tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72294497429953729782024-02-19T20:21:08.964-08:00Inkwell Rabbitpages of a storybookLuminahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728192740634174901noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7229449742995372978.post-89441435805654786262012-02-20T14:28:00.000-08:002012-02-20T14:28:18.442-08:00Dear:<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I wrote transparent love letters to you again this Valentine's Day and thought, has it really been a year? and wished I could become transparent, too, or at least that my skin could be transparent, so everyone could see not just the obvious things like my heart and mind but all the songs trying to spill from my throat and the shoulders which seem to have sunken in from weight and how much stronger I've become--and then perhaps you would remember everything--but if I did that, the scary people would see inside of me, too, wouldn't they? so I don't become transparent.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I've smiled and made colourful sweets for my friends (which were late), I sang a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rCSCDaOWHqY">song</a> (which was also late), and now I'm writing late, and I haven't been keeping up with my friends' blogs... I'm really sorry! I'll definitely do it soon!!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I forgot to take pictures of the sweets I made, but I thought I'd post some pretty pictures I found <a href="http://fuckyeahprettysweets.tumblr.com/">here</a>: </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAA_BIq9t7dqgFyFhrb8vedG_kSPr0tCIGxn0epTCbtB0lwgeU1vGi6fKnx1UT0ZHoBe27wHYaBylKqohOiQp6RDfDVnRM7CxjxEM4trapn9LMyerlTgP4OqP8kSp-WJauutjl2H6V5gOI/s1600/Sweets2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAA_BIq9t7dqgFyFhrb8vedG_kSPr0tCIGxn0epTCbtB0lwgeU1vGi6fKnx1UT0ZHoBe27wHYaBylKqohOiQp6RDfDVnRM7CxjxEM4trapn9LMyerlTgP4OqP8kSp-WJauutjl2H6V5gOI/s320/Sweets2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDx2gaV_Z3hhV-qMZ5eZM3tVeRp5myXKjOD8Mrm0kpryQsVz8g5652hRhqYKeSNvdQ6X-1FhwyiHjTI2-lekoVjzDyh8FmHIl-xyxNXa_umr1S3W5IovVYy4SbD-SoZLFz0qb7dmRZA-JR/s1600/sweets1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDx2gaV_Z3hhV-qMZ5eZM3tVeRp5myXKjOD8Mrm0kpryQsVz8g5652hRhqYKeSNvdQ6X-1FhwyiHjTI2-lekoVjzDyh8FmHIl-xyxNXa_umr1S3W5IovVYy4SbD-SoZLFz0qb7dmRZA-JR/s320/sweets1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7N7kBO_CVEYY_PsIlLuO8jaFyetP9wGfMfJc8QxSemh9z4r3M7C5IgNUAATHoYra-1i6MuevRN9aXH1YY1LkJgLBpdhW9qOXz1_Uv4JmH1UOuvSAvt2Vsc6AFX3FMCVuL9fCz8LjKucUn/s1600/sweets3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7N7kBO_CVEYY_PsIlLuO8jaFyetP9wGfMfJc8QxSemh9z4r3M7C5IgNUAATHoYra-1i6MuevRN9aXH1YY1LkJgLBpdhW9qOXz1_Uv4JmH1UOuvSAvt2Vsc6AFX3FMCVuL9fCz8LjKucUn/s320/sweets3.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg427yNGj6LI2d2l7BbqPlxohgIkFmlFN_qGU_9QUb7KiXPWDdUOIwW2upUDCcvWieT19-EGpzw6wKJtYYqAy_Okf5T6mmy9HxArMeYDabcFzZoMIGsUUUvPB6BRm083BYNWm_j_boin4e1/s1600/sweets4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg427yNGj6LI2d2l7BbqPlxohgIkFmlFN_qGU_9QUb7KiXPWDdUOIwW2upUDCcvWieT19-EGpzw6wKJtYYqAy_Okf5T6mmy9HxArMeYDabcFzZoMIGsUUUvPB6BRm083BYNWm_j_boin4e1/s320/sweets4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeBRK1eHjftH3BmDSjcKIxN_l4szpCGEzQvIGFSS4qaERn4Y-a6Xlz7cffpjgCyJA1VbDcpZsum_9L7mjW_JgGHntvQvCJI8ay-s6j_Xd2O0Tsax7ZrkWMIV0DqbfBUXl3Uqvy2qxzeCux/s1600/sweets5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeBRK1eHjftH3BmDSjcKIxN_l4szpCGEzQvIGFSS4qaERn4Y-a6Xlz7cffpjgCyJA1VbDcpZsum_9L7mjW_JgGHntvQvCJI8ay-s6j_Xd2O0Tsax7ZrkWMIV0DqbfBUXl3Uqvy2qxzeCux/s320/sweets5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf7L9ozpVseop2a-GAyebRAMat2TFfmdosJ6toBSromrs8Vv-cHmd2ewxVhm0j_ysyZqyGdamBf94MWpb4eTuccBcfH4tT92FxG-viKU8pP2gEtB4xOwgFCX9fQ1eZT7ndDc7yP7i2AX5N/s1600/sweets6.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf7L9ozpVseop2a-GAyebRAMat2TFfmdosJ6toBSromrs8Vv-cHmd2ewxVhm0j_ysyZqyGdamBf94MWpb4eTuccBcfH4tT92FxG-viKU8pP2gEtB4xOwgFCX9fQ1eZT7ndDc7yP7i2AX5N/s320/sweets6.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgByIRverJ2L1FCZYFtcMe90C5V5JksEbqES3fJy_OFxqW0biz3fVrTg5L5FGAH3rI2aMAnYngGlXekEIXahJImle2xaSNdPJ9FfRLEbK7JWpqQClCU8ugCWQQdmtnmmu76HmqxocOd1KwE/s1600/sweets7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgByIRverJ2L1FCZYFtcMe90C5V5JksEbqES3fJy_OFxqW0biz3fVrTg5L5FGAH3rI2aMAnYngGlXekEIXahJImle2xaSNdPJ9FfRLEbK7JWpqQClCU8ugCWQQdmtnmmu76HmqxocOd1KwE/s320/sweets7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqehLdjHUaHAPZslliI5zOY09P2fD0lYdgNIgJDaOK2rREbN7yp3wHmsnfhvn1dNCTO7zQoa-i_poOGBj-RzOl-X2qXbpcdMTv03ESSs9gXnQC9OKIcQu-58nM4i2duOIxCy_NQvXWVxE-/s1600/sweets8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqehLdjHUaHAPZslliI5zOY09P2fD0lYdgNIgJDaOK2rREbN7yp3wHmsnfhvn1dNCTO7zQoa-i_poOGBj-RzOl-X2qXbpcdMTv03ESSs9gXnQC9OKIcQu-58nM4i2duOIxCy_NQvXWVxE-/s320/sweets8.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipRhS5d9By7UOshnnvAnr0wxmVuRnQgNlLVgjTrXZ2RRnC1AsGM2Cg72INi6YpGdoieIoH3bHh5FEFw8TOhZyKyJ2YTTus1ic3tvOVLekbZxHHds8OPOpx-D9Ki7Ji06S8kEow1Wvy4m5J/s1600/tumblr_lag5kgWVEf1qap8qro1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipRhS5d9By7UOshnnvAnr0wxmVuRnQgNlLVgjTrXZ2RRnC1AsGM2Cg72INi6YpGdoieIoH3bHh5FEFw8TOhZyKyJ2YTTus1ic3tvOVLekbZxHHds8OPOpx-D9Ki7Ji06S8kEow1Wvy4m5J/s320/tumblr_lag5kgWVEf1qap8qro1_500.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I really love cute sweets... ^^</div>Luminahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728192740634174901noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7229449742995372978.post-78361756017904116332012-01-04T09:36:00.000-08:002012-01-04T09:52:04.126-08:00"thanks", "The Adventures of a Lone Princess", "The Golden Afternoon", "Thumbelina, the Lost Fairy", and Marie<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqEmEVcJ09ifg8epwj0KbQ2fXovtS_xG3tGMkDvooyI3a_roBfkiCWBFwMOB_DHrtGEWV5kD4wfRazu7h96Uq1wH1VM11jEJeQ-R2wXhaz_AMLHmz-BMDe9Q8el2dndEyeXuZc11iXk_oa/s1600/thanks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="382" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqEmEVcJ09ifg8epwj0KbQ2fXovtS_xG3tGMkDvooyI3a_roBfkiCWBFwMOB_DHrtGEWV5kD4wfRazu7h96Uq1wH1VM11jEJeQ-R2wXhaz_AMLHmz-BMDe9Q8el2dndEyeXuZc11iXk_oa/s400/thanks.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"thanks"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>If my feelings don't reach you, then...</em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(I've actually already posted "thanks", but it looks much better in this picture, doesn't it?)</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZOXy_KgJaTHaJBDnnxylpNclKySrgyEHJNQdOOaKPKVs5FdvF-7UrUSTRw97Xtr_xNCOSTHclp2WTvv5o32caqcSDL16ClyOZnJ6UfgulbttXxScQ-0mG3SVmj0pzTcF1Vfz_K2wRgQh3/s1600/The+Adventures+of+a+Lone+Princess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZOXy_KgJaTHaJBDnnxylpNclKySrgyEHJNQdOOaKPKVs5FdvF-7UrUSTRw97Xtr_xNCOSTHclp2WTvv5o32caqcSDL16ClyOZnJ6UfgulbttXxScQ-0mG3SVmj0pzTcF1Vfz_K2wRgQh3/s400/The+Adventures+of+a+Lone+Princess.jpg" width="265" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"The Adventures of a Lone Princess"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>She always dreamt of pictures, and she would do anything to become them.</em></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCdpKmGPFgBpxsLRCQO_wiMLYIm1EeSseXWN-f8NUnddma3Xs76PWn6xBbYx_PKp3dPL470qrOitGHZzHIhwjAcXI4FpYd2YCMpgdPqdXeojm9OM5ur2iJ2ULtqAfKaA6jFrzx9P9YEkDQ/s1600/The+Golden+Afternoon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCdpKmGPFgBpxsLRCQO_wiMLYIm1EeSseXWN-f8NUnddma3Xs76PWn6xBbYx_PKp3dPL470qrOitGHZzHIhwjAcXI4FpYd2YCMpgdPqdXeojm9OM5ur2iJ2ULtqAfKaA6jFrzx9P9YEkDQ/s400/The+Golden+Afternoon.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"The Golden Afternoon"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>The warm glow of sunflowers, afternoon tea, and you.</em></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDZdSN91wryErjBIHSgh0i1gTZWBdZWuxuvBZ5W4JhpqFRiV4xbEW00Z8kWfWevc-CmoOLEH5s5rmq65d50ywywo7BWD1ELLqEcVwcZc_O5GSlTborzHVSLxFkapZM1JORl9l4Cpr5VpoH/s1600/Thumbelina+the+Lost+Fairy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDZdSN91wryErjBIHSgh0i1gTZWBdZWuxuvBZ5W4JhpqFRiV4xbEW00Z8kWfWevc-CmoOLEH5s5rmq65d50ywywo7BWD1ELLqEcVwcZc_O5GSlTborzHVSLxFkapZM1JORl9l4Cpr5VpoH/s400/Thumbelina+the+Lost+Fairy.jpg" width="316" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Thumbelina, the Lost Fairy"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>Always make certain to be lost. Always make certain to find the way back.</em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(Thanks so much to my friend, Dorothy, for posing as Thumbelina.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Finally, here is the (fixed) character artwork for Marie:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz689gTopWV8wG_W5A4B2b1od5LVeAEFO4Zr39_yVRbqQvCkHpSPc6WmrNVKezgwv6LN6-gxe9xIc3UHoD4Wk2zOnq8RqHojqARhD_N5itnulSz-7qJy1oZKHkMVtfTu85eKS3PR9LxkLp/s400/Marie+Stahlbaum.png" width="167" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(Namely, the shape of her mouth was fixed, her eyebrows and eyelashes were darkened so she looks less washed-out, and because it's the original file, the colours and picture quality look better... I'm posting it as more of a preview, though; when I've done the character artwork for the other characters who appear earlier in the story, I'll post it in full size and with character information).</div><mainorarchivepage></mainorarchivepage>Luminahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728192740634174901noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7229449742995372978.post-12980007937700387422012-01-02T19:24:00.000-08:002012-01-02T19:33:50.257-08:00The first song<mainorarchivepage><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: #222222; font-family: monospace; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;"></span></mainorarchivepage><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: auto;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">I'm sorry that I've been so inactive lately; just when I think that I'll have time to keep my blog updated and keep up with comments, I end up being busy! But to make up for it, here's a fairly long post: </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><div style="text-align: center;">First, I've posted <a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=kf7JMl0PP50">my first song cover</a>! It's a Japanese pop song called 'Yellow' (with an English translation in the description); the main reason I haven't posted in so long is that I wanted to have done my first cover, and I knew I wanted for this to be my first video. 'Yellow' is a very happy and uplifting song, and I thought it was perfect for my first song, as the lyrics fit perfectly with my reasons for singing now. It's a fairly electronic song, but I plan on doing other types of music, too. (Or, perhaps "other styles" would be better, considering that most of the music I like and feel comfortable singing is Japanese... but I'll make certain to put a translation of the songs in the descriptions when I can!)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I've also changed the appearance of my blog; I feel like my tastes (in everything, really) have been changing to be more cheerful, colourful, and bright... Much like all of the sweet colours and sparkling things I like more and more, I think I'm becoming more honest with myself--like I've been finding the courage to be honest. I'm always creating whimsical, mysterious things, but I don't think I'm really so whimsical or mysterious at all, or at least not much, or maybe in a different sort of way; I've begun to care less for seeming elegant or ladylike, and now I say the silly things I want to say and wear things with glitter and sometimes dance in the hallways during morning break at school. (I suppose, looking back, my blog has really changed along with my personality over this past almost-year, hasn't it?)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Also, a few months ago my art teacher was kind enough to help me with a photo shoot of some of my artwork (well, she really did most of the work during the shoot). I haven't posted much art here, so I thought I would post the pictures! ...Or rather, I would post the pictures, but right now I have no way of getting them onto this computer. I promise I'll post them soon, though!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Next is what I'm most excited about: I'm working on a picture novella series loosely based on <i>The Nutcracker and the Mouse King</i> which I'm going to post in installments here. It's always been one of my favourite fairy tales, but I've also always found it a bit... disappointing. Eventually I thought, 'Why not just write my own version?', intending for it to be a short fairy-tale. As I thought of more ideas for it, though, it grew into more of a full-length fantasy story, which I've always wanted to try writing. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">(Well, actually, I have been working on that sort of story--for about three years now!--but I feel as though it will still be developing for several more years; almost like I was told in a dream that it would be the best and most important thing I'd ever write, so years of thinking and feeling will need to be put into it. Some things I've posted here were written from that story's herione's point of view.)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Anyway--I'd originally intended to call it a "light novel series"--the light novels I'd read were all short novels with a lot of illustrations--until I looked it up and found that it's more characterised by being simple and fast to read, and not always a short novel with pictures. Since the plot will be fairly complex and my writing style isn't always simple, I decided to call them "picture novellas" instead. The current title is <i>The Manipulator and the Clockmaker</i>, but I'm not sure whether I really want to call it that or not, so it will probably be changed.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Here is the character design for the main character, Marie:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNqQmGKlRsmKNKNjiBtzTZCA06T_WPyxGgQdoGgNOdEofMminUMha5ggON6Jz5tsGg-hdhZRx7k5JZGx0sfzoGSUPEZEXkRW4GLMuaCVUpqPJo61xN1BwCW8h5Crv8hCKMs9OBu9LzXO0x/s1600/Marie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNqQmGKlRsmKNKNjiBtzTZCA06T_WPyxGgQdoGgNOdEofMminUMha5ggON6Jz5tsGg-hdhZRx7k5JZGx0sfzoGSUPEZEXkRW4GLMuaCVUpqPJo61xN1BwCW8h5Crv8hCKMs9OBu9LzXO0x/s1600/Marie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNqQmGKlRsmKNKNjiBtzTZCA06T_WPyxGgQdoGgNOdEofMminUMha5ggON6Jz5tsGg-hdhZRx7k5JZGx0sfzoGSUPEZEXkRW4GLMuaCVUpqPJo61xN1BwCW8h5Crv8hCKMs9OBu9LzXO0x/s640/Marie.jpg" width="267" /></a></div></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">(Well, really, it's the version of it I posted on my Facebook page, as I can't get to the actual file right now; the real character art is fixed a little bit (and less blurry), so I'll post it along with the other pictures.)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Hopefully I will have more time to post and comment from now on. Thank you, everyone, for always being so kind to me!</div>Luminahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728192740634174901noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7229449742995372978.post-79643837004175493092011-10-31T17:18:00.000-07:002011-10-31T17:18:33.821-07:00If my voice can reach you, then...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg55OCH5sv_PUafT2DCYDqF5ez8Xq_OdFlLspOkd5Go53lzq7-cyeznNIOZMhjCvtmaCXsPnL3Og0eIAvhO95mUxJS1uHGvibGXQNZX5VPWRON1jfwSPYRfHQy99v1WicC71MbEiQ2PD6Q9/s1600/Picture+1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg55OCH5sv_PUafT2DCYDqF5ez8Xq_OdFlLspOkd5Go53lzq7-cyeznNIOZMhjCvtmaCXsPnL3Og0eIAvhO95mUxJS1uHGvibGXQNZX5VPWRON1jfwSPYRfHQy99v1WicC71MbEiQ2PD6Q9/s400/Picture+1.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I'd forgotten that I could sing. It was what I've always done, too--I've wanted to sing. Before I drew, before I told stories, before I made dresses or cakes or danced, maybe even before I was a Lost Girl, I've wanted to sing. I've all but forgotten that wish.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Before I could do anything else, I'd wanted to become a musician. The grown-ups always told me the same things; 'It's hard to become a singer.' 'Singing isn't a respectable profession.' I still wanted to sing, but I learnt to do different, more respectable things. </span>Soon, though, the "Roman thoughts" flooded my mind. Build. Run forward. Never <i>ever </i>waste time. Now I only sing to myself when I draw or tell stories, or when I cook or make dresses or walk. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">None of those things are quite enough, though. 'To live' is the only thing that's enough; I know that. But--if I just live, I can never reach you, can I? If you couldn't see anything at all, the drawings, the words on the paper, the frilled skirts--they would mean almost nothing. If you could see anything at all, the drawings, the words on the paper, the frilled skirts--there would be too much which they simply could not tell you. If I could sing a song to reach you, then...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I won't abandon everything to sing, but it seems that I still love singing best.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I just hope that you can still hear this little, childish voice.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">--</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Firstly, I'm sorry that I haven't been commenting or posting lately; I'd thought before that I finally had time to keep up with my blog...</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Also, this isn't only a piece of writing, but a sort of announcement: I've started a <a href="http://youtube.com/user/ShortcakeRabbitLove">YouTube channel</a> for dancing, voice acting, and, of course, singing. (A few years ago, I used to do a lot of singing and voice acting on YouTube.) I haven't posted anything yet, though, because I just bought a new microphone yesterday (my old one was broken), and my throat just began to heal today (I lost my voice for the past few days and still need to rest a bit). I am so excited to begin singing again, though; music comes closest to expressing all of my thoughts--all of my feelings. (I also absolutely </i>love <i>voice acting, albeit not as much as singing.) Also, the channel is very... </i>pink<i>. </i></span></div>Luminahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728192740634174901noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7229449742995372978.post-86513044650234321002011-09-28T17:46:00.000-07:002011-09-28T17:46:33.547-07:00The Library in the World Tree<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLwsuhhZ6wd6uyzD9ufB-4kOFMWBfK4wqx53btYtWwliMGDgmcBQSC8msXKrOvi2Npiw_JSRdqxU9VSYzj6I7NVlth5-YiPlQz23aqTYK5La5LydeSvPSi5Ke4OlzUSoSICohmiMUXtZ5m/s1600/Yggdrasil____The_World_Tree__by_Due.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="367" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLwsuhhZ6wd6uyzD9ufB-4kOFMWBfK4wqx53btYtWwliMGDgmcBQSC8msXKrOvi2Npiw_JSRdqxU9VSYzj6I7NVlth5-YiPlQz23aqTYK5La5LydeSvPSi5Ke4OlzUSoSICohmiMUXtZ5m/s400/Yggdrasil____The_World_Tree__by_Due.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<div align="center"><em>Those who fear truth cannot be made to turn their eyes to it. Even so, will you open the door?</em><br />
<em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span> </em></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">'What is your name, child?' said the Librarian.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span> </div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">'I--I don't know, sir.'<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span><br />
He cautiously stepped closer, with the same look of fatherly kindness an ordinary man would have had if I were a baby rabbit. I recognised him as the <a href="http://inkwellrabbit.blogspot.com/2011/02/magician-and-fireflies.html">Magician who showed me the winter fireflies.</a><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span><br />
'Are you lost?'<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span><br />
I thought for a moment, 'No, sir.' After running away from the book-burners into the forest, I couldn't possibly return, could I--possibly? They have probably already stopped believing in me; I am an impossibility, after all.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span><br />
'What is it you wish for?'<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span><br />
The Library was filled with books which only existed there (along with the few books existing outside its trunk). There was all of this knowledge they would never know about--all of this knowledge I had never known about. Now that I knew the way to this tree, I could never possibly forget it, given to being lost in the forest as I was. There is no 'road back' anymore.*<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span><br />
'Please, sir,' I began with the immature frailty of a baby rabbit. 'I want to learn everything in this Library.'<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span><br />
The Librarian smiled warmly and gestured for me to follow him. 'I've been waiting for you, my apprentice.'<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span><br />
--<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span><br />
I thought I'd forgotten how to write, but perhaps it was really that words are not quite enough to tell my stories. If not 'to write', what is quite enough? 'To draw'? 'To sing'? 'To read', 'to bake', 'to dream'? To 'play with dolls', 'hold stuffed animals', 'cut, pin, and sew', 'string beads and bend wires'? English? German, Japanese? Spanish, Dutch, Latin, Finnish, Italian, Gaelic? Would even Angelic be quite enough?<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span><br />
The only thing quite enough to tell a story is 'to live'.<br />
(Still, I want to continue to write.)<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span><br />
--<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Image is not mine.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span><br />
<i>*Even now that I've been writing quite a bit since earlier this year, I still have trouble finding just the right words in English. (My thoughts are a mix of English, Japanese, German, pictures, colours, songs, voices, scenes, and tastes.) The sentence I would have liked to write is, 'Kaerimichi wa m</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">ō imasen.' 'Kaerimichi' literally means 'returning path/road'; the sentence means 'The returning path is no longer there,' or 'The returning path no longer exists.'</span></i></span></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div>Luminahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728192740634174901noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7229449742995372978.post-14866526210888237312011-08-21T07:19:00.000-07:002011-08-21T07:19:11.946-07:00Hiatus<div style="text-align: center;">I am going to be taking time off from blogging for a while. I will definitely come back and write and keep up with other blogs again like before, but there are too many things I need to do now. So, rather than 'good-bye', I will say 'until we meet again'. Thank you so much to those who read my stories.</div>Luminahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728192740634174901noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7229449742995372978.post-68081053469214990972011-08-09T14:36:00.000-07:002011-08-09T16:19:09.310-07:00end of summer<div style="text-align: center;">Days spent sealing Summer's colours away in jars so that I can open them if I lose my confidence again. Five small jars of pickled cherries. Two small jars of cherry jam. Five small jars of blackberry jam (a miracle, as blackberries were so scarce this year). Six large jars of strawberry jam (strawberries taste cheerful). Two large jars of pickled strawberries. Four large jars of peach jam. Four large jars and one small jar of spiced peaches. (One large glass and two small glasses of peach soda made with the rest of the syrup.) Two large jars of pickled carrots (they're autumnal, but are really a summer vegetable). Two large jars and one small jar of apricot jam. One large jar of raspberry jam.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Days spent eating sweets. Parfaits made from strawberry ice cream and crumbled chocolate-curry cake and jams from the jars which didn't seal properly and vanilla mousse and whichever fruits I had at the time. Real waffles made with yeast and eaten with jam and treacle and strawberries. I ate them for meals sometimes, 'I won't tell if you don't,' Schwester whispered in childish mischief as I pretended she was there. She would be the one I'd tell. Days spent working and making things with my hands to be a little closer to the place I want to go. Days spent wandering inside of stories, searching them for answers to my questions (stories hold more answers than anything else), but really wandering in them because I love stories.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Days spent wondering. Wondering if the ocean connects or separates and deciding that it must connect, mustn't it? Wondering why fire and water (both necessary for Life) kill the tiny beings around the glass jars when I seal them away, realising that, perhaps, it is to protect the Life inside of the jar, to allow it to sleep before waking. Wondering about the time between when Summer (with all of her brightness) leaves and when Autumn arrives, why it isn't its own season (it is long enough, after all), wishing that that time never existed. Remembering that the time between those two seasons was when I first discovered the Magic, the time when the Magic was much more than an ordinary thing which most of the world simply refuses to see, when something began to call to me for the first time. Remembering when I first read fairy-tales. Remembering not to forget.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Days spent letting the feelings and stories wait inside of me until they join together into words I can write. Days spent with the hope that my words will reach.<br />
<br />
<i>Postscript: I've recently found out that my the photos I lost are not lost after all.</i></div>Luminahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728192740634174901noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7229449742995372978.post-60832410030397149602011-08-07T07:39:00.000-07:002011-08-07T09:54:01.410-07:00Today, I walked to Church by myself.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBvGizy6rwBvuAPxAISvHLGYQ3gO9syUbiKYito6ypJARfT27giKW4vI06_0P6XuTf6E_k6QJtxy9sIEoZPuRd-vjBz391M5iXR4UtU8VjtbYESyVr5QRiHYt5mg9ymCNjq7wWDlFKI_cV/s1600/08_FourLeafClover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBvGizy6rwBvuAPxAISvHLGYQ3gO9syUbiKYito6ypJARfT27giKW4vI06_0P6XuTf6E_k6QJtxy9sIEoZPuRd-vjBz391M5iXR4UtU8VjtbYESyVr5QRiHYt5mg9ymCNjq7wWDlFKI_cV/s400/08_FourLeafClover.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">I had a dream where I found a four-leaf clover. (All of the other clovers are really missing their fourth leaf.)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am in the House (it is not my Home, of course) alone and am allowed to walk to Church by myself. I am normally not allowed to, you see, because the Lady and her Husband want for me to go to a different Church with them. 'We're a family,' the Lady's Husband moralised, as though I did not know nor care what a family was, as though I did not know nor care what morals were. 'We go to church as a family.' I held my tongue (it hurt) because the words I wanted to say would drive knives into the chests of my real brothers and sisters (and myself), spilling blood which is not our own. (Not Mama and Papa, though, as they have no bodies here.) If Elisa can hold her tongue, I can, too; I pretended to have learnt a lesson about the importance of family, trying my best to conceal my resentment.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I much prefer the stained-glass windows and hymns to the featurelessness and the Christian rock songs. I much prefer walking (even though it's hot enough that I could catch an illness which the Lady will not believe I have, disregarding that I've never pretended to be ill) to sitting in that dangerous contraption which was only invented a hundred years ago. I much prefer sitting beside the cool wood and nothing else, alone and not alone, to sitting beside the wicked stepparents who neither know they are stepparents (or, rather, that they are the victims of a Changeling Tale) nor that they appear wicked because they could never replace Mama and Papa (wicked stepparents are such poor souls). Rather than hearing the Lady mispronounce 'Amen' in a feigned southern accent in reply to the most obvious of morals pointed out by the kind but loud-voiced Pastor, I much prefer the quiet understanding in that Church I can walk to. (I'm sorry.)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Even though I am more red than blue now,--though I am really white with patches of purple (as I've always been)--I still treasure the Quiet.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Photo can be found <a href="http://www.sidetrackers.com/gallery_pages/PICS-070223OceanPondCamping.htm">here</a>.</span></div>Luminahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728192740634174901noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7229449742995372978.post-90131515872473143132011-08-02T05:58:00.000-07:002011-08-02T05:58:58.065-07:00Change<div style="text-align: center;">I'm going to change the design of the page.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Originally, I'd taken care to choose a design I liked, intending to leave it as it was; it had the look of an old, dusty book filled with secret stories. I've changed since then, though--I've become happier and much, much stronger, and I want the page to look more alive, like a spring-time forest. (And I may change the design again after that.)</div>Luminahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728192740634174901noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7229449742995372978.post-51938671652943272862011-07-19T11:43:00.000-07:002011-07-19T11:43:25.130-07:00Lost Story No. 10: Evensong<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJJfJDLyYs7zOsVUKCTCmvj85ApFOZb-pcrivGIQWweROExU8tVDZ6WtTGp847eVSQwUbk31eeWFjdzutyn9QW9g8L7pHB0PbW0fbCIQkjfWSHpYAWH4eqyDs8DbBGwWJwpm_BxMs-kwRp/s1600/Chapter_House%252C_Wells_Cathedral_-_geograph.org.uk_-_163985.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJJfJDLyYs7zOsVUKCTCmvj85ApFOZb-pcrivGIQWweROExU8tVDZ6WtTGp847eVSQwUbk31eeWFjdzutyn9QW9g8L7pHB0PbW0fbCIQkjfWSHpYAWH4eqyDs8DbBGwWJwpm_BxMs-kwRp/s400/Chapter_House%252C_Wells_Cathedral_-_geograph.org.uk_-_163985.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJJf-J7qwAJp2Ml0hYvSVzvDBhGQl9AXwnNWywqymN3Ror1hyphenhyphenDxa5KA3KupdOh9PFmiHj1M84THRpvWKlCS73x_b5gx4a2BeBFiPpDHvSjyRignVgx9e7aSdmez4ZTymkF87nIQmakszwn/s1600/Wells_cathedral_clock_dial.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="336" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJJf-J7qwAJp2Ml0hYvSVzvDBhGQl9AXwnNWywqymN3Ror1hyphenhyphenDxa5KA3KupdOh9PFmiHj1M84THRpvWKlCS73x_b5gx4a2BeBFiPpDHvSjyRignVgx9e7aSdmez4ZTymkF87nIQmakszwn/s400/Wells_cathedral_clock_dial.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I stepped into the cathedral, through its wall with all of its collected faces and all of its collected years and all of its collected height. (I thought I was a mouse or Thumbelina.) Tiny shoulders tied up in an oppressive, dull sort of pain, feet had walked too far, round eyes heavy, ebony-black jacket, snow-white stockings, faded gold shoes all soaked through with grey rain, cold... and, suddenly, the sound of a pale blue light.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">The pale blue light was very gentle as it led me into the chapel, and yet I would not have been able to run away from it if there had been any will left in my feet. Soon the evensong grew louder and filled the cathedral with pale blue stars, pale blue stars which only I seemed able to see. (My own secret stars.) It was a sort of warm coldness which makes you forget coldness,--what to compare it to? Winter fireflies. A nighttime snowfall when, somehow, moonlight-dust has brought the snowflakes back to life and you stand there alone in the middle of all of it. (It wasn't quite the moon, though.) Being Home with my real family and sitting up late while my Brothers and Sisters and Mama and Papa sleep, finally feeling content. An un-lonely sort of loneliness, completely awake. I hoped it would go on forever, just the stars and my wishes and me, in that cathedral.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Both pictures are of Wells Cathedral in Wells, Somerset, England; neither of them belong to me.</span></div>Luminahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728192740634174901noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7229449742995372978.post-16088469274437930822011-07-14T16:42:00.000-07:002011-07-14T18:47:14.967-07:00Lost Story No. 21: The Ghost Story of Marienne; or, The Secret Halloween Party at Midnight; Part I<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO3uT1opCpfxpCiWujtqNJXDbYKcECD5txDU_qQOrNNQsbIiAtAsxo8a41xQ3As1nYNX0hEhWAD2kmtTMcvaeNv9ihgNj5bYYf7IYUVBKJkJ2nqhU1djF9ERRVda4mksCj1ZloB8FuqQ1o/s1600/Picture+14.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO3uT1opCpfxpCiWujtqNJXDbYKcECD5txDU_qQOrNNQsbIiAtAsxo8a41xQ3As1nYNX0hEhWAD2kmtTMcvaeNv9ihgNj5bYYf7IYUVBKJkJ2nqhU1djF9ERRVda4mksCj1ZloB8FuqQ1o/s400/Picture+14.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVUIhZoiFFEyx6a9FzNOfTsfx7f-t34YudAGX-sTWZ4GhTVN5fkjzAoC-URZJdOgIMbl1IidHlSP6icyQdmftDMCAnh3Q7z9ldEckIceDnsRx8v_a7MhmxMXn6466Pe2Gwydg_SnU7wRNo/s1600/Picture+10.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVUIhZoiFFEyx6a9FzNOfTsfx7f-t34YudAGX-sTWZ4GhTVN5fkjzAoC-URZJdOgIMbl1IidHlSP6icyQdmftDMCAnh3Q7z9ldEckIceDnsRx8v_a7MhmxMXn6466Pe2Gwydg_SnU7wRNo/s400/Picture+10.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">I woke at midnight to celebrate a secret Halloween. Rolled up striped stockings, slipped into my nicest black dress with lots of panniers underneath, fastened my prettiest shoes I never wear, tied my hair in ribbons, imagined I had a pretty little black hat. I couldn't leave the house for fear of waking up the Lady and her Husband, so I went to Wonderland.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Bruder and Schwester were waiting there, in an odd village I'd never seen but called Home anyway. They had changed; they were the Bruder and Schwester from that time before, when they were a good deal younger and I was a little bit older, when it was only the three of us in that tree-shielded house, when we'd forgotten who we were again. They had dressed for the occasion, too. Hand in hand, we walked through the jack-o'-lantern lit village and into the Forest.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">In the Forest, we met a story-teller. His stories were short and never seemed to have an ending; he told us several stories of girls who wandered in the woods at night and one story of a marionette who fell in love with a certain piper. As he began a longer story about a dead bride who fell in love with a living bridegroom, a crow picked him up in its beak and carried him away.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">We walked deeper into the Forest where time stopped at midnight to the House of Sweets where time stopped on Halloween, stepping through the shortbread door to the some-hundred-year-old Halloween party. Spiced black tea and German biscuits and marshmallows and fine china made of sugar candy and a pumpkin pie (which, sadly, I had made with tinned pumpkin, as it was really July outside of the Forest) were set out on a Baumkuchen table surrounded by guests without faces. After tea, I carved a face into a red apple. The Hostess's sweet voice cut through the silent chatter, announcing that the dances would begin.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Bruder took my hand and asked me to dance with him. (I could reach his shoulder rather easily then, he didn't even need to bend down a bit.) The songs played from nowhere; some were blackberry jam, some were chocolates, some were crystallised ginger, some were treacle, all were waltzes. I danced blindfolded. Though I could remember the box step, my feet had forgotten it (as they hadn't waltzed in so long) and soon changed to the waltz I had learnt first, down-up-up, down-up-up, but they were still too slow to match the song's rhythm. Bruder smiled patiently. Finally, a slower waltz played; it didn't taste of sweets, only a starless night sky. Though it was such a death-like song, my feet were livelier than ever. Turning, then spinning, I fell into a dizzy sleep, but my feet danced faster and faster.<br />
<br />
When the dance ended, the blindfold disappeared; though my eyes had opened, the room faded away (as did my feeling and my balance), and I heard myself land on the floor as though I had been standing beside myself. The room reappeared quickly, and I found the hostess standing over me, staring as though she were planning something. In that moment, I saw that the hostess was none other than Marienne (the girl Hans had been searching so sadly for). Upon hearing his name, her expression softened; 'Let's go Home together,' Bruder said. Before leaving, I contemplated whether or not I would eat the apple I'd carved (which I then realised was poisoned). I set it on the ground instead, and we walked together, Bruder, Schwester, Marienne, and I, away from the endless party in the endless night with its faceless guests.<br />
<br />
I bathed in pumpkin and cinnamon and milk and honey and soap bubbles once Home. As we said our 'good night's, I leaned against Schwester's shoulder, which, naturally, surprised her. 'Just for now, please--?' Silently, she smiled a bit. I slept beside Bruder just as I had in that time when I always cried. 'Bruder?' I looked into his eyes, wider then than they are now (but just as gentle). 'You're going to disappear when morning comes, aren't you?' I could no longer look into his face. 'I don't <i>want</i> for you to disappear.' He smiled a little sadly and squeezed my hand. (I didn't see him smile a little sadly, but he always smiles a little sadly at me, especially when I cry.) I fell into a quiet sleep.<br />
<br />
I woke to daylight and aloneness (as expected). Somehow, though, I'd felt as though nothing had been resolved, and, just as I'd thought that, I realised that I was still in Wonderland, still in that house I'd probably seen before and called Home.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Although I normally post photos and old-fashioned styled artwork, these images suit the story best; in order of first appearance, they are from: the animated music video for the song <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kSCnsTGuroM">'Mrs. Pumpkin's Comical Dream'</a>; the opening video to the video game <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9nPwTRD9gBE">'Zettai Meikyuu Grimm' </a>(or 'Labyrinth of Grimm'); and the opening video to the animated adaptation of <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cLL1594buRY">'Umineko no Naku Koro ni'</a> (or 'When the Seagulls Cry'). Also, please do excuse any technical difficulties; I tried to use a cut so that the post would not appear so lengthy on the main page, but it doesn't seem to be working, and now I can't delete it.</span></div>Luminahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728192740634174901noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7229449742995372978.post-77090194989034584392011-07-10T16:21:00.000-07:002011-07-11T10:58:00.948-07:00Reasons for existing<ul><li>Find my Lost Swans</li>
<li>Have Great Adventures, like the dreams most grown-ups have forgotten (and find the Lost Stories, too)</li>
<li>Be beautiful and admirable (not only in appearance), like a Princess and a Knight in a single life</li>
<li>Grant the dreams of the Locked People</li>
<li>Tie the world together with the soft ribbons I always wear</li>
<li>Patch together a bright blue sky for the land of Always-Rains</li>
<li>Go Home</li>
</ul>When everything seems to be ending, I remember that I'm only in the middle of the beginning.<br />
<ul></ul>Luminahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728192740634174901noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7229449742995372978.post-10693222562886093652011-06-30T11:00:00.000-07:002011-10-31T17:19:25.011-07:00The lost stories<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcVlsZGiuHGzJ71P6Rtf_8-xElrm5xPiH1wye7E67v8K5hwRrXuuNTivr6svFwYyJuUiJzxgPwsfaOOK8DvLupGyfl2iJazeRN9PLVm7Z3Ym7tbtHZVZhmV3CAPlABvrva8ILtuEEVbj5b/s1600/267582_2124532760956_1474994272_2322125_6315300_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcVlsZGiuHGzJ71P6Rtf_8-xElrm5xPiH1wye7E67v8K5hwRrXuuNTivr6svFwYyJuUiJzxgPwsfaOOK8DvLupGyfl2iJazeRN9PLVm7Z3Ym7tbtHZVZhmV3CAPlABvrva8ILtuEEVbj5b/s400/267582_2124532760956_1474994272_2322125_6315300_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Photo taken by me at the Tower of London.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">The story-teller in Dublin told me that untold stories are lost stories.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I've lost</div><div style="text-align: center;">the precious photos</div><div style="text-align: center;">with their stories of adventures</div><div style="text-align: center;">and my feelings of wanting to reach you.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">My stories won't be lost</div><div style="text-align: center;">because I will absolutely never forget them</div><div style="text-align: center;">I'll write them a thousand times in my memory</div><div style="text-align: center;">and tell them in hopes that</div><div style="text-align: center;">you'll hear them.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">And I shall</div><div style="text-align: center;">find the Lost Stories, too</div><div style="text-align: center;">on treasure hunts</div><div style="text-align: center;">in battered and ivy-covered castles</div><div style="text-align: center;">and in the swans' story-time</div><div style="text-align: center;">I'll gather them together</div><div style="text-align: center;">and tell them to you, too.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;">Yes, starting today</div><div style="text-align: center;">I'll work harder than ever</div><div style="text-align: center;">to reach for you.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">--</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I'm back from my adventure in England and Ireland, but I regret to say that most of my photos have disappeared.</i></div>Luminahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728192740634174901noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7229449742995372978.post-16278928230640284392011-06-13T13:21:00.000-07:002011-06-13T13:21:17.308-07:00Jet<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlb5SXLEO8xNKFOsYfqmSPKrHtFbf_Bps0LuFPFSeGiXsEA4JpAXn-5eE2O1Dc2OxFgPmLHOENPF9pVqadjr4G8iq2t5EOoWVx897gYk-EqXCiu7qOaZBjcbBU-ejuuO9NjCOgHd8lgAPm/s1600/Picture+9.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlb5SXLEO8xNKFOsYfqmSPKrHtFbf_Bps0LuFPFSeGiXsEA4JpAXn-5eE2O1Dc2OxFgPmLHOENPF9pVqadjr4G8iq2t5EOoWVx897gYk-EqXCiu7qOaZBjcbBU-ejuuO9NjCOgHd8lgAPm/s400/Picture+9.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RTm0SMeOy9I">Yui Horie - JET!!</a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Look, hey, I can see tomorrow.</i><br />
<br />
<i>--</i><br />
<br />
She would set sail for the country of Ink-on-Paper and the Island of Green in the morning in search of lost swans and torn-out pages (and perhaps a pretty dress).<br />
<br />
<i>I am leaving for England and Ireland tomorrow; I'll be back in about two weeks.</i></div>Luminahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728192740634174901noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7229449742995372978.post-74727972473765942812011-06-06T05:37:00.000-07:002011-06-06T06:28:20.827-07:00'I want to change'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4cf4en4aJdmRF6RJTid9lqJrDr0zdIAwZodA_Sz5UOLPDfIoFYHpPGYi_XkDA85xXJqkZ5Sec5asddzRJNmHOZm0MBoaMObtBoyLrEoFlOWRY9_E5WS4xlFVOYyPTlLCP4y4Jjs_iAB_c/s1600/CIMG1800.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4cf4en4aJdmRF6RJTid9lqJrDr0zdIAwZodA_Sz5UOLPDfIoFYHpPGYi_XkDA85xXJqkZ5Sec5asddzRJNmHOZm0MBoaMObtBoyLrEoFlOWRY9_E5WS4xlFVOYyPTlLCP4y4Jjs_iAB_c/s400/CIMG1800.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">All photos were taken by me.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;">'I want to change,' she said. She was herself, really, but she did not act it. Saying what she meant exactly and with a moderate crust made of cynicism (like sugared almonds but thicker)-- it wasn't her style. (And neither was being silent and melancholy every day.) So she would become a new and gentle wind--and be like a snake, shedding its old, rough skin which hides and restricts its real self. She was afraid of snakes, though. Instead, she would be like a candle--the flame that brightens after the excess wax is poured away (or shaken off by a careless hand)--yes, that is what I'll be: a candle, a little light.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Postscript: I am feeling so, so much better now that it is summer vacation (though I hate the heat). I was in a fashion show yesterday (it wasn't much, but it was my first time so I was excited). Also, I recently finished watching a Japanese animation series called </i>Fairy Musketeers<i> (or </i>Otogi Juushi Akazukin<i>), which I'd first heard of over a year ago on <a href="http://thelostprincess.com/">Skye</a>'s old blog, The Princess Portal, and the series is now one of my favourites. (My writing actually has a few references to two of the songs from it; I really like its music.) In a little over a week, I'll be leaving for England.</i></div>Luminahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728192740634174901noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7229449742995372978.post-34252799642820033312011-05-31T05:41:00.000-07:002011-06-12T09:40:56.931-07:001910-1930 Fashion Illustrations<div style="text-align: center;">For my history project, I researched women's and girls' fashion from 1910 to 1930, designed outfits based on the research, and did illustrations of them. I'm really happy with how they turned out (even though some of it was really rushed so there are mistakes), I've decided to post them here.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQSZ6089iNjdzn96h3xP4JSjhdqdQtY5ykOj2G2_cUX1m81tabVK_l7IcTQXLppGclS2M3dvQfNugDs__sOEF6dcY1SDEu6zu5tyC7QQX0WJJYhRAliIZag8QkdiF676Fc3pvxm_NuaXy9/s1600/defghjkl%253B.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQSZ6089iNjdzn96h3xP4JSjhdqdQtY5ykOj2G2_cUX1m81tabVK_l7IcTQXLppGclS2M3dvQfNugDs__sOEF6dcY1SDEu6zu5tyC7QQX0WJJYhRAliIZag8QkdiF676Fc3pvxm_NuaXy9/s400/defghjkl%253B.jpg" width="250" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">The second, third, and sixth pictures were taken by me. None of the others belong to me.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;">The pieces of chalk that weighed down my wings are finally gone and the wind is blowing forward again. A squall is coming in, but the squall-winds don't carry clouds or rain, they carry sunlight and songs and song-birds and the sail of my tiny ship forward and <i>hope</i>. I'll sail on with a bright smile.</div>Luminahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728192740634174901noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7229449742995372978.post-69036924456168334602011-05-13T14:08:00.000-07:002011-10-31T17:19:50.621-07:00two white hares<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0jHASq4oVqZp-9R4lWmjINiO3H5xwffacdT-xVaxk8YyHyJ3GZLN1OLCn-GHPNs6C3RUM7PgG6SDyPV1BDPx1QTjUc8oFEyeyPdhY4Vut8nq3g5tIaL8LzJcAQsUSF4ztXWMEwq_d_Guz/s1600/1.3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="348" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0jHASq4oVqZp-9R4lWmjINiO3H5xwffacdT-xVaxk8YyHyJ3GZLN1OLCn-GHPNs6C3RUM7PgG6SDyPV1BDPx1QTjUc8oFEyeyPdhY4Vut8nq3g5tIaL8LzJcAQsUSF4ztXWMEwq_d_Guz/s400/1.3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyGSnyvTVxqFdxo0aFlLEDF5hCeWfOca8D2udADIpNZJHqBwa5cTzvXKh0Ox4HoKTcm1AgctUCWrX2Y_8N-hR29gzgSRKBWR4mMB6_HAKTDQF9zWdCdLcKzrYRYuQLv1GXNsXuv7coNpGj/s1600/2.2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyGSnyvTVxqFdxo0aFlLEDF5hCeWfOca8D2udADIpNZJHqBwa5cTzvXKh0Ox4HoKTcm1AgctUCWrX2Y_8N-hR29gzgSRKBWR4mMB6_HAKTDQF9zWdCdLcKzrYRYuQLv1GXNsXuv7coNpGj/s400/2.2.jpg" width="331" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5oIpOEkLFgX26qbPLaLVYOoSc5M0lrPknsBBLFMWZwHkagsJlCVL4DMjYkNZw8PHFa5nou9JqUfC7WbEIEY3yirx89VPP3sJxEUZWPzaXW09dABVNFURwD2-z8VnxUYjjCRE4xmipHYDr/s1600/2.3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5oIpOEkLFgX26qbPLaLVYOoSc5M0lrPknsBBLFMWZwHkagsJlCVL4DMjYkNZw8PHFa5nou9JqUfC7WbEIEY3yirx89VPP3sJxEUZWPzaXW09dABVNFURwD2-z8VnxUYjjCRE4xmipHYDr/s400/2.3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzDe8J6ReohXONgc3hGp_vuK73Ucj7hcdGryW6dkbXwzGz-MQAB4A4ITZaNuDuGm2xtEriYNRQNORDnsytu5YZz3S5rU4Qvbo3A-s0-s5otCNqQID-XEjgYc9yGvMWO17zD-3WFLQIsF6-/s1600/4.2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzDe8J6ReohXONgc3hGp_vuK73Ucj7hcdGryW6dkbXwzGz-MQAB4A4ITZaNuDuGm2xtEriYNRQNORDnsytu5YZz3S5rU4Qvbo3A-s0-s5otCNqQID-XEjgYc9yGvMWO17zD-3WFLQIsF6-/s400/4.2.jpg" width="282" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Illustrations by John Tenniel.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Yesterday I sang a song for you (you weren’t there so you couldn’t hear it, but I pretended you could). I sang completely honestly and said what I meant instead of I meant what I said and said it as loudly and beautifully as I could. (Of course, everyone else sang a song, so only I knew I meant it.) By the end of the song I nearly couldn’t breathe; my arms and legs and chest shook for thirty minutes afterward; my friend said I’d looked like I was going to faint; when I finally returned to my room (which is almost, <i>almost</i> like Home), I could only sleep.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">No matter how much I sing, no matter how loudly or beautifully or honestly, you will never know these feelings; I’ve promised myself. I’ve stitched my mouth closed with white thread (so no-one will see it); I won’t tell you no matter how much I want to because chase two hares and catch neither. Even then, to see you with some-one else… Not with me is fine, but then, but then… what should I do? If I wish three thousand times seven thousand times for both hares, nothing will change. Good-bye, then, Hare.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I’ve thought that I am a White Rabbit now, but I suppose I will always be Alice, always chasing after something.</span></span></div>Luminahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728192740634174901noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7229449742995372978.post-31812399448768849232011-05-08T11:35:00.000-07:002011-05-08T11:35:12.385-07:00papilio glaucus<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPmYgzTJrz2BSKzB-lSmNGoK_4rwez4wCH8wU2X8VNkU_jatTN7yghoNGXpXdITWfWhX44qqli-7P3kddQX5nqgZC310y5UBt3OzrwNc7dA5B7Trqa1lpEBXNdXhcAnyHCKVqoWD4w-jgQ/s1600/47162883.DSC_4640a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPmYgzTJrz2BSKzB-lSmNGoK_4rwez4wCH8wU2X8VNkU_jatTN7yghoNGXpXdITWfWhX44qqli-7P3kddQX5nqgZC310y5UBt3OzrwNc7dA5B7Trqa1lpEBXNdXhcAnyHCKVqoWD4w-jgQ/s400/47162883.DSC_4640a.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.pbase.com/tomsview/butterfly_tiger_swallowtail">Photo credit.</a></span><br />
<br />
A butterfly started a game of tag with me yesterday. I turned around and saw it fluttering excitedly behind me; it was a tiger swallowtail butterfly (I know them by heart). I chased after her (as I always do) but then remembered that I had to walk with the Lady. When I turned around, the butterfly had turned into a bird and flew away.<br />
<br />
Today is Mother's Day. I hold my tiger swallowtail butterfly in its Snow White coffin to my chest and uncover it to kiss its wing. It pains me so much when the Lady introduces me as her daughter; she doesn't know that I'm a little changeling girl. I will bake her a cake today, but in my heart of hearts, it will be for Mama. Mama, dear tiger swallowtail butterfly, please don't fly away; though I have wings, I can't fly after you. I love you.</div>Luminahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728192740634174901noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7229449742995372978.post-36579200271540879982011-04-25T16:44:00.000-07:002011-04-25T16:44:30.693-07:00Transfiguration<div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqNVFNQnZEph78SGpL-A-3sy_ARUgNfJ66w8gSfr352e3XrJK-IrgHhLBz22pIHhtOhyphenhyphen9bcaH3eCRBwaBIilRTH5H_wm9UdxOrKcIuaUrXWoR5swE9gEjbI6WSwnNTjH4qG9eOvLCheV8A/s1600/wg_frog_prince.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqNVFNQnZEph78SGpL-A-3sy_ARUgNfJ66w8gSfr352e3XrJK-IrgHhLBz22pIHhtOhyphenhyphen9bcaH3eCRBwaBIilRTH5H_wm9UdxOrKcIuaUrXWoR5swE9gEjbI6WSwnNTjH4qG9eOvLCheV8A/s400/wg_frog_prince.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Illustration by Warwick Goble.</span><br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">A Prince I knew once</div><div style="text-align: center;">was turned into a frog.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Shall I throw him against the wall<br />
or say I'll be his sweetheart</div><div style="text-align: center;">to change him back?<br />
But who would be the sweetheart<br />
of an ugly frog?</div>Luminahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728192740634174901noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7229449742995372978.post-79526032797942025992011-04-24T13:07:00.000-07:002011-04-24T13:08:27.672-07:00memory-taste<div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEintYqdbmpeOXPjfiStQLUd_Tct9gWp9gTS4VSbpy1By58sLkN0Np1MH_DAsCiwUZ5qpVsCrYaWVaVsqbyjfOUQpXh_b_E9P5FAXbpeRsT3evkbmOYibqyUVCoSW8mP5cPmgTToP40ujMkB/s1600/rabbit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEintYqdbmpeOXPjfiStQLUd_Tct9gWp9gTS4VSbpy1By58sLkN0Np1MH_DAsCiwUZ5qpVsCrYaWVaVsqbyjfOUQpXh_b_E9P5FAXbpeRsT3evkbmOYibqyUVCoSW8mP5cPmgTToP40ujMkB/s400/rabbit.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWvsFsKr4jTJkESB-CJvrvSC-5MiARWXYgaUNDVcwsp9zfn0yuDHB18eGv-jVlwAD0DdAD9qKVdvdbWLkxkmXScEUE0HHvaVlK6phjGCVTiMD2L9OxUtCO_tEyOp28ek9jrDtspB1uxJMT/s1600/3642369613_77922a7c2f_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWvsFsKr4jTJkESB-CJvrvSC-5MiARWXYgaUNDVcwsp9zfn0yuDHB18eGv-jVlwAD0DdAD9qKVdvdbWLkxkmXScEUE0HHvaVlK6phjGCVTiMD2L9OxUtCO_tEyOp28ek9jrDtspB1uxJMT/s400/3642369613_77922a7c2f_b.jpg" width="263" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3CMrjzWgJdAqNEoBNX0sdaAVgTrdNLp-6ODuBxkIKcFMMDua8gHGOnAculCmVviICuxKQ4ChisEewHpUtwevJalKsn8kiWXe6ZDUwZymsqfPZEKgOpMmFYl583lVDxpL8WiyKBLNEGuFl/s1600/Fujii_FragariaXBlog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3CMrjzWgJdAqNEoBNX0sdaAVgTrdNLp-6ODuBxkIKcFMMDua8gHGOnAculCmVviICuxKQ4ChisEewHpUtwevJalKsn8kiWXe6ZDUwZymsqfPZEKgOpMmFYl583lVDxpL8WiyKBLNEGuFl/s400/Fujii_FragariaXBlog.jpg" width="318" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Pictures found on Google Images.</span><br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Today was hiding Easter eggs (because no-one else would) and going to church wearing my new favourite pinafore and making a clover-chain to wear in my hair and finding the eggs again (pretending not to know where they were) and sweets which taste of innocence and sweets which taste of vague memories of home.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">To my Dear Child-Saviour:</div><div style="text-align: center;">Thank You.</div>Luminahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728192740634174901noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7229449742995372978.post-16994449385570039672011-04-18T08:27:00.000-07:002011-04-19T16:12:44.654-07:00Waving Palms<div align="center">We stood behind the Sanctuary, all holding palms, waiting for the music. There were mainly smaller children there, but a few were my size. A tiny boy named James and I were holding each other's hands, laughing, and jumping. <em>I wish we could have a maypole dance, too, </em>I thought, <em>but people here don't celebrate May Day.</em></div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="center">The music started and we all queued up, James and I standing at the front. I smiled at him before taking the first step. We paraded through the Sanctuary, singing and skipping and laughing and waving palms like flags.</div>Luminahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728192740634174901noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7229449742995372978.post-34100353722453667792011-04-15T09:05:00.000-07:002011-04-24T06:45:37.315-07:00All My Love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK5BLPCRZZsJ4cj9dIX6aGXcZpP-BISdiNkPfUUhho9H8gWijT9dasaL0DWOUhyrjoiLXHN8J_q9U1Alee3apYJyga9s-le4JHdG6U1SF7K1lK3EOsjYMR1rTdZ_FXpyz5_pLg6yT17N6B/s1600/02.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK5BLPCRZZsJ4cj9dIX6aGXcZpP-BISdiNkPfUUhho9H8gWijT9dasaL0DWOUhyrjoiLXHN8J_q9U1Alee3apYJyga9s-le4JHdG6U1SF7K1lK3EOsjYMR1rTdZ_FXpyz5_pLg6yT17N6B/s400/02.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JYIo3nTlSIU"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Yui Horie - All My Love</span></a><span style="font-size: x-small;"> ~ </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U6SX7wMoPaw"><span style="font-size: x-small;">English subtitles</span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>I want to wrap you up with infinite love, a strong heart, and deep kindness...</em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>All my love, you're my love!</em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(Postscript: Isn't she adorable? She's like an innocent girl who never grew up.)</div>Luminahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728192740634174901noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7229449742995372978.post-69511821122592982011-04-07T13:06:00.000-07:002011-04-16T04:59:45.966-07:00the lighthouse<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDZc6i6STD04rZ-GXB2lNGvkpOtyliMztukS0uC-xlLv6rhYTPbvPsNb0YdaMNPrf9RP3t2QKLP4WLUeI55-aRrnjjupknin8sW_1Ho0Frh624g_SaVbMJeIGhC0NDWVDJFxDO0dPRS-UP/s1600/5540866025_2b3a718b5e_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDZc6i6STD04rZ-GXB2lNGvkpOtyliMztukS0uC-xlLv6rhYTPbvPsNb0YdaMNPrf9RP3t2QKLP4WLUeI55-aRrnjjupknin8sW_1Ho0Frh624g_SaVbMJeIGhC0NDWVDJFxDO0dPRS-UP/s400/5540866025_2b3a718b5e_b.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimMPCzlc485BzGS2SV-beHIpxbhL000RnfsXXOTvnKngRRjl9mYV6fCtj-Xh8kMFXBvIT5zurV_ONo-3-wWrzyntCZtx8f0hZJf-KM9GN7q1ecBBDp8IcuKQosCeJspJyUqPXr_lii_8ig/s1600/5541446214_df6c2cecc6_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimMPCzlc485BzGS2SV-beHIpxbhL000RnfsXXOTvnKngRRjl9mYV6fCtj-Xh8kMFXBvIT5zurV_ONo-3-wWrzyntCZtx8f0hZJf-KM9GN7q1ecBBDp8IcuKQosCeJspJyUqPXr_lii_8ig/s400/5541446214_df6c2cecc6_b.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">All photos taken by me at Old Point Loma Lighthouse in San Diego, California. I wish I could have taken a picture of the outside of it!</span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">They all called it "lonely", but I think it must have been nice to live there--away from the rest of the world, with only my family (my real family), the sea, the fog, the flowers, and the sailboats which I give light to; a place where time stops. I would never leave.</div>Luminahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728192740634174901noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7229449742995372978.post-9478744817644366532011-04-04T15:56:00.000-07:002011-04-04T15:56:47.715-07:00Untersuchung<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I stepped into the clinic, clutching a stuffed white rabbit and a German textbook. Pretending not to feel the stares of the people in the waiting room, I sat down and continued to study. "Meine Schwester ist in Deutschland," I whispered to myself. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The Nurse led the Lady and me into the Doctor's office without a word. The Mirror in that room was awfully rude--"Look how ugly she is!" she jeered. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">That couldn't possibly be </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">me</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> in the mirror. </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The Nurse produced a needle and pricked my drawing finger, then quickly pressed blood from it. (The pressure hurt much, much worse than the needle.) In less than a half-second, she wrapped a bandage around my finger; it only forced more blood from the tiny cut. She left the room and I was made to undress myself and wear a paper gown which made my shoulders look twice as broad as they really are (meanwhile being careful not to look at the Mirror). I sat in a chair and carefully pulled off the bandage. I couldn't write, so I only stared at my bare feet, torn up and too big for the rest of my body. I tried not to look up at the mirror, but when I did, she said perfectly horrid things to me. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">"You're much too tall." </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">"You're awfully big." </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">"Your face is so long." </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">"Your eyes are tiny." </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">"You look so womanly!"</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The bleeding finally stopped and I continued to study. "Seid bitte leise!</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">" The Doctor came in after what seemed like seven years of knitting nettle-shirts. He examined me all over and noticed the bruises on my knees and cuts on my feet. He asked how old I was and I didn't respond. He asked about what I'd been eating, how much I slept. I answered most of his questions with a head motion or a single word, staring at my feet. He spoke to the Lady and I continued to study again, "Ich bin nur ein Kind." The Lady told me to put my book away.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Ich mag nicht die Behandlungszimmer.</span></span></div>Luminahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728192740634174901noreply@blogger.com0