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Dec. 14th, 2007

project ricochet cont'd.

It’s ironic. We created the Succubi to destroy the one thing we loathed most, the notorious gang of Incubi. These were men with sadistic tendencies and sexual frustration tormenting their twisted souls. They ran the city, pillaging whatever they pleased. Sons of diplomats and corporate powers beyond our status, nothing could stop then…that is until us. Slowly and discreetly, we were becoming them. What scared me most wasn’t the war we were brewing, it was the ease that came with each savage act. As the assaults grew more creative and unspeakable, so did the comfort levels.

How did I come to beckon unto the calling of the brutal avenger? We have to go back in time, before the rusty knife, before the Psychology 101, before the plastic chairs sitting awkwardly and pathetic women spewing their sad sad stories. This is my story. This was my calling.

Dec. 13th, 2007

it's back...

Well this is definitely one of my more twisted concoctions. DEFINITELY only for mature audiences. You have been warned, and yes, it is disgusting.

The one line a day shall continue...

Now where did we leave off?

Didn't catch the beginning?Collapse )


“Do you feel that?” I can see the ferocity boiling within her green eyes, dilating with excitement. “Now look at her.” She looks at Linda, the sad statuette with gray eyes. “I’m going to send you back to your Incubi scum with a message…” Blood splatters across the room as she rips the knife out of its tight spot, specks of something that shouldn’t be seen. The once proud and terrifying Incubus cradles himself into a ball. Tightening his face in agony, he screams, piercing the hollow building. “You bitch! You bitch!” Jennifer twitches in fury. “What was that? You wanted me to penetrate you again? Like you penetrated her…” The closer the blade gets, the tighter his body becomes. “No, no, no!” Crotched down and leaning over her knees, she pokes the tip of his crooked nose with the side of the bloody knife, smearing his insides over his pale skin. “Are you going to be a good boy for me then?” Trembling, he reluctantly nods his head in fear. “I have a message, which you will gladly bring to your big bad boss. Next incubus that touches one of our girls, will have a pretty picture carved into the center of your ass, just like yours. And you’re going to tell them that it’s from the Succubi. Understand idiot?”

Nov. 14th, 2007

Now we're getting somewhere

Warning: New lines added will have a graphic nature. You have been warned.

#1 I met her by the radiance of the gigantic tree.
#2 Glowing brightly in the mist of ice, it frowned upon the spectators.
#3 Sent far from its home in Canada, it was slain for the sake of beauty.
#4 For beauty is rarely found in this cluster of chaos. And now standing tall in Rockefeller center, it never looked more beautiful than in death.
#5 It was the perfect place.
#6 It takes a tragedy, a death for something significant to occur.
#7 Only then will people listen, when we all become beautiful.
#8 Art is never modeled after perfection, just the hidden marvel deep within distortion.
#9 The beauty within a crooked smile or a wilting flower.
Messages between the lines, between the words.
#10 How this all started is a painting within itself.
#11 We have to find the messages to truly understand.
#12 Every Thursday night at eight we’d gather for our support group for victims of domestic violence.
#13 Gathered around the table were women crippled by the theories of backwards feminism.
#14 Raped, anorexic, tainted and emotional...only one should be a characteristic of most women.
#15 Our sensitivity to emotions is where we fall.
#16 It could be have been anyone.
#17 There sat he sad statuette slumped over her slim body.
#18 Strands of ebony hang loose in her porcelain face.
#19 Once so confident, so glamorous and bright in the billboard hanging in Times Square, now squeezed into a corner too scared to pose in the spotlight.
#20 Or maybe it was the waitress who serves you coffee with a smile every morning in the little café on the corner of Fifth Avenue.
#21 Except now her smile’s faded from the obscene marks hanging over her right eye.
#22 And then it came to us, the scholars of our generation.
#23 Smart enough to breach the walls of New York University , but not smart enough to prohibit power sliding into the hands of measly men.
#24 I didn’t meet Jennifer in our support group.
#25 But I didn’t know her until we were seated across from each other in tiny plastic chairs located in the downstairs clinic, sharing our mutual disgust of men.
#26 I noticed her a few rows down from me in Psychology 101.
#27 She seemed so enticed, so intrigued by the theories of what makes us tick.
#28 I later found out that it was obviously her major, mine, creative writing.
#29 But ever since I breached NYU’s walls, the creative flow stopped.
#30 Imagining this grand university would be the greenest patch of all, but every day, every hour was repetitive.
#31 Inspiration has to be found.
#32 But you can imagine just how fast inspiration awakens as you watch Jennifer twist the rusty blade through the center of some Incubi scum bag’s anus.
#33 Wincing in pain, beads of sweat pour down the sides of his head.

Nov. 7th, 2007

and the story continues...

#1 I met her by the radiance of the gigantic tree.
#2 Glowing brightly in the mist of ice, it frowned upon the spectators.
#3 Sent far from its home in Canada, it was slain for the sake of beauty.
#4 For beauty is rarely found in this cluster of chaos. And now standing tall in Rockefeller center, it never looked more beautiful than in death.
#5 It was the perfect place.
#6 It takes a tragedy, a death for something significant to occur.
#7 Only then will people listen, when we all become beautiful.
#8 Art is never modeled after perfection, just the hidden marvel deep within distortion.
#9 The beauty within a crooked smile or a wilting flower.
Messages between the lines, between the words.
#10 How this all started is a painting within itself.
#11 We have to find the messages to truly understand.
#12 Every Thursday night at eight we’d gather for our support group for victims of domestic violence.
#13 Gathered around the table were women crippled by the theories of backwards feminism.
#14 Raped, anorexic, tainted and emotional...only one should be a characteristic of most women.
#15 Our sensitivity to emotions is where we fall.
#16 It could be have been anyone.
#17 There sat he sad statuette slumped over her slim body.
#18 Strands of ebony hang loose in her porcelain face.
#19 Once so confident, so glamorous and bright in the billboard hanging in Times Square, now squeezed into a corner too scared to pose in the spotlight.
#20 Or maybe it was the waitress who serves you coffee with a smile every morning in the little café on the corner of Fifth Avenue.
#21 Except now her smile’s faded from the obscene marks hanging over her right eye.
#22 And then it came to us, the scholars of our generation.
#23 Smart enough to breach the walls of New York University , but not smart enough to prohibit power sliding into the hands of measly men.
#24 I didn’t meet Jennifer in our support group.
#25 But I didn’t know her until we were seated across from each other in tiny plastic chairs located in the downstairs clinic, sharing our mutual disgust of men.
#26 I noticed her a few rows down from me in Psychology 101.
#27 She seemed so enticed, so intrigued by the theories of what makes us tick.
#28 I later found out that it was obviously her major, mine, creative writing.
#29 But ever since I breached NYU’s walls, the creative flow stopped.

Oct. 27th, 2007

a few more lines

Sorry I missed a few beats folks. I've caught up though!

#1 I met her by the radiance of the gigantic tree.
#2 Glowing brightly in the mist of ice, it frowned upon the spectators.
#3 Sent far from its home in Canada, it was slain for the sake of beauty.
#4 For beauty is rarely found in this cluster of chaos. And now standing tall in Rockefeller center, it never looked more beautiful than in death.
#5 It was the perfect place.
#6 It takes a tragedy, a death for something significant to occur.
#7 Only then will people listen, when we all become beautiful.
#8 Art is never modeled after perfection, just the hidden marvel deep within distortion.
#9 The beauty within a crooked smile or a wilting flower.
Messages between the lines, between the words.
#10 How this all started is a painting within itself.
#11 We have to find the messages to truly understand.
#12 Every Thursday night at eight we’d gather for our support group for victims of domestic violence.
#13 Gathered around the table were women crippled by the theories of backwards feminism.
#14 Raped, anorexic, tainted and emotional...only one should be a characteristic of most women.
#15 Our sensitivity to emotions is where we fall.
#16 It could be have been anyone.
#17 There sat he sad statuette slumped over her slim body.
#18 Strands of ebony hang loose in her porcelain face.
#19 Once so confident, so glamorous and bright in the billboard hanging in Times Square, now squeezed into a corner too scared to pose in the spotlight.
#20 Or maybe it was the waitress who serves you coffee with a smile every morning in the little café on the corner of Fifth Avenue.
#21 Except now her smile’s faded from the obscene marks hanging over her right eye.

Oct. 23rd, 2007

catching up

Good news everyone...I've decided to take the plunge and sign up for Nanowrimo! (National Writing Month) Which is to write 50,000 word 175 page story by the end of November. I'm going to stretch out and dig deeper into my last short story-"Men of Renown". Due to complaints by readers that, "It could go deeper, explain more, expand the ending, etc." I think it's a good opportunity to listen to this advice.

#1 I met her by the radiance of the gigantic tree.
#2 Glowing brightly in the mist of ice, it frowned upon the spectators.
#3 Sent far from its home in Canada, it was slain for the sake of beauty.
#4 For beauty is rarely found in this cluster of chaos.
#5 And now standing tall in Rockefeller center, it never looked more beautiful than in death.
#6 It was the perfect place.
#7 It takes a tragedy, a death for something significant to occur.
#8 Only then will people listen, when we all become beautiful.
#9 Art is never modeled after perfection, just the hidden marvel deep within distortion.
The beauty within a crooked smile or a wilting flower.
Messages between the lines, between the words.

Since the last two lines are actually fragments, I'm leaving them in a single sequence. I don't like over-using fragments...but sometimes I just feel the need to, sue me.

Oct. 22nd, 2007

reform

So I've decided to make everthing I write public, but still restrict my personal ramblings to friends...

Sep. 10th, 2007

a high I can't relate

Sorry it's been so long folks...now where do I begin?

I was down to the wire, 154 1/2, with 3 days left and at least 6 pounds short of making the cut. My step mom told me that I should take the "super dieter's tea" morning and night. Let me tell you folks, lax and plane-do not mesh well. A couple days before my flight, and I broke down mentally and physically.

I was exhausted and utterly drained. I wasn't losing any weight, yet I was eating hardly anything and working out like a mad women, doing an hour and a half of cardio, plus grappling/cross fit sessions. My dad had left earlier than I for California due to my university's freshman orientation. So there wasn't anyone to teach the [jiu-jitsu] classes. It was just an open mat with a few of the leading belts guiding people along. Of course "Sujo" thought he had the right to teach the new guy, despite training for less than a year.

I just couldn't take being there. I was too tired, too frustrated by "Sujo's" usual behavior. I went to the bathroom and broke down, picked up my gi and flew out the door, heading straight for the gym. That was the night I started to take the laxs morning and night...I lost 6 pounds in 2 days...

I sat next to 2 people on the plane, a large robust man in the middle and a tiny middle-aged woman. They were both very friendly, but I was running on little calories, ripping apart my insides and mentally preparing myself for the biggest tournament of my life- I was not in a good mood and small talk was completely out of the question unless you wanted to get a right cross to the face.

At least they had 300 as a movie option on the flight, prepping me with its gung-ho battle morale.

Which I continually paused.

I would stay in the tiny bathroom, waiting for the next spontaneous movement to take flight. The woman sitting next to the big man asked, "Are you all right? I have an alka seltzer." Never thought I'd hear myself say this Southern phrase, but bless her heart she had no idea that I was doing this to myself.

I was popping sugar-free gum into my mouth like it was candy. When we got to the hotel where my dad, "Lando" and I were staying, my dad asked if I wanted a beer. My jaw hit the floor. I was a night away to making or breaking it, how could I drink a beer?! Plus, it WAS my dad asking me. He saw the shock spread across my face and told me to relax, that it was just to dehydrate me.

The next morning I weighed myself, 148.5 in my birthday suit. My gi combined with sports bra and underwear weighed 4 pounds. The limit was 152, and yes, they WILL disqualify your sorry ass over a half pound. I've seen it happen. We headed over to the nearest sauna where I could sweat out a pound.

I have no IDEA how some people stay in that hell hole till they bleed 5-10 lbs. One pound nearly killed me. I would go in for 15-20 mins, exit looking like a wet seal, weigh myself and enter the inferno once again. Brutal is an understatement.

148 in a bathing suit-I called my dad and asked if I was ready to hop on the scale. He asked me how I felt. The only thing that came to mind was, "Dizzy...and light-headed..." He told me to come out. I was a little nervous as to whether or not it would be enough to make the cut.

When I got in the car, my dad told me, "If you don't make weight, it'll be my fault, but I don't want to push you too far." We had had an agreement before this all began, if I didn't make weight, I would have to reimburse him for the entry fee and ticket to Cali. But I guess he realized that I really did do everything in my power to grovel through my deadlines.

The tournament was held in the Cal State gymnasium. Man it was nice, filled with stadium chairs and a pretty decent workout area on the outside (like an actual gym you pay membership to), held in a dome-like structure.

Tons of Brazilians were there, of course. Along with lots of Japanese players, some English, Australian, Dutch, Danish, Argentinian, Israeli, Norwegian and New Zealanders. It was all so surreal. This was it, the cream of the crop.

I waited until 2:30 to weigh in, right before my match. I was popping trident gum like a junkie. While I waited and warmed up, I met up with some familiar faces. It's sort of ironic, no matter how far you travel for these tournaments, you always end up seeing the same people.

Sitting there stretching, I kept telling myself that I just wanted to get this over with so that I could eat again. But I was lying to myself like I always did. I was freaking out on the inside, praying to the good Lord that I wouldn't screw this up. That all those late night gym visits and agonizing nights of going to bed on an empty stomach wouldn't be for nothing. That maybe one day...I could make a name for myself in this sport.

Before my first match my dad told me, "I want you to look at the first girl you fight and imagine that she's the reason you went through all you did. She's the reason you couldn't eat." That's all I needed and the bitch was going to go down. Prior to going in I told myself, "I just want one."

And then I won. And then another one came. And then there was the finals.

My dad was there with the honey, water, banana and muffins. As soon as the first match was up I screamed, "Where's my muffin?!"

Yet after being deprived of any real fats or carbs for 2 months, the thing wasn't nearly as appetizing as it looked, it actually made my stomach turn.

But pumped up on honey, water and my naner, I was headed into the final match, against a Brazilian from Denmark. This was it. I was so close.

I lost by 3 points...
Looking back on it now, I might have one if I didn't have to make such a ridiculous weight cut in such a short amount of time, but there's no use crying over what's already been done. After all, in the beginning I just wanted to make weight, and then the goals kept creeping higher.

I don't think getting married could nearly have felt that good. I've never felt such a high, only a bit comparable to other successful tournaments.

As we stood on the podium, having our medals placed around our necks, I said, "I feel like we're in the Olympics!" It was for me, it was my Olympics, my achievement in life, however different, strange or mediocre to some people, it was all mine.

Now everyone tells me I smile a lot more. People who work in the mall think I'm new, even though I've been there for almost a year. Even the janitor made a comment about me smiling. I smile because I'm second in the world in my division (blue belt). I smile because I'm happy.

The night before I flew to Cali, my step mom gave me a card that said, "The Lord has promised never to put more on you than you are able to handle." I'll never doubt that ever again.

Jul. 7th, 2007

my newest guilty pleasure

I never explained how well NAGA went. I won first in both gi and no-gi divisions.
My dad put me in the expert divisions because he wanted me to win the belts. (You only win one if you fight in expert.) The belt's really nice, it's made of leather and metal.

But I feel like too many people associate it with "wrassling", usually in NAGA you win the samurai sword. Next NAGA is in November, and I'm getting me that sword!

Now I'm training for the World's (Mundial) in late August. It's in California, and this will be the biggest tournament I've competed in. Participants come from Brazil and Japan to compete. Usually it's held in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, but this year they decided to change it. My dad told me that I must lose 35 pounds by then, so far I've lost about 10, just 25 more to go. What's the secret? Not eating everything I like. ^_^;
But to me it's completely worth it, I won't have to go against any 200+ beasts and I've been wanting to shed the pounds for awhile. There's nothing like a tournament deadline and your dad's threat of you reimbursing him the ticket and entry fee if you don't make weight, to get you to loosin'. By the time this is over, I'll be in the same shape I was when I was on the wrestling team in high school.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

As you can see, I've changed my background. I've been sucked into Naruto by the clutches of youtube, but it wasn't until I learned of the character Gaara and his story that I was sucked in. Truly, if it wasn't for him, I wouldn't watch the series.
I find his story of redemption and tragedy, so beautiful and inspiring. Just makes me want to write! Plus, I'm in love with his character^^.

Jun. 7th, 2007

NAGA

This upcoming Saturday is the NAGA, a huge submission wrestling tournament. It's being held in Atlanta. I almost went to the last one, but work held me down. I really want that samurai sword that they award the winners.

But I've already got myself down before it's all begun. I'm so scared.
Scared that this tournament will turn sour like the last (Pan-Americans).

Because I'm over 135, I'm a heavy-weight again. Great, just fan-freakin' tastic, I get to fight with 200 pound girls all over again.

I can't complain about something I have so much control over though. I've lost 20 pounds since I left Brazil, but I'm been on a plateau ever since.


Today I cried during class. Not the "Forest Griffin" kind-of-cry where you're wailing like a blubbering baby in front of everyone, but the silent, teary-eyed kind. The kind I try so hard to control. The kind I can get away with and still be respected.

I went 6 minutes with "Aranha". He won on points. I would have won back my points and had the extra edge with my advantages if I would have just been patient and taken side position instead of rushing into mount (where he caught my leg in a half-guard). I have no strategy, I just go blindly. Thus, I constantly lose on points. It's all a game in tournament. It's strategy I never calculate.

I miss the days in Brazil, where we'd play, "pass the guard" and I'd sweep every boy waiting anxiously on line. I was sweating, but still kept sending them back to the wall. I had 4 medals and thought I was something. Yes, those were the glory days.

But maybe, I'm just playing too much stress on it. Maybe in order to get better, I need to let go and take it for as it is, my pleasure.

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