http://search.deviantart.com/?q=by:FadeStrikemind&section=today deviantART RSS for by:FadeStrikemind en-us Copyright 2009, deviantART.com Thu, 17 Dec 2009 08:19:46 PST deviantART.com http://blogs.law.harvard.edu/tech/rss http://s.deviantart.com/minish/widgets/apple-touch-icon-precomposed.png http://FadeStrikemind.deviantart.com/journal/22041829/ http://FadeStrikemind.deviantart.com/journal/22041829/ Wed, 17 Dec 2008 23:21:58 PST
My desires vary, from the materialistic to the intangible. But they all have one thing in common: I doubt I'm getting any of them.

What I want: An iPod touch (any size). It's not because they're "what's cool" or because it has a brand name. It's because I've always been an avid media fan (especially music), and the 1GB Sansa Clip I own isn't nearly large enough to hold the +20gb of music I own.

Why I won't get it: I just moved out on my own for the first time, and barely have enough money on hand to pay for gas half the time. A +200 dollar media player isn't in my budget, and I highly doubt it's in anyone else's either.

What I want: An HP Compaq TC1100, which is a tablet PC. Zig has one, and the moment I saw it, I was in love. It would help me edit my photos better, and finally allow me to try digital drawing.

Why I won't get it: Not only are the moths flying out of my wallet laughing, it's an old discontinued model you can't buy in a store. And quite frankly, I don't trust eBay worth two turds.

What I want: For DPT to meet for Christmas. We don't talk as often, especially since I moved out of my folks' house, and not all of us have met in person.

Why I won't get it: Raven and I live close by, but Ronja lives in another county, and Wolfe lives clear across the country. Either way, they all have families to spend it with, and even if such was not the case, I for one do not own a private jet and can't teleport, so that's shot.

What I want: To meet Kinky, and have him for one night, all to myself. ...He's quite an interesting fellow.

Why I won't get it: Other than the fact that he lives too far, I don't think my boyfriend would like that idea...

What I want: To be kissed underneath the mistletoe on Christmas morning.

Why I won't get it: Because I have no fucking idea where to get mistletoe.

]]> ~FadeStrikemind http://FadeStrikemind.deviantart.com/journal/14951488/ http://FadeStrikemind.deviantart.com/journal/14951488/ Sun, 07 Oct 2007 07:07:30 PDT

Had a random gathering of people, played games, laughed our asses off , and finally got my first game system (a Nintendo DS Lite).

Life is good.

]]> ~FadeStrikemind http://FadeStrikemind.deviantart.com/journal/13924639/ http://FadeStrikemind.deviantart.com/journal/13924639/ Sun, 29 Jul 2007 08:41:31 PDT
I don't know who the hell is looking at my page, but it sure is appreciated.

I also have 15 watchers, of whom actually take time to read/look at whatever I put up. I just wanted to tell you all how much I am glad to have you all around. Thank you.

It frightened me how much mental agony it took me to write my last poem, so I suppose I'm losing my touch. Anyways, I do think my writer's block is starting to lift (I can only hope), so there is a possibility I might actually post a new series soon. Keep an eye out.



]]> ~FadeStrikemind http://FadeStrikemind.deviantart.com/journal/13624864/ http://FadeStrikemind.deviantart.com/journal/13624864/ Thu, 05 Jul 2007 18:27:37 PDT
Traditionally, most folks have themselves a BBQ (because it's oh-so-un-American to spell "barbeque" as it is...) and practically set their houses on fire (or blow their limbs off) with fireworks at home.

I'm all for following good-ol' traditions, but this year, I did things a little differently.

For the first time, I actually have a real job that I've kept for longer than three weeks (and involves NO fast food), and didn't bother to take off of work. So there I was, workin' open to close--9 AM to 6 PM--with barely any customers.

Luckily, once my day was done, I got to relax a little by the Indian River, where there was a little celebration in a nearby park, at the base of the Melbourne Causeway.

The best lesson I learned that night: drunk people are quite entertaining. Especially around explosives and bright flashes.

See, me and my boyfriend Ed went around 7 PM, and after nearly an hour and a half of attempting to find parking and walking halfway across the city to get there, sat on a crowded dock, where he claimed to be the best spot to watch the fireworks show. When we got there, we found a large group of about 18 or 20 people on the dock, chatting with one another.

The Melbourne folk are much more hospitable than folk in Miami, where I grew up. Perhaps TOO hospitable...

I took it upon myself to take pictures with Ed's camera of the sunset by the dock, and the moment I did this, the woman behind me, obviously wasted, started to speak to me. She was very kind (though I don't know if it's her that's kind, or that seventh Corona she'd had), and offered me a beer. I stated that I was only eighteen--not quite old enough to drink legally--and she took in the information for a total of three seconds before tossing me a beer anyways.

I kindly put it back in her cooler and got up to sit next to Ed, all the while trying to get a hold of Raven in the hopes of not losing her in the crowd. Another woman (of whom was ridiculously entranced by the flash the HP camera emitted) sees me talking to Ed, and offers to take our picture. I hand her the camera (of which she couldn't hold straight worth a damn), and she manages to stop shaking her hand long enough to snap a shot. As Ed holds his hand out to take the camera back, she yells, "NNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! THAT shot totally SUCKED! I'm goin' ta take another for ya."

Before we could even think about how to sedate this lady, a third one yells out, "Dude! Kiss her for the picture, man, " to which the whole fucking dock full of 60 or 70 people cheer us on in the hopes of seeing us make out. To my shock, Ed attempts to oblige to their wishes, and WAY more than one camera flash goes off.

Several flashes and a million Coronas later, I get the camera back just long enough to change the batteries before that second lady snatches it back and tries to take more pictures of us. Behind me, two teenagers, of whom aren't the sharpest knives in the drawer, decide to launch several bottle rockets off of the dock. Several...at once. From their hands. Needless to say, they got burned pretty bad.

I get the camera back (of which smells heavily of beer at this point) and film the fireworks show. As it is occuring, the adults are disturbingly quiet and in absolute awe over the fireworks, proving once more, that silence truly is golden.

Once that ended, they hollered and whooped for more, but were too drunk to stand for long, so they all staggered to their cars. We then found Raven sitting by another dock, of whom was in a similar disposition (and with a similar headache), except the adults on her dock chanted "USA! USA!" halfway through.

The three of us dragged ourselves to Ed's truck, tired, annoyed, and with migranes big enough to move mountains. I still have flashes going off in my head...oy...

God Bless America...riiiiiight...

*passes out on desk*

]]> ~FadeStrikemind http://FadeStrikemind.deviantart.com/journal/12886306/ http://FadeStrikemind.deviantart.com/journal/12886306/ Tue, 08 May 2007 09:46:57 PDT
"Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none."
Excerpt from William Shakespeare's
"All's Well That Ends Well", Act I, Scene I

...until I saw the follow forum post by *insanegames, posted about four days ago.

<sub>I previously posted a forum about my fight with cancer. I hoped to offer hope and encouragement to everyone who read it. I wrote the way I've lived. But my fight is coming to a close. I can't do much but sleep and stay home now.

I may have never met you. I may never know the color of your eyes or the sound of your laugh. You are meaningful. You have worth and you are cared for. You may look around you and see no hope. But little me who might live next door to you or I could be across the world. I care for you. I would love you with all I am. You all deserve a chance to be loved. Don't give up your search for it. Life is nothing without someone to love. Maybe you don't see it now. But, try looking at it through dying eyes. Because you are dying. Right now, every breath you take could be your last. Why take that for granted? What excuse is good enough to not live life to the fullest?
Are you making excuses?

I have a month...if things go well. I won't waste what I have left. I care. I care for you. God, if I could make all of you feel it I would. I know this place is for help...but if I can offer some why not let you know? I want to spend my last days showing as much love as I can. I wish you all the best. Please...don't ever take what you have for granted.</sub>

Even in her final days, she is reaching out to all of deviantART and reminding us why we have been given life. Even now, she is loving us all.

I can only hope to have that kind of strength in my last hour.

You know you all have nothing better to do with your day. Stop for a moment and thank her for the best piece of wisdom you've heard all day. Post in the original forum or drop her a personal note. I'm sure it would brighten her day to know that she's made a difference.

It only takes a second. Do it.
Thanks.

]]> ~FadeStrikemind http://FadeStrikemind.deviantart.com/journal/12455166/ http://FadeStrikemind.deviantart.com/journal/12455166/ Wed, 04 Apr 2007 09:57:50 PDT
I've been without it for damn near a month, and it sucks, swallows, blows, and spits.

Right now, I'm writing at the local library, and even THEIR Wi-Fi doesn't wanna work. Mmmmmmeh.

On a random note, I had no idea dA was only 6 years old...I was just watching a celebratory flash by *matthewedwardcornish, which I added in my favs a while back (despite the fact I had no speakers ). I know it's way past time, and some might think it's cheesy, but I kind of felt important after seeing it. You can find it here.---> [link]

Well, I've finally submitted something, though it isn't much. I've got a serious case of writer's block. I can't even rhyme two words. As soon as I get my hands on a scanner, I'll submit a bit more.

Until then, I bid you farewell, homies.


]]> ~FadeStrikemind http://FadeStrikemind.deviantart.com/journal/11547456/ http://FadeStrikemind.deviantart.com/journal/11547456/ Tue, 23 Jan 2007 21:58:54 PST I have the feeling that I am going to sincerely regret writing this entry later on, but if I don't put my feelings somewhere, I'm going to explode.

When I was a child, and still believed in the good of mankind (see the comments on "A World Without..."), I used to put a lot of weight on promises. If a friend said they were gonna meet me by the swings during playtime, I expected them to be there. If my mom promised to take me to the movies on Saturday, I'd be dressed an hour or two before matinée.

As with everyone else, not all of my promises got kept. Sometimes a buddy would forget to bring their toys when they said they would, or my dad would have to change his plans to ride bike with me at the last possible second. When a promise was broken, it hurt me. No matter how small, I felt betrayed and neglected. A little tiny part of me died with each one...

Unfortunately for me, that trait never faded. As I came into middle school, it went on: if a friend promised they'd bring their study guide to share with me, I'd expect it in my hands before class started. If my parents promised to help me with my homework, I assumed they'd be by my side by the evening, giving me a hand. And as always, when that friend forgot the guide, or my parents didn't help me, I felt dejected and hurt once more. As always, a part of me died...

Nonetheless, I still had faith--why, I am not entirely sure--even while crossing into high school. If a guy said he liked me and wanted to take me out, I'd believe him. When a cadet said he/she needed my help after school with drill, I'd buy into it and stay the extra hour. And once more, promises were broken--I'd walk onto campus and find that same guy fingering another girl in a bathroom stall, or I'd go in the NJROTC room and find myself bombarded with officers who wanted to take turns tearing me to pieces. Once more, a piece of me was slaughtered with each broken word...

By the time sophomore year came around, I realized that there was no more "pieces of me" left to pick at. I dug deep in the hopes that something within could still see the good in people, only to find that that part of me had since been killed. So, from the beginning of tenth grade, halfway through 11th, I stopped trying. I still held my own personal affirmations in high regard and tried not to break any, but when a person said that they "promised" to do something, I paid them no mind. The words of people meant nothing to me...I held the vows of others in absolutely no regard whatsoever. And though I didn't like it that way, it took the guesswork out of wondering about people's true intentions. Everyone is a fucking liar--plain and simple.

At least, that's how it was
before The Shadow came along.

With one gaze, he forced me to see the good in people again--or the little good left--and made me believe, even if for a moment, that there is hope...that Shadow kept me believing in promises, especially those he himself made, and taught me that the world, however cruel it may be, still has people worth believing in. All was well...I was happy...

And then, I found myself sitting back, watching my Shadow become enveloped into the darkness that is the world, unable to move...unable to help...

What do you do when the person responsible for your belief in the word of your fellow man suddenly breaks his own vows? Hate them? I can't bring myself to feel such a thing...Ignore them? How? You can't deny the lessons he's taught...Cause him pain? And bring yourself down to the level of those who have caused you pain in the past? Frankly, I'm not satisfied with any of those options...

Even through all of the broken promises in the past, I never felt as alone as I do in this very moment. There is a full bottle of vodka behind me, tempting me with its raw burn...but I can't touch it--I promised I wouldn't drink anymore. A blade lies within two inches of me...I could cut myself, enjoy the pain of fresh wounds...but alas, I promised I wouldn't hurt myself anymore...

I manage to keep my promises, despite it all.
Why can't everyone else?

Meh. I'm off to bed.
Safe and sound.

...I promise...

--FadeStrikemind™--


]]> ~FadeStrikemind http://FadeStrikemind.deviantart.com/journal/11472848/ http://FadeStrikemind.deviantart.com/journal/11472848/ Wed, 17 Jan 2007 17:03:29 PST Food For Thought:

I don't do well with stereotypes.

Never mind the fact that one-fourth of them are horribly inaccurate, another fourth beyond stupid, and the remaining half so damned cliche that they deserve to be buried with whomever first thought them up.

Though all of that is true, that's not why I dislike them (at least, not the only reasons). See, I live a life being me--whoever the hell I end up being--and so do those that I associate with. No one I talk to is "trying" to fit a description, nor are they trying to lead their lives according to what somebody says they think they should do; hell, they're too busy being who they are to do all of that shit.

Alas, labels are here to stay, leaving us individuals to work around them and show the world what they're really about. It's the way it's always been...

But it seems to keep getting worse.

I was browsing through music videos recently, and came across the video for "Unfaithful" by Rihanna. I don't really mind the song much: it's got half-decent lyrics, and a beautiful piano in the background. Not even the video bothered me upon its initial release--in case you've never seen it (in which case you can click the video link above), it shows the artist's struggle with emotions tugging her back and forth between her boyfriend and her side lover. It makes sense.

And then came the typecast, one of which I hadn't heard in a while...

While I was at school today, I overheard two girls discussing the video, and how the "boyfriend" was "sooooo fine!!" (their words, not mine). And then, out of the blue, one of them blurted out (rather loudly), "Why do she have to leave that fine boy fo' some white dude?"

At first, it hadn't registered with me, due to the fact that I hadn't seen the video for nearly a week and a half. I then recalled that particular detail--the "lover" in the video was white, as opposed to the "boyfriend", who is black. I thought that was a rude thing to say so loudly, and turned around to tell them so, but before I had the chance, the other half of the sentence flew from the first girl's lips--again, not my words: "Somethin' 'bout dat white boy's dick's gots to be magic."

I had no idea how the hell to reply to that. I wasn't even sure if I should have at all. Despite that, I did anyway, and asked her quietly, "What makes you think it has to do with his genitalia?" The two girls looked at each other, at first baffled by my big word, and then the second girl replied, "Well, the song is called 'Unfaithful'. Not hard to guess what they were doing." I nodded with the realization that she had a point, and turned to walk away, but then heard the first girl say to me, "Girl, e'erybody knows black and whites don't love...they only get together to fuck."

Then it hit me all at once: the sound of her mind closing, and the sheer ridiculousness of the statement. Utter bullshit.

I turned my head and told them so. The first girl got defensive and asked me, "How the fuck would you know?" How do I know? Three ways: one, I'm black. Two, my boyfriend is white. Three, I'm in love with him. It really is that simple.

When I told them this, the second girl quickly apologized for her friend's comment, but the first girl kept egging me on and asked, "So you gon' tell me dat you don't give a shit 'bout the fucking?" I stared at her, disgusted at the used euphemism for lovemaking, and asked her calmly, "What if I told you there wasn't any?" Her reply: "I'd say you was a fucking liar." (Her friend, in the meantime, is shaking her head in embarrassment.)

I am unsure as to how I managed not to rip her beady eyes out of their sockets at this point, but I asked her, "Do you have a boyfriend?" This turned off the bitchyness and drew a googly-eyed response as she said, "Oooo, yeah, girl! He's tall, dark, hot, and sweet too." I asked her, "Do you love him?", to which she said yes. "So you wouldn't love him if he were white then?" I asked. She opened her mouth to answer, but no sound came out. "Better question," I said, "would the sex be any better if he were white?"

Both girls gazed blankly at me, either shocked at my audacity to ask, or simply unable to conjure up a reply.

As I walked away, I thought I should have been proud of myself for sticking up in what I believed, but instead, I felt a sudden sadness...no matter what generation rules the population, some things will never change, and some minds will never open.

It's a shame, really...

--FadeStrikemind™--
http://FadeStrikemind.deviantart.com/journal/11453487/ Mon, 15 Jan 2007 21:12:25 PST why, actually) the hell I get out of bed (which usually consists of hearing my alarm, ignoring it for a half hour, and then slithering from between the sheets).

Today was one of those days.

Woke up at 11am, supposed to be out the door by 11:15, and got to work about an hour late. Customers were being complete assholes today, worked a normal eight-hour shift, got picked up late (it's pitch black outside, mind you), came home to a dirty house and had to clean it, argued with my family until they tired of me and went to bed, spoke to a couple of friends until they went off to live their lives, and now I find myself dying--almost literally--for someone to just fucking listen to me, even if I don't say anything worth listening to and even if they don't give a goddamn who I am and how I feel, which is probably why I'm typing this out now...

When I'm through pouring my heart out to people who don't know me--and trust me, NONE of you do--I will shut the computer down, attempt to sleep by either listening to music until I doze (which will eventually mess up my ears, because I blare), write until my hand cramps and needs overnight recovery (which will make work a pain in the ass later), or cry until my eyes swell and I'm forced to close them. And then, ladies and gents, I have to wake my happy ass up tomorrow morning and do it all over again.

It's been one of those days...

...all...
damn...
week.

I am terribly sorry that you've had to sit here and listen to my emo bitching--though it wasn't forced on you--but since you were bored enough to do so...

...Would you mind telling me why in the fuck I keep doing this for?

Because I, for one,
haven't a damn clue.

--FadeStrikemind™--


]]> ~FadeStrikemind http://FadeStrikemind.deviantart.com/journal/11440305/ http://FadeStrikemind.deviantart.com/journal/11440305/ Sun, 14 Jan 2007 21:05:12 PST fear [feer]
–noun
1. a distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil,

pain, etc., whether the threat is real or imagined; the feeling

or condition of being afraid.
2. a specific instance of or propensity for such a feeling:

an abnormal fear of heights.
3. concern or anxiety; solicitude: a fear for someone's

safety.
4. reverential awe, esp. toward God.
5. that which causes a feeling of being afraid; that of
which a person is afraid: Cancer is a common fear.
–verb (used with object)
6. to regard with fear; be afraid of.
7. to have reverential awe of.
8. Archaic. to experience fear in (oneself).
–verb (used without object)
9. to have fear; be afraid.

It is human nature to fear. For some, it's death or the darkness. For others, it's spiders or needles.

Me...I'm afraid of frogs ...*shudders*. I fear premature death--you know, dying before "my time", or at least before I can make some sort of impact on the world.

But more than anything else, I fear the unknown.

When I was in 6th grade, I realized that I'd never been on a stage in my life, half an hour before I was scheduled to give a solo flute performance in front of an audience of 1,300 people. It wasn't the people I was afraid of; it was being on a stage--audience or no audience. In my freshmen year of high school, I discovered a fear the first time I held a drill sword. It wasn't the blade; it was the idea of holding something I wasn't familiar with.

But more than the physical stuff, I fear unknown ideas, concepts, and feelings.

Hatred for my own flesh and blood is something I never knew...now that I've felt it, I hate it and it scares me...

Love...I don't get that worth a damn. What with its lack of general logic and its insanity, that drives me nuts sometimes...It makes me happy, but I don't understand it and it scares me...

I'm not the only one afraid, either...Everyone I know fears these...no one wants to venture further...why bother?

The fear I feel makes me want to leave it all behind...just go back to knowing nothing, feeling nothing...I don't think I'd be missed much...

I asked for the knowledge, and now I wish I didn't have it.

Ignorance really IS bliss sometimes...

FadeStrikemind™


]]> ~FadeStrikemind http://FadeStrikemind.deviantart.com/journal/11070792/ http://FadeStrikemind.deviantart.com/journal/11070792/ Fri, 15 Dec 2006 08:34:45 PST
It scares me.

It completely contradicts how I was feeling during my last entry...But things are looking up...

Job is breaking my back, school leaves me hanging in the balance, and parents won't stop arguing...but I hold this optimism...

I wonder why...
^_^

I hope it lasts...

--FadeStrikemind™--

]]> ~FadeStrikemind http://FadeStrikemind.deviantart.com/journal/11042955/ http://FadeStrikemind.deviantart.com/journal/11042955/ Tue, 12 Dec 2006 17:30:49 PST
I have developed a very BAD habit of speaking my mind where it is not needed. It is a character flaw I have had since age ten, and one of which I have yet to rid myself of. I give advice and/or opinions when no one truly asked for or needed it, and in the long run, it does more harm than good.

But in the past, it has done little damage: a bad grade or two, or the removal of someone I didn't really care for. I figured with such luck (as well as the fact that few people ever gave a damn as to what I had to say anyways), nothing truly bad could come of it.

I learned in the past 48 hours however that, in fact, the opposite is true: people do take my opinions and ideas to heart, that people actually do as I suggest, and that not thinking through what comes out of my mouth can really hurt people.

And as with most of my life lessons, I learned it all the hard way.

I suggest to my mother to leave my father if he really pisses her off as much as she complains about it. She threatens it to him during a fight...

I help one of my best friends get together with the guy she loves. She gets her feelings toyed with...

I tell my other best friend--also my ex-boyfriend--what I think of him, that I'm still in love with him and drill him with questions. He breaks all ties to me.

I don't know exactly what it is I'm doing wrong...

...But if someone could clue me in, I'd really apprieciate it...

--FadeStrikemind™--

]]> ~FadeStrikemind