will and I can only watch her, blind.

I blink and hear her sobs. They wash over me only an echo, a ghost. Her forehead touches the floor, her body shaking. I step back from the puddle of color that stains the wood, spreading outward. I don’t want her grief to touch me. Her fingers fall to the floor, but she can’t push herself up. Somehow I know, her head is too heavy to lift, but the stain is coming closer and I inch back away from it.

I can taste her need of me. I feel the liquid on my shoes, my feet, feel it crawling up my legs. Her fingers wrap around my leg, her face upon my stained shoes, my legs, but I am brittle and crumble slowly away from her touch. Ash.

Only the stain remains.