Username: Lilith (LARiA) Doll's Name: Jiřina < Feminine form of JiřÃ JiřÃ Czech form of George George From the Greek name Γεωργιος (Georgios) which was derived from the Greek word γεωργος (georgos) meaning "farmer, earthworker", itself derived from the elements γη (ge) "earth" and εργον (ergon) "work". Doll: Spoiler
INtP or INfP, if I must take this test another a gun to the head and a bullet to the brain, please. I have taken it a manifold times. I have a tendency to dazedly click opposites in order to cancel results out, and as such I might get a slightly feeling coupled with a slightly perceiving personality; none set in stone, it is all revisable. Terribly conflicted. And quite sick of this test. Can anyone guess what Socrates and Tiger Woods have in common? Both of them are INtP, architectural in personality. Hilariousity ensues.
I like Zter.
Continue to stare into the pendulum, amaury, as it swings to and fro. We shall begin whenever you are ready, at your convenience. I hope the couch is comfy for you? You will be sitting in the exact same positioning for awhile...
Right. *cough* It's about time for an intervention, don't you think? amaury. Sit down on the couch, now. Comfortably. Comfortable? We shall begin. Stare into the pendulum. Do not revert your eyes away from the pendulum unless told to do so. [video=youtube;lZTaX4u-Z_k]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lZTaX4u-Z_k[/video]
Which post? You couldn't have been that fast. That's impossible. No. edit- apparently he doesn't look back at the threads he's created. He spams us mercilessly, turning a blind eye to our sufferings... he does not even stop to think.
In amaury's head, every lick of thought or flection entails the creation of any such thread. Well. At least, I might be able to ridden of some boredom observing this bored one's bored behaviors. bored, bored, bored.
Please do feel free to blog your experiences. In case you've no outlet, this will suit your needs finely. I look forward to updates.
Yeah, just as he does with our nubs? No? You cry for him and not our hapless nubs? Think of the nubs!
Earliest post of myself I can find. It was not so long ago that I was like that, actually... judging by the date, but I seem so very different. And yet I am very much the same. Self-conscious. Though it shows more readily then. If you are a literalist, then I must say no that is not my first ever post on a forum. I used to post on Neopets, back in 2008 - 2009~? Unfortunately the posts are irretrievable, I recall trying to find them a year ago, to no avail... navigating Neopets is too tough, I suspect them of routinely deleting threads. So they are gone, gone, long gone. A blessing? I can't help but be deeply disappointed. Also, reading through replies... I heavily abused semicolons. People such as myself should be dragged out into the street and shot for such feral abuse.
Are you not well? I'm sorry about your poor mood at current... If it isn't good, I might be misinterpreting. But you seem off.
Close? Somewhat. They are close in geographical location... The alphabet however, not terribly similar....
Queer. Oh ho, scheiße, you leech, copying my style. I must be rubbing off on you. Using foreign words in strictly English context should be my doing, not yours! Mein gott. Педер. You are, actually... there's truth to that... I wish that my grammatical knowledge of the language extended beyond one-worded replies and, well, the alphabet. I'll better curse you when I learn some more, get back to you on that.
I did. Do some of it. Some of. Tomorrow, tomorrow.
She broke my window. And for that I'm not happy.
I apologize for the crude titling... if you've clicked then I've successfully lured you into the parlor despite that. Excuse my immaturity for just one second. Breathe the wafts of cocoa in. Anyway. Your favorite chocolates? Post photos of them here, and share stories of them if you've any. My paternal grandfather would hand out Bajadera to my brother and I whenever we visited on our yearly trips to Macedonia. Very tasty, Croatian chocolates are. Your standard European chocolate. Milka.
Why is everyone contacting me so suddenly.
No elaborate death? Like mine for DT. Ok. Fine. I kill you. The end!
Helianthus annuus PART 1 Spoiler A simple game. I will keep in simple then, yes? I would grab the nearest object within my reach, preferably pointy and sharp or dense and thick. Then I would, simply, either jab at you or slam you over the head. That's the gist of it. But it doesn't end there. Here is a hypothetical situation: I invite you over for dinner. You accept, having felt sorry for me-- I had written you a desperate note, odoring of loneliness. You will have pitied. And you would have maybe thought, well, she's no other company. What harm could it do? A lifetime of hers spent in void sparking suddenly at his touch, in lieu of an hour or two of your day. "I'll be glad to attend," says him. She is setting up the dinner table as he knocks on the door. She strides over to the door, a knife in hand, and opens it. He smiles awkwardly. She nods, turns, and with wave of finger and flick of hair strand, beckons him into her living quarters. They walk across the living room floorboards and over to the kitchen. The butter knife is placed in its proper place, the table now set and ready. Rifling through the cupboards, her hands paused briefly and after much hesitancy, pulled out a bottle. A bottle of liquor, clutched between her scrawny fingers. "Devil Springs Vodka. A potentially lethal substance. You like?" "You are how old again?" "Fourteen." He raised an eyebrow and smiled weakly as she whipped out a shot glass and began to pour the liquor, not having even dared to ask him if or if not he would have liked a shot. She was very obviously new to this, this people business, and not too capable a server. The shot was cradled in her hands and brought to front the man. The bottle laid down with a thunk. Drinking so heavily before even the appetizers? At this point a scintilla of suspicions presented itself before him, as just did the shot; he averted his gaze from the shot to her and, seeing her gaze expectant, reverted his gaze back to the glass before him. With a shrug and a swift flick of the hand, any doubt or distrust that had thus previously clouded his mind cleared. Picking the shot up he inelegantly downed it in a sole gulp, keeping the glass midair after, cold rim pressed against his lips. Comforting. He struggled to think, thoughts arranging and rearranging themselves in an unpredictable pattern. Her shadow loomed over him still, the girl was standing still. She wouldn't be drinking with him? He was to drink alone? That's right... she poured one shot only... one shot... why did he feel so very shaky? After a mere shot? He was well accustomed to drinking in great binges, a nondrinker could drink more than he had just, any average body could drink at least four or five before having had their fill. Late into the night and on into wee hours of the morning the gang and him would drink; drink, drink, drink until they could no longer feel. Drink, drink, drink until they could no longer hear. Drink, drink, drink until they could no longer see. Yes. He was well accustomed to hangovers and truancy, and his temperamental step-father rattling off in angry German to him. So why, then, did he feel his grip on the shot lessen and his eyes blurring? Think. He should. He thought. Thinking. He could no longer. The glass slipped finally from his loose fingers and smashed against the floor, shattering. "160 proof vodka. An ABV of 80%. Potentially lethal." "Wha--" He was unable to finish that sentence as a vodka bottle slammed against his head, unable to utter a noise as his jaws clenched together. Eyes widening, then squinting, then closing. Closing. And so they remained. Closed. His fingers quite loose now. His breathing subsiding, his heart tugging along futilely; his bodily functions failing. Then too his heart subsided, its beat faltering to absolute silence. And so it remained. Silent. She reached for the fallen butter knife, and reached over for the fallen body. Hugged him tightly. She could not have predicted this outcome; she had not counted on this happening, had not counted on this certain urge to overtake her. To overcome her. What had been planned an innocent get-together, a dinner for two, had... had... well. Not happened. She cursed her minimal vocabulary and terribly limited terminology, and vowed to better herself in said area. She had not been intent on killing him, no she hadn't been. Her offer was genuine. Truly. But the prospect of him leaving soon after, of him leaving her alone was enough to loosen a screw; they were to have dinner, and then he was to leave. An awkward exchange for two strangers. She knew she could not have him a friend, knew he would have to leave. She could have no one a friend. Well. Alive. But, but she could have him now! All to herself. She smiled at the thought. And then, she reached once more for her pockets. Her right pocket. Out she pulled a single Sunflower seed. Butter knife in hand, her work began. PART 2 Spoiler Seasons had passed since then and she sat, twiddling her thumbs. Quince años and yet already behind the safety panes of her window twiddling her thumbs, an old lady. She might as well knit, too. A curious child faltered at her garden. He tugged at his mother's coat sleeve, she ignored him. Tugged him along. And it's no wonder what oddity that the boy had looked at so engrossed. Outside the safety of her window panes, the safety of this room's musty air, it was a chilly night. But one patch of her garden grew quite bright. The oddity that seized the attention of all such curious passerby. Helianthus annuus, grew from her single Sunflower seed. The single Sunflower seed, grew from his cracked cerebral cortex. His seeded body, would keep her company throughout the night. Beautifully bright. Oh, you wanted for me to write you down pen in hand, a notebook? A deathnote? F[orget] that. Where's the fun in that, the thrill, the unexpectancies? How boring.
You aren't a dork, so, there is no reason to feel that way. No reason to feel intimidated either. I have been intimidated by others myself, and...
