A Weekend Alone - Time For Pokemon!

Since everyone's busy and Heather's mum is crazy, I am stuck home from 3:30 today (friday!) until about 6 or 7 sunday evening.

After dwelling on this for a bit, I figured, fuckit. Time for pokemon.

This was prompted by a text from Heather saying, "I just spammed Lava Plume all the way through Koga and lost no health. I think the term is 'that chick just slapped Koga!'"

After a good laugh and a hearty reposting of this InuYasha reference, I decided to have a good old gameplay.

Question is, what game do I play? Diamond, Black, Soul Silver or Rangers: Guardian Signs?

Soulsilver's way easier, and out of the 165 game hours, 90 of those have been me avoiding the end battle with Red. I'm going to go and train, and put my pokemon to their final evolutions . And also to decide who to actually have in my team.

There will be Akela the umbreon, Maurice the mareep, Naoki the typhlosion, Evangeline the gardevoir....and I think my pupitar will be Larvitar, and....someone else. Who? Do I train and evolve my riolu? Do I turn my skitteh into a tank? What? WHAT?

Help. ;-;

CAMWHORE RAGE

Inspired by Sarah's camwhore rage with her new boots, I am going to post my "lol camwhore" photos of my boots. They have been at Heather's since Christmas. </3

 I spree-took these photos to put on my teenspot. I like to fuck around with internet douchebags. Funny that the kind of people who call us freaks on the street go home and masturbate over these kinds of pictures.


Oh god people have fapped over my boots D8

I prefer real-life trolling, and as such, I frequently dress in all-black, with a hood, with this makeup, and then go to the shop. It scares a lot of people. Alternatively, dressing all lovely and innocent, and then BAM scaryface. +1troll if you make the groaning clicky noise from The Grudge.

I love this outfit! 8D

An okay view of my waist. And that's the important part~!


And just for fun!

A picture of me with dark hair - I believe I was getting ready for school. I miss wearing my corsets to school.


THAT ABOUT DOES IT FOR MY CAMWHORE RAGE.


EXCEPT THIS

RAGE FACE

I should start labeling my posts.

I think I blog too much.

So let's all have some pie.

 Yeah, I made that pie. :D

And also some kittens!

There's another one, but I have no idea where he is.

Kind-a tempted to upload my picture of my Satanic Mechanic outfit, but it's very, very slutty. XD WHAT DO YOU THINK NOW-FOUR FOLLOWERS?

Who are you, new guy? TELL ME WHO YOU ARE. I LOVE YOU.

(see, I love all my followers!)

Post-following-spree post - Your Weekly Science Pill

The first part of this post goes out to everyone I followed-on-a-whim like the creepy stalker I am, who could be investigating my blog (as you tend to do, when people follow you, i guess). Hellow! How are you? :3 The more followers I get, the more interesting I'll be, I guess. Honestly, I do care how you are, so comment and let me know. :3

THIS PART of this post is one of my many theories, now reserved for blogging on a Wednesday night.

WARNING: SCEINCE

As exactly one of you knows, I really like astrophysics. Physics in general, but astrophysics, and theoretical physics, particularly interest me. As that same one of you knows, I'm an atheist, and I stay up very late at night.

Let me define "atheist". "One who does not believe in a God or Gods". Specifically, I do not believe that there is a god now. Why?

To quote the Terry Pratchett I used in my previous post!

DEATH: HUMANS NEED FANTASY TO BE HUMAN. TO BE THE PLACE WHERE THE FALLING ANGEL MEETS THE RISING APE.
Susan: Tooth fairies? Hogfathers? Little -
DEATH: YES. AS PRACTICE. YOU HAVE TO START OUT LEARNING TO BELIEVE THE LITTLE LIES.
Susan: So we can believe the big ones?
DEATH: YES. JUSTICE. MERCY. DUTY. THAT SORT OF THING.
Susan: They’re not the same at all!
DEATH: YOU THINK SO? THEN TAKE THE UNIVERSE AND GRIND IT DOWN TO THE FINEST POWDER, AND SIEVE IT THROUGH THE FINEST SIEVE AND THEN SHOW ME ONE ATOM OF JUSTICE, ONE MOLECULE OF MERCY. AND YET, YOU TRY TO ACT AS IF THERE IS SOME IDEAL ORDER IN THE WORLD. AS IF THERE IS SOME … SOME RIGHTNESS IN THE UNIVERSE BY WHICH IT MAY BE JUDGED.
Susan: Yes, but people have got to believe that, or what’s the point -
DEATH: MY POINT EXACTLY.

 There is no mercy, nor justice, nor duty - but people have just got to believe that. So regardless of whether or not there is a God, there is none of the things in the universe that this God is supposed to embody.

My latest theory was prompted by a friend's link on facebook. It was something about "Can you see god, can you touch god, then he doesn't exist, well can you see your brain, can you touch your brain, then it musn't exist either". To which I promptly pointed out that, yes, in fact, you can touch your brain, and you do, every second and every moment of the day. What with it being a part of you and all.

My response was as follows (copypasta from where it was really developed, in a converstation with my Rororo?!, whose name must always be printed like that. 

xkitourax 11:51 pm

   >"Can you see or touch a black hole? No. Does that mean they do not exist? No, it does not. However, the existance of them means that, if at any point, there was a god or gods, they were ripped out of the universe by them, since anything with a universal/omnipresence would ergo be everywhere at once - and eventually cease to exist."
    >"Also, yeah, you can touch your brain. You do. All the damn time."
Soroma Scull 11:54 pm
    :3
    Logic!
xkitourax 11:55 pm
    If God exists, then it exists Inside Of Logic, and therefore is destroyable.
xkitourax 11:57 pm
    and therefore is subject to gravity just like everything else
    and even something that immense could not be not torn apart by the billions of black holes, gravitational pulls and the expansion of the universe. eventually, God would be torn apart - just like space-time.

delicious delicious copypasta

I often get the "it is logical that God exists" argument, to which I always think, well, no. It is logical that if God existed, it no longer does - as anything embodied by, fought for, fought over and put in the mouth of God seems to be the opposite of anything a or many Gods would want for its creations.

Now, this does not completely disprove God. I will never say I have done such a thing. Freedom is a two-way street, and as I may believe as I will, I give you my blessings in whatever non-violent and non-oppressive beliefs you have. To be honest, I believe you're intitled to your beliefs as long as it's not stupid - like, you're not intitled to believe that rap music is good (except for Lady Sovereign, who is not good, but awesome.Yeah, I'm English, try and deport me.)

And that about does it for today's Science.

Writing Exercise - Character Development - The Graverobber

[My prediction is that Sarah will read this title and get very perplexed. To put her to rest, no, not that Graverobber. This Graverobber is blonder, taller and 80% more sacrilegious.]

Sacrilege.
That’s a many-layered word, Graverobber thought to himself while he shuffled his pack of cards. I prefer “man of ill-repute in regards to religious means.”
With a pause in his thought, he added; Graverobber, for short.
The man in front of him held his hat and quivered. Quivered like a man would, were he playing a game of Go Fish for his life. Unfortunately for Shamus Macleod,  that’s exactly what was happening to him.
Leaning back into his high-backed wing chair, he tilted his flamboyant top hat forward over his long, blonde hair. His ridiculous Mad Hatter motif, from his shiny red tie, to his black buckle boots, to his half-black, half-chequered pants, and even the tall red and black top hat, suited him. It was…silly. Darling. Affectionate and alluring. No wonder the women loved him. He leaned forward, shuffling the white feathers on his rather enormous wings. “Shay, now.” He said, smirking and cracking his knuckles. His skull rings clinked together. “Your position is dire, that it is.” He was mocking the man’s Irish accent rather harshly.
Dealing out the cards quickly, he picked up his hand.
“So.” He said. “Got any threes?”

“Please sir,” begged the frightened man. “Have mercy on me, sir. I’ll pay you back! I swear!”
“Mercy?”
The word struck a chord with the angel. His feathers ruffled, his round, yellow eyes turned a gory red, and he lurched forward towards him, landing on the table on all fours, only inches from his face.
“Mercy?” He spat. “What do you know of mercy? Then take the universe, and grind it down to the finest powder, and sieve it through the finest sieve, and then show me one atom of justice, one molecule of mercy! There is no mercy. There’s-”
“There’s just us.” came a female voice from the shadows of the room. She stepped forwards, very small, childlike and dark. “Yes, Jacob, we have all read those books. ‘For what does the harvest have to hope for, but the care of the Reaper Man?’ I know. Get off the table.”
Graverobber hissed softly and waved his hand as he got down. His - whatever word one chooses to use, lackeys, goons, guards, mobsters. It’s all the same - dragged the pleading man out the back door.
“Lilith.” He growled, plonking himself down. “What are you here for?”
The girl, with her long, black hair, grey eyes and pale skin, came and sat opposite. Neatly, she tucked her legs to the side. “You take your hat off in the presence of women, Jacob. You know that.”
Snatching his fabulous hat off, he glared. “What do you want?”
“Currently? A cup of tea. In general? My chimney fixed. Specifically? You to sit up straight. It‘s not good for you to sit all half-draped like that, regardless of how handsome you look when you do it.” Her large black cat jumped into her lap as a cup of tea was brought to her.
“Lilith!” He snapped.
“Patience, and ask me the right question if you want the right answer. And don’t make it so amusing to annoy you.”
Sighing, he straightened himself up. “Why are you here today?”
“Your little speech about mercy created quite some noise. You know using that little magic trick tends to shake up the fabric of space-time.”
He eyed her. She was thin-shouldered, and wore a neck-to-shin black dress. Her waist was impossibly small, her cuffs tight on her wrists. Her skirts were flounced by petticoats, and her stockings striped, black and white. Her little black boots looked slightly battered. In truth, Jacob “Graverobber” Angelicus had always - well, all of her adult life - found her arousing and attractive. He didn’t ever make a move, though.
“Have I ever made the point that you should try more low-cut blouses and shorter skirts? It’s not the eighteen-eighties. You never even saw the eighteen-eighties. You’re nineteen.”
“Have I ever made the point that I have worked out how to manipulate things so that you wouldn’t have worn pants this morning?”
He bit his lip. Witches were tame compared to her. She could remove humans from existence, but not things that existed outside Logic - angels, demons, vampires, werewolves, ghosts, bogeymen, anthropomorphic personifications, so forth. Although she couldn’t remove them, she could remove clothes. Skilful manipulations of space-time.
He opened his mouth to talk, but drew a blank.
There she was, the “witch” who could work against physics, who could take the iron out of someone’s blood, who could remove a brain before a birth that happened twenty-six years before she was born, was holding her enormous, black Maine Coon over her head, cooing and baby talking to him.
Well, he reasoned. It could be worse. At least there were no babies or kittens in the nearby vicinity.

Lilith left eventually, and Graverobber went back to relaxing in his chair, hat cocked on his head. He had two dice in his spindly, spider like hand, which he shook and rolled.
Snake eyes, he thought.
His gambling room was the back room of the underworld bar. “Underworld”, of course, here meaning “bar for dark creatures outside of Logic”. He could see the light from the neon sign outside the small window. From the front, it read “Blood Bathers”. From the side, it rather looked more like “|” with some funny colours coming off it.
Cracking his knuckles, he looked up as the door opened. In came a young man. He was as pale as Graverobber, but far more sullen. He had scruffy black hair and red eyes.
“Grimm.” He said, sighing. “What now?”
The vampire sat down. “New York City is rough, mate. I prefer London more. Can’t we go home?” he asked.
“You know we can’t.” He replied, recalling the whole “accidental mass murder of a bunch of demons” thing that had forced them to leave in the first place.
“How about France, Grave? French girls.”
“The Fursuit Incident hasn’t quite blown over yet.”
“Germany?”
“They’re still a bit sore about the time we spent at the cabarets.”
“Italy?”
“There is a whole family of Italian women after your head.”
“I’m screwed, aren’t I?”
“Yes, Grimmshaw. Very, very screwed.” He leaned back, stretching. “I heard you like it, though. So, what have you done?”
“Hm? Nothing. Nothing. I just, uh. Lilith’s….she’s warm, her apartment is cold, and it was snowing outside. It’s not my fault her lot took that the wrong way.”
“Are they trying to rearrange the placement of your limbs?”
“The latitude of them, I think.”
Graverobber jumped up. “Right-o, then.” He pat his friend on the back. “Let’s go get slaughtered with dignity then.”
“….again?”

“YOU THINK SO? THEN TAKE THE UNIVERSE AND GRIND IT DOWN TO THE FINEST POWDER, AND SIEVE IT THROUGH THE FINEST SIEVE AND THEN SHOW ME ONE ATOM OF JUSTICE, ONE MOLECULE OF MERCY. AND YET, YOU TRY TO ACT AS IF THERE IS SOME IDEAL ORDER IN THE WORLD. AS IF THERE IS SOME … SOME RIGHTNESS IN THE UNIVERSE BY WHICH IT MAY BE JUDGED.” -Death, from Terry Pratchett’s Hogfather.

0:!!!!!

HOLY SHIT U GAIZ

I HAVE THREE FOLLOWERS

Everybody do a dance!

DANCING IS MANDATORY.

As a reward to myself for being awesome, I'm going to have some hash browns.

SARAH COME TO MY HOUSE. D< THERE WILL BE PIE.

(srs. I will make pie.)

Writing Excercise - Lilith's House

The dark house at the edge of town would have loomed, if people had built their houses nearby. Across the street from the centuries-old farm house was a vacant lot, as was the lot beside it. It sat at the end of the out skirted street, battered and the yard overgrown. The white picket fence was peeling and half-broken, the gate hanging off its hinges. The garden had grown wild, brambles and wildflowers having taken over. The wide yard followed around to the back, where the fence faded into the forest. There were trees in the yard, an overgrown vegetable patch, and to the left of the back yard grew an enormous and ancient weeping willow.

The house had been built in the 1800s, when the surrounding area had all been farmland. In 1922, the land was subdivided, and filled with houses up until the edge of town - where the old house stood. It had, in total, thirty-three rooms. Thirty-three rooms, four bathrooms, one resident, and one cat.

That resident was a nineteen-year-old girl by the name of Lilith Twist.

Lilith didn’t leave very much, if at all. She just stayed inside, and cleaned, and baked pies.

Of the thirty-three rooms, four were bathrooms, twelve were bedrooms, three were drawing rooms, three were sitting rooms, two were lounge rooms, one laundry, one attic, one basement, a kitchen, two studies, and three were secret rooms. Of those thirty-three rooms, the kitchen, lounge rooms, two drawing rooms, one sitting room, laundry, studies and six bedrooms were unlocked. Lilith  never opened the locked rooms, and never spoke of them.

Her own bedroom was two doors ahead of the top of the stairs. It was sparsely decorated, with a large and soft white bed, a white net shroud over the pillow end. The tattered curtains were drawn, and grey light filtered in over the vanity. The speckled mirror held Lilith’s pale reflection while she brushed her hair. She wore a white nightdress, from neck to ankle and wrists, and her dark hair ended in thick curls. Beside the mirror was a slender vase with a single, dried rose in it. There was very little on the table surface, save for her combs and hairpins. On the two wood poles that held the mirror were draped bonnets and small hats and fascinators.

Getting up from her small stool, the little woman went to her large, carved wardrobe and took out her corset to put on. It was time to get up.

Out in the garden, a black shape was moving. It was a very large black cat, with long fur and a long tail. He was frighteningly large for a housecat, but nonetheless, he slipped inside. He walked to the kitchen and jumped onto the table as Lilith came in.

She fed him, rather automatically, before she started to make some tea. Tea was good.

Out on the street, the children were leaving for school. Lilith, they said, was a witch. They threw stones at her fence and chased her cat - as much as one could chase a cat who would not move. They were all superstitious of her - even their parents. If she was on the street at night, or her cat was sunbaking on the road, she was avoided - and the cat didn’t move for you. You moved for the cat.

It was springtime, and what came with springtime? Animals bred in the spring. Very few people knew that there were things that weren’t quite human that came to that street, in the hopes of breeding in spring.

Today was the day the vampires came to town.

Notes:

Just a small writing excercise. Brace for many more of these. Had to babysit my nephew, so I did this in the meantime. I've never done a proper in-depth description of Number 36, Willow Street, and I hope to do more in the future.

So.

So I lied about that "mario now, next post later" thing. I just couldn't stop thinking about, after stalking some other blogs, about the good old HOW I BECAME A GOTH post.

I actually signed up today (yesterday, but because I'm so nocturnal, I am of the opinion a day does not go from 12am-11:59pm, but from dawn one day til dawn the next. It's a lot easier this way) as an excuse to follow Sarah. I got the idea to follow Sarah because she sent me a message asking if it'd be okay to mention me in her blag about how she became a goth (because I'm super-influential).

So I thought, Kitty, how did you become a goth?

Well, Kitty, I thought in return, causing some sort of odd internal conversation wherein I sounded like Christopher Lee. You always loved your sisters.

See, I'm the youngest of five. My eldest brother Dylan is 34 in November. Then there's Sally, whose first baby is born in August, Courtney, who is ten years older than me, Jake, who lives in Canada, and then little old me. I was a really sick baby. I cried a lot. So every day when my sister Courtney (henceforth refered to as Cork) got home from school, I was handed over to her. Remembering that she was ten. I mean, outside me, mum had four other kids, whoever they brought home, a bunch of animals and a husband to feed (plus, she and Dad were about a year and a half away from breaking up when I was born). So Cork would take me to the lounge room and dance with me til I went to sleep. She spent more time getting me to stop crying and go to sleep than both of her sons, combined. She was the only person who ever could and, you know, nothing much ever changed.

Now, kid-me didn't really see the fuckedupedness going on with my sister. I just saw....my sister. My sister, who I wanted to grow up to be like (without the drugs and pregnancy), who I wanted to dress like. Hell, at the end of year eight, I got my nose pierced, because I wanted to be just like her.

And then there was Sally. Sally...well, Dad called her Princess. Cork was "sausage", and I was "a very useful thing". Sal? Sal was daddy's princess. She was born the year my dad's mum, June, died...and she looked exactly like her, too. So there was that. This mixture of grunge, and punk, and gothic, and then this massive hit of classic beauty and pin-up girl. Courtney was all rough-and-tumble, all punk and ripped stockings and Emily the Strange. Sally was all neat hair and polka dots and red shoes.

I always loved Gothic clothes and culture, for as long as I could remember. I started changing at the end of primary school. In early highschool, I was much into the "witchy" kind of Goth. I was also severely bullied, and telling them I was a witch, and then "cursing" them (translating to: being a damn intelligent chick who could orchestrate things to her liking) helped get them to lay off. At the end of highschool, I met...someone, whose name I shan't mention, really. I don't think it's necessary. She and I, along with Sarah, started to, uh. Gothvolve. Yeah. It's like pokemon, but with platform boots.

Eventually, she wandered from the scene, and I was left to go on my own - but I continued this fashion evolution, and I learned some hard lessons, along with Heather, who I had brought into the goth world along with me. (She's a year younger and a foot taller than me.)

The lessons I learned? It's awesome to be a goth, but only in winter or when it's cloudy. In summer, all of my family reverts back to their Byron Bay roots - the shoes come off, the swimmers come out, the corsets get put away. You're no good to the goths if you're dying of heat exhaustion.

That's really my tip to any newcomers - summer is for bare feet and staying indoors.

Although I will never be like many of my gothic counterparts - with a specific style they stick to, and a particular culture many I have known like ("hey, do you know what's cool? drugs, alcohol and nightclubs!" I can assure you, none of those things are cool.), I am happy with myself. Some people may not see me as "goth" - I shop at Vinnies and JayJays, and wear old shoes - I am to me. I have my corsets, and my boots, and my lolita, and my platforms, and my ancient Doc Martens.

Because, hey, sometimes you gotta do what you love.

FirstPost?

I thought it was appropriate.

Anyway, I guess since it's my first blogpost, I should introduce myself.

Well, my name's Kitty. This blog was created on a whim to follow Sarah. She and I have been friends a rather long while. We met through a girl, [ERROR. NAME COULD NOT BE POSTED. TOO MUCH BITCH], and have been rather good friends ever since. She's far more interesting than I am, since due to her TEN FOLLOWERS (one of them's me woo), at least someone gives an ass about what she has to say. Same cannot be said of me, since I do not go to school, or work. Really, all I do is talk about my cat's four kittens. (They were a month old on Sunday! Woo!) Their names are Matilda, Sunday, Sebastian and Susan Sto Helit. We have another two, the mommacat, Delilah, and her brother, Franky. Franky's a ginger.


Let's see. Things not about my cats. Well, I'm seventeen in August, and I'm allergic to lactose, ants, paralysis ticks and most other biting insects that aren't mosquitos. I like words, and inside. My favourite game is Pokemon Soul Silver/Crystal (same thing, really), and my second favourite is Okami. I like to draw, mostly my friends as various foodstuffs. My dA can be found around about here. There's not much other than small writing pieces and pictures of cats.


Oh yeah. Writing. I like writing dark/macabre/horror stories, mostly involving vampires or demons. Vampire vampires, not Edward Cullens. Seriously, dude lives in a forest, dude sparkles. Dude's a goddamn unicorn. I will probably post some stuff up here, if anyone ever follows me (lol as if lol).


I spend most of my time at home, but my favourite place to be?

With my three best friends.

Anuangrowlithe (my bestest best best friend), Edoodle, and Heather (edoodle's girlfriendfox, who I've known since she was ELEVEN HOLEESHEET).

What else do I like? I like furries.

I'm not a furry (I can't be, since I'm not a human with an animal whatever they want, I'm a cat with superpowers), but I think furries are the coolest. I will probably post some pro-fur art, and if I go to MidFur with the afformentioned Sarah and those three bitches above, pictures of awesome, awesome furries.

I like opera. I am currently in-training. I'd say "ONE DAY I WILL BE THE GREATEST OPERA STAR EVER, YOU'LL SEE", but this is not anime, nor am I Barbra Streisand, this is reality, and that will never happen. Really, I'm just trying to pass some time.

Well, that's it for a while, I suppose. Off to play some Mario.