May 1st, 2008
Yeah, yeah, yeah. So it’s a long title, okay, so It’s more like a sentence than a title. But, its MY blog and I can do whatever I want to it! ….*looks around wildly*
You know, you look reeeeeeeeeeeal familiar. 
As in familiar, I-know-where-you live-so-you-can’t-criticize-me-or-suffer-a -fatal-death, kind of familiar. Yeah that’s it…..
Um, so anywho, How have you been?
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P.S. There are two new postings in “stories folder” for White Oaks series.
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May 1st, 2008
“Who are you to barge in our home without invitation?” demanded Takodi the horse trainer, his wrinkled face stern.
The figure was on the center floor of the living room quarters now. He swept his black hood from his face. The tall man had dark yellow eyes, and more striking was the jagged, thin red scar that trailed from above his left eyebrow across his eyelid to almost touch the corner of his mouth.
The dark gold in his eyes seemed to flex, and turn pale. The strange man gazed evenly across the room. The breath caught in everyone’s throat.
Takodi stood and Fekala stood up beside him worriedly. The strange man looked deeply with his penetrating eyes into her grandfather’s. She held her grandfather by the shoulder and felt a shiver run through his bones.
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May 1st, 2008
She did not go to the The White Oaks. Juniper declared to her own mind that if she were to speak with old acquaintances, it would be on her own terms. She would do things her way this time, certainly not by Charkol Daes’Kihe’s. She would not lightly trust others again, she’d learned her lesson painfully.
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Fekala swept her long cinnamon hair back from her face and tied it up with a golden ribbon. Her dark eyes were ringed with long dark eyelashes and heavyset eyebrows. She stared vacantly at the painting as she finished the last loop on her ribbon. The little white house was lovingly detailed with wood-grain and ivy crawlers. She watched as her cousin’s paintbrush made a delicate stroke across the canvas.
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February 18th, 2008
Hello World,
or minor grouping of friends and family, teehee. I’ve placed part two of White Oaks in the stories folder, and there is a new poem too. And as I know I can rest assured that you will absolutely adore and worship my artistic scope in these small samplings, I shall pass the time by waiting for you comments of devotion and love for my skillza!
… What? 
Am I wrong?
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February 18th, 2008
Students in the hall gasped for their football player. The girl that clung to him moments before stumbled back into another chair and abruptly fell into it. Everyone apprehensively waited for the cold stranger to react.
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November 26th, 2007
Alrighty, so I’ve freshened up the site by trashing some of the crappier (and slightly embarrassing) pieces I put up and they will never be spoken of again. So Shhhhh! *whispers intently* They never existed!
And moving on… I thought I would test out a revamped opening to a story “White Oaks”, see what kinda response I get… (Ok ok, If I get a response). Don’t be too harsh now.
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November 26th, 2007
The wet frosty mist clung to his feet, and made clear twinkling droplets on his clothing and dark leather shoes. As he walked the droplets shook off onto the floor making a slush trail after him. Charkol held his head so high that he seemed to snub the people scattering out of the way with their bags.
A thin reddish scar wandered from above his left eyebrow to the corner of his mouth. His scar and boiling eyes intimidated those who dared look at him directly. So as you can imagine, most did not notice his odd clothing when they were too busy adverting their eyes.
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October 10th, 2007
Yep. That’s all I got to say about that.
Busy dealing with crappy life stuff, so I apologize to all my devoted readers. (cough, cough). I will try to post more stuff sooner than later but its kinda of hard to write at the moment. Well, that’s all for now.
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August 11th, 2006
I posted a new poem, “Dream Fever”. One I created for a literature class a long time ago. I read up on Johannesburg and the apartheid laws, intrigued when I read Langston Hughes’s “Johannesburg Mines”. I found out a lot of things that sickened me and this poem is sort of the result. It comes from the perspective of the natives who where victims of common place prejuidice.
I don’t understand humans’ liking of cruelty. Glad I’m not one. *eyes dart around nervously* Hehehe. Did I say that aloud?
Oh, I also added on two new Smilies in my wannnabe art section.
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August 11th, 2006
red is a tangy metallic taste
in our mouths but
She is still breathing among us
Eyes dark brown like wet jungle soil
She is still singing toward us
Hair black curls like the billowing ocean at night
droplets are salty sour stings
in our eyes but
She is still dancing beside us
Skin smooth like wind beaten trees
She is still pulsing inside us
Soul deep like the mines of Johannesburg we dig
She sings in our hearts
She breathes in the sweaty, bruising heat of our mines
She pulses in our slumber
She dances in the rotten, stuffy rooms of our hostels
Freedom encumbered
She is still the burning fever
inside our fitful dreams
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