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all_is_me

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Gott spielt Wuerful nicht.

God doesn't play dice.

Created on 2008-04-04 13:56:13 (#15303373), last updated 2009-08-03

9 comments received, 25 comments posted

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19 Journal Entries, 2 Tags, 0 Memories, <10 ScrapBook Files, 0 Virtual Gifts, 10 Userpics

Basic Info

Name:	all_is_me
Birthdate:	04-28
Location:	South Carolina, United States

Bio

So at the moment I'm working towards graduating from the Honor's Program at USCA with a BA in Secondary English Education. I work as a Writing Consultant at the University. I'm engaged, but I still live at home. I sing in my church and every now and then I make a brave attempt at writing a short story. I like being challenged, but not overworked. I like lame jokes and stupid humor, but also violent and/or scary movies and video games. I try to be nice and I'm usually in a good mood, but I can be really sarcastic and sometimes hurtful if you tick me off or just generally annoy me. I love to write, also. I used to do online RPGs, but now I've restricted myself to short stories I scribble down on my own time. I'd like to be published, but that day seems a long way off. :\

And shepherds we shall be, for Thee, my Lord, for Thee. Power hath descended forth from Thy hand, that our feet may swiftly carry out Thy command. So we shall flow a river forth unto Thee, and teeming with souls shall it ever be, In Nominee Patris, Et Filii, Et Spiritus Sancti.

Pirate's Song, from The Pirates Own Book, c. 1837.
To the mast nail our flag it is dark as the grave,
Or the death which it bears while it sweeps o'er the wave;
Let our deck clear for action, our guns be prepared;
Be the boarding-axe sharpened, the scimetar bared;
Set the canisters ready, and then bring to me,
For the last of my duties, the powder-room key.
It shall never be lowered, the black flag we bear;
If the sea be denied us, we sweep through the air.
Unshared we have left our last victory's prey;
It is mine to divide it, and yours to obey:
There are shawls that might suit a sultana's white neck,
And pearls that are fair as the arms they will deck;
There are flasks which, unseal them, the air will disclose
Diametta's fair summers, the home of the rose.
I claim not a portion: I ask but as mine--
'Tis to drink to our victory -- one cup of red wine.
Some fight, 'tis for riches -- some fight, 'tis for fame:
The first I despise, and the last is a name.
I fight, 'tis for vengeance! I love to see flow,
At the stroke of my sabre, the life of my foe.
I strike for the memory of long-vanished years;
I only shed blood where another shed tears.
I come, as the lightning comes red from above,
O'er the race that I loathe, to the battle I love.

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