I'm a seventeen-year-old girl from New England with the best heritage in existence (Irish all the way) and too many "thoughts tending to ambition" to get anything done. I've been called a genius, a bitch, a natural-born writer, a selfish brat, a brilliant chemist, a musician, a goody-two-shoes, a video game god, a native of Spain (I'm not), a prude, a passive nymphomaniac, a total virgin, and a nice piece of ass with perfect hair. For all I know, it's a load of tripe.

I'm not a pessimist, really-- I like lots of things. I love kittens, Hamlet, F. Scott Fitzgerald, impossible romances, flowers, artisitc genius, typing, staying up all night, spontaneity, long eyelashes, the smell of grass, everything old-fashioned, acing a test when I haven't studied and everyone else fails, Han Solo and Indiana Jones, tweed, curling my hair, effeminate men, alcohol, beauty in all its forms, playing cards, cooking, lipstick, big earrings, men's clothing (especially jackets and hats), frigid weather, Candide, lacy underwear, and all things Russian.

See? I'm passionate.

My taste in music is quite diverse- old rock, classical, alternative, celtic, jazz-- virtually the works. (I'm very indecisive about most things...) My favorite group of all time is Queen, and yes, Freddie Mercury is my hero. We share the same birthday (nearly), and a love for little boxes. *giggles* (And the "I Want to Break Free" video absolutely makes me swoon; oh, the things I would have let Roger Taylor do to me in that outfit...). This is followed by Yes and Jethro Tull, but some additional thought given to the topic would probably add more to the list.

Somehow I manage to adore Japanese entertainment without leaking into nerdiness-- either that or-- I don't know. I read CLAMP with a passion and lately have been dying to get into that spellbinding gothic scene of manga, but I haven't gotten around to it. I prefer manga to anime because I'm a sucker for art. For that same reason, I play video games more for the beauty than anything else. I'm also supposed to be good at languages, but it would have been nice to be exposed a bit earlier in life. I've been raised too vulgarly, so now I have to make up for it. ...I'm done.

"This kind of battle was invented by Lewis Carroll and Jules Verne and whoever wrote Undine, and country deacons bowling and marraines in Marseilles and girls seduced in the back lanes of Wurtemburg and Westphalia. Why, this was a love battle-- there was a century of middle class love spent here. This was the last love battle. ... All my beautiful lovely safe world blew itself up here with a great gust of of high explosive love." -Tender Is the Night (F. Scott Fitzgerald).

. . . Already with thee! tender is the night,
And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;
But here there is no light,
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

...Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music:--Do I wake or sleep? -Ode to a Nightingale

"Don't let the victor belong to the spoils." -Anthony Patch, The Beautiful and Damned.

"I'll stay with you a little, my unforgettable delight, for as long as my arms and my hands and my lips remember you. I'll put my grief for you in a work that will endure and be worthy of you. I'll write your memory into an image of aching tenderness and sorrow. I'll stay here till this is done, then I too will go. This is how I will portray you, I'll trace your features on paper as the sea, after a fearful storm has churned it up, traces the form of the greatest, farthest-reaching wave on the sand. Seaweed, shells, cork, pebbles, the lightest, most imponderable things that it could lift from its bed, are cast up in a broken, sinuous line on the sand. This line endlessly stretching into the distance is the frontier of the highest tide. That was how life's storm cast you up on my shore, O my pride, that is how I'll portray you." -Doctor Yuri Andreievich Zhivago.

Oh! I almost forgot-- don't read anything past about half wayish. It's all très minable. I actually might start writing again soon too, in case anyone cares to know.