a fool's musings

Fool, said my muse to me, look in thy heart and write...

Warning: Adult Content achromatic unfinished fic graveyard recs journal new stuff recent stuff my back pages January 2004 December 2003 November 2003 October 2003 September 2003 August 2003 July 2003 June 2003 May 2003 April 2003 March 2003 February 2003 January 2003 December 2002 November 2002 October 2002 September 2002 August 2002 July 2002 June 2002 May 2002 April 2002 March 2002 February 2002 January 2002 December 2001 November 2001 the five Ws, or, all about me profile e-mail victoria my livejournal the original P&R comments current mood: "pathological and unbalanced" Items of Interest People LiveJournal folks Baraita bishclone claritylit Jintian Kat Allison Kit Mason metablog mix-tapes Neil Gaiman Nestra Sarah T. Seema Shrift Sundry Mourning zendom Music Walk On - U2 Thunder Road - Bruce Springsteen If I Can't Change Your Mind - Sugar Sick of Myself - Matthew Sweet Town Called Malice - The Jam One - U2 The Space Between - DMB Books Lord of the Rings Catch-22 The Neely Trilogy Absalom! Absalom! Possession: A Romance Foucault's Pendulum Dreamhouse LA Confidential I Capture the Castle Sandman Waking the Moon Shows Angel Buffy the Vampire Slayer (in reruns) Alias West Wing The Simpsons webrings < ? fanfiction ! > < ? writers ! > diaryreviews.diaryland.com NYC Bloggers Comments by Haloscan.com all links, if I haven't screwed up somehow, should open in a new browser window

2002-02-09 - 9:44 p.m. somebody stop me! Happy Birthday, Helen! Was out all day. New house first, for more verticals hanging [gah, I put them all up backwards. I am a dumbass] and generally doing nothing while Marg and Anthony painted. Went to Target. I should never, ever, ever go to Target. I spent an insane amount of money on stuff I don't need. DVDs [did you know the whole first season of MASH is available? I own it now], pajamas [summery ones this time, plus a set with Tigger on 'em], bras [still searching for the elusive perfect bra], and lipstick. I love lipstick. The only problem is, the ones I buy all tend to look exactly the same. Sigh. I'm big into those dark purply colors - wine, raspberry, plum, like that... Now I'm going to try on the stuff I bought. I have other thoughts, but they can wait 'til later or another time. Mostly about belonging v. joining... ~victoria [current mood: ] [current music: ] [random quote: ] ~*~ 2002-02-08 - 11:49 p.m. faster, higher, stronger Okay, did I call it or what? I said, I bet Mike Eruzione and Jim Craig light the torch. That's what I would do. Damn, I'm good. this drive-by post brought to you by ~victoria p. [current mood: ] [current music: ] [random quote: ] ~*~ 2002-02-08 - 3:57 p.m. what do all the people know? Gacked from jengrrrl: Which John Cusack Are You? No surprises here, man. victoria [current music: What Do All the People Know? - The Monroes <*smirk*>] [current mood: ] [current music: ] [random quote: ] ~*~ 2002-02-08 - 3:37 p.m. miracle on ice Back again. Just wanted to share this article from the Daily News about Brian Leetch. He's supposed to be a really nice guy, from what I've heard. I know someone who met him in the beer line at a Pearl Jam concert a couple of years ago, and said he was a cool guy. And Herb Brooks is coaching again. I did not know that! Unfortutately, looking at the tv schedule, the USA hockey games are on late. I hope Richter shows them all that he's not old and broken down. Damn, I love hockey. I remember the miracle on ice, man. God, that started my fascination. Mark Pavelich. Rob McClanahan. Jim Craig. Mike Eruzione. Notice I put the former Rangers first in my list (there were more than just those two, but they were 2/3 of the "smurfs" line, along with Anders Hedberg on the Rangers). I had a huge thing for Mark Pavelich. He was short, but he was scrappy - a real grind-it-out-in-the-corners type of guy. Which would explain my preference for guys like Adam Graves now. Guys who score goals with their faces. *g* Sigh. I love Adam Graves. I miss him. I think the Rangers miss him, too. ~victoria [current mood: nostalgic] [current music: Both Sides Now - Joni Mitchell] [current mood: ] [current music: ] [random quote: ] ~*~ 2002-02-08 - 1:41 p.m. "They died instantly." Angsty and unbeta'd and soon to be posted to a list near you... ~*~ Redecorating "They died instantly." Logan heard the words, but his mind refused to process them. "The jet exploded in mid-air. We don't know yet what went wrong. But it was over quickly. They didn't feel any pain." "No," he whispered. He squeezed the delicate cell phone, barely the size of a credit card, trying to crush it. He could still hear Hank talking, calling his name, but all rational thought was gone. Enraged, he flung the phone across the room. With a satisfying sting, he unsheathed the claws and ran the TV through, silencing the pretty-boy anchorman as he reported about the mysterious explosion in the night sky over Salem Center. The television frizzled, and the sparks landed on his skin, which hissed and burned for a moment or two before the sparks faded. The smell of his own singed and rapidly healing flesh triggered more rage. "It should have been me," he muttered over and over as he wrecked the apartment. He shredded the leather couch; the foam stuffing stuck to his claws and in his hair. He pushed over the curio holding all her little knickknacks. The snow-globes and shot glasses she collected on their travels together shattered, littering the wood floor with shards of glass. His bare feet were a bloody mess, unnoticed in his fury, as he stalked through the living room. The walls were next; he left huge gaping holes in them, scoring the cheery yellow paint she'd chosen to brighten up the room in defiance of his wish for plain white walls and minimal decoration. He remembered the first night he'd seen it. He had come back from a mission, and after the debriefing, they'd immediately headed out for their new apartment in the city. It was their haven, a space apart from the goings-on at the mansion, which seemed to intrude constantly on their personal life. She'd giggled and wiggled her hips in that endearingly impish way of hers, telling him to close his eyes before turning the lights on. The room had glowed with a warm cheerfulness, easing the tension that was always coiled in his neck and shoulders. Even when he didn't agree, she ended up doing what was best for him. He moved into the bedroom, overturning the night tables and gouging holes in the dresser. He knocked the contents of her vanity to the floor, spilling powders and lotions on the new carpeting he'd insisted on. He was a tough guy, sure, but he didn't like walking barefoot on a cold wood floor in the middle of the night whenever he had to take a piss. The scent of her light perfume permeated the room, engulfing him, bringing him back to himself. The berserker rage faded as the enormity of his loss sank in. Marie was dead. She had teased him before she'd left. "It's my last mission, and then we're on our own. No more X-Men, no more Brotherhood, no more of this ridiculous leather outfit--" "I like the leather." "I know, sugar. Think they'll let me keep it?" Then her phone had beeped and it was time to let her go. "See you at the apartment," he'd said. Not, "I love you." Not, "Good luck." He'd thought he'd had all the time in the world to say the first, and no need to say the second. It had been a routine pick up. She could take care of herself in a fight; he'd trained her and she was good. And Scott kept the Blackbird in top fighting trim. There had been no need to worry. She'd kissed him and boarded the jet. And now she was dead. He fell to his knees on the carpet, metal-reinforced bones denting the floor even through the extra padding she'd insisted on, and pressed his face into the comforter that still held their mingled scents. For the first time in the twenty years he could remember, he wept, in bitter, wracking sobs that made him feel as if he would never stop, could never stop. Finally, he climbed into the bed, wrapped himself in the sheets that still smelled of her, and willed himself to sleep, so he could dream that she was in his arms. Hank found him that way an hour later, and hadn't the heart to wake him. End ~*~ ~victoria [current mood: ] [current music: ] [random quote: ] ~*~ previous - next DiaryLand Disclaimer: Reading this diary is not required by law. If you do not like or agree with the contents herein, or find them to be offensive on more than one occasion, please go elsewhere and don't come back. Management is not responsible for any adverse reactions to content within. The painting is "Boreas" by John William Waterhouse. Again, not a muse, but I like her. She suits the color scheme. The quote is from Sir Philip Sidney. This site is best viewed with IE4+ | 1024x768 | true color | verdana | tables