:: folie à deux ::

OMG SKINS. I'm supposed to say that, right?

Fri, 13 Nov 2009 01:34:05 GMT

anyway. i present you all with a mini-mini-mini picspam. but first, a totally non-spoilery pic that i really must say something about.

I HAVE THOSE MUGS. JUST SAYIN'.
& ME AND MY MOM LOOK JUST LIKE THAT WHEN WE HAVE TEA.
OKAY.

now. i will be spoiling things. well, not really cos i have no fucking clue what's going on in any of the clips, but i suppose if you're lucky, you can figure it out. statistically speaking, at least one person should come up with the correct idea. OH FUCK YOU STATS. caps are not good quality, just a note.

Num nums. I thought it was Emily giving Naomi a cigarette.
I thought that was odd. Even more odd?
WHY DOES NAOMI HAVE A PHOTO OF FREDDIE ON HER WALL?
(the one far bottom left).

NAOMI AND EMILY WILL CHOKE A BITCH YO.

SO EXCITING OMG. I BET IT'S KATIE!!! The fishnets! HA! I can't wait for this.

But I'm possibly *MORE* excited for this. Naomi & Effy *FRIENDSHIP*. thank god. :)
and topped off by emily (angrily?) tackling Naomi into a pool!

i will say: water is shallow. thus this hurts -- if you are not drunk. i say this having been tackled into a kiddie pool. but i was drunk so i bruised but felt no pain at the time. it was actually hilarious to me instead.
bruises the next day were not as hilarious.

Now onto the *NEW* master of disguise, katie fitch!

WHAT IS GOING ON. I DO NOT GET IT. I HAVE SO MANY IDEAS. THEY ALL SEEM WEIRD.
Chavvy McChaverson is a buff ting!! hoooooot.
(that is actually "hot" not "hoot".)

and finally:

WHO IS THAT? And why does he have those ugly saggy titties on his wall?
And that terrible sunburn.

that is all.

now off to a snowboard club meeting.

the many days of sharing (then some days of not sharing) then sharing again meme.

Fri, 02 Oct 2009 20:54:31 GMT

Oops. Again.

seven days of sharing: has turned into like 10. or something.

one: a song
two: a picture
three: a book/ebook/fanfic
four: a site
five: a youtube clip

six: a quote

Keisha: Ugh. It's always some day or other at this school! Today it's sex education day. Yesterday was Monday. Let's take the day off, man!
Natella: You always want to take the day off Keisha. You're trapped in a vicious circle. Not interested in school cos you can't read, can't read cos you're not interested in school.
Keisha: I can't read, Natella, cos I have Attention Deficit Syndrome.
Latrina: What's that?
Keisha: What's what? Oh! Teacher's coming! Don't let her see the baby. Distract her!
Natella: Mrs. Jackson, have you don't something with your hair?
Mrs. Jackson: Uh no.
Latrina: Well perhaps you should. It's a disgrace.
Mrs. Jackson: Riight. This is Tamsin, everybody. In their wisdom, her parents have decided to broaden her social awareness and leave public school and mix with poorer, more violent children.
~ Bromwell High; info.
Keisha & I are like soulmates, lol.

seven: whatever tickles your fancy
Whatever tickles my fancy? WELL. Then it will be a load of things!

1. Katy Brand - I'm gonna weird you out tonight
I'm gonna weird you out tonight
I'm gonna write my new album with a kite
I'll eat cheese, ham and an aluminum bun
Put a keyboard in a blender just to have some fun

2. Little Boots: A Different Kind of Youtube Star
Pitchfork: You're all over the internet, on YouTube, MySpace, and on your blog. And I see you've started a Twitter now. I'm sort of frightened by Twitter.

Little Boots: What a strange thing, right? I don't really want to know what everybody had for breakfast and it quite worries me that people want to know what I had for breakfast. With all the other stuff-- my blog, YouTube, and everything else-- I've always done it myself. I'm totally into it. But the Twitter was something that my management made me do. It's stupid; I don't get it. I got annoyed, I was like, "Oh god, with all the other stuff that I do, you want a bloody Twitter as well?" I've just been putting ridiculous things on there.

3. Kanye West 'Auto tune'
"Not only was this record produced by ME, I also rap, sing and play every instrument MYSELF. The sleeve was designed by ME, and I PERSONALLY burnt every CD and I put them in the boxes with MY OWN hands!

I am directing this video with with cameras that I designed and built MYSELF. The TV you watchin' this on was invented by ME, and all the programs on all the other channels were written and produced and directed by ME."

4. fitness club fiasco!!! :D <3

5. Bench. I like benches. I like to stand on benches and pretend I've just taken a dozen sleeping pills & chased those with vodka. Cos then people will know what love feels like.

Well, that's enough fancy tickling for the day.

Because the last thing I need is an excuse to post everyday.

Fri, 25 Sep 2009 00:26:38 GMT

seven days of sharing:

one: a song

Asking me to decide which song to post is about the most time-consuming thing I could be asked to do (That sentence was weird, but you get my point). So, to simplify, I went to iTunes and I'm posting my most played track on there.

"The 7 July 2005 London bombings, also known as 7/7, were a series of coordinated suicide attacks on London's public transport system during the morning rush hour. The bombings were carried out by four English Muslim men motivated by Britain's involvement in the Iraq War.

At 08:50, three bombs exploded within fifty seconds of each other on three London Underground trains, a fourth exploding an hour later at 09:47 on a double-decker bus in Tavistock Square. The explosions were caused by home-made organic peroxide-based devices, packed into rucksacks and almost certainly detonated by the bombers themselves. Fifty-six people were killed, including the bombers, and 700 were injured."

♫ Drag me by my ankles, to the bottom of the ocean
There I'll stay forever, until you come back from England
I stayed up forever, tried to call your number
But you were lost forever, in the early days of winter
Dirty little town on the Thames is calling you away ♫

here: LONDON BOMBS

two: a picture
three: a book/ebook/fanfic
four: a site
five: a youtube clip
six: a quote
seven: whatever tickles your fancy

skins - effy stonem - impeccable peccadillo

Mon, 18 May 2009 05:45:17 GMT

Medium: TV
Fandom: Skins
Subject: Effy Stonem (again, yeah I know...)
Title: Impeccable Peccadillo
Warnings: Language.
Notes: It somehow felt fitting to make another angsty Effy mix right now. Apologies however for the artwork. I don't have my normal program so I did the best I could with the crap one I have. I'll probably redo it when I get my PC back.

ps. i didn't mean to repeat a track i had on a previous mix (the sheep song). if you want, just knock that one out of it, if you'd like. actually, you know what? YES. ignore it on the art below. i've replaced it with the Florence song. i've included it in the zip. there. sorted. it really needs to go on this mix. like, really. and, um, there are a few other boo-boos i'll fix with the art tracklisting too. eventually. heh.

1. welcome to england
"go on, let the liquid take off what you're on.
you've been down before..."
boy, not like this.
i'm in quicksand i am sinking fast

2. jigsaw
so i'm smokin like a chimney,
i feel fucked up
i got too much drink in me
my heart is like a jigsaw puzzle
pick it up and fix it for me,
are you listening now?

3. seventeen
i could never tell you what happened the day i turned 17
the rise of a king & the fall of a queen
i bet you wish i couldn't speak
cos when i do, you know, i'll tell you how you feeling
well, you don't know a fuck about my family

4. everytime i'm with you
everytime you come by we get so trashed, stay up all night
it's so wrong, but it's so right
everytime i'm with you, i'm fucked up
and you are too, well, what the hell else are we supposed to do?

5. abnormally attracted to sin
she may be dead to you
but her hips sway a natural kind of faith
and you will simply wake
abnormally attracted to sin

6. girls & boys
i fear i'm only tin & plastic, speaking in static in this room
we're girls & boys, broken like toys
don't throw me back in my packaging

7. as it always was
techno-beat amphetamine kids always needing more
this has been the way it's always worked
somethings can never be learned
this will be the way it always works
until someone starts changing

8. glycerine
i'm never alone
i'm alone all the time
are you at one, or do you lie?
i treated you bad
you bruised my face
i couldn't love you more

9. the cure for pain
so blood is fire pulsing through our veins
we're either writers or fools behind the reigns
i've spent ten years trying to sing it all way
but the water keeps on falling from my eyes
it would be a lie to run away

10. gunchild
it's only me out here tonight
and it's only you i wanna find
it's only water in your eyes (water in my eyes)
it's only words out of my mouth (words out of your mouth)
i know that you are hiding in there
can i let you out?

11. going, going, gone
you're still hooked on cellophane, killing time with gin and lime
each second numbs the pain, love's just another rhyme.
it's gotten to be that way

there's nowhere to move on
all i see is me everywhere

12. rabbit heart (raise it up)
listen here
i start spinning slipping out of time
was that the wrong pill to take?
you made a deal and now it seems you have to offer up
but will it ever be enough?
it's not enough

here i am a rabbit-hearted girl
frozen in the headlights
it seems i've made the final sacrifice

and in the spring i shed my skin
and it blows away with the changing wind
the waters turn from blue to red
as towards the sky i offer it

i must become a lion-hearted girl
ready for a fight
before i make the final sacrifice

this is a gift it comes with a price
who is the lamb and who is the knife?

13. forgiveness
we are swimming with the snakes
at the bottom of the well.
so silent and peaceful in the darkness where we fell.
but we are not snakes
and, what's more, we never will be.
and if we stay swimming here forever, we will never be free.

14. get up, get up, get up
crawling on the ash, she's pitiful
she's lost her sense of light
she has to hold my hand
had i known we might be
two kids without their jackets
my fear would come alive
i wouldn't love her now
she might not make home tonight

DOWNLOAD
mediafire // zip
RIGHT HERE

~~:: post will be made friends-only in one week. ::~~
due to the massive popularity of this mix (if mediafire stats are to be believed, it's the most popular mix i've ever made), i'll be leaving this post open indefinitely. enjoy. i'm rather proud of it myself. ;)

A Brief History of Ireland - Various Artists - Part 1

Tue, 17 Mar 2009 02:05:55 GMT

Originally I wanted to put together some sweet St. Paddy's tunes for a friend of mine. Drinking songs and the like. Then I decided, nah. I decided to give her an education instead (however limited) -- in a musical way! So, it's important to note (for those of you unfamiliar with Ireland's history) the mix in general is pretty much war, war, famine, and more war. It's not the most uplifting thematically. However, if you enjoy Irish music, you will enjoy this, and maybe learn something too. Not to be a downer, but while you're out celebrating St. Patrick's Day, remember what it cost the Irish for you to celebrate this wonderful country.

For the most part, songs are in the proper chronological order, however, I did take a few liberties. Don't worry, it doesn't make a HUGE difference. The thing about rebel songs is that they are often used and reused throughout time.

NOTE: This is not meant to be inflammatory in any way. Merely a collection of songs that have existed (in some forms for 100s of years) for a long time. However, if you are British or from Northern Ireland, you may be particularly sensitive to some of the lyrics. If you're Irish, you're probably sensitive to most of them. Fair warning.

A Brief History Of Ireland
800 years we have been down

Chronicling the rise of Ireland through many struggles to The Irish War of Independence.

"We shall never conquer Ireland while the Bards are there. Hang the harpers wherever found." Queen Elizabeth I

Welcome to PART ONE. Part Two will be along sometime later. (It's a lot of work, you know.) So for, now please enjoy the very small taste of Irish history told through song.

The mix begins with a non-specific song, a sort of set-up for all of Ireland's troubles throughout its history. From the Vikings to modern day...

Irish Ways and Irish Laws
800 years we have been down,
The secret of the water sound
Has kept the spirit of a man
Above the pain descending,
Above the pain descending.
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Today the struggle carries on,
I wonder will I live so long
To see the gates been opened up
To people and their freedom

The Celts arrived in Ireland around 300 BC. Very little is known about the pre-Celtic civilizations themselves. (However, much evidence of these pre-Celtic people is all around Ireland, even today. Check out the Brownshill Portal Tomb, Poulnabrone Dolmen, Newgrange, etc.) The Celts flourished in Ireland...

Adoramus Domine
Instrumental/Chant

...Until the arrival of Christianity in the form of St. Padraig himself! (This is after he had previously come to Ireland, been taken as a slave, escaped to Gaul, and then returned!) He then proceeded to convert many Druidic tribes into Christianity and thus establish the Church in Ireland.

The Breastplate of St. Patrick
(This is a variation of The Lorica of St. Patrick (a prayer asking for protection, sometimes called "The Deer's Cry".))

Fast-forwarding past the Norman invasion in 1169, arguably the beginning of the tension between Ireland and Britain. Then comes the folk music!

Up Among The Heather
Said I me bonny wee lassie please take my advice
Don't ever let a soldier laddie love you more than twice
For all the time you do, he's a fixing how to plan
How to get a wee-be rattle at your old tin can

NOTE: I do have Follow Me Up To Carlow (referencing the (failed) 1580 Rebellion and the a great victory for McHugh, who was then beheaded by the English.). However, it simply didn't fit. If you would like it, drop me a comment and shove it into your playlist here.

Welcome to 1798! Or simply "Ninety-Eight". Thus begins the Protestant nation of Ireland, after many Catholics fled. However, the risings began anew. Specifically the Ninety-Eight Rising which consisted of Irish peasants facing the Yeomen and British Army. This is also roughly where the association of Protestantism with England was born. And rebel songs grew in commonality and intensity.

The Wearing of The Green
She's the most distressful country that ever yet was seen
For they're hanging men and women there for the Wearin' o' the Green."
So if the color we must wear be England's cruel red
Let it remind us of the blood that Irishmen have shed

Now this is one of the aforementioned "out of place" songs. I just wanted to put it in for recognizability's sake, not for any historical meaning.

Molly Malone
Now her ghost wheels her barrow,
Through streets broad and narrow,
Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!"

Back on track here. In the early 1800s, the British claimed Van Diemen's Land as a penal colony (what is now Tasmania). They shipped away prisoners to this island, including Irishmen many of whom died in these prison ships.

Back Home In Derry
Van Dieman's land is a hell for a man
To live out his life in slavery.
When the climate is raw and the gun makes the law.
Neither wind nor rain cares for bravery.

Twenty years have gone by and I've ended me bond
And comrades' ghosts are behind me.
A rebel I came and I'll die the same.

Back-tracking a little bit again, back to 1798. But also applicable to the early 1800s, especially the 1803 Rising.

The Wind That Shakes The Barley
Twas hard the mournful words to frame
To break the ties that bound us
But harder still to bear the shame
Of foreign chains around us
And so I said, "The mountain glen I'll seek at morning early
And join the brave United Men"

And once again into the 1800s.

Paddy On The Railway
In 1841 I did as plenty have done
My corduroy breeches I put on
To work upon the railway, the railway
I am weary of the railway

Now, this is possibly one of the most notable areas of Irish history that has affected more than just Ireland: The Great Famine, 1845. AS most know, this was the period where rural Ireland lost approx. 50% of its potato harvest to the blight. And because famines where not uncommon in Ireland preceding this, England did nothing. As a result of poor aid from England, politics, and general lack of empathy, Ireland lost 2 million people, 25% of their population. (The estimate is about 1 million died of starvation or disease due to famine, and the other million were lost to emigration, many of whom died in transit from fever and other illness.) Sinead O'Connor takes a particularly vitriolic approach to the event.

Famine
OK, I want to talk about Ireland
Specifically I want to talk about the "famine"
About the fact that there never really was one
There was no "famine"
See Irish people were only allowed to eat potatoes
All of the other food
Meat fish vegetables
Were shipped out of the country under armed guard
To England while the Irish people starved
And then on the middle of all this
They gave us money not to teach our children Irish
And so we lost our history
And this is what I think is still hurting me

The following songs all deal with the famine in various forms: starvation, emigration, etc

1849
They traveled across the angry sea in 1849
With all that they could carry
They traveled sick, they traveled blind
Their home, the starving island, just a photo in their mind
They buried the dead at sea, winter 1849

Famine Theme
instrumental

The Green Fields of Canada
But what matters to me where my bones may be buried
If in peace and contentment I can spend my life
Oh the green fields of Canada they daily are blooming
It's there I'll put an end to my miseries and strife.

The 1848 Rising, during the Famine, Young Ireland fought against the English, and then later reformed in 1857 as the Fenians.

Bold Fenian Men
We've men from the Nore, from the Suir and the Shannon,
Let tyrants come forth, we'll bring force against force.
Our pen is the sword and our voice is the cannon,
Rifle for rifle and horse against horse.
We've made the false Saxon yield
Many a red battlefield:
God on our side, we will triumph again

More on the emigration... New York was a common destination, especially in the area of Hell's Kitchen where it was primarily Irish.

Livin' In America
Workin' with the black man, Dominican and Greek
In the snows of January or the drenchin' August heat
No sick days or benefits and for Christ sakes don't get hurt
The quacks over here won't patch you up unless they see the bucks upfront
Ah Mammy dear, we're all mad over here
Livin' in America

Dreaming in Hell's Kitchen
Of passion, love, and bravery
A brown bag lunch, and a mug of tea,
Through gates of horn and ivory,
We're dreaming in Hell's Kitchen.

Moving on from the Famine, we fast-forward through many more struggles and famines, to the early 1900s! The Black and Tans were British paramilitary troops deployed in 1920-21 in order to squash the Irish Republican Army, who wanted freedom from England. (A note here about the IRA: If you've done any study, you will already know this, however, the Old IRA was a legitimate army, which branched out to the National Army in 1922. The IRA lost legitimacy in the 30s...) The Black and Tan were responsible for numerous attacks on Irish civilians and are characterized by brutality and various atrocities on the Irish. (Although the IRA was not without violence itself. It was not however the IRA that most people commonly think of (ie, the p-IRA of the latter half of the 1900s).

Come Out Ye Black and Tans
I was born on a Dublin street where the Royal drums do beat
And the loving English feet they tramped all over us,
And each and every night when me father'd come home tight
He'd invite the neighbors outside with this chorus: Oh, come out you black and tans,
Come out and fight me like a man
Show your wives how you won medals down in Flanders
Tell them how the IRA made you run like hell away,
From the green and lovely lanes in Killashandra.

In 1916, one of the most famous uprisings took place. The Easter Rising. What was supposed to be a nationwide uprising was confined mostly to Dublin for about a week and was a horrible military failure. They were forced to surrender and all 13 leaders were killed, and the brother of one of the leaders merely for being related. James Connolly was put in front of a firing squad and could not even stay upright in seat because of his injuries. He had to be tied to the chair. Following the failure of the 1916 rising, Republicans felt betrayed (such is the second half of this song).

James Connolly / The Patriot Game
He went to his death like a true son of Ireland,
The firing party he bravely did face,
Then the order rang out: "Present arms, fire,"
James Connolly fell into a ready-made grave.
/
This Ireland of ours has
For long been half-free,
Six counties are under
John Bull's tyranny.
So we gave up our boyhood
For to drill and to train,
To play our own part in the Patriot Game.

Again the 1916 Rising, about the number of Irishmen who died for England, not Ireland.

The Foggy Dew
But the bravest fell, and the requiem bell rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Eastertide in the springing of the year
And the world did gaze, in deep amaze, at those fearless men, but few
Who bore the fight that freedom's light
Might shine through the foggy dew

Although it was written in reaction to The Troubles in th 1990s, I put it here because it references the 1916 Rising and the horror of war in Ireland in general and the inability for anyone to see anything else. Which sadly still continues today, with children being raised with biases. It's cycle that has continued over and over throughout history, each war only adding fuel to the fire, and never actually extinguishing it. Blame being placed elsewhere. My personal feelings of confusion over modern days aside, there is still a long way to go in Ireland before it seems everyone will accept everyone else.

Zombie
Another mother's breakin',
Heart is taking over.
When the violence causes silence,
We must be mistaken.

It's the same old theme since 1916.
In your head, in your head they're still fighting,
With their tanks and their bombs,
And their bombs and their guns.
In your head, in your head, they are dying...

That's it for Part 1. Keep in mind there are 100s of songs that ideally could be included. This is a mere sampling of rebel songs and the like. Just a taste... And please excuse my very simplified attempt at a history lesson, just let the songs speak for themselves...

DOWNLOAD HERE
PART 1

Once I get the damn second part to upload, I'll post it too. And PS, don't bother flaming me about this. You don't know me (Well, some of you may, lol). And you don't know my politics. Let's not make this about that can of worms. Please? It's merely a very simple collection of songs about Ireland's history.

A Brief History of Ireland - Part 2

Mon, 16 Mar 2009 23:18:23 GMT

Please read the disclaimer in Part 1. Further, I made this mix a year and a half ago and in that time, I have changed a few tracks. I replaced U2's "Sunday Bloody Sunday" with The Wolfetones "Sunday Bloody Sunday". They are in fact to very different songs, and I prefer the latter by far. It fits much better into the theme of this mix. However, I needed to keep a U2 song, just for popular cred with the kiddies. Heh. So I chose (what I consider) one of U2's best songs, "Like A Song...". [You know, when U2 actually used to be good, and stand for something. But that's another story.] I also changed some tracks around to flow a little better with the chronology.

And so now, in PART 2, we pick up just after the Easter Rising of 1916. I'm going to start of the second part with a few general songs before getting into the chronological history lesson. ;)

A Brief History Of Ireland
800 years we have been down

Okay, I may have a lied a little. This song isn't a "general" song, yet it does carry common theme. (That being "GTFO!"). It was written in response to the occupation of N. Ireland since 1969, during The Troubles (& more specifically in response to Bloody Sunday), specifically Operation Banner which ultimately aggravated conflict between the Catholic and Protestant Irish and led to the development of the Provisional Irish Republican Army (p-IRA).

1. Go Home British Soldiers
Go on home British soldiers go on home,
Have you got no fucking homes of your own?
For eight hundred years we've fought you without fear
And we will fight you for eight hundred more.
If you stay British soldiers, if you stay
You'll never ever beat the IRA
The fourteen men in Derry are the last that you will bury
So take a tip and leave us while you may.

This is a more general song about about being born and raised in the UK, but being of Irish descent.

2. My Heart Is In Ireland
My heart is in Ireland, it´s there I long to be
Her hills and her valleys are calling to me
Though born here in this land, my heart is in Ireland
The land of the old folk is calling to me.

A bit of an Irish-American/Canadian anthem, this song can really be thrown in anytime, but it was written around 1910 and is thought to involve the diaspora.

3. Danny Boy
And if you come, when all the flowers are dying
And I am dead, as dead I well may be
You'll come and find the place where I am lying
And kneel and say an "Ave" there for me.

Here's where we get back into history. This revolves around the partition that took place betwee 1920 - 1922, and is arguable the most important factor contributing to the Trouble later in the century. It affected 6 north-east counties. The free dominion of Ireland happened in 1922 and those 6 counties opt out of the dominion, and thus made a partition between Northern Ireland and Southern Ireland (now simply Ireland, or the Republic of Ireland). This treaty and partition was a result of the Irish War of Independence (1919 - 1921). This song particularly is done almost satirically as the speaker is not Irish, but it's sung as a Brit to brag about what a great idea dividing Ireland is.

4. Song of Partition
We rant and we rave
"There's no united Ireland!"
We scream and shout to keep us all apart
We kick up the fuss to keep us all divided
And keep the isle of Ireland a deeply troubled land.

We decided on the 6 counties Ulster:
There are three loyal counties to the Union,
The other 3 will never have their say.
We'll make the other 26 a foreign country and
Pretend they're a thousand miles away.

This song is actually a medley of 4 different songs, all rebel songs. The first refers to Ireland as a teddy bear, which if you glance at a map you can see. The song itself is non-specific time-wise, however it is about the occupational and continued presence of England in Ireland. Because it's a medley, it does mix different events. The Helicopter Song is about the prison escape on Halloween, 1973 of 3 pIRA members in broad daylight with the use of a helicopter landing directly on the prison itself. It was an embarrassment to the government of the Republic of Ireland and Garda. Séan South is about the IRA leader of the same name who was fatally wounded in a raid of the Royal Ulster Constabulary on New Year's Day, 1957 in N. Ireland. It occurred during the Border Campaign of '56-'62 and was a failure. The border campaign (or Operation Harvest) was the first military attack since the 40s and was primarily a guerrilla campaign consisting of planned targets in order to bring about a united Ireland. The final tune is A Nation Once Again. Fairly self-explanatory.

5. up the rebels medley: teddy bear's head/helicopter song/sean south/a nation once again
So listen proud Britannia
To what I say to you
Would you like if your head was owned
By someone quite untrue
And they planted foreign fleas
To mix in with your breed
Before another year has passed
You'd never know your creed //

Then came this little message that some prisoners were escaping
"I think its three of the Provos" said the warder in the Joy
"Search every hole search every nook and cranny
Let no man rest until these men are found,
For this cannot happen to a law and order government."
"I think youll never find them" said the warder in Mountjoy //

No more he'll hear the seagull cry, or the murmuring Shannon's tide
For he fell beneath a northern sky, brave O'Hanlon by his side
He's gone to join that gallant band of Plunkett, Pierce and Tone
Another martyr for old Ireland, Sean South of Garryowen. //

And from that time, through wildest woe,
That hope has shone a far light,
Nor could love's brightest summer glow
Outshine that solemn starlight;
It seemed to watch above my head
In forum, field and fane,
Its angel voice sang round my head,
A Nation once again!

A traditional instrumental track to lighten the mood because it's going to get hairy from now on in.

6. Aoibhneas
instrumental

This is a piece that perhaps should have been on the previous part, but I include it here simply because it chronicles a struggling journey, which is not only the entire theme of these mixes but this road is leading to a modern period of huge unrest and horror in Irish history. This song itself is about finding yourself in a foreign land.

7. Rocky Road to Dublin
Poor old Erin's Isle they began abusing.
"Hurrah me soul" says I, me Shillelagh I let fly.
Some Galway boys were nigh and saw I was a hobble in,
With a load "hurray!" joined in the affray.
We quitely cleared the way for the rocky road to Dublin.

Here we begin a response to the death of Bobby Sands of the IRA in 1981 due to a hunger strike. This was a turning point in The Troubles. Sands (who was elected a Member of Parliament) and 9 other men were prisoners and died during this strike. As a result, there was a surge in nationalistic politics and Sinn Féin turned into a mainstream political party in Ireland and began a convergence of the p-IRA and Sinn Féin. The song itself is a message to the British that the suffering will continue until minds are changed.

8. It's Going To Happen
Watching your friends passing by
Going to sleep
without blinking a blue eye
Too slow to notice what's wrong
Two faced to you when you're taking them on
Its going to happen - happen - till your change your mind

Back-tracking a little, we'll go back to 1971 and the beginning of The Troubles: the Special Powers Act; it allowed British forces to arrest and hold without trial, any one they saw fit, primarily Catholics. The Internment camps led to a protest and massacre an 1972 called Bloody Sunday. (I'll go into more details later.) This is a song for detainees and those who support them.

9. Men Behind The Wire
Armoured cars and tanks and guns
Came to take away our sons
But every man must stand behind
The men behind the wire

Through the little streets of Belfast
In the dark of early morn
British soldiers came marauding
Wrecking little homes with scorn

Heedless of the crying children
Dragging fathers from their beds
Beating sons while helpless mothers
Watched the blood pour from their heads

Not for them a judge and jury
Nor indeed a trial at all
But being Irish means you´re guilty
So we're guilty one and all

Though there hasn't been an official comment on what specifically the next song is about, it fits well here. The mood is perfect for the despair of The Troubles.

10. So Cold In Ireland
Look what they've done to me.
They've taken my hand...
And it's killing me.
Killing me, killing me, killing me!

Does it have to be so cold in Ireland?
Does it have to be so cold in Ireland, for me?
Are they ready for me?

But I'm afraid I'm returning to Ireland.
I'm afraid I'm returning to Ireland.
I see, that there is nothing for me.

As previously mentioned, a brief culmination of the hostility during the Troubles resulted in what's known as Bloody Sunday. A protest march against the internment of Irish men was banned by the government but went forward towards Derry and British troops opened fire on the unarmed marchers and ended in fatally wounding 14 men, many under the age of 19.

11. Sunday Bloody Sunday
Well it was Sunday bloody Sunday
When they shot the people there
The cries of thirteen martyrs
Filled the Free Derry air
Is there any one amongst you
Dare to blame it on the kids?
Not a soldier boy was bleeding
When they nailed the coffin lids!

And from a Brit legend himself.

12. Give Ireland Back to the Irish
Give Ireland back to the Irish
Don't make them have to take it away
Give Ireland back to the Irish
Make Ireland Irish today
Great Britain, you are tremendous!
And nobody knows like me
But really what are you doin'
In the land across the sea

There are two sides to every story. Especially one as controversial this. Many innocent people on BOTH sides of this conflict have been affected by violence. In recognition of the atrocities on the other side of the equation, a song about living in Belfast, especially at the time of the Enniskillen bombing, on Remembrance Day 1987 where a bomb at a British war memorial exploded killing 11, wounding 63. Though it was not sanctioned by the IRA leadership, it was done by a faction of the p-IRA. The result was public & governmental outcry, and a loss of support for the p-IRA and Sinn Fein, which had not recovered as a political party until 2001.

13. Belfast Child
Brothers, sisters, where are you now?
As I look for you right through the crowd
All my life here I've spent
With my faith in God the church and the government
But there's sadness abound
Some day soon they're gonna pull the old town down

Not every person in Ireland believes in violence as being the answer to discontent. Being born into a culture that legitimizes violence and prejudice is a terrible thing but there are people that are able to see beyond religious and political walls and bring both Ireland's together*. And there are songs that call for the end to violence, whic mostly came about with the Belfast Agreement in 1998. *On a small scale I'm thinking mostly of those working with children from both Ireland and N. Ireland to dismantle hatred. (Ex. In Step Into Liquid. Little things matter.</a>)

14. Like A Song...
As we divide against each other
And we fight amongst ourselves
Too set in our ways to try to rearrange
Too right to be wrong, in this rebel song
Let the bells ring out
Is there nothing left?

A generation without name, ripped and torn
Nothing to lose, nothing to gain
Nothing at all
And if you can't help yourself
Well take a look around you
When others need your time
You say it's time to go...it's your time
Angry words won't stop the fight
Two wrongs won't make it right

It also not beyond anyone to see the state that Belfast was in during the Troubles (and some would claim is still in because of it). Many Irish and English left the city. This song recounts that feeling of leaving Belfast, and the second part refers to the Birmingham Six, 6 men convicted in the Birmingham pub bombings of 1974 which killed 21 people, injured 182 to which it was later overturned due to discredited scientific evidence and evidence that the "confessions" were obtained through torture. No group has ever claimed responsibility for the attacks.

15. Streets of Sorrow/Birmingham Six
Oh farewell you streets of sorrow
Oh farewell you streets of pain
I'll not return to feel more sorrow
Nor to see more young men slain
Through the last six years I've lived through terror
And in the darkened streets the pain

A curse on the judges, the coppers and screws
Who tortured the innocent, wrongly accused,
For the price of promotion
And justice to sell

May the whores of the empire lie awake in their beds
And sweat as they count out the sins on their heads
While over in Ireland eight more men lie dead
Kicked down and shot in the back of the head

The H-Blocks, The Maze or properly, Her Majesty's Prison Maze, was the internment prison used during the conflict. The H-Block was specifically for those convicted of terrorism and was the origin of the most notable events out of the Maze including the "on the blanket" protest, "dirty protest" and hunger strikes. All prisoners were released after the Good Friday Agreement in April 1998, save for a few that were transferred. The prison was closed as of 2000.

16. Roll of Honour
In those dreary H-Block cages ten brave young Irishmen lay
Hungering for justice as their young lives ebbed away,
For their rights as Irish soldiers and to free their native land
They stood beside their leader - the gallant Bobby Sands.

We will never be defeated while Ireland has such sons.

Ireland has 4 provinces: Connacht (north-west), Leinster (east coast and central), Munster (the south and west coast) and Ulster (north). This song is an old woman (Ireland) mourning for her lost son (Ulster). [Though it should be mentioned that not all of Ulster is in the UK. Cavan, Donegal and Monaghan are part of Ireland.]

17. Four Green Fields
Long time ago, this proud old woman did say
There was war and death, plundering and pillage
My children starved, by mountain, valley and sea
And their wailing cries, they shook the very heavens
My four green fields ran red with their blood, said she.

What have I now, said the fine old woman
What have I now, this proud old woman did say
I have four green fields, one of them's in bondage
In stranger's hands, that tried to take it from me
But my sons had sons, as brave as were their fathers
My fourth green field will bloom once again said she

Before the current national anthem of the Republic of Ireland came about, this was used unofficially. It was replaced in 1926 with Amhrán na bhFiann. It was based on the 1867 execution of 3 Irishmen (Manchester Martyrs) found guilty of murdering a policeman in an attempt to rescue Fenian prisoners. The final words of the men were "God save Ireland!".

18. God Save Ireland
Never 'til the latest day shall the memory pass away,
Of those gallant lives thus given for our land.
And on the cause must go, amidst joy and weal and woe,
'Til me make our isle a nation, free and grand!

"God save Ireland," said the heroes.
"God save Ireland," said them all.
"Whether on the scaffold high, or the battlefield we die,
No matter when, for Ireland dear we fall!"

While sympathies may lie with the unionists or the republicans, one song that is used in rugby specifically unites both Ireland and Northern Ireland. It is one nation with this song and both N. Ireland and Rep. of Ireland are accepting of this shared anthem.

19. Ireland's Call
Come the day and come the hour
Come the power and the glory
We have come to answer
Our Country's call
From the four proud provinces of Ireland

Ireland! Ireland!
Together standing tall
Shoulder to shoulder
We'll answer Ireland's call

From the mighty Glens of Antrim
From the rugged hills of Galway
From the walls of Limerick
And Dublin Bay
From the four proud provinces of Ireland

Hearts of steel
And heads unbowing
Vowing never to be broken
We will fight, until
We can fight no more
For the four proud provinces of Ireland

Ireland! Ireland!
Together standing tall
Shoulder to shoulder
We'll answer Ireland's call

And on that united note, the mix is over. I hope you all enjoyed the very skinny history I've presented and once again, it's not used in order to promote any political agenda or inspire controversy and flame wars. Just every St. Patrick's Day, I get a little annoyed and wonder if the majority of these people celebrating have any real idea about the history of Ireland. So I put together this mish mash of songs to tell the story. I'm not trying to be a Debbie Downer, I just think it's good to have a little more substance to a day that's meant to celebrate Ireland. There's more to being Irish than drinking a lot of whiskey. Thanks :)

DOWNLOAD HERE
PART 2 (a) || PART 2 (b)

I will upload it onto Mediafire once it stops being a bitch.

(c) all photographs used apart from the cover art were taken by me, on a junk camera, but all the same.

</center>

Cheers, now go celebrate! ;)

i never had a dream come true....

Sat, 13 Dec 2008 23:51:38 GMT

for some reason, christmas never fails to make me miss S Club 7.

I HAVE NO IDEA WHY.
perhaps it's the winter coats and snow in the video?
or maybe the fact one christmas i went to lick's really late at night to meet some friends and this song came on.
or maybe the fact that OMG lise and i were OBSESSED with Perfect Christmas, in a purely hilarious way. mostly because when we listened to the karaoke version, it sounded eerily similar to "Too Much", lmao. to the point that they were actually interchangable.

*sigh*

the good ole days of highschool craziness.

So if I had a wish come true
I'd spend the perfect Christmas with you

SPICE GIRLS!!! SPICE GIRLS!!! SPICE GIRLS!!!

Tue, 05 Feb 2008 06:30:19 GMT

.

...

Hi.

Life = Complete.

That is all.

...

.

You may now continue all your lame non-Spice Girls-related lives. In other news, I need one of those black Spice Girls concert t-shirts. They were all sold out by the time I got there. I need one. Now. Please? Anyone know where to get one. (They're not on their site.)

Feb 4, 2008
Toronto, Canada

goodbye, little friend!

Fri, 03 Aug 2007 14:35:03 GMT

R.I.P. GIR!!! Legal Action! aka Squishy Fishy
February 2006 - August 2007

We had fun didn't we, Hilter Fish? He passed away peacefully in his sleep August 3rd, 2007 after a short time on this earth where he used up about $500 of my hard-earned dollars. But it's a small price to pay for a constant companion (He can't run away!) and to save him from a torturous death at the hands of a drunken Huntington boy at formal. We had some good times, and he overcame some obstacles that others responded to with "Just flush him!". He got over ICK! He got over that tumour. He got through last hot, hot summer. We did it! You did it.

He was not well for the past 3 days but he is now resting comfortably in the big ocean in the sky.

Bon Voyage, Squishy!

Since 6AM I have been awake.

Fri, 01 Jun 2007 05:45:46 GMT

It is a record! Nearly.

For now:

Also, am brain dead. Spelt "Canadian" wrong on Customs declaration. (Also put wrong postal code. Genius.)

who is ready for summer???

Tue, 08 May 2007 22:37:39 GMT

I AM.

All right!

(I would upload except half the songs are m4p, so that is useless to anyone else. and you can ignore the fact that the marit bergman song is about halloween. it's about not having any parties to go to -- which would seem odd for a summer mix, but this is MY summer mix. and i have no parties. just work. it could possibly be the most hyper mix i've ever made, but if you are in a bad mood... there is no possible way to stay that way after this. twee to the extreeme! anyway, when (if ever) i crack the m4p files, i'll upload. promise.)

Etiquette

Sat, 03 Mar 2007 06:01:34 GMT

Things not to do at a Guster show:

1. Fart. (Then do the not-at-all-subtle glance around, then the "I'm uncomfortable" shuffle).
2. Bring a backpack.
3. Be a cheapskate and stuff your coat into said backpack so you can save the whole $1.75 it costs at coat check.
4. Wear a wool sweater and stand in the pit. Then scratch as the heat and your sweat make the shirt itchy.
5. Put your beer on the floor. You will lose it.
6. Make out. Just, no.
7. Bring your (tall) dad (who will stand in front of short girls like me).
8. Be a cheapskate and bring your backpack and bring your dad (who is wearing a wool sweater) to make out with and then fart while spilling beer on the floor.
(This one didn't happen. But it would still suck if it did.)

The End. Simple.
And Peter, Paul & Mary was very excellent tonight. If only more people listened to them nowadays.

A Better Place

Fri, 29 Dec 2006 18:35:34 GMT

My heart has joined the Thousand, for my friend stopped running today.
Cheerios
Dec 2003 - Dec 2006

It's okay. He bruxed up until his last day. The last week was a struggle but now he is in a happier, healthier place. I just wish him the best of luck in his next life. Maybe we'll meet again...

Peace.

huh?

Sun, 03 Dec 2006 08:04:38 GMT

I'm not drunk. WTF is up with me these days?

9 drinks. No buzz.

Rip off.

Jetlag what?

Fri, 11 Aug 2006 03:18:21 GMT

Granted, it feels later than 11. But not ridiculously so. Yet. Anyways, I promised Mike that I'd post this piccie. So, to begin...

FALLING OFF THE CLIFF IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED.
It is punishable by fine, imprisonment or death.

Thank You for your co-operation,
The Society for Ridiculous Signage in Ireland.

Seriously now. Not "Watch your step" or "Caution" or "Danger". Nope, it's "YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO FALL. END OF STORY."

And for the record, it was these cliffs.

Cliffs of Moher, Co. Clare

Scared the crap outta my mom though. I went and climbed over the barricade and right to the edge. Twas fun indeed.

Back to the silly signs... If the picture had been clearer and wanted to warn not to stand close to the cliffs, the person should be standing, not in mid-fall. I have issues apparently. I laughed (and still do) thinking of their exit signs. (Unfortunately no pictures.) Which are roughly equivalent (to the standard dumb North American as I am) as "RUN UPWARDS TO THE SOLID WHITE BLOCK". Don't walk, saunter, dawdle, or meander, even if you are in no rush whatsoever. You must RUN to the exit. Sometimes that involves running to the ceiling, or into a wall. But either way, you must do it FAST. There you will be met with a solid white block (Like the "light at the end of the tunnel", I suppose.) Slam upwards as fast as you can into the solid block, and that is your exit.

Erm. Enough babbling for now.

The Absolutely Massive Piccie Post!

Tue, 11 Jul 2006 18:37:09 GMT

You really have to love sunsets, waves and clouds to appreciate these ;) I've picked out a few pics from my vacation to share.

"He proceeded to get even more gone when he got there." ~ Rebe

(I'll try to put them in some sort of order, but no promises.)

KINCARDINE

First night? Second night? Whatever. Big storm rollin' in from the south.

After the storm.

"The sun was down, And all the west was paved with sullen fire. I cried, "Behold! the barren beach of hell At ebb of tide."

If Hell is this pretty, that's where I want to be.

Dancing through life, and down to the beach!

Hello, waves!

Front comin' in from the NW. (Facing N to the pier in Kincardine)

Red sky at night, sailor's delight.

It is happy on the beach at sunset! Albeit, a tad chilly.

Poof!

To the north, log-style.

Sunset: NW down Queen St.

"The sky broke like an egg into full sunset and the water caught fire."

There's a reason Lake Huron claims to have the best sunsets in Canada.

"The setting sun, and music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, Writ in remembrance more than things long past."

"Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky."

Here is a streelamp. I don't know why.

BABY DUCKS! BABY DUCKS!!! Hmm, inside (unfunny)joke.
[Penetangore River, looking east-ish.]

There's one of my boards. The seagulls were fascinated.

"Contrary to legend, evening shadows do not fall: they rise up."

"For earthly greatness / All heavenly comforts rarefies to air."

From Queen, looking west towards the lake.

A house of mirrors.
[Apologies for the B&W. Yet again my lovely camera decided to turn things pink randomly.]

Queen Street south.

The fog is rising.

She walks alone.

There’s no need to remember direction.

"To stand at the edge of the sea, to sense the ebb and flow of the tides, to feelthe breath of a mist moving over a great salt marsh, to watch the flight of shore birds that have swept up and down the surf lines of the continents for untold thousands of year, is to have knowledge of things that are as nearly eternal as any earthly life can be."

"The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on."

"I can see the sea, feel the good in front of me."

The storm's a-brewin' 'gain.

And passes through, like it did often.

Was this the night we sang showtunes on the beach at the top of our lungs?

It looks like the cover of the Perishers album, huh?

"Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea."

They are beautiful to me. Am I the only one in the world who loves seagulls?

Will we get lost?

"As you sit on the hillside, or lie prone under the trees of the forest, or sprawl wet-legged by a mountain stream, the great door, that does not look like a door, opens."

Blinding, we waited for Robin to answer the phone. ;)

For the first time, I saw sunrise. And it was early. *sigh*

I was hungover/poisoned/allergic to alcohol, so I walked back via the beach. I thought would be calming.

Then I saw (and smelt) that. Big dead fish.

Big blue chairs.

I am invincible.

Welcome to the northside.

South, into Kincardine, from north of the pier.

Awesome-O powah!

Inverhuron.

The waves had died substantially from the morning when Robin, Aaron and I were out.

That is an odd place to end it, but alas. I did. I have. It's done.

TIMMINS

North on Route 144.

This is crooked.

"Revelations are found in clouds."

Wherever I go, there are storm clouds.

"A pessimist only sees the dark side of the clouds, and mopes; a philosopher sees both sides and shrugs; an optimist doesn't see the clouds at all--he's walking on them."

"I've looked at clouds from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
It's cloud illusions I recall
I really dont know clouds at all."

RAWR!!!!!!!

Fun with reflections!

All done. Bye-bye.

Now, can someone please cure my stupid cold? ARG!

WaT Fic: Easy Silence (Martin/Sam friendship)

Mon, 12 Jun 2006 18:13:12 GMT

~

Title: Easy Silence
Author:eskimo_jo
Disclaimer:The names of all characters contained here-in are the property of Jerry Bruckheimer Films, CBS, etc. No infringments of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission. Do not archive without permission.
Characters: Martin/Sam friendship, Jack/Anne, implied Danny/Elena (I'm sorry. The last two are necessary for this little M/S ditty. *sigh*)
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: 'Crossroads': so much potential, so little pay-off. So not watching next season. Spoilers up until 4x24. Title totally stolen from The Dixie Chicks because I am terribly uncreative.

She watched them. She seemed to do a lot of that lately, watching. She watched a mother be torn apart inside when she learnt agents were being removed from her son's case because he was black. She watched an HIV-positive woman hold her newborn, with the blissful father beside them. She watched two reunited lovers cling to each other as if to say, "Without you, I'd be dead."

And it all made her sad, of course. But more than that, she felt indescribably jealous.

Watching Jack and Anne reunite didn't provoke them same kind of jealousy that his relationship with her had done before. When Elena commented on the choice of ties and Jack subtly let it slip that he was happy in a new relationship, that had been a moment of jealousy. Of disbelief. It was the same kind of feeling that every ex gets when the person they loved is suddenly happy with someone else. It's provoked completely by the realization that you are replaceable. There was nothing in your past relationship that would keep him pining for you, day in and day out. He had moved on. You were the past. He found something better.

It made her jealous and frustrated that she was expendable, and their relationship was not the be all and end all of the world. Samantha Spade always thought she was more special than most. So she got jealous. It was the same reason that she refused to ask Martin anything about his personal life. She'd rather live in a world where she was ignorant to the fact that he had also moved on, without her.

Now, seeing her boss and another agent holding each other so damn lovingly made her cringe. They were both federal agents who occasionally work together. And no one seemed to care. It made her remember Martin's pleas to just drop the charade and act normal at work. She had refused, too afraid of all the fallout from office gossip. As she stared at Jack and Anne, she realized that people really don't care, and that they would have cared about her and Martin even less. However, her musings about past relationships were cut short by the bubbling of jealousy returning.

She wouldn't have anyone to hold her like that. If she had been in Anne's position, Jack would have cared, a lot. Martin would have cared a lot. But then so would have Danny, Viv, and even Elena maybe. And all because she was a friend and partner. Not because of a deep love of her, a love just for who she is without her titles. Jack wasn't holding Anne the federal agent and lawyer. He was holding Anne, his lover. If it had been her, it would have been Samantha - Team member and friend, maybe even ex-lover, but nothing more. She had the chance for someone to hold her like that. Both times she was being loaded onto an ambulance. He had gone with her the second time. She had pulled her hand away when he tried to hang on. Even coming, once again, to the brink of death, she still couldn't handle the glances of the paramedics. She didn't know them and they didn't know her, but it was still too much. The one time someone would have held her that way she pushed him away.

She watched Danny run his fingers down Elena's arm and felt anger seeping to the surface. Whether they were together, or had been, they were affected by each other. It was subtle too. They weren't flaunting it, but Danny wasn't hiding it. He kept a lot of thoughts inside, but he had never seemed to approve Sam's decision to hide her "something" with Martin. She guessed he would never hide his own either. Everyone else could do it so easily. Jack and Anne, Danny and Elena, even Viv had her husband. She still refused to think about Martin. Why was it so damn easy for everyone else when she had to struggle and fight with herself every step of the way?

Excusing herself from the scene, she signaled for one of the NYPD officers to drive her back to the office. She'd leave the car for Viv who was still tying up loose ends with witnesses and getting statements from officers. Sam said nothing to the officer as he drove her back downtown. Usually small talk was an easy way to pass the time. Now silence seemed much more appropriate for her mood. She thanked him as her pulled up at her building and rushed inside. Maybe there was something she could do there to keep her mind off the image of Jack and Anne, pressed together, all clingy and in love.

The office was a mess. Broken glass still littered the floor as the final crime scene photos were taken for the case reports. She winced as it crunched under her feet. She strolled over to her desk hoping to see some blank report cover page, or anything that could distract her long enough. There was nothing. Jack usually handed those out after a case. He wouldn't be back to the office tonight. She thought about taking one from his office but shook her head against the idea. She would put back together all the files, box them up, tidy up and then go home. That was enough mindless work to make her just tired enough to crash when she crawled into her empty bed. With a long sigh, she sunk into her chair, tossing her jacket on the desk beside her.

Flicking on the monitor to see that once again she had no new email messages, she heard someone walking back into the office. She prayed it was Van Doren with orders or a new case. She glanced up to see Martin, completely oblivious to her presence.

She watched him gather a few personal effects, turn off his computer, and close up a few file folders. Then he walked away. She wanted to call to him and ask him the hard questions that she really didn't want to know the answers to. More than anything, she wanted some reassurance that someone in the world would have clung to her the same way Jack did to Anne. It wasn't that she just wanted anyone to be that for her, she really did want him. But he left without a word to her. Occasionally he would say goodbye these days, usually out of politeness. He never made a special visit to her desk to wish her goodnight. She had become one of the "guys". Not Sam.

"'Night, guys," he would say and leave for the night.

Now he didn't even offer that. Closing down her email, and shutting off her own computer, she sat staring at the black screen. Footsteps echoed back towards her and she looked up expecting to see Viv or Danny. She saw him, and finally he saw her.

"Oh, Samantha. Didn't see you there."

He called her Samantha. At first she had resisted him calling her Sam, now she wished he would again. Samantha sounded strange coming from his lips. Her name had sounded so much different, so much better all the times he moaned out that one syllable. There was something cold and professional in the way he said her full name now.

"Yeah, just wrapping up. Heard the news?" Anything to keep him around just a little longer.

"Yep." He paused, unsure what to say next. Finally he looked away and continued, "Just forgot my cell." He grabbed the phone and shoved it in his jacket pocket, and gazed at her curiously. "Is everything okay?"

He didn't sound all that interested she noted. He probably had somewhere to be and was just asking out of some misplaced feeling of obligation.

"I'm just...Yeah, everything's fine," she finished hoping he would take her lie and let it drop. A part of her begged him to dig deeper. "I'm just tired."

He narrowed his eyes at her and moved closer, but never too close. She could always count on him to care even when he didn't want to. It was in his nature. He would never push, but he would never let it drop so easily either. She licked her lips quickly, her eyes darting around the room. A crime scene tech was still snapping photos but otherwise, the office was empty. No doubt the rest of the agents had enough drama for the day.

"You sure?" Now he sounded like he cared.

"Yeah, I was just thinking about things. You know, the meaning of life and the like," she said with an attempt at a smile. It came out as more of a grimace.

"Pretty heavy stuff for a Tuesday night," he remarked, trying to lift the mood. She finally managed to force a smile, desperate to change the subject now.

"How are you doing?" She paused, unsure if her meaning was clear. "I mean, with the whole, you know."

His addiction and recovery. He knew what she was digging for. "Quite well, actually. All my houseplants are still thriving. And Mr. Tom-Tom is alive and kicking serious feline ass, so as good as can be expected." Sam smiled at the reference to Mr. Tom-Tom, Martin's overweight, 12-year-old marmalade cat. Martin had adopted him from the local SPCA when he moved to New York, hoping for some company. Mr. Tom-Tom had fit right in. She had been surprised when he had told her that one night. The last few months had made Sam realize how little she and Martin really talked anymore.

"That's good," Sam mused quietly to herself, trying to smile. Martin tossed her jacket into her lap.

"Come on. We're going for a drink. Something's obviously bugging you."

She gazed at him in surprise for a few moments before standing and putting on her coat. He lingered for a while, looking at her much the same way as he had 3 years ago when he had told her there was nothing worse than a beautiful woman drinking alone. Biting her lip, she tried to hold back a small smile as she followed him out of the office. As they waited in silence for the elevator, she slipped her hand into his, gently, afraid that he would pull away like she had so many times in the past. He merely smiled down at her and gave it a squeeze before letting go. It wasn't overly romantic and certainly didn't hold any promises, but it was all she needed for now.

End.

ealicathe told me to!

Sat, 01 Apr 2006 07:49:22 GMT

elixabeth is on th ephione with e! right now. she told me to write seomttheing and so ii''m am. aprils's fool!!! lightehnign scarees me !! but you must tur off your computer because their is a thaiufer storm.

i'm so glad i have a grined thatt alowss me to drink 5 berrs and vodka while on the phone! it's very fun and then i son't feel like a retard drinking by mselfuy . insreaad i have a voice who isn't drinkign with me, but at least i'm not all allone.so i'm not a total loser!! haha. or, shoudl i say ehheheh.

i lvoed the oc this week. eeeeeeeee! bad! i mis alex. mariisa makes me want to drinnk! the oc has subliminal messages. i swear. beeeeeer. damn, i miss alex. aw. alex.... good tiems. msut got to bed.

Mm.. Beer. As if i coul d get drunk on the phone. So seroiusly am ready to gtaduate. 5 beers? That's nothing! whats hapenned to my tolerance? BUB? it disapperered. *smascks self* Okay, going to be d for real now.

So....

Sun, 19 Mar 2006 06:38:23 GMT

Um, for all of you expecting a terribly interesting drunken post, sorry to disappoint. It's a long story but in short, I was kicked out of the club after like 4 minutes. Yeah. So. Um. I'll write it up tomorrow, but that's the short version. Heh.

teddy bears on a moonbeam

Sat, 28 Jan 2006 03:59:12 GMT

~

Most of the time I feel like I fit in here. Then there are glimpses of the life that I ran away from. And these come when people look at me a little strangely, like I don't quite belong.

Everyone here knows that I'm not really her sister. They don't know exactly why but they know that we are not related by blood, only in that magical legal way. As if a piece of paper can make you part of the family. Derek knows I'm not a real sister, not like her. It doesn't really matter because I've never seen him as my brother. He's been the little kid that lives in his room down the hall, spoiled with video games and remote control helicopters. I've never paid much attention to him to be honest. And for some reason that doesn't bother me because he's not really my brother after all.

We still share a room, her and I. A bed even. It's a big bed, and it really makes no sense why we sleep in the same bed. It's not like this big house is lacking for space. Any number of rooms could be converted in the blink of an eye with the $50,000 blessing of this year's hottest interior designer. So, I stay with her; everyday trampling over the same teddy bear rug that I saw the very first time I ran into this room. The two bears are still cuddled together in the spoon of the crescent moon. She ignores it now. She used to sit awake and tell me stories about the bears. But that was back when we felt like twins, ripped apart from birth, finally meeting again. We acted like twins. We bonded that day I ran away, screaming and terrified, and she took me to her own hideaway, packed full of granola bars, juice boxes and other supplies for when she ran away.

She never did run away. Eventually we became too big to fit through the small opening. We couldn't squeeze into that hidden realm anymore. The supplies must have become food for the raccoons, squirrels and mice. When I came along, I guess she didn't feel like she had to run away anymore because it was never really running away from something. Just towards. We used to giggle about how were really were blood twins, separated in the hospital and given to different homes. We ignored the fact we looked nothing alike and that there was a home video of her birth that the person I now call "Dad" made us watch once. We could only watch it once. It was too painfully real to watch again - just one of us being born. Just one. It made my heart ache. He only did it because he was tired of seeing us so giddy about the possibilities and listening to her gush during dinnertime conversation. I remember glancing over at her face while we watched. She had the same painful expression etched on her young skin that I felt carved into my heart. She cried until Dad turned it off. I didn't cry.

We still pretended after that, but it never was the same. When you're 11 you know that something like a dream has no more basis in reality no matter how much you believe it.

I don't remember why I ran away. I just remember running as fast as I could. I could feel them behind me, chasing, breathing heavily, screaming at me to stop as my mother's voice breaks. I felt as if I was prey, still their child, but hunted all the same. Choking and terrified, I remember stumbling into this house, blindly running upstairs, as far away from the pain as I could. Then I met her and she showed me were she hid. I followed and cowered beside her. Her blue dress crinkled as she pulled her legs up underneath her. She offered me a granola bar and we ate in silence, ever alert for the thumping footfalls of my enraged parents.

I don't remember the in-between. How suddenly I was living there. It didn't make sense at the time. It still doesn't now. It is almost as if I left that other life like a snake sheds its skin in the sunlight.

I don't remember how I came to be sitting at this basketball game, trying to pay attention to Derek fumbling the ball in his awkward 14-year-old hands. She sits beside me, her parents - my parents - on her other side. They all seem entranced by the play. I glance around, catching my attention on familiar faces peering down at the same game. I recognize them right away even though they're much older, and much sadder. They sit with a young girl around Derek's age. I realize I have a sister; a blood sister. I can't tell who they're watching, whether they're here for their own son or another daughter. Even when my real father looks directly at me, I can't rip my stare away from his gray eyes. I study the weathered wrinkles adorning his face. He looks through me; I am a stranger. He seems sad. My mother looks around, glancing at the fellow sports fans, but she doesn't look like she really cares. She's searching. Her gaze, devasted and hollow, sweeps across me without a moment's hesitation. I am invisible to them. She returns her focus to the game; a dull aches rumbles in my chest as I wonder if they are looking for me and never see me.

A whisper floats above the din of the highschool crowd. "We were never angry with you."

I look quickly around, trying to figure out who said it. It had to be near me. They, my real parents, are looking over again in my direction, their expressions blank. Still they don't see me. They see my fake Dad put his arm around my fake sister for a moment. A flicker passes and dies in their eyes. I want to stand and announce that they are looking for me, and that they've found me but my voice dies in my throat, a constricting pain tightening more and more. It hurts to speak now. My chest heaves with the effort as mud fills my lungs, earthy and rotten-smelling. My coughing is overwhelmed by applause.

The game continues. The ball slaps against polished wooden floorboards, rythmically in time with the furious pumping of the blood in my veins. A gasp is lost somewhere between my lungs and my lips as the ball swishes perfectly through the hoop. I attempt to scream for help but I am drowned out by the roar of the pleased and excited crowd. The players crush into each other in celebration as my heart clenches, excruciatingly painful. The scoreboard siren sings.

And still, above all this, I can only hear, "We were never angry with you."

confused?go down the rabbit hole.

Yes. I have a plan!

Thu, 24 Nov 2005 04:23:04 GMT

To combat my insomania, I am going to drink myself unconscious. Is wonderful plan! *claps* Loves self for coming up with lovely idea.

Seriously.

FIC: with reckless abandon

Thu, 17 Nov 2005 22:20:49 GMT

~

Download the soundtrack here: we are the lucky ones
Track listing and cover art: Here.

Title: With Reckless Abandon
Author: eskimo_jo, Viv
Rating: R – adult situations
Post-ep: The Innocents, vague spoilers up to that point.
Summary: To act and damn the consequence.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not the characters, not the music, nothing. And I am about to lose the precious grip on my sanity. So, please don't sue me. I'm not making any money at all. I've really got nothing. In fact, I'm losing money. *sigh*
Author's notes: Not a songfic. Don't worry. And Ashleh, if you read this, please don't make fun. I'm not as good as you, but I try :). Un-betaed.

Soundtrack:
Coal - Stay
Bif Naked – Lucky Ones
Melissa Ferrick – Drive
Cat Power – Naked If I Want To
Dave Couse – Familiar Feeling
Mercury Rev – In The Wilderness
Natasha Bedingfield - Wild Horses
The Perishers – Sway

(The compilation I made has more tracks than this because it would be a waste to just have 8 songs on a cd so added more Martin/Sam-ish songs.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was reckless.

There was no romance, no soft kisses or lingering touches. No exchange of quiet whispers of devotion. No admissions of love.

It was reckless and really fucking fast.

And now you are different. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be more. But you couldn’t control it, or him or even yourself. He’s breathing deeply and you are debating whether to roll out of bed and just leave. You’ve done it before. You can do it again. He would understand, wouldn’t he? He knows what all this is about, right? Somehow you hope he doesn’t, because at least then your guilt gives you an excuse to stay and you really, really want to stay.

You sigh, loudly, maybe enough to stir him from sleep. You do that sometimes just so he’ll be lingering on the brink of consciousness long enough for you to nudge yourself that much closer and in his haze, he’ll wrap an arm tightly around you until he’s fallen deep asleep again. You still can’t bring yourself to ask him to hold you. It still feels weak. And now, after the events of tonight, it feels out of place as if your relationship shouldn’t be like that anymore. But this time, your squirming and sighing fail to rouse him.

So you’re left alone in the dark with only your thoughts and the presence beside you.

It wasn’t planned. Nothing about tonight had been on your mind when you woke up the previous morning. You went through the motions like you had been for the last four months. Suit neatly laid out, cup of coffee, TV news, out the door. At work, the idea hadn’t even crossed your mind. You had noticed his walk had improved. If anything, he looked better than he had in months. But that thought slipped away and the rest of the day was focused solely on the missing girl. He gone with Elena and Jack to nab the pervert and she left to go home when you received the call from Jack. Elena had it all covered.

Now, you’re left with the consequences of every moment from that second onward. Your memory is suddenly much more vivid in its intensity.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

You say goodbye to Viv who’s also on her way home, in another direction. You have no idea where Danny is. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, you flag down one of those bright yellow cabs. You hesitate for a moment before telling the driver where to take you. The directions slip off your tongue like second-nature and it’s only when you start heading north that you realize what you said. It would sound stupid to change your mind now, and plus, it would cost even more to get home.

He and you are friends now, you tell yourself. You can have a cup of coffee and sort out a good excuse as to why you’re in his neighborhood. Then you’ll walk to his apartment once you’re sure he’s home from the case and ask for a ride home in his rarely-driven Lincoln. It’s plushy and still smells like new leather. He said it was a present from his mother when he joined the Missing Persons Unit. You remember that conversation because it made you resent him just a little bit more.

But the cab gets stuck in traffic in midtown. You tap your fingers along the pleather-coated door. Why are you so impatient? It not even like you have plans. In fact, tonight is a moderately early night. Maybe it’s just the nervousness of actually having to talk to him outside work that’s getting to you. In the hospital it didn’t count, that was still like work because it was because of work. Even once he awoke from his coma, it was still almost like work. At least, you could pretend it was and ignore the shaking of your hands every time you entered the hospital room. And when Danny or Viv caught you there, sending you knowing glances that you tried to shake off as concern for him, it was just work. Everyone knew why you were there so often, even his parents. It was uncomfortable but somewhat freeing. However, since he left the hospital, you avoided personal contact with him. It would drag too many skeletons out of your already full closet.

The taxi driver honks loudly at an SUV swerving around the cars. You take a deep breath and stare out the window. At this rate you might get there by tomorrow morning.

The car lurches forward quickly, and with a growl of the engine, it veers off sharply into a side street. You briefly wonder if the driver doesn’t like you. You never said you were in a rush but it seems like he really wants this ride to be over and to have you out of his car. But despite his boldness, it still takes another 45 minutes to get uptown.

By the time you finally get to the address you specified, it is well past the time you would expect him to get home by. He’s probably upstairs right now. You take a step towards the door, your hand hesitating on the lobby door. You snatch it back quickly as if you’ve been burned.

This is stupid, you tell yourself. You’re only there to get a ride home. As a friend. There’s no reason to be this silly about it. Taking a calming breath you yank open the door and the doorman instantly recognizes you. His lips crinkle in a small smile, acknowledging your return. You press your own lips together and force a smile, making your way directly to the elevator. Once the doors swish closed, you slam your finger into the button for the 11th floor. You want to punch all the buttons, just to release some tension but that would only drag the whole ordeal out longer. Not to mention, the doorman may not ever let you into the building again if he thought you were crazy.

You catch yourself pacing right before the doors open to the familiar carpet of the 11th floor. The dim glow of the hallway lights feels almost warm on your skin and you wonder if maybe you are actually going crazy. On auto-pilot, you make your way to the end apartment. It’s then that you realize your skin is actually warmer; it isn’t just the lights.

Your hand hovers just above the smooth surface of his front door. You could just suck it up and pay for the cab fare back downtown. But then you’d look pretty stupid leaving as soon as you came, and the doorman would notice. It strikes you suddenly: Why do you care so fucking much about appearances?

Before you’re aware of it, your knuckles rap repeatedly on the wood-grain. The sound of the lock sliding back is barely audible as all you can hear is the blood rushing through your ears. Then he’s standing there, having just showered, beads of water still dripping down from his hair and wearing only a towel. You say nothing and instead resort to staring. He raises his eyebrow in questioning.

“Sam, well, this is a surprise. What’s up?”

How can he be so casual, like nothing is happening right at this very moment? You feel hotter by the second and you are fully convinced it has nothing to do with anything except the sight before you. He seems completely oblivious.

“Sam?”

“Uh, yeah.” You can’t think of what else to say but you’re becoming very aware that he is growing suspicious. If you stall any longer, it will really seem like this visit has ulterior motives. “I, um, I was just meeting a friend and there was a subway delay and I was wondering if you could give me a ride home but you’re really not ready so I’ll just go catch a cab or something.”

You know you’re rambling. And despite your conclusion, you stay rooted to the spot. He looks utterly confused at your flimsy excuse and finally shrugs when he responds. “Okay, well, I’ll see you at work then.”

You still don’t move.

“I can wait for you.”

He looks surprised at your new plan. It almost looks as if he’s slightly nervous now. Then you realize that he is still talking to you through a half-open door. It hits you: maybe someone else is there. But you don’t retract your suggestion. You mean it. On more than one level although you doubt that he’s caught onto that. He’s great at the double-entendres, but the relationship subtleties are another issue.

“Um, all right,” he mumbles and opens the door wider, allowing you access. You let out a relieved sigh that he isn’t with someone else. You habitually make your way right to the sofa and sink down into the cushions. He stands behind the closed door and stares at you; you can feel his eyes on you. You can’t look at him anymore, not when he’s like that. He takes a few strides towards the bathroom but stops in the middle of the room and continues to stare.

“Sam.”

“Yep?” you say a little too quickly and a little too loudly as you abruptly swing around to look at him.

“Is something wrong?”

No, Martin, don’t. Don’t speak like that, in that low, soft voice. It’s not fair. You know too much and you know the effect that you have.

Suddenly you have the urge to cry but you’re not even sad. It’s something about the way he asks the question that tears you to pieces, and makes you feel guilty and relieved at the same time. You just want to cry. Not about anything in particular, though. It’s just a general feeling that he can evoke in you. And for the first time since you arrived on the scene of his shooting a few months ago, you really want to cry. Mustering up some form of bravado, you shake your head and put on a smile.

“Nope. Nothing’s wrong.” Apart from the feeling that you’re being torn at the seams. He’s still standing there in just a towel, practically begging you come to him. But it’s wrong, you’re friends now. He hurt you enough the first time around and you still haven’t fully forgiven him for that.

“Okay,” he says as he lets out what sounds like a disappointed sigh.

Oh, fuck. Please no.

He turns around and moves towards the bathroom again. You’re stuck watching him walk away. He’s going to get dressed and drive you home and it will be awkward, like high school all over again. But it’ll be forgotten in time. Just like high school.

There is a period of time where you don’t know what’s happening but you’re no longer sitting on the couch. Instead you are walking briskly towards the bathroom. He must not hear you because of the thick carpet since he doesn’t turn around. Suddenly you grab his arm. The sparks fly out from his hot skin as your fingers dig in. You want to drop your hand but you can’t let go until he’s turned to face you.

There is a moment’s pause. You’re not surprised to see that he isn’t surprised. He knew you would do this. Suddenly your back hits the wall behind you and your body is pressed against his. He hasn’t kissed you yet and you’re aching to be touched more than this. He just has you trapped but he’s not doing anything more. It becomes a staring contest, each daring the other to react first. He’s already lost by pinning you. But then, maybe you lost for coming here in the first place. You gave in first.

You try to be confident but you can feel your nerves dangling precariously close to the edge. You can feel his breath on your face and neck. It almost burns.

“I don’t really need a ride home.” You hope that your voice came out sultry and strong because it doesn’t feel like it really did. He swallows hard and you almost expect a joke but he doesn’t take the bait. Your invitation is clear enough. His restraint is also obvious. You wonder if he’s going to make the first move or if it’s up to you. It’s always up to you. It always has been.

You run your tongue along your bottom lip in preparation, as his gaze remains rapt in that action.

The explosion is sudden. Without warning, that one insinuation has him running his hands over your body, in places that haven’t been touched since he last was there. The barrier of your clothes does nothing to lessen the heat of his touch or the effect that it is having on your body. Regardless, you want free of them. You squirm against his touch to rid yourself of your jacket, leaving the majority of your skin exposed in a tight white tank top, part of which has ridden up due to his hands. You respond in kind, raking your fingers up his chest, feeling the moist, clean skin gathering goose bumps under the trail of your fingernails. One finger lingers on a leftover scar but after a brief moment of hesitation, you decide to ignore that for now. At the same time, his lips crush down over yours, suffocating for a moment, before you relax and pull him closer.

It feels so fucking good after so long that you try your hardest to repress a groan of appreciation but fail miserably. You end up sounding like a lustful harlot in your wantonness. It only provokes him further as he fights with the buckle of your belt, breaking the kiss only long enough to hear you moan again. When your pants hit the floor, your skin prickles in anticipation, especially as he presses his hips into your and you feel how hard his erection is. You respond by tightening your hold. Your arms are snug around his neck, not allowing his lips to leave yours, not allowing him to leave you again.

The rest of your clothes, tangled with his towel, are lost somewhere between the hallway and his bedroom where you suddenly find yourself staring at the familiar ceiling. You try to calm your panting because it sure as hell is giving away your real thoughts. You didn’t want to seem so needy but it’s hard to restrain yourself. Then he’s on top of you, kissing you so hard that you think your lips are bruised. His grip on you is no less gentle. He was rarely this possessive the last time. But then, he never seemed as desperate before.

A thought occurs to you and you want his well-being intact after this is over. Roughly you push him off you, hard enough to actually mean it. He looks angry for a moment, as if he’s expecting you to just leave now. He thinks you’re playing another game.

Instead you push him down on top of the sheets and straddle his hips. The anger fades from his face quickly and is replaced again with pure lust. You had hoped for a little love maybe but if that’s in there anywhere, it’s not coming out tonight. His hands glide over the dip in your waist up to your breasts. You can’t resist closing your eyes as he kneads them gently, flicking a thumb over one sensitive nub. There has always been something about the way he touches you that is different than any other man you’ve known. His fingertips graze you so lightly yet ignite your skin so intensely. Maybe it’s in the way he touches you like you are the most beautiful yet arousing thing he’s ever seen. Like you’re special. You bite your tongue and raise yourself up to hover just above him, trying to concentrate on what you really want.

It’s not long before you’ve guided him inside you. His eyes are pressed shut, his jaw clenched as you see the muscles twitching in his neck. If you weren’t so intent on seeing his reaction, you know you’d be the same way. He’s holding back now, grabbing your waist so firmly it nearly hurts but refusing to do anything else. Why hold back now? you think. Your back is probably bruised from being shoved against the wall and you can see small welts on his arms where your nails dug a little too deep. But there is something about this intensity that is easing your uncertainty.

“Oh fuck, Sam,” he growls underneath you. He has never really been one to swear during sex and it causes an involuntary clench of your inner muscles around him. He groans again. You want to give up this torture.

Leaning down closer to him, you move, sliding, and you suck in a sharp breath. It has been too long and the way he feels inside you is better than ever before. He thrusts up to meet you, his back arching slightly to get closer to you, and pulling your hips back down. After that brief hesitation, you begin to fuck him like before. Riding him forcefully, grinding your clit into his pelvic bone as he tries to hold on.

Suddenly the pace increases dramatically and you come back down harder and harder. He is close and you can see his body tense. Quickly and almost roughly he shoves a thumb between the two of you as you move above him.

That’s all it takes and for moment you think you might have died. You clench as hard as you can and moan out nonsensical sounds of appreciation. He finally lets go and pounds up into you. A few strokes later, he’s met with his own release.

You open your eyes, still resting on him, letting your body finish riding out the last of your internal spasms. His eyes are glazed over and he trying desperately to keep a dopey, satisfied smile off his face. You let a small smile slip out in return. With much warning, he pulls you down and kisses you solidly, as it to say that he doesn’t want it to just end like that. Your kiss spells reassurance and you roll off him.

You both lay staring at the ceiling as you let your breath slow. You turn your head to the side. His smile is gone, replaced with an unreadable expression.

“You okay?” you ask, worrying about his hips and abdomen. The shooting isn’t that easy to forget. He looks at you with surprise.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he mumbles, looking at you with concern. “You?” He winces slightly signaling that he’s not really fine, but he reaches out for you anyway. You accept the offer and curl up alongside him.

The feeling was forgotten to you, but it’s not completely foreign. This is the same Martin as before except this time he’s a little more suspicious of you, a little more jaded. He’s a little more closed off from you. Without any further conversation, he’s asleep, unconsciously pulling away from you. And you’re left with just your thoughts.

And so that’s where you are now: lying beside, but not with, him. It’s hurting you for some reason. And you really, truly think that the best thing to do would be to run away as fast as possible. You maneuver around so you’re underneath his blankets; the chill of the late autumn night is seeping into your bones now that the heat has evaporated. The blankets create the illusion of capture, one more nudge to help you stay. It’s hard to fight your nervous, insecure nature and every little thing helps. His arms around you would help more, you admit to yourself. Not because it would be possessive, but because it would be reassuring that he wants to see you there when he wakes up.

With that thought on your mind, you slowly drift off into dreams.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sunlight peeks in through a crack in the curtain. That sliver just happens to be positioned exactly over your eyes and you squint for a minute as you open them. Looking around, there’s something unfamiliar. Your heart leaps for the split-second before you realize whose bed you’re in this time. Rolling over you see him, still fast asleep. Sometime during the night, he joined you underneath the sheets. You allow yourself a brief moment to look him over. Familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. The digital clock glows on the other side of him. You really need to leave soon if you want to get to work on time. It would just be embarrassing to show up in creased and dirty clothes.

Although you could really go for a replay of what happened last night as well.

You crawl out of bed and collect your dirty clothes from the floor of the hallway, slowly making your way to the bathroom. Your reflection stares back at you from the mirror. You’re not sure what you’re seeing anymore because you feel different. You’re not sure if it’s your brain playing tricks on you, but you think you look a little different too.

Looking down at the sink, there is a pink toothbrush beside the green one. It’s yours. From before. He still has it. Looking around, you search for other pieces of you. Your shampoo is still in the shower. Of course, it looks like it hasn’t been touched forever, but it’s still there. It should be disturbing, that he kept all these tokens but you know how many little things of his you still have hanging around your apartment.

Picking up the toothbrush, you begin to brush your teeth, following your morning routine. It’s only after you’ve washed your face that you realize you’re still naked. You’re going to shower when you get back to your apartment. There’s no point in putting on dirty clothes on a clean body. You tie your blonde hair up in a messy bun atop your head. You slip the tank top over your head and reach for your pants.

Then you notice the neatly folded clothes on the hamper. A small t-shirt and that pair of sweatpants you always stole.

He did this. The toothbrush, the shampoo, the clothes. He laid them out sometime last night after you had fallen asleep. A smile creeps onto your face at his thoughtfulness. Pulling on the sweatpants, you wonder about him. You didn’t expect him to be like this, especially after everything that had happened between the two of you and your less-than-romantic reunion.

“Hey.” His voice is low and soft as he stands in the doorway.

“Hey,” you respond quietly, unsure what else to say. He enters the washroom too, clad in a t-shirt and boxers. But he doesn’t touch you, or give you a good morning kiss like so many other times.

“I wasn’t sure if you left already,” he offered as an explanation. You shake your head as if it was a ridiculous idea, laughing lightly. He moves past you to brush his teeth. Trying to shake off the sense of déjà vu, you gather your clothes and look at him closer.

“Martin…” your voice trails off as you’re suddenly aware that you don’t know what else to say right away as your thoughts slip away. He glances at you curiously, pausing in brushing his teeth. You want to say thank you but the words stick in your throat. Instead you smile. He takes it and returns to his task as you leave the room.

When he returns to the bedroom, you’re sitting on the edge of his bed, twisting and weaving your fingers nervously. Once again, unlike before, he doesn’t sit beside you. He just stands across the room, afraid to come any closer. He awaits your next statement, thinking he knows what you’re about to say. You are about to speak when he starts first.

“It’s okay. Just go.” Immediately his back is turned to you and you’re left whirling from the demand. Again, he makes you want to cry, but this time it’s different. This time it’s because he has hurt you already.

“No.” It’s his turn to whip around and stare at you.

“No?” he asks, and his voice holds a lilt of hope.

“No. Not yet.” You stand up and walk over to him. You never expected last night but now you have it and there’s nothing you can do to take it back. So you just go with it. “Morning,” you say softly and lay a quick kiss on his lips before leaving the room to make some coffee. It’s the only contact you’ve had all morning and he didn’t return the gesture. You can hear him getting the shower ready as you cross the living room.

You jump when there’s a knock at the door. At 6:30 in the morning? You guess it’s probably the paperboy or something equally banal and glance towards the hallway.

“Martin?” There is a muffled reply. “Door! Want me --”

“Yeah, please.”

Without looking through the peephole, you open it a crack before the chain catches. The person on the other side immediately shocks you. You quickly unchain the door and open it wider but don’t step aside.

For her part, Elena appears just as surprised to see you standing in Martin’s door. You can’t form a sentence, your mind running through all the possible reasons that she’s at the door this early, fully dressed thankfully. A twinge of jealousy is stirred up inside you.

“Hey Elena,” you say cautiously.

“Hi Samantha.” She is just as unsure about the situation. “Um, is Martin around?”

“He’s busy,” you snap, a little harder than you intended. To rectify the situation, you open the door fully. “Come on in, he should be out soon.”

She enters, dodging your intense glare and wanders to the sitting room. In an effort to explain her presence, she begins talking.

“I was just in the area, coming from the Bronx, thought I’d stop by and see if Martin needs a ride to work. I know it’s a little early but my daughter had to go to her grandmother’s very early today so I decided to get an early start as well.” She paused. “Plenty of room for one more.”

You study the other woman. After years of investigative work, you know how to tell if someone is lying. Elena is not only genuinely surprised to see you, she seems honest in her explanation. And if Martin had been with anyone else, he wouldn’t have been so laissez-faire about you just rummaging around and answering doors. Relaxing noticeably, you wander over in the direction of the kitchen.

“Maybe. Did you want some coffee or something? I’m just about to put it on.”

Elena smiles, relieved that you accepted her honest explanation. “Sure, thanks.”

Returning a few moments later, you sit on the sofa and she takes a chair. There is an awkward silence for a moment. The shower stops running after a few minutes. Elena leans forward, obviously dying to ask. “So, I would never have guessed...” she trails off.

You shrug, trying to act like you and he had always been together, trying to act as if you weren’t just there because you had one hell of a fuck last night. And you partly give yourself away as a flush sneaks up your cheeks and you grow warm. Elena gives you a small smile and you laugh uncomfortably, still blushing.

“You must be very happy.”

The statement catches you off-guard and you stare at her for a second. Before you can respond, you hear Martin padding out into the living room.

“Elena?”

“Hello. Came by to offer you a ride,” she explains. He glances at you curiously and you smirk slightly. He smiles at the offer. He is still in his t-shirt and boxers as he towels off his hair. You suddenly wish that Elena would leave right now. You can feel a subtle warmth spreading slowly through your body. He catches your gaze but quickly looks away. You can hear the coffee gurgling away in the kitchen. Reluctantly, you rise and see to it, leaving Martin and Elena alone in the living room.

When you return, he’s sitting in the place you just vacated. It’s an awkward situation but you offer her a mug of coffee and then hand one to him. Suddenly, you feel sick to your stomach. The aroma irritates your nostrils and the tension in the room is weighing you down. There is so much left unsaid between you and him and it won’t be said before work today if she stays. You really need to talk to him. He sips his drink slowly and you become aware that they are exchanging pleasant conversation with each other. It’s only you who feels awkward, lost in your own world. Doesn’t he feel anything?

You had asked that question of him four months ago. He was so callous in his final declaration to you. He never apologized for doing it so bluntly and in the middle of the workplace, leaving you to be chastised by Jack. You hated him for a while because of that.

Finally, your brain tunes into the actual conversation. He tells her that he’ll just catch the subway in because he’s still going to be a while. She looks at you, questioning, still offering you a ride.

You should take it. You really need to get home before work. But you can’t leave your relationship hanging in the air either.

“I...um,” is all you manage to say. She smiles, knowing what you need to do. Nodding, she stands. Martin sees her to the door.

“Catch you guys later,” she calls and you hear the door click shut behind her. You thought the tension would dissipate when she left but it’s thicker than ever. He stares at you, taking a seat beside you again on the sofa. Neither of you says anything for an exaggerated minute. You swallow nervously, wanting him to say something, to convince you that last night wasn’t a mistake because at this point, it’s sure feeling like one.

“Why did you come here?” he finally asks, not coldly but not as kindly as you would have liked.

You shrug. It’s honest. “I don’t know. Why did you let me in?” It’s not just one of your faults. If there’s blame, it can fall on two sets of shoulders.

“You took my mind off the case,” he admits. Biting your lip, you look down at the carpet. Just a distraction. Like you are for him. Now you wish you had taken that ride with Elena. Fielding her probing questions would have been so much easier than this. This is honesty and it hurts far too much. He offers nothing more and takes another sip of his coffee.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask, your voice teetering precariously on the verge of breaking. He looks confused and you instantly regret the insinuation. He places his mug down on the table, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers tented.

“Sam,” his voice is too soft and you want to run again. “You know we haven’t really talked for a long time.”

You don’t say anything. You’re afraid that if you do it may turn into an argument. You don’t know why you’d think that but it’s a gut feeling. Somehow, especially near the end, all you two ended up doing was fighting about everything. It didn’t matter if it was insignificant or not, you found a way to make it into an argument. That’s your greatest fear about the current conversation. If you stay silent, maybe he’ll say something reassuring.

When did you become so soft? When did you allow him to affect you like this? He did something to you that day he left you at the office all those months ago. Why do you constantly feel the need for reassurance? Sure, you’ve always been weak that way, always grasping for him, or Jack, or anyone really, but pushing away at the same time. You just don’t want to be left alone again. This year, since the shooting, you know you’ve been different. Softer, yes. But forcibly happy and strong as well. If you could tell him this, you would first have to admit to yourself that you are different and most of all, that you really, really need him.

And not just as a distraction.

But he doesn’t say anything more. He is waiting for you. Earlier you had told him you would wait for him. That’s exactly what you plan to do.

There’s nothing you can think to really say. He sure isn’t giving you much to work with. You don’t remember it being this weird before. Before you would fight, but at least you’d still be talking. Now you only share silence. This whole exchange is wearing down your patience and you reluctantly stand up. You can’t be late for work because you were too busy sitting in his apartment not speaking to him. He looks up at you, surprised.

“I’ve got to get home before work,” you mutter and walk towards the bedroom to gather your belongings. You turn just before you reach the hallway. “I’ve really missed you, you know.” Finally you’ve said it. It’s taken four months of wistful longing for you to gather the courage. It’s not quite an ‘I love you’ but it’s as close as you can get, for the moment. He doesn’t turn around to face you but you can see the sag in his shoulders and he bows his head into his hands.

Letting out a small sigh, you make your way to the bedroom and pick up everything you’ve left. Stopping by the bathroom, you scan the area for anything you’ve forgotten. You leave your toothbrush there again. When you appear in the living room again, he’s no longer on the sofa. There’s no sound from the kitchen either. He pokes his head around the alcove in the front hall, your jacket in his hand. There seems to be an unspoken agreement that last night was just for last night.

But when he helps you put you jacket on, he’s still touching you in that distinctive way, like he never wants to stop, sensual and adoring. His hands linger a little longer than necessary on your waist after he’s slid them down your back. It provoked a shiver that you pray he didn’t notice. He drops his grip quickly.

You try not to peek up at him as you reach for the doorknob.

This is not the way it’s supposed to be.

The door opens and you turn finally to look at him. You raise your eyes to his, pleading for some sign because if he does this to you again, he just might take top seat on your list of men who have hurt and used you. And he doesn’t disappoint. His jaw is set in a strong clench, his eyes trying very hard to be just as stony.

But you see the flicker pass over his blue gaze. He’s doing this to prove a point he doesn’t even want to prove anymore. He sees your rapid understanding and suddenly the air around you changes, becoming charged with a new kind of tension. His hands reach out tentatively at first, brushing along your waist.

Maybe he was afraid to touch you before, not angry or playing games.

He nudges you slightly closer, and noticing your willingness, his hold strengthens. His hands glide along your waist, fingers softly digging in, still closer. Then you’re in his arms and he just embraces you. For a moment, you don’t react. Your arms are still at your sides under you slide them up, holding him just as tightly, gripping the loose fabric of his t-shirt in your fists. He breathes in deeply and you could swear there was just the slightest hint of a ragged breath as the air rakes across your neck. You twist so that you can place tender kisses along the line of his jaw.

“I’ll drive you home,” he says softly, pulling back a little bit. You nod in response, trying not to be distracted by his lips. You know kissing him right now would make you both late for work. At this rate, you might already be, unless the bureau has magically changed its policy overnight and you can wear sweatpants on the job. That seems doubtful.

His hands come up to cup your face and you fight the urge to close your eyes. Instead your stare meets his.

It breaks your heart and puts it back together it at the same time and you know that this time it will be different. Unable to resist any longer, you brush your lips across his, almost chastely but still exciting.

You push him away with a cheeky smile. “You’ve got to get dressed if you want to be on time,” you snicker and close the door. You still haven’t discussed any of the long-term issues that really should be addressed. And it definitely would be a good idea to attempt that soon. But instead, you watch him walk to his bedroom and then you sit down again on the sofa to wait for him. It doesn’t matter right now.

Taking a sip of the lukewarm coffee, you smile to yourself at last.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

the end.

~

VMars comment

Sat, 01 Oct 2005 19:10:15 GMT

In the scene where Veronica is talking to Wallace, at lunch. And then Wallace says something about Duncan, yadda yadda. Well, I laugh really hard cos in the background behind Veronica, some girl's tag for her panties is sticking out of her pants.

Oh yeah, and Kristen Bell went to the Mischa Barton School Of Fake Eating. She doesn't even drink any of that water that she pretends to drink. (That was a little redundant, but meh).

Those things make me laugh everytime.

end spoiler.

Somethings need to be heard

Mon, 12 Sep 2005 05:11:47 GMT

Do you like John Lennon? Do you like 'Imagine'? Do you like peace? Do you wish you had a different president?
Seriously, this song is awesome.

Imagine This
http://ns1.clev15.com/~waxaudio/Mediacracy_07_Imagine_This_192kbps.MP3

Each piece represents a regurgitated manifestation of captured sounds (synchronously re-contextualised during their digestion phase in the belly of the Wax Audio hard-drive) mixed with recycled beats, original samples and a wealth of material taken from the digitized multi-track tapes of previously recorded works.

Please. Just listen to this. If only we could really hear these words.

lsia bbirtherday

Sun, 11 Sep 2005 05:50:03 GMT

it was lisa's birthday. pomgf! i spelt rgar right! i'm anto samsoning/ yarrrrrrrr! so gunry. it was so mcuh fun wehnt to the grande. an dthen when to the townnahouse. SOO GODD BAND!! gtoc d si fdn't expec that are alll. so nice, then tokas sbus thaeibacl to teh himtiorn/ GO PARTY!!!!!!!!!!! aprty!!!!!! LISA VBOTTHERSAY!!!!!!!!! amsber sooiut pictureas uyes./ as waleys.; so assewomea nd ns ndaungrt./ need to ewat some mtr noodeles/ bracelts qare makign ooises/ waht day is it? og yeah. DAY TO AAOPRTY!!!!

glorais tomeoroe. so ecited. fon't forget lisa!!!!!

so cglad was condicneve to thgfo tdrnk tinuite/. and alwus relay want to ger to trhe fest thatt mackk eize says abotu. saoudns soo mcuh bete rganb BURNIGN MAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! tRATTTTT!!!!!!!RRSA~!!!!!!fchereies is runnigna rouynd. so CUREE!!!!!

the ladt ujon TV hasa big mouth,like realyy large.

children lioke liek elves/

scary.

bracelkts tnot noisey!!!!!