divine spiral

Run away. Run far. Run fast.

location: somewhere

mood: good

music: leather strip; carry me (phoenix mix)

I'm spamming tonight. Deal.

WTF HAPPENED TO machina_schism?

mood: amused

music: nada

NEW ICON GET

About damn time, too. So, uh, new layout? Y/Y?

mood: grumpy

music: killswitch engage; self-revolution

I post this because I'm an asshole. If you don't get it, you weren't meant to.

Yummy.

mood: cranky

LEAVE. ME. ALONE.

Fucking Christ.

mood: pissed off

music: nothing BECAUSE I'M HOMELESS

What. The. Fuck.

mood: melancholy

music: a perfect circle; passive

Calls and start tying up loose ends in the morning.

I need this.

mood: exhausted

music: misfits; dig up her bones

( Read more... )

So. Ma's mean, the old man and Vergil are total cheapskates, Ophelia's a douche, Gippal's getting his head bashed in, and that's just typical Trish. And here I was even trying to relive my crowning moment, too. You guys suck. Guess who's places are getting egged this Halloween?

Huh. And another birthday is upon us, in, like, two weeks. Time does fly.

I got a new jacket. It's snazzy. All red and black and...Okay, so it's probably like every other jacket I've ever owned, but the collar. It's all grown up and other such bullshit. Scary, ain't it?

Wow. It's sad when the highlight of my...Week? Is getting a new jacket. Guess I really am getting old. :[ This does not please us. This does not please us at all.

Edit: Head? Meet desk.

mood: cold

music: type o negative; black no. 1

It doesn't look THAT bad. A cut would probably help, but otherwise, I say you did a bang up job for someone not knowing what the fuck they were doing. Coming from someone who cuts their own, too.

Honestly.

Of course, I wonder when you're going to go back black. This can't be your theme song anymore until you do.

In other news...There is no other news. Get the fuck out.

Gotta love that shit.

Note to self: Strangle Trish with her own goddamn hair.

mood: apathetic

music: a perfect circle; gravity

And it falls upon his servants to inform his family as to what is occurring as of late. Pity, when he is fully capable of handling such matters himself, yet finds other things with which to occupy his time. Well, if one could consider what he does as 'occupying'.

The master, as some may be aware, has been away on a journey. A short one, true enough, but a journey, nonetheless. And I fear theaklds;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;fmc,

And that is the last fucking time I walk away from the computer signed in on anything.

Fucking purple bastard.

In case you haven't noticed, I'm home.

mood: busy

music: vnv nation; honour

I'm out.

mood: blank

music: tool; the patient

Guess what.

I got a haircut.

Don't die from shock.

mood: cranky

music: the 'family' chittering like monkeys

Fucking give up. For serious. Dante was not cut out for this family bullshit.

I'm also thinking it's time to take a vacation. Somewhere far, far away from here. Like...I don't know, but somewhere. Somewhere warm and sunny and decidedly not creepy feeling. Especially since I received this LOVELY little gift pinned with a KNIFE through it on my desk. Thanks, whoever you are that as soon as I find you I'm going to gut you like a fucking fish. I didn't REALLY need to keep track of how much is in my bank account to make sure I could cover my bills. Not. At. All. Fucker.

I guess I should be more disturbed. You don't expect to find one of your contacts' heads with a knife shoved in it, inside a warded shop, now do you? No, I didn't think so. Methinks somebody's mad at me, oh noes. Gee, I wonder who? I've pissed off a lot of folks here recently. GEE PA I'M JUST LIKE YOU. Only decidedly better looking. And less British. And old.

Really, though, they're gonna have to do better than that to worry me. I never liked him much, to begin with, and it's a DAMN SHAME it wasn't ol' Enzo.

Meh. Note to self: Retrieve bleach.

Spare the rod. Aheh.

mood: okay

music: vast; what else do i need

Subjection. Purpose. Detachment. Anchorlessness.

Funny old way the world works.

mood: cheerful

Such a horrid choice of these..."Icons". Really, the master could do with a bit of class.

No matter! While the master is currently...Well, not here, you do know what they say. That, and I have learned he has been neglecting this 'journal' of his for whomever knows what reason. For shame, son of Sparda, for shame. However, in a collected effort, we who act his his walking servants shall tend to its upkeep in his stead.

It has been a slow month since the master truly decided to touch this thing with any true content (for I beg his pardon, but links and mocking the stupid rarely truly count). I, apparently, am still 'fired', which suits me just as well. Someone must make sure Nevan is not corrupting the children, and the good Lord only knows what she must be doing to Cerberus when no one's looking. He's been wandering around with a doggy grin for weeks now. I fear for my sanity, being trapped here with that infernal she-beast.

Regardless. Day in, day out, the same grind dusk to dawn, as the master rarely goes on his little sojourns in the daylight hours, as I am sure you are all quite aware. He complains - Oh! How he complains. - At what little challenge there is in these 'jobs' anymore. Well, that is what he gets, after all. Never satisfied, that one. Give him what he wishes and all he can do is complain. And before I am raked across the coals for saying as such, let it stand that I would say it to the master's face, and he very well knows that it is true.

Of course, the master's lady companion is most pleasant, though he grumbles and whines about her, as well. Simply because she is not afraid to put him in his place. Well, it's not like the rest of us are honestly in a position to do so, beyond words. She, however...Oh, a lady after my own heart, she truly is.

And more and more the master withdraws from the public eye, because, he says, others 'bug the fuck' out of him. Honestly. Once again we are back to his needing some class. Well, that is all well and good master, but we certainly don't wish to be stuck with your grumbling and grousing and long face, either. Attempts, of course, have been made to rectify this, but the master refuses to listen. He's very stubborn, you know. I'd even go so far to say that he is a right old ass, and deserves a good kick in his own.

Nevan even offered her own special...'Services', however...I do not blame the master for looking as though someone told him Santa was dead. I'm afraid that is more harmful than helpful.

Oh, for the love of- What are those brats doing now? Honestly, turn your back on them for two seconds, and they're raising a second Hell simply for attention. I suppose it's time for me to put this away, at any rate. No doubt this will displease the master. However, if he won't make use of it, we certainly will.

- Alastor, most faithful right-hand servant to the master

mood: cold

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Magdalene_Asylum
- I knew a chick that got sent to one of these once. Nasty business.
http://tethys.croydon.ac.uk/magdalenecircle.nsf

mood: confused

music: tool; jambi

I don't think...Well. Um. That's not...That's just not RIGHT.

...I think...I think I need to go back to bed. Yeah. Bed. Because...No.

Dreaming. That's all it is. I'm just dreaming. I BETTER be fucking dreaming. I KNEW I shouldn't have had that to drink. I always see shit when I do.

Edit: MAAAAAAAAA.

mood: cranky

music: apc; counting bodies like sheep

Hi kids. Last time we left you with a heartwarming message about how my family is kind of slow. I'd do a recap, but I'm far, far too lazy right now. That, and hell, it don't matter. However! This time I bring you a lovely little ditty why people should be required to pass a test to use the internet: ESPECIALLY livejournal.

Now, I know what you're thinking. "But Dante! YOU probably couldn't pass a test to use the internet." Aaaaand...I'd probably agree with you. But that's beside the point. At least I'm not sharing my sexcapades with the rest of the world, and spreading TMI all over intarweb-land. What am I talking about? Well, if I were Amanda, I'd link you to a screenshot, but I'm not going to be that cruel. Er. To the readers, not the poster, because they get what the fucking deserve here.

No, my friends, what we have here is a failure to know what kind of shit goes under a cut with appropriate warnings. And why I now am refusing to peruse Amanda's friends list ever again.

Dear Unnamed Person Who I Should Name Because You Are Nasty and WRONG,

Hi. Yeah, hi. I know, it's technically WRONG for me to read someone else's friends list without said friends list knowing, but at least I never comment. Like, apparently, I should. Because I think half of you motherfuckers need to be slapped upside the head. But, regardless of the amoral nature of my quest, I have a wee complaint.

I know what you look like. I do. You are not ashamed of showing the world. And, hey, goodie for you. I'm glad you have such self-confidence in your appearance. Too many women don't these days, so it's good to see a woman not buying into media stereotypes.

But babe. I'm gonna be honest here. I don't care if you were the most gorgeous woman in the world. There are a few things I would rather not know about you. Seriously. One? Would be the state of your uterus and ovaries. And, normally, a vague comment would totally be okay. Your journal, your sandbox, your playground, right? Right. But, please. Remember there are people who would rather not know the kind of pain you're in, nor the aftereffects of said muscle spasms, in excrutiating, disgusting detail, okay? Okay.

Point two. For the love of God. Thanks. I needed, NEEDED, to know you take it anal. Really. And in as such, I needed to know what said muscle spasms do to other parts of the female anatomy to cause you to NOT do it anal. I did. It was imperative to my wellbeing you share that information. I might have died a tragic, knowledgeless death without that. Look! You might have just saved my life! Only...I wish you'd let me die bitter and alone in this case. Really. And the fact that your 'friends' all laugh and snicker and ENCOURAGE this behavior? Fucking mindblowing.

Point three. SUCK UP THE FUCKING EMO, YOU PUSSY. God. Yes, people. Let's post reams upon reams of badly written introspection without the use of spellcheck (you watch, I'll have typos all through this bitch now) or a BRAIN, and tons of song lyrics from the most emo fuckers you can find. Please, I find this kind of thing FASCINATING, and don't scroll past it at ALL. I READ EVERY WORD. Except not. For the love of God, stop the motherfucking pity party already. Nobody cares. If you're that fucking miserable, spare the rest of us and fucking kill yourself already. You'd be doing everybody a favor.

Not feeling any love for you or your anatomy,
Dante