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Bad Wolf

I Create Myself

the bart simpson of scranton
1 April
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Okay, so, here's the deal. Five years ago, I had a horrible, no-good, extremely bad, torturous experience where my employer got led to my LJ and things got, well, ugly. To put it mildly.

I also have a job that requires confidentiality and a future vocation that requires discretion.

Therefore, I've pretty much been put off having a public journal for life.

This is what you might call a disclaimer: I am and this journal is in opposition to illegal activity and condemns illegal activity; (2) does not encourage illegal activity; (3) is not used in furtherance of any illegal activity.

There is fic here, mostly of the Harry Potter kind. If, you know, that's what you're into and all. There's the sporadic introductions of crossovers, or The West Wing, or now, Doctor Who, too. (Rhyming is fun!) Friday Night Lights is starting to make an appearance or three. Stargate Atlantis has recently eaten my brain, so there are a couple of SGA fics here (and counting). You can also find the fan fic posted at grimmauld_fics. However, I haven't updated over there in a while, so you're better off going through this journal's tags. All fic is public, but aside from some thank yous, most other posts are not. I am fully aware that the characters and settings used in fan fiction belong to other parties, and no infringement of copyright is intended. Ever.

I'm not all that exciting in real life, really. I'm one of those not-for-profit dogooder types. I don't do corporate. I'm also very verbose, so take that into account if you want to friend me; I post long, long, long entries. Like, Russian novelists use less words than I do. If you friend me it's likely that I'll friend you back, because I understand the whole "friends-locked" thing.

The silence of the earth seemed to merge with the silence of the heavens, the mystery of the earth touched with the mystery of the stars . . . Alyosha stood gazing and suddenly, as if he had been cut down, threw himself to the earth.

He did not know why he was embracing it, he did not try to understand why he longed so irrisistibly to kiss it, to kiss all of it, but he was kissing it, weeping, sobbing, and watering it with his tears, and he vowed estatically to love it, to love it unto ages and ages. "Water the earth with the tears of your joy, and love those tears . . .," rang in his soul. What was he weeping for? Oh, in his rapture he wept even for the stars that shone on him from the abyss, and "he was not ashamed of this ecstasy." It was as if threads from all those innumerable worlds of God all came together in his soul, and it was trembling all over, "touching other worlds." He wanted to forgive everyone and for everything , and to ask for forgiveness, oh, not for himself! but for all and for everything, "as others are asking for me," rang again and again in his soul. But with each moment he felt clearly and almost tangibly something as firm and immovable as this heavenly vault descend into his soul. Some sort of idea, as it were, was coming to reign in his mind--now for the whole of his life and unto ages of ages. He fell to the earth a weak youth and rose up a fighter, steadfast for the rest of his life, and he knew it and felt it suddenly, in that very moment of his ecstasy. Never, never, in all his life would Alyosha forget that moment. "Someone visited my soul in that hour" he would say afterwards, with firm belief in his words . . .

Three days later he left the monastery, which was also in accordance with the words of his late elder, who had bidden him to "sojourn in the world."
The Brothers Karamazov

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