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I'm Anne!   
01:40pm 01/12/2006
Which wife of Henry the Eighth are you?
Your Result: Anne Boleyn

You are Anne Boleyn, second, and most famous, wife of Henry. You are firey, smart, confident, and witty. Though not notorious for your beauty, you have a prescense that sticks out in people's minds. You will stop at nothing to get what you want. Keep in mind, though, when you get it, you have to know how to keep it.

Kathrine Howard
Anne of Cleves
Catherine Parr
Katherine of Aragon
Jane Seymour
Which wife of Henry the Eighth are you?
Quiz Created on GoToQuiz
That's great, but why are they all gay?   
01:33pm 01/12/2006
What type of person do you attract?
Your Result: You attract artsy people!

Those free spirited artists with great imaginations find you interesting. They are usually interesting themselves, so its not a bad thing, but they CAN be a bit wifty and choose odd goals. If you like life to always be a bit 'different' from the norm, but not too extreme in any one direction, these are the people for you. If you seek logical decision making skills and good money management, you may want to change something in the way you appear. Artsy people are fun for adventure and exploring, so, have fun! (smoking weed helps too)

You attract geeks!
You attract Yuppies!
You attract unstable people!
You attract models!
You attract rednecks!
What type of person do you attract?
Quizzes for MySpace
Personality disorders...   
01:29pm 01/12/2006
  I'm not surprised to find I have tendencies towards narcissism, sociopathy, hysteria, and obsessive-compulsion. But some of these, I just don't get. I'm avoidant? I didn't know that.
<.< I'm paranoid. I'm like Tina!

Paranoid Personality Disorder:High
Schizoid Personality Disorder:Moderate
Schizotypal Personality Disorder:Moderate
Antisocial Personality Disorder:High
Borderline Personality Disorder:Very High
Histrionic Personality Disorder:Very High
Narcissistic Personality Disorder:High
Avoidant Personality Disorder:High
Dependent Personality Disorder:Moderate
Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder:High

-- Take the Personality Disorder Test --
-- Personality Disorder Info --

Later part!   
03:17pm 23/10/2006
mood: accomplished
“Ghislaine is sick,” Philippe informed Violet, clicking away at what seemed to Violet to be random sections of scenery with a deliberate and calculated air of aloofness. The girl didn’t like how he treated the photography as if it were the only thing worth his focus, and yet with a cheerlessly cold disdain, as though it weren’t worth any devotion. His total lack of passion perturbed Violet, who had much of it if no direction, which he had lots of, and so when she spoke she addressed no Philippe, but rather his bloodless face.
“She is always sick. I don’t see why that piece of information should be worthy of being announced,” and she kicked up some dirt with her toe to cement her sullen position in his mind.
“She is sick and in her bed,” Philippe replied listlessly, angering her further by not noticing her bad humour. He had only one eye open, and that through the viewfinder of his camera, the blonde eyelashes pressed against the metal in a deceiving manner, for the contact seemed so intimate when in fact it too was apathetic. “Otherwise she’d be out in her chair to meet you. She’s very taken with what you are. It’s the excitement that does her in. She is so used to reserving her energy for being ill that when she is permitted to behave unlike an invalid, the effort exhausts her, and she takes ill. So today she has gotten so sick she is obliged to stay at home, in bed.” His tone suggested that he had not invested very much emotion into any of the real life events the words paralleled back to, and there were a couple of camera clicks.
Violet squinted at him, feeling sure there must have been some measure of sarcasm in his words, but so far she saw no hint of it, nothing to suggest that which must have been the case. Her tongue felt knotted when she cast her mind about for a response.
“What I am?” was all she could think to say.
“A winsome waif, quite naturally so, and completely new to her,” he said almost coldly; and suddenly the lens was pointed at her. “Well;” he said after a moment of hesitation, poised with his fingertip resting lightly on the clicking button, which was silent. “Not particularly.” It was an adjective when he said it.
Violet stuck out her tongue automatically. “I can be quite particularly,” she said with a haughty air once she’d put it back. Philippe looked strange with the camera over his eye like a queer eye device with which one saw things outside the usual spectrum. “It’s that here there’s not much to win,” and she stormed off with deliberation.
The camera swerved to follow her. She looked away from it angrily. “Particularly,” she heard in a musing echo behind her, cold as though it were a scientific formula that Violet detested memorizing in school. “Oh, quite right, she is. And there’s not anything to win, after all.” When she looked back at him, he was holding the camera down, wiping dust off the glass with something that was reminiscent of silk. His head was tilted, his eyes downcast. Shadows struck his face. Violet found him looking ill himself. The town was at odds against him. He was a paper doll, sturdy and finely made to appear delicate, set against a sharply incongruous backdrop. His lips moved like a cut had been made across his paper face, painted with watercolours—and yet cut so perfectly that there was not a tear in the paper elsewhere! Only a pin could have done it, his wide, flatly expressioned lips were so perfectly separated from corner to corner as he spoke.
“Were you winsome back home, then, Violet? Using the term the way we have, just now.” He looked up at her with little interest, and she was surprised to find his eyes so large. She had forgotten how near herself he seemed to be, for those people she usually imagined hadsuch small eyes that they seemed to be at a distance from herself. But she could see now, feeling uncomfortable with the knowledge, that Philippe was a sight closer than she would have liked. And on a more superficial level, she was irritated by the way he said ‘we’, as though they shared something, as though it was their own in a pretty world. Violet was going to answer him with a very stubborn “No!” when a different response occurred to her lips, which did not have the grace—as, indeed, no part of her being had any grace—to inform her brain of it before she spoke.
“I shall tell you,” she said plainly, “but only if you will put that camera away right now. I understand that it is very interesting while you are not, but occasionally you stop looking like a boy and look more like a clock, and while I’m not very much obliged to talk to either, clock faces seem so rude with their roman numerals like slashes on the face. Yours is not polite, of course, but it’s not rude, at least.”
Philippe stared back at her, his unemotional and reflective expression unchanged. “I am sure you must feel relieved to speak to me this way,” he said flatly. “No one else understands why you speak as you do when you do speak like that then, and I am the only person. Your guardians don’t know it, do they?—but I can read it as one reads the time from a clock face. For your face is very rude, I’m afraid; when it’s not winsome, that is. However,” he said, and lowered the camera, though he did not put it away in its leather bag. “I may only tuck it away under my arm, like this, no?”
“If it pleases you,” Violet replied, very simply, with nothing of the wild creature in her as she stood like a demure John Tenniel Alice illustration. She felt tired of him and his words. “Does it? But of course it doesn’t,” she said immediately after, looking away, and biting her lip. “So you must, then.”
“There’s no ‘must’ in anything I do, Violet,” he said, walking up beside her, and lifting one hand to press his white palm against the lichen-encrusted knob of a tree so that he might lean against it, tossing back his blonde hair. “It’s more a matter of what I will do. It’s the same with you, I believe, except you prefer a ‘must’ when you speak of things out loud. Much better suited for the telling. Actions don’t actually speak louder than words. They don’t speak at all, in fact. And really, neither actions not words mean anything. They leave echoes; but not in the surface that matters. Where they’re concerned that surface is entirely still,” he said; and, “What a relief it is to say that out loud,” which he added with a shrug of his shoulders, as though he had heard the expression in a book and thought he might try it out. He was looking at the tree as though he expected echoes to appear from the very dry phrase he had flung out lastly, but nothing happened; perhaps that was why he shrugged. Violet was not sure whether he impressed her or not, in any case; but he made some impression, to be sure.
“Seventeen is an ill-fitting set of clothes on you,” Violet told Philippe, her features drawn, her eyebrows unstirred by echoes themselves and lying flat above her eyes. “And it suits you just as well. All of your clothes match.”
Looking at her, he tilted his head, hair falling against his cheek. “So do yours,” he said finally. “But not in comparison with anything else. Want to go on? We’ve both got a lot to talk about.”
“But we don’t want to say it to eachother, so it’s all wrong,” Violet said, and stumbled back from him.
“Hm. Yes. I suppose that writing may be better.”
I write. My writing has blood!” Violet exclaimed suddenly; the word ‘writing’ had inspired her deep, right through her veins, like a knife, and she almost gasped with the emotion she felt. Twin spots of colour, like doll’s rouge, had appeared on her cheeks, one beneath each eye. Her throat contracted each breath with vehemence. “It has blood and it has breathing, too. No style really. But style comes later.”
“If it comes at all,” Philippe remarked. “You aren’t a very stylish person. But my writing has got a lot of style. It has not breath, but it’s precise. Each time I rite, it is final, like taking a picture.” He looked startled, as though this had never occurred to him, and everything had. “I kill when I write.”
“Monstrous!” Violet cried, her face growing redder.
“Possibly. But speaking!” He had gone back to Philippe of before, who never exclaimed anything. Violet hated his use of the simple phrase. “Nothing that is said ever dies. I suppose that’s because sound never is permanent. I like speaking the things I write, but Ghislaine is not a good audience, and neither is Alice, and so I don’t really speak that much.”
“Ridiculous,” Violet said under her breath. “You talk altogether too much. More than anybody I ever knew—even more than professors at lecture.” But then, that was because he didn’t profess. He was ghastlier than any monster in Croixenlierre for his mix of real life and youth and blood, and sheer paper severity. “I think you had better shut up before I go off and show myself around Croixenlierre.”
Philippe shrugged again and finally put his camera away. “I have no idea why I said any of that, actually. Except the part about my sister, and your being a winsome waif to her.”
He was truly beginning to annoy her, and she huffed when she breathed.
“You’re the very burlesque of a bother to me,” she said crossly, arms folded, and stomped off. Out of the corner of the eye she saw Philippe fluidly unwind himself from his pose at the tree and follow, until he had passed her and was leading, and she hated each hair on the back of his head with all the passion she had in her being, which was, after all, quite a lot more than he had. He was really very lucky she was wasting any of it on him; certainly he didn’t deserve it. Whatever firm was responsible for the emotion would most likely look upon it with disapproval, but Violet certainly didn’t care; she was too busy thinking spiteful thoughts to the back of the boy’s waistcoat, and hoping urgently that they would penetrate the fabric.
Around the period that he first starts to show her around the town.
Call Me When You're Sober--Evanescence   
10:01pm 13/08/2006

Call Me When You're Sober--Evanescence
"Call Me When You're Sober--Evanescence" on Google Video
Can't wait to buy the CD...
Placebo - Every Me Every You   
08:59pm 13/07/2006

Placebo - Every Me Every You
"Placebo - Every Me Every You" on Google Video
Placebo - Every Me Every You
This is, yes, my favourite group.
Evanescence - Everybody's fool   
08:54pm 13/07/2006

Evanescence - Everybody's fool
"Evanescence - Everybody's fool" on Google Video
Evanescence - Everybody's fool
I've never actually seen this...can always delete if I don't like, right?
Violet talks to Philippe (chapter 7)   
10:16pm 30/05/2006
mood: dizzy, dahling
This is just an idea...just a sketch. I'm a few pages into chapter 4, so obviously it's a while in.
As Auntie continued to talk to the other children’s nurse, Violet scowled and turned away, kicking with the toe of her good shoes the pebbles in the grassy road. Dropping her boots to the ground, she jumped from pavestone to pavestone on the ground, a little too agilely to be calling “thundering about”, a little too deliberately to be skipping. Arms held out above her sides to keep her balance, the child leaped about aimlessly, concentrating very hard so that she would be sure to leap directly to the next stone in line—then she heard the snapping of camera shutters made by that accursed boy and nearly lost her balance for what would have surely been the thousandth time that week…
…Violet peered over at Philippe Labouchère curiously, and then, as though something had dawned on her suddenly and slowly, she stared at him, mouth half open, eyes shining brightly with dimmed excitement.
This was a boy, Philippe—not “Boy”. He was not a faceless, nameless, gawking wonder who wore school pants long enough to disguise his scuffed shoes. He would not slip dissected cows’ eyes down her book back, he would not join other boys that comprised “boy” and taunt her, he would never pass her on the street and snigger, “Vile-et!”
No, this was Philippe Labouchère, and she whispered the name to herself. He wore polished black shoes and had splendid, arched eyebrows. His hair was kempt, his clothes neat and tucked in—annoying as his camera was, it was still a camera, and was there and “boy” so interesting as that? No. Violet, forgetting her mock-game of skipping across the pavestones, crept nearer to the young man snapping up photographs near the fountain, avoiding the nurse, hanging back from the market. He was from Croixenlierre, that was true; but he was, like the driver, a possible someone—unlike her guardians—unlike the world—unlike them. And if he wasn’t like them, he was like she.
And as she neared, Violet saw his face. Not shapeless, undefined and puffy, like Aunt Beatrix’, with large eyes and a little round mouth—not wrinkly as a dry leaf like Madam’s. A slight frown aside, his forehead did not possess the worry lines his nurse’s had; while his was a more mature face than those of her former classmates—with their big noses and big nostrils, eyebrows unruly with long, stray strands across the brow bone—it wasn’t nearly such as his parents had. His eyes were keen and dark, doe eyes in a boy’s face, and his lips were in a firm line, but his features were soft and youthful—he was young.
Philppe Labouchère walked away from the fountain slightly, and his strides were large and decisive, but it was the maturity of youth. He was older than she, she knew, not so adult as the driver had been, and obviously not “child” as his sister. But there was an indefinable youngness that seemed to breathe life into a dusty idea of Philippe Labouchère and stir sympathies beneath Violet’s breastbone, and she walked over to him.
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04:51pm 27/05/2006
mood: effing ready to drop
Okay, so, I took several quizzes today on Blogthings.com...and admittedly some of them were slightly on the depressant side.
Like, "Is He Prettier Than You?" in which my boyfriend is gay...But I had the last laugh, because my Movie Kiss was with the two ladies in Cruel Intentions, my Gay Childhood Icon is Velma, and...

Your Seduction Style: The Dandy

You're a non-traditionalist, not limited by gender roles or expectations.

Your sexuality is more fluid than that - and you defy labels or categories.

It's hard to pin you down, and that's what's fascinating about you.

You have the psychology of both a male and a female, and you can relate to anyone.

I love this.
Though I passed the US Citizenship test with 90%, I am as American as Key Lime Tofu Pie (in other words, un-American) and my English-speaking country is the UK.
Fitting, because...
You Are a Glam Rocker!

You put the "show" in rock show with your larger than life self.
No doubt, you are all about making good music...
But what really gets you going is having an over the top show.
Glitter, costumes, and wild hair are your thing - with some rock thrown in!

Hot, to say the least.
But my Japanese subculture is goth and the foreign guy I should date is Japanese. I'm a passionate kisser (yay!) and I'm very quirky. My eyes should be grey.
Somehow, I'm 80% Pisces and 60% Scorpio...must be the Neptune in midheaven and in Pisces bit...
If my life was a movie, it would be film noir, like L.A. Confidential. (Actually, the first two times I took it, I was an Erotic Thriller. And I should strip to a Depeche Mode song whose name I can't remember about BDSM. Whee, masochism!)
And Narcissism is my Personality Disorder...though I was Histrionic the first time I took it.
And this I stole from Annie's page:
The Priss
Deliberate Brutal Love Dreamer (DBLDf)

Mature. Responsible. Aristocratic. Excuse me. The Priss.

Prisses are the smartest of all female types. You're highly perceptive, and confident in your judgements. You'd take brutal honesty over superficiality any time--your friends always know where they stand with you. You're completely unfake. Don't tell me that's not a word. You're also excellent at redirecting internal negative energy.

These facts indicate people are often intimidated by you. They also fall for you, hard. You have a distant, composed allure that many find irresistible. If only more of them lived up to your standards.

Your exact opposite:
The Playstation

Random Gentle Sex Master
You were probably the last among your friends to have sex. And the first to pretend that you're pregnant. LOL. Though you're inclined to use sex as weapon, at least it's not as one of mass destruction. You're choosier than most about your partners. A supportive relationship is what you're really after. Whether you know it or not, you need something steady & long-term. And soothing.

ALWAYS AVOID: The Playboy, The Loverboy

CONSIDER: The Manchild

Link: The 32-Type Dating Test by OkCupid - Free Online Dating.
My profile name: prettysometimes

But unfortunately we're opposites. ::hugs Annie:: But I still love you!
Though oddly enough, Manchild sounds scary. Loverboy does too. But Playboy sounds hot. Whee! Opposites attract! Besides, everybody knows I like to go after people I'll have a love-hate situation with...
I wish I were nicer. ::sob::
Batman Beyond and why Melanie rocks   
06:06pm 02/05/2005
mood: mad as a hatter
I love that show.^^ It's such an awesome show. I have always preferred Batman to Superman. Superman is physically strong (not to mention, he fights at daylight...boring!) and so all his enemies are strong and he has to defeat them. Blaaah. Batman's greatest strength is his mind, so his enemies are all insane. These shows aren't really for kids, either. There are sexual references, drugs, extreme violence and mature themes, like death and divorce and such. And the kissing is intense. ^^ Anyway, Melanie Walker rocks. She is so awesome! I think she should be dating Terry, not that stupid Dana chick. Dana is lame. She is unsupportive of Terry and the only reason he likes her is because she romps around in a paint-on dress. Sure, okay, Melanie shows off her legs in the miniskirt and her torso in the tight top, but he also liked her because they got along and she understood him. Dana is just a pain. and plus, Melanie reminds me of September Snow!^^ Long list why.
screwing ladylike   
11:30am 22/04/2005
mood: chewing gum angrily
Lucy says to screw ladylike, so that's why it's in there (well, she says she can't remember if September ever had boobs in fourth year, and I say in response, "No- Annie drew her with boobs, but that was just Remus' wishful thinking manifesting itself in the pencil" and Lucy said it was funny and I said it wasn't very ladylike and she said, screw ladylike and I said, but I like being a lady cos I like wearing skirts...anyway...).

Updates: On Monday, after fighting with Lucy for months (but not on purpose- I try to mention something and she gets offended. I don't mean for her to, but she does...Ihave poor communication skills x.x), I got really depressed, because my mother was yelling that I can't be homeschooled because she's my mother and I'm only 14 (which is stupid! Please!) and so I got really really really depressed and quit the group. I joined up again, but I felt really bad on Monday and when I went to the office with dad I actually threw up in the bathroom.
>< I shouldn't have left the group. I'm not a moderator anymore! >< I don't think I ever did anything as a moderator, really, but I liked being able to be alerted when a file was uploaded to the group or when members came or went. And it's really what is symbolizes, right? Anyway, I did something stupid and some more stupid things...Oh! And I practiced drawing September the way Annie does, but I can't do it...>< I hate anime, it's haaaard. So, yeah, I'm depressed. And I got a review for "The Last Violet of the Spring", a nice one.
Last night my mother was an idiot. I wanted to watch Bulletproof Monk and she says we're watching Replacement Killers. There's no doubt in my mind that it's a good film, but I didn't want to watch something I hadn't seen before. I think I'm having security issues at home and in my life right now, and so there was a good psychological reason for it, but try telling that to that woman! I said, "Fine, watch the movie!" and left, and my father, the mediator, says, "Well, can't we come to an agreement on another movie?" and I said, "No- because there's no winning with her. It's her way or nothing." And he said, "Well, Christel, will you watch another one?" No answer. He turns to me: "Teja, do you?"
"Dragonheart," I reply. I won't be like her; I can come up with an alternative. Mother doesn't say anything, then says, "Well, it's late, we should all go to bed."
My father stares at her and says, "Are you saying that she's right, that it really is your way?"
For the longest time the woman doesn't answer, then finally she says, "I'm just saying it's late..."
My father eventually ended up watching Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon on his own and was happy. I stayed online until 11 pm, like usual. I hate that woman, I'm telling you. She is stubborn for no reason, it's ridiculous! You can't argue with her, I don't get it...
Oh, and in maraudersOOC, I want to play Kethry Mournedealth and Dani Delaney!! Lucy had better let me! ^^
David visits and we buy movies   
06:58pm 18/04/2005
mood: moved to the soul
David is Jewish, although I don't hold that against him^^ since I was thinking about becoming Jewish sometime although have decided not to as I wish to keep my options open, and he's short, which I can forgive, and he is BLOODY ANNOYING, which is not something I tolerate well. I don't like Prince and 70's music. Can you blame me? I mean, for God's sake, it's got to be the farthest from my idea of ideal music. But he insists on playing it! Luckily there was no music from that era this time. >< Thankfully! But he was still really...::pantomimes ripping head off:: Anyway, Pick-A-Flick is going out of business- which is really sad, since those people are so awesome and we're going to miss them- and selling all their movies ($7 for new releases and $3.50 for older ones). When we, along with David (who is 9 years my senior if anyone gives a damn), went to the store to put our movies back (I was obsessed with getting Schindler's List a second time) we found this out. We bought some twelve movies. We went back today for about 15, or more, possibly. And we're still not done, I'll bet!^^ Here's a list of the ones I got for myself mostly:
Dogma, A Room With A View, Immortal Beloved, Stigmata, The Ninth Gate, Heart and Souls, He Said, She Said, Dragonheart, The Village, Back To The Future I, II & III, and Around the World in 80 Days.
IF ANYONE WANTS TO HARASS ME BECAUSE I LIKE PG RATED STUFF, BITE ME!!^^ Only four of those movies were rated that, and they both have inspired me to draw pictures before...
Oh, didn't mention that I updated my DevArt account...http://sarrin.deviantart.com if anyone cares...
PS: I love "Immortal Beloved"!
folk concert   
06:51pm 18/04/2005
mood: possessed by a Demon
It was last night from 7- 10 in Potter County, "God's Country", Pennsylvania, and it wasn't much of a concert, as there were less than fifty people sitting around in this dimly lit diner watching the four of them up on stage. From right to left, one by one, they'd play a song, around in a circle like that. At the twenty minute intermission, I went to have lemon meringue pie, and Jess and Dad each had cherry pie. I also had a stick of licorice from the health food store, like my brother, who along with my father also had a soda. Antje Duvekot cancelled due to illness, which is a pity, but I intend to order her CD anyway (http://www.antjeduvekot.com). We bought Mick Choder's CD (http://mickchoder.com) and Rebecca Gohn's as well- she was absolutely amazing, I think, she was very nice and has a beautiful voice, and is very moving on piano (http://rebeccagohn.com). I don't know if folk is my kind of music, but this was all very good. It's very sad that Miss Duvekot couldn't make it, though, I was looking forward to that.
Yesterday David visited also. More on this in next entry.
06:41pm 02/04/2005
  I'm so much in trouble. My mother found out about this lvejournal and went absolutely bonkers! She says I have to delete it in 24 hours...I'm going to miss you all and I'm especially going to miss my little picture....::cries:: I'll miss you all!
APRIL FOOLS, ANNIE!! ::laughs hysterically::
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05:53pm 01/04/2005
mood: cocky
I'm only posting here because Annie will murdah meh if I don't...^^ Just kidding, it's my duty to post this little message here in this lovely livejournal. Ever since I saw that revolting excuse for a film, that version of "The Picture of Dorian Gray", I have been working on writing the screenplay for a movie version of it, a remake, I suppose. I love that book. It would never make as good a film as a good book, but it'd great in cinema all the same. (By the way, Angela Lansbury has the same birthday as Oscar Wilde, which is probably why she was the only decent actress in the whole movie- she made a terribly fabulous Sybil Vane!) If anyone has some interest in reading the mess of a screenplay the first scene- chapters one and two- has become, feel free to say so, I'll send it to you. Anyway...yeah, that's pretty much it. I'm working on scene three (chapter three, pretty much...) at the moment, and I hope it turns out well. I have so many plans for this movie, and I intend to put my friend Molly (april_leolius) in the role of Victoria, since they're both such romantics...^^ Well, she hasn't gotten back to me on the offer. Yet.
I didn't mention that I also shall direct the film and maybe do producing, and I might actually play a part in the movie (though it's too embarassing to discuss in a livejournal; other Wilde fans will laugh at me), if I can...I want to decide the actors, and the camera angles, and the scenery and costumes....well, I want to be GOD! Actually, I want to be God's second-in-command. Oscar Wilde is GOD. I hope he doesn't think I'm blaspheming....
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Oscar Wilde biography project   
07:56pm 29/03/2005
  This was written 25 January. It was a summary of Oscar Wilde's life that I only got a 94 on, and I think I should rewrite it anyway. It sucks.

Oscar Fingal O’Flahertie Wills Wilde was born on October 16, 1854 in Dublin, Ireland to Sir William Wilde, a renowned doctor and Lady Jane Wilde, a poet famous throughout the Emerald Isle for her patriotic poetry. He was quite fond of his mother, and although she seemed to favor his older brother Willie at the time, later in his life she found Oscar was something more to brag about. Indeed, Oscar Wilde was a man whose name would not soon be forgotten. He would not allow such a thing.
Oscar Wilde was famous, or rather, infamous, for being an aesthete. Although his theories on aestheticism were not brought about until college, he was known even through school for being so different. His nickname at Portora Royal School in Enniskillen, where he went at age nine in February 1864, was "Grey Crow", after his appearance, a name he despised. That comes as no surprise; Oscar once chided his mother in a letter for confusing his shirts with his brothers’ shirts- Oscar’s were lilac and scarlet. There was, however, a fair chance that he was called this because of his habit of giving everyone else nicknames (something he did even in later life, calling Lord Alfred Douglas "Prince Fleur De Lys", among other affectionate names, and Ada Leverson "the Gilded Sphinx"). This was part of his intellect and witty sayings that left one hanging; Oscar Wilde was and always would be an excellent talker.
In October of 1874, Wilde went to Magdalen College, Oxford, where his life was greatly altered. There he met several people, namely John Ruskin and Walter Pater, who influenced his life and, especially, his views on art- that art should be created for the purpose of art alone, and that morality should not be included in art or art’s judgment. Art, he reasoned, was beautiful, or it wasn’t. There was nothing else to it. That theory provided the foundation for his fantastic aestheticism, which would create him, and unmake him, in England. After leaving Oxford Wilde went to London, where his manner of talking and almost irritatingly- surely his enemies (and there were many) thought so- clever phrases had already made his name well known, whether for good or for bad. But while others had affected him in Oxford, thus he affected others in London, meeting people, such as popular debutantes (like Sarah Bernhardt and Lillie Langtry) and making them recognized by the high-class London society.
After his father had died in 1876, the remaining members of the Wilde family were faced with a new problem other than that of Oscar’s reputation- money. Oscar’s financial situation was not doing well, and the fact that he had not changed his habit of overspending did not help it. Lady Jane Wilde advised him and Willie (who liked to gamble) to each marry a wealthy young girl. Thus Oscar’s pursuit of a wife began. Lillie Langtry, whose status he had helped to assemble, was already married. Florence Balcombe, whom he had loved dearly, married the also-Irish Bram Stoker (who published Dracula in 1907, his name is also well-known). Oscar was forced to look elsewhere. He courted young Violet Hunt, whom he had met when she was 14, but she refused him. Eventually, he met a young woman named Constance Lloyd. A shy but intelligent girl with long brown locks and indigo eyes, she enjoyed speaking with him and almost worshipped him, listening attentively to Oscar as he talked, and talking was one of his favorite things to do. Constance was also a Cardinal sign, for those who believe in Astrology’s weather forecasts in relationships- a Capricorn, born in January 2, 1858. They got along very well, and soon announced they were in love. After putting the wedding off for months, Oscar and Constance were married in 29 May of 1884.
All rumors of him being homosexual, based on his effeminacy, ceased when the once long-haired poet appeared in public with his wife, his hair short and devoid of waves. Even though he still attended public plays and occasions, and continued to outrage and amuse the world, whispers of him being a family man- not going to do anything else but live out his life with his wife and their sons Cyril, born on June 5, 1885 and Vyvyan, 1886- existed. While many mourned the loss of their beloved aesthete, it seemed Oscar had no intention of settling down. This signaled a decline in Oscar and Constance’s relationship. When his homoerotic tendencies resubmerged, partly because of his wife’s altered appearance after having the boys, Oscar and Constance became further apart.
Wanting to spread his aesthetic views to other important places, and also because of his love of adventure and travel, Wilde went to tour America and Canada in 1892. He dazzled the public, which adored him, and bewildered the newspapers, with his long lectures on art, fashion, home decoration and other things of beauty, and also how he carried them out, such as his silk knee breeches and long fur coat, both of which he was ridiculed for back in England. Unfortunately for Oscar, many of his friends had turned against him during his stay in America based on his lectures and the stories told about him. This being abandoned by close friends because of such things was an event that was to be repeated over the course of his short, but amazing, life.
In said life, Oscar had been a kingly jester- or rather, a jesterly king, for one had to acknowledge his royalty. He was always dancing on a tightrope, going from fondness of different religions- Catholicism, Paganism, among others- and fondness of different hairstyles - short and curled, long and waved, many various ways- and of course, his love of men and women. When one is on a tightrope, ever so high in the air, one has all the farther to fall.
During 1891, Oscar Wilde met a young nobleman named Lord Alfred Douglas (also a Libra- born October 22, 1870), or as he was nicknamed as a child, ‘Bosie’. Although the precise time is unknown, it is believed that around 1892 they became lovers. 5’9’’ to Wilde’s 6’3’’, he was not comparatively tall, which only added to the contrast- Douglas was a fair-haired young man with porcelain skin and Wilde, with his pallid face and heavily-lidded eyes, and dark black-brown hair, was anything but the pretty boy his lover was. Lord Alfred Douglas was a reckless boy, although an admittedly beautiful one. His spoiled, cyclone-esque nature- he would often go to Wilde for money, which Wilde gave him- and childlike indulgence in everything without care to the consequences of these actions would spell doom to the playwright.
Part of the reason for Bosie’s behavior was his parents. His mother spoiled him, probably because of the contempt his father, the Marquess of Queensberry, held for him. His father disliked scandal and knew of the stories told of his son and Wilde, and insisted that they stop their relations. While Wilde tried to persuade Douglas to heed his father’s threats of bringing them apart, Douglas paid no attention and continued to show up at places with Oscar, knowing it infuriated his father all the more. When Queensberry left a card for Wilde at a club that said, "To Oscar Wilde posing Somdomite", Wilde did not laugh at his misspelling with his Wildean languor, but sued him for libel (1895), and lost the trial. Unfortunately, when deciding whether or not the term ‘sodomite’ was true, the subject of his homosexuality had been brought up, and there had been a law some years previously regarding homosexuality between male persons as ‘indecent’, and illegal. During his next trials, the public was in a buzz; as the press had loved his troubles in America and Canada, they loved them then.
At his trials, as ever, Oscar was brilliant, often causing loud laughter at his statements, but his wit was nothing against the evidence brought against him- young men he’d been intimate with, young male prostitutes, and even some men who confused what they’d done with him with what they’d done with Douglas, although those working against him- namely Edward Carson, cross-examining him, did not mind that confusion, in fact welcoming it. He lost his trials, and was sentenced to two years’ hard labor in Wandsworth prison- the maximum penalty.
The hard labor nearly broke Wilde, mentally and physically. He spent much of his time ill and in the infirmary, and his greatest fear was insanity, as he was deprived of writing materials. In 1897, he was transferring to Reading Gaol, which he named a poem he published after his freedom. There, after a Major Nelson took over for Major Isaacson who had always seemed to punish Wilde savagely for trivial things, his life got better and he indeed seemed to feel that, although he had suffered greatly, he had learned even more- that because he had spent his life in search of pleasure, the pain he had avoided found him at the end. These views were put into De Profundis, a dramatic, confessional letter he wrote to Lord Alfred Douglas. His friend Robert Ross had it published in 1905, five years after his death.
After his release from Reading, Wilde went into exile on the Continent. In 1898 he published The Ballad of Reading Gaol, in which he mentions, "Each man kills the thing he loves," which provides some insight into how he must have felt towards Douglas, especially considering how he mentioned at his trials something about the "Love that dare not speak his name", homosexual love. He had Douglas to blame for much of that, not merely himself. His mother had died when he was in prison; Constance, who had taken the boys and moved to Switzerland, changing their name to "Holland", died that year; and he was penniless, living wherever, and going to old friends for money. Most of his old friends would not even speak with him anymore, though- not even the ones he had helped to create. Lillie Langtry lied later and said that she had sent him money when she had never done such a thing. Lord Alfred Douglas, whom he had stayed with for a time, had only helped to use what little money he’d had, and did not pay him back for it (quite like the old days).
Towards the end of the century, he began to get very ill, and soon found himself bedridden. It was decreed cerebral meningitis. As November died- slowly, as months do- so did he, getting more ill with every passing day. On November 30, he was found dead, a tragic close to a century that he had altered and in a sense, destroyed, making way for the grand new century. His last words were said to be, "Either that wallpaper goes, or I do." If so, he died as he lived, in a manner, so you could say, as Lord Henry Wotton says of Sybil in The Picture of Dorian Gray, that he never truly died.
Mary Sues   
09:58am 27/03/2005
mood: thoughtful
I've actually become such an expert on this subject that for a character analysis essay in Language Arts I described first what a Mary Sue was, then explained how the character was one (full credit, too, and Mrs. Flurschutz almost never gives out hundreds!). It's simple to see for me how a Mary Sue differs from a character with Mary Sue characteristics, and how and when some of these characteristics are necessary for a character. I'm sure many people have heard of the Harry Potter Mary Sue litmus test, which is where the concept of one was first explained to me.
Basically, a Mary Sue
-Has qualities that make her out to be 'perfect', OR
-Is flawed so much that the whole point of her flaws seem to be to make the reader pity her, OR
-Is so wonderful and perfect that you love her, and yet has such a tragic past that you feel sorry for her
-Has some sort of magical ability
-Is stunningly beautiful and talented (not only loved by everyone)
-Has some sort of secret (not always, but usually)
-Falls in love with one or more of the main characters
-Has so many people in love with her that some of are caused grief
-Is extremely important to the plot
-Dies in the end, OR
-Dies in the end and is brought back to life
-Has traits that are reminiscent of other characters (aka, many of the things that make her 'her' are taken from other characters).
And many others. Some ways to tell if a character is a Mary Sue:
-She has characteristics that are only there to make her more wonderful, her past more tragic, etc., but have nothing to do with the character
-She has characteristics that contradict other characteristics only for the sake of the plot (i.e., she is so strong and smart that you'd think she woudl never get kidnapped, and yet she gets kidnapped relatively easily).
-Her role in the story seems to be more 'prop' than 'character'.
-If you were to write a diary entry of hers, you would find it strangely blank and boring, as you do not hae a clear idea of what she's thinking.
-Aouda (from 'Around the World in 80 Days' by Jules Verne): Speaks English flawlessly although she's Indian, is beautiful with fair skin although she's Indian, plays whist- which makes her attractive to Phileas Fogg, since he plays whist- well, is loved and admired by all the other characters, bleh....
-Anna Valerious (from 'Van Helsing', a film by Stephen Sommers): Is the last remaining survivor of her family, is a princess although she could just as well have been a warrior, is supposed to be intelligent and such, but thinks very little and for a warrior, she sure seems helpless, falls in love with Van Helsing, main character, is killed in the end, and a lot of fuss is made over her death, the main bad guy also lusts after her although he's been fighting her family for centuries, and overall she seems to be there more for the story than because she's a character...
-Andrea Beaumont (from the animated 'Batman: Mask of the Phantasm'): Gets hit on by almost every character, only meets Bruce Wayne because her mother is dead, which creates some sympathy between them, Batman- Bruce- considers giving up on being Batman only for her, she turns out to be the bad guy, and when Bruce tries to ask her why, she starts to cry, "Look what they did to us! What we could've had! They had to pay." (They were going to get married, but didn't...), they're miserable when, at the end, they are away from eachother, and hullo, who is Andrea? Was she ever in the show? Not once!....
-Gladys Hallward (from the 1945 film version of 'The Picture of Dorian Gray', by Oscar Wilde): Was related to one of the main characters (Basil Hallward, she was his neice)--she was Harry's cousin in the book, but she had a relatively small part and I liked her character there better---, was going to marry some other character but broke it off to marry Dorian, Dorian proposed to her, her ex snuck up on Dorian and found the portrait but didn't know about it, Gladys had signed the portrait beneath Basil's signature with a 'G', Dorian killed Basil because of her, Dorian would change himself only for her, the portrait changed because he'd sacrificed her- which did NOT happen in the book whatsoever-, and although all this was happening, she was a boring character....

These are just a few of the real-life Mary Sues I've come aross, if you have a character and want to know if she's a Mary Sue (assuming you can't figure it out yourself, which you probably can), I'll check.^^ I'm always honest....
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Historical Figures cont'd   
04:41pm 31/12/2004
mood: indescribable
Oscar Wilde was born a Libra. The main character, Dorian, in his only novel "The Picture of Dorian Gray" was a Scorpio (Nov. 10)*. And he died while the sun was in Sagittarius (Nov. 30).

*This novel was almost a confession for him, and it is interesting that Dorian would be a Scorpio, when it is said that one can learn most from the sign following one's own.

Alexander Hamilton was born a Capricorn (Jan. 11). He died when the sun was in Cancer (July 12), which is the opposite of Capricorn.

Things about Sarrin- she's a Scorpio, too, and Capricorn is her midheaven, with Saturn in it. !
Historical Figures   
04:11pm 31/12/2004
mood: curious
My two favourites are, undeniably, Alexander Hamilton (the only thing i like about this damned country) and Oscar Wilde. After thinking it over, there are several things about them I find interesting.
Both of them
-are Cardinal signs (Hamilton: Capricorn, Wilde: Libra)
-had homosexual tendencies (Hamilton; John Laurens, Gilbert de Lafayette, Wilde; Lord Alfred Douglas, among others) although they were married to women (however, Hamilton married afterwards, despite his heterosexual relationship going on at the time he was planning his marriage to Elizabeth Schulyer and Wilde's wife Constance divorced him after his trials)
-had a love affair that brought them public humiliation (Hamilton- Maria Reynolds, Wilde- Lord Alfred Douglas)
-died young (Hamilton- either 49 0r 47, Wilde- 46 years and 16 days)
-had tragic deaths (Hamilton- shot by rival Aaron Burr in a duel, died the next day in agony; Wilde- five years after sentenced, three years after hard labour in prison, of cerebral meningitis resulting from a recurrent ear infection he'd had)
-could have avoided these deaths.... (Hamilton needed not to participate in the duel, Wilde could have fled to France or anywhere out of England and would not have had to go to his trials, where he was sure to be found guilty)
-...yet, due to a sense of duty they both had, chose not to. (Hamilton would have died before not accept a challenge, so instead, he died afterwards. Wilde simply had to give a lovely and eloquent speech about homosexuality, didn't he? Old habits die hard...although five years isn't much.)

Alexander Hamilton, from January 11, 1755 (or 1757 by some accounts) to July 12, 1804. Born in the West Indies on the island of Nevis. Died in Weehawken, New Jersey (where his son, Phillip, died in a duel three years before defending his father's honour). Buried in Trinity Churchyard Cemetery in Manhattan.
Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wildes, from October 16, 1854 to November 30, 1900. Born in Dublin, Ireland. died in Paris, France. Buried in Lachaise Cemetery, Paris.
Dinah Harper>>POETRY!!   
04:52pm 27/12/2004
mood: excited!!!

Ahem. ::clears throat::

"There is a guy
Who gets high
I think he's bi
Cos he likes Sky."

I actually wrote something tht RHYMED!!!!

~Dinah Harper~