Kisscut
- Name
- Ammy
- Age
- 18
- Gender
- Female
- Location
- In My Mind
- Joined date
- August 25th, 2007
Songs
Drabbles
Latest update: Chapter 2 on December 5th, 2008Luz Do Sol
Latest update: Chapter 1 on October 17th, 2008The Warped And Twisted Lives Of Frank And Bob
Latest update: Chapter 8 on August 19th, 2008Necropolis
Latest update: Chapter 1 on April 4th, 2008
Symphonies
Knowledge in a bottle.
October 22nd, 2008Countenance
September 30th, 2008Dry Wood
September 28th, 2008
Mantras
1 comment
Creeps
Mollirot
Aqua Crescent
XrayPineapple
La Princesa MuertaWeirdo
(A)biding
(M)using
(M)isanthropist
(Y)awner
Likes: Music, books, writing, reading, cartoons, playing bass, swimming, chocolate.
Dislikes: Fakes, liars, users, haters, labels, misconceptions.
Can't live without: My family, friends, music, a good book, and the internet.
Can do without: The sun, early wake up calls, headaches, long periods of solitude.
Music I'm into:
My Chemical Romance
Jack Off Jill
Nine Inch Nails
Linkin Park
Muse
Paramore
The Used
Sorta stuff you'd find me reading/writing: Anything that has a good plot and will keep me hooked. Nothing too cliché or over done, most of my stuff is slash so like it or leave it.
I also have lots of weird disjoined thoughts running through my head most days, some of it makes for pretty weird writing when I eventually put pen to paper.
I'm very heavily into video games at the moment, and my (serious) writing has mantained a certain fantasy feel to it, since that is my favorite genre.
I draw, but I can't draw.
I sing, but I can't sing.
I dance, but I can't dance.
The Conqueror Worm
Lo! 'Tis a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.
Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly--
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
Invisible Wo!
That motley drama--oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore,
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.
But see, amid the mimic rout
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes!--it writhes!--with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And the angels sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.
Out--out are the lights--out all!
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
And the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, "Man,"
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.
~Edgar Allan Poe. 1809–1849
(M)using
(M)isanthropist
(Y)awner
Likes: Music, books, writing, reading, cartoons, playing bass, swimming, chocolate.
Dislikes: Fakes, liars, users, haters, labels, misconceptions.
Can't live without: My family, friends, music, a good book, and the internet.
Can do without: The sun, early wake up calls, headaches, long periods of solitude.
Music I'm into:
My Chemical Romance
Jack Off Jill
Nine Inch Nails
Linkin Park
Muse
Paramore
The Used
Sorta stuff you'd find me reading/writing: Anything that has a good plot and will keep me hooked. Nothing too cliché or over done, most of my stuff is slash so like it or leave it.
I also have lots of weird disjoined thoughts running through my head most days, some of it makes for pretty weird writing when I eventually put pen to paper.
I'm very heavily into video games at the moment, and my (serious) writing has mantained a certain fantasy feel to it, since that is my favorite genre.
I draw, but I can't draw.
I sing, but I can't sing.
I dance, but I can't dance.
The Conqueror Worm
Lo! 'Tis a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.
Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly--
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
Invisible Wo!
That motley drama--oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore,
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.
But see, amid the mimic rout
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes!--it writhes!--with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And the angels sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.
Out--out are the lights--out all!
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
And the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, "Man,"
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.
~Edgar Allan Poe. 1809–1849
Whispers