Zephronias's New Writeups

April 20, 2013 (log)

2013-04-20T18:06:12Z

This is purely self indulgent drivel I came up with to avoid doing homework. All of these are characters from previous stories.

* * * * *

She found a dead bird in the grass, its eyes eaten out by ants, its neck and wings bent at odd angles, its breast torn and bare of feathers, its body dessicated in death.

She dropped to her knees and bent down low and, gently, blew onto its face, and life like fire kindled inside. Flesh and feathers rushed reformed and with a beat of little wings the bird flew from her hands and took to the air, tongues of flame trailing behind it.

She grinned and waved goodbye, then hurried to catch up with her brother. It was probably best she didn't mention the bird; he always got nervous when she brought things back from the dead.

* * * *…

I met a girl in the garden who was doomed to die the next day. (dream)

2013-04-12T21:31:13Z

Her father sought my help, and my help always comes with a price.

We stood together in the garden on the stone pathway and her father made his plea. He wanted a longer life for himself, and her death would be my sacrifice. She had been fated to die soon, anyway. The seer woman had told them as much. I closed my eyes and saw the threads of life, and I knew them to speak the truth.

She was going to die. Her death was final, mandated between the columns in front of her father's house. She would be on the portico steps when a legionary's stray arrow would strike her in the back. She was only sixteen.

I agreed to the death, but demanded in return her life.

"What difference could it make?" he said.

"All the difference in the world," I replied.

I took her hand and we left through a rip in the air that hadn't been there a moment before.

She lived to see mountains in the east and volcanoes to the west and…

A story about Mia and the sea (fiction)

2013-04-12T17:15:01Z

When Mia talks to the ocean, the ocean talks back.

We went to the beach, and despite the fact that the weather forecast had predicted overcast skies and cold winds, the sun was out and the water was warm. Mom went on the high sands, well away from the water, and laid down on a towel with a book.

Mia went looking for seashells, and I started building sand castles.

Probably a half hour passed before I wondered where Mia had gone. Partly I wondered because I thought the castle could use some decoration, and she should have had a bucketful of seashells by then, but also because she was quiet. Normally she would have gotten bored with whatever she was doing and would have come to bug me. I got up and went looking for her.

She wasn't anywhere on part of the beach mom and me were at. I had to climb over a pile of rock and driftwood and skirt around the ends of the cliff sticking up from the ground to get around…

Magic Realism, the Poetic Narrative, and Emily Dickinson (essay)

2013-04-05T23:55:24Z

Node your homework

Magic realism (AKA magical realism) is a genre wherein supernatural elements are present in an otherwise realistic environment and presented as mundane themselves. While the genre is best known for its literary aspect, it was originally used to describe a specific German painting style. The term, Magischer Realismus, was coined by German historian and art critic Franz Roh in 1925 and was used to describe paintings that were focused on portraying realism with no overt fantastical elements (the goal of which was to portray something so mundane so realistically that it caused the viewer to appreciate the inherent wonder in day to day lifeâ to âstop and smell the rosesâ). The literary side of the genre came to popularity two decades later during the 1940s and 50s and was concentrated in Latin America.

Emily Dickinson was a 19th century American poet and is widely regarded to be the most influential American poet. She is…

Sometimes birds are lions and prides of pigeons shake the ground when they roar. (dream)

2013-04-05T17:04:07Z

The Alourdes Street lion sleeps under the bridge with a flock of pigeons that think he's a bird. That's okay, the lion thinks he's a bird, too.

Every morning, he shakes himself awake and the dozens of pigeons that had been perched, sleeping, all over him coo indignantly and take to the air and settle on the nearest electric wire. The lion yawns and stretches all of himself, saving his giant wings for last. His wings are tawny and scraggly and full of tiny bugs the pigeons like to eat. Some of the feathers are loose; since the lion has no beak, he can't preen them out properly. But that, too, is okay, since later on the pigeons will do this job for him.

When he's done waking up, he'll lope heavily alongside the road (scaring drivers who aren't used to him. The lion has caused car crashes before) and, with a few strong wing beats, he'll lift himself into the air, and the pigeons will join him.

Everything…

March 24, 2013 (log)

2013-03-24T00:46:18Z

Alrighty, time for overly personal thank-god-nobody-I-know-IRL-reads-these daylog time!

I have Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome.

(Hahaha, how many people have left the page just then?)

I was diagnosed when I was sixteen or seventeen. I went to the doc's because I never had a period, and they told me, "well, you're pretty fuckin' fat. And that's tied to this. Also your hormones are jacked, too. Not she-man levels of jacked, but enough that you're not going to be spouting out any babies if this keeps up." The best way to deal with PCOS is for the plump ladies to lose weight. Something about PCOS causing weight gain (or making it really easy to gain weight) and at the same time being exacerbated by weight gain. They gave me a little bottle of pills (I think it was progesterone) and sent me on my way with the warning that if I missed three…