I'm doing 36 things
My New Webcomic!
3 months ago
It’s really cute. Tell everyone you know!
Updates Wednesdays and Saturdays.
Lain's Life List
-
1. http://www.juxtaposition.tk
1 entry1 person -
2. get a tattoo
1 cheer16,894 people -
3. be a suicide girl
103 people -
4. lose my virginity
2 cheers1,147 people -
5. grow up
417 people -
6. go to a convention of some kind
1 person -
7. move out of my parents' houses
1 cheer1 person -
8. go to a rock concert
1 cheer141 people -
9. go to a REAL party
4 people -
10. Put a message in a bottle and throw it out to sea
1 cheer759 people -
11. go on a roadtrip with friends
36 people -
12. stay up for three nights in a row
1 person -
13. sit at a stranger's table at a restaurant and have a conversation with them
1 cheer2 people -
14. get in a fight
194 people -
15. read all the books on my list
69 people -
16. have an abortion party
1 cheer1 person -
17. call an 800 number and wish the person a good day
2 cheers1 person -
18. define my moral code
1 cheer5 people -
19. get my heart broken
21 people -
20. understand and accept infinity
1 cheer1 person -
21. human sacrifice, Fight Club style
1 cheer1 person -
22. direct twelfth night
1 person -
23. get run over by a train
1 person -
24. go skinny dipping
2,602 people -
25. get fucked in an elevator
4 cheers1 person -
26. witness mob mentality on a massive scale
1 person -
27. fake my death
10 people -
28. learn how to use linux
1 cheer32 people -
29. go paintballing
204 people -
30. meet someone exactly like me
14 people -
31. Disappear
118 people -
32. gain access to the Vatican archives
2 people -
33. eat human
1 cheer3 people -
34. see TSS perform
1 person -
35. Meet some of my LJ friends
1 cheer2 people -
36. get my lip pierced
951 people
Recent entries
Untitled
1 year ago
Ian MacArthur is a wonderful sweet fellow who wears glasses and peers out of them with delight. He sits at his kitchen window, watching the rain run down the glass in jagged streams.
Ian MacArthur is a wonderful sweet fellow who wears glasses and peers out of them with delight. He sits on a park bench in the sun and watches the joggers and the dog walkers and the street musicians and the patterns of their movements.
Ian MacArthur is a wonderful sweet fellow who wears glasses and peers out of them with delight. He sits on a rock by the ocean and watches the seagulls swooping and soaring and the lovers holding hands as they stand in the surf, refusing to be cold.
Ian MacArthur is a wonderful sweet fellow who wears glasses and peers out of them with delight. He sits in the top-most car of the ferris wheel with his hands folded in his lap and his eyes directed at the cotton candy shanty and the throng of people waiting for their snacks.
Ian MacArthur is a wonderful sweet fellow who wears glasses and peers out of them with delight. He sits in a dark movie theatre, alone…not watching the film. He just stares at the beam of light from the projector reflecting off the dust in the air. Then something happens. It’s something in the light….some quality that was there only a moment before and is no longer present. The light seems empty and dead and Ian MacArthur knows he will never be happy again.
Ian MacArthur is a fellow who wears glasses. He sits in the aisle seat of an airplane, breathing recycled air and trying to keep his legs from cramping. He sits in a hotel lobby with a fake plant on his left and a man in a suit reading a newspaper on his right. He sits in the back of a taxi cab with his eyes closed, counting to 49 in his head over and over again.
He sits in the dying grass, staring at a name on a fresh tomb stone. It is a name he does not recognize, but somehow with the death of this person something in him died as well. Things should have gone differently. Differently for him…differently for that name. Things should have gone better. He stays until nightfall.
Ian MacArthur is a cranky old man who doesn’t wear glasses anymore because he’s blind. He sits at the counter of a diner on a street corner in a city he doesn’t care enough about to bother remembering the name of. He is bitter and he is weary and he is tired of hating everyone.
He pays his bill without leaving a tip. He walks to his apartment he sits at the foot of his bed with the TV turned up all the way. He lays back and counts to 49 in his head over and over again until he falls asleep.
When the neighbors finally notice the stench of decay a week later, he is collected in a van and entombed irreverently in the plot he had reserved for himself years before.
The funeral is held and it doesn’t matter that no one attends, because no one would have recognized the name on the grave next to him and that’s the only reason he would have wanted them there anyway.
