New digs

So I've change my blog around twice today. And there is no way to get my original blog back. I am really sad about this. I just wanna go back to the old days - you know? Oh, the sadness.

Also the plain white background will probably be temporary. My whole blog feels a bit too monotone.

Argh, sites always gotta be changin' doesn't it?

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Art in le city.

Publication

I've never really thought about what would happen if people I know in real life started reading my blog. I mean, I already know a few do. But I barely ever share my link on facebook or anything. And I am not going to start, but I think making a zine and distributing it around my town would be cool. I've been thinking about it lately. As in, what the segments would be, etc. I think I might do it. Though - I do not want to commit to it so soon, because majority of the time when I do - I never end up following through. It's like I am afraid of commitment or something. You know what? That's probably right.

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I neglect this blog too much. I feel like I use you, blog. I only ever want to write in this when I want to talk nonsense. I am almost certain that majority of my posts on this have no point, nor do they make any sense what so ever. And they are obviously not interesting, in the sense that nobody seems inclined to read my posts.

But you know what? I'm okay with that. I am not doing this for publicity, I am not writing what I think people would like. Because if I was I would just make this another cliche', wouldn't I? We all know what sells easy. Good old Ke$ha proved that, didn't she? I may hate her music and I don't exactly have a soft spot her. But she knows whats going to get her rich, and I am pretty sure she's aware that her music is nothing compared to the likings of Madonna or Lady Gaga. But she knows it entertains people, and I don't think she cares who her audience is, as long as it sells. I don't even know. I am rambling. How did I even begin to start talking about Ke$ha?

I don't know what to talk about now because I stopped typing. I swear I stop typing for a second and my fingers stop moving (obviously) and all thoughts and ideas just seep out onto the floor beneath me. Creating a big mess of horrible ideas that I will most likely never remember again, because they were not significant what so ever.

Thats my brain. Ladies and gentleman.

Actually probably not.

Untitled - Prologue

Prologue

The van turned up the long, gravel road. As it made it's way up to the mansion in front. The soft rumble of the engine was like that of the old heater back at her home. It was comforting, and the light streaming through the windows was just like the light that streamed in through her curtains in the early morning. Ariana was safe, she was at home, turning over in her bed, slowly moving her hair from her face. But she couldn't. What was restraining her? Why could she not move her hands? There was something clasped around them, how is this possible? And then it dawned on her.

Ariana's eyes flew open, shocked to see her surroundings, not knowing where she was, or how she got there. She let a scream out, as two, large men, with fangs and giant claws were trying to calm her down, or were they trying to harm her? She kicked, and squirmed, trying to free her wrists from the straps that had tied them to a handle in the back of a van. The men, who seemed to just be huge shadows now - were clawing at her now. Trying to hurt her. Trying to push her down. She screamed and screamed. But no one heard her. No one would ever hear her. Her mind was going blank, apart from the two men that sounded like they were laughing, shrieking, in fact.

Before she knew it, the van had stopped and she was pushed onto the ground. She could smell the sea near, but it didn't seem freeing. It suffocated her. The shadows pushed her through two large, wooden doors. She tried to break free, she did. She tried with all her might. But she was weak. Her bones seemed brittle, and her throat sore from screaming so much. She was pushed into a large white room, with only a bed and toilet. Nothing else. It was painfully bright, the fluorescent lights burning down on her. She couldn't take it. The door was shut behind her, and suddenly the darkness engulfed her. Masked men moving closer and closer to her, their menacing faces smirking at her, as tears ran down her face, and she yelled. Yelled for help, for anyone. They were coming, they were coming for her again, and she couldn't stop it. She was going to die. They were going to get her. And no matter how much she screamed, no body heard her.