| In Relation to My Dead Friend |
[Nov. 23rd, 2007|01:25 pm] |
| [ | Disposition |
| |  rejected | ] |
I have never asked for anything more than what others can give me, and I've never willfully surrendered myself to anyone. How is it, then, that one who capable of great things completely degenerates, and in so doing, has wrecked and scattered me? I've learned that it is worth it for others to ruin lives in order to make mine so disappointing.
I've been torturing spiders in my dorm room. I wasn't aware before that they could scream. Mulciber started spouting off on how rabbits scream, too, but he's a bloody idiot if he thought I didn't know that. However, they're comrades if I've ever had any. My wish is, for us, iniquitous celebrity, and for all others, frustration and discontent. |
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| Regarding a Certain Individual's Severe Bigotry |
[Aug. 28th, 2007|05:43 pm] |
| [ | Disposition |
| |  frustrated | ] |
I didn't bloody attack Dina Lind. I'm not an imbecile, and if you think I did attack her, then you're the imbecile.
I managed to collect a fair amount of Mooncalf dungs during the full moon. If anyone was preoccupied with other things, I'll consider lending a few out, seeing as I have a superfluous supply. One must, however, ask nicely. |
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| Concerning Unscrupulous Duplication |
[Aug. 7th, 2007|01:33 pm] |
| [ | Disposition |
| | irritated | ] |
Avery insists on copying my Transfiguration essay word-for-word, which is incredibly stupid of him. Firstly, McGonagall understands completely that Marcus is a twit, and wouldn't put plagairism past such a miscreant. Professor, if you manage to stumble accross this confession, make the behemoth write his own bloody paper, please. I have better things to waste my time with.
[Private to Marcus]
Avery, I'll do your homework for a week if you invariably keep and eye on Potter and his assembly. They're bound to try something derisory (that means stupid) on me soon for no bloody good reason. And I'd appreciate it if you kept your damn clothes on when you're walking around the dorms.
[/private] |
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| Apropos of the Commencement of Sixth Year |
[Jul. 27th, 2007|11:55 pm] |
| [ | Disposition |
| |  contemplative | ] |
I'm not completely satisfied with either the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher or their curriculum for this year. The homework given has been a bit repetitious of Fifth year, and the new professor seems a bit hesitant to have the students engage in kinesthetic, interpersonal learning. I'm not entirely opposed to essays, seeing as they're invariably undemanding of me. I do, however, yearn for a stimulating classroom duel once in a while, and believe that essays are quite under par in comparison.
I decided to extend my readings on The Draught of Living Death on account of the Slughorn's dilapidated suggestion we'd be starting on making one soon. After five previous years of the professor, I find he seems rather out-moded.
I'm nearly finished with a hex I've been working on for a stretch. It's designed specifically to elicit the sensation of nails being recklessly forced under one's fingernails. Let that be a manifest warning to whomever aspires to unjustly assault me next. This is, of course, only theoretical. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 27th, 2007|08:04 pm] |
Writing in detestable journal due to extreme jadedness.
Ever-present domestic senselessness.
"Dear my love" lets guard down so she might quell atrocious asymmetry.
Begetter, humanoid lusus naturae, swallows and exudes her.
Method is only skin deep, as is capacity.
Bed is cold, it doesn't matter.
There's coherence in hatred.
But not in ignorance.
That is why I hate you. A nameless antipathy.
I am bloody consistent. I speculate. I doubt.
I spurn vacuous grey matter.
I give you idiots what you want;
I endure such torment of composing a villain (being the bastard)
so you can be the hero, the brave protagonist,
just like a bedtime story,
and perhaps causing future guilt in the process.
Piles of dead flies on the floor:
Some blue, green, red, puce.
Maybe I'll feed them to either inane parent. |
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| Superfluous Ammounts of Stupidity |
[Jul. 9th, 2005|12:36 am] |
| [ | Disposition |
| | annoyed | ] |
It vexes me still why I even bother with this bloody thing, this journal. Reasoably so, I take it out every once in a full moon...to, more often than not, amuse myself with all of your pseudo transgressions. There is no such things as a bad day. It's pitiful, really, blaming the sun for rising on your reprehensible sad face. Oh, the tears that stain one's cheeks! I'll tell you: you've had a bloody horrible day when tear staines aren't what you're worried about. And, what's worse, you put it on display, like a sick biography that no respectable human being, or muggle, would read. Shallow, the lot of you. I've called you such names before. When in the bloody hell are you lot going to realize that I was right all along? Shallow, yes, and rather slow.
Why is it that I can hardly walk down a corridor alone without the silence being disturbed? And abruptly? I had been taking a trip to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom to correct a few grammatical errors I had made in one of my decently-long papers before it was corrected, and...this...the sodding lavitory door wouldn't stop slamming itself shut. I swear, it was that damn Potter that did it, I tell you. It would not cease. I hade to hex it permanently shut for it to quit. That idiot thinks his jokes are funny. I pleased myself, as the silence came back, thinking of them being trapped in there. It fit my fancy, I must say.
Well, I suppose it is now time for all of you Potter and Black-lovers to gnash your rotting teeth. Or, as some of you prefer, trying to be the better person, because that always works, you know. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 14th, 2005|02:22 pm] |
| [ | Disposition |
| | frustrated | ] |
Bugger.
I hate that red-head arse of a girl. She'll get her commupance, that dirty slut.
Is it a priority for a few worthless individuals to introduce themselves into my day and completely destroy it? It would've been all those little pricks having to go to the hospital wing if she hadn't come along. Bloody hell. Some charity, breaking my bloody nose. Righteous bitch, I tell you.
A detention is just what I needed. And broken bones.
That annoying old hag in the hospital wing kept trying to mend it by sticking her bloody wand in my face. I'm not going to fucking put up with her fidgiting and her exhasperated scoffs as if I were a nuisance. She was waisting my time. I stayed there long enough for it to stop bleeding, and I got the hell out of there. I can fix it myself, thank you very much.
What a lovely week it's been, and I have you're pretty prefect to thank. |
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| Revolting Discoveries |
[Jun. 6th, 2005|08:38 pm] |
| [ | Disposition |
| | irate | ] |
So...I suppose you've all heard of that fantastically lovely, wonderful, sordid party those good-for-nothings are having sometime in the unfortunatly near future? Bloody poofs.
I suppose everyone would be delighted for me to mention that I will not attend such a pointless, juvenile, slaver orgy, consisting of booze, sensless chatter, and the extremely hideous nobodies that have nothing else to do but to be joined at the lips and between the thighs.
Your hearts would just lift at my words.
Which is why I won't say them. Oh, this is not my way of saying I wish to go; there is nothing more I'd rather do than to confirm my nonconformity, as staying completely away from that sick love fest is the best choice. However, that would mean I would be agreeing to greatly enthuse the lot of you by announcing my absence from one of your pathetically looked-forward-to functions.
And, as you all know very well, that is against my nature.
Though associating with the likes of you would be even more against my nature.
I might just have to crash your party.
((OOC: You all know lovely Snape is bluffing horribly. I didn't want you to think I was single-handedly deciding the fate of the party. I just wanted to be a tremendous arse, is all. Healthy cruelty, for Sev's sake. End of transmission.)) |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 24th, 2004|02:33 pm] |
| [ | Disposition |
| |  gloomy | ] |
It's absolutely pitiful what I am hearing in the halls.
"Galloping Gargoyles, I don't think I can make it through this Transfiguration essay!"
I will tell all of you this, and I'll only say it once. If you had trouble with that, no one in their right mind will want you to work for them.
That is, if their nostrils haven't been overcome with the stench of your ignorance.
Of course I did exceptionally well. Hopefully my small writing and extra 5 pages will make McGonagall go blind.
And...If you don't mind me asking...who is this horribly disfigured, indisposed, colourless, poor excuse for a human being that is walking around the halls as if he were some sort of a God? He's worse than that filthy Black...at least that cretin has pigment. It almost coaxes me into vomiting. |
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| (no subject) |
[Aug. 15th, 2004|08:03 pm] |
If I hear anymore cracks about who I am taking to Hogsmeade I am going to jinx someone, and I assure you: I wouldn't show any mercy. Valentines day is a stupid Holiday (if it could ever be called that) created by a worthless muggle in hope that their buisness as a florist would double.
It was their fault they became a florist, anyway. Obviously they wanted to be bored with themselves for all eternity.
I'm sure you could all guess that I don't have a date for Valentines Day. The very thought sickens me.
Awkward teenage couples heading to that boring wizard village, their faces flushed a sickening red because they are so locked up inside their little lives that they don't realise how inane the whole holiday is.
It makes me want to vomit. |
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| (no subject) |
[Aug. 4th, 2004|07:54 am] |
There's no point having this ruddy journal. To sink low enough to even write something in it just so everyone else will give you simpathy.
Well, I'm not that stupid.
And I know all of you are so disappointed. |
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| ((I got my muse back [sortof]! Tell me how I did...)) |
[Jul. 2nd, 2004|09:32 am] |
I know many of you are watching with grim satisfaction as I slip lower and lower into a state of apathy; how you laugh at my shallow attempt to erase my unmercifule boredom; how you stroke your chins and contemplate how long it will take until you are rid of me.
Well, I'll let each and every one of you worthless swines know this:
You'll never bloody be rid of me.
There are a few of you mindless curs who can't think of a better past time than to prank old "Snivellus".
Just goes to show how desperate you are for attention.
If I was a slimy git as most of you call me, then why would your past time involve me at all? Why in Merlin's name would you waste your precious time making fun of skinny little Snape, eh?
It's because you're so thirsty for fame and attention that you think it admirable to disregard the rules.
You're so bigheaded to think that such a thing makes you admired.
But who gets the better grades in classes?
Who aces all of their tests?
Who actually does their homework and doesn't copy off of anyone else?
Who knows every spell in the book and can cast it without a second look at the instructions?
None other than dear old "Snivellus".
And I assure you, how thick in the head you may be, that in the end it will be you squirming at the very bottom of society like the pitiful worms you are, while I sit at the very top with leisure, My feet dangling dangerously close to where you crawl.
And I will show you all the mercy and benevolence you have bestowed apon me. |
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| ~OUT OF CHARACTER~ |
[Jun. 17th, 2004|08:39 am] |
OK, you guys...
You seriously don't hate me, do you?
And I'm sorry I posted that poem...
It's been a very eerie last couple of days.
Forgive me if I somewhat refrain from being Snape for a while.
He's not exactly helping.
~ Jilly |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 16th, 2004|03:30 pm] |
| [ | Disposition |
| |  naughty | ] |
Touch the canvas, blank and pale
The burning texture of a memory
I’ll bleed all over the easel of your
Unfortunate love for anomaly
My fingers fondle you tender art
I’ll pull your legs, so slender, apart
The sweet aroma of what you created
Your sinful witchcraft leaves me sedated
I bite your feline neck, the frustration clear
You were mine; you can’t abandon me
Your thoughts are of me, your figure cries
For a loathing fervor of anomaly
I thrust myself inside your hollow clay
Your first scream expresses that I’ve betrayed
You burn inside; I scream out loud
The painful sear of which I’m well endowed
Why do you fight it? Don’t be afraid
I told you before; I just wanna get laid
Your empty, amorous, ardent rose
Caresses me as my reverie grows
Soaked in the oil that your acid craves
You’re inside my painting where you must behave
I take up my print; I draw chains on your wrists
Your supple breasts leak the blood that I’ve kissed
You tell me to stop, but I can’t help the feeling
Enveloped in red, your beauty concealing
You’re my marionette and I master your strings
I make you embrace me and forget everything
What is it I hear?
Your dread will disappear
Once you were alone
Now you let out a moan
What’s that, my dear?
You have nothing to fear
Your synthetic world will be alright
As I fuck you into bed at night |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 14th, 2004|01:08 pm] |
| [ | Disposition |
| | I'm vexed, I am terribly vexed | ] |
Her lips which I had so willingly tasted
The time with her I so selfishly wasted
But through her feign and through her faint
To me she's nothing but a Saint
Those three words I had so willingly said
Well, those three words had gotten to my head
What love is this which I have found?
So unrequited as to let me drown
But even if I were sent to a fiery Hell
She'd still hold my heart in a tiny nutshell
And though her heart is not mine and she pushes away
I still whisper her name in hope that she'll stay
What should I do if this love is not true?
What should I do,
My Amelia
I am so in love with you |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 11th, 2004|12:49 pm] |
| [ | Disposition |
| | bored | ] |
Who's on his back in the water?
It's Potter, It's Potter
Not a bubble ascending
His bones are not bending
Whom I wish I could slaughter
It's Potter, It's Potter
Who was chosen to make life not so fair
With his stupid grin and his tousled hair
So much of a boy is he, but little do I care
If I had the choice, he would no longer be there
How arrogant is he?
Even more so than me
Though I no longer care to impress
He runs and he rides
On a broomstick so high
But would fall due to the simplest hex
And why do you ask
did I not relax
Instead of writing this obvious rhyme
See, even though he's not worth
To be cleansed at birth
My insults are worth all his time |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 6th, 2004|12:13 pm] |
| [ | Disposition |
| |  listless | ] |
No, Potter, I'm not dead.
Too bad, eh? |
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| (no subject) |
[May. 2nd, 2004|03:45 pm] |
| [ | Disposition |
| |  blah | ] |
Ah, it's time for the dreaded Halloween Dance at Hogwarts. Everyone is scurrying around, trying to find a date...Der Lord, it's so irritating. Of course, no one has asked me to it, fortunatly. I'd rather throw myself into a pool of boil potion than be asked on a date.
Like always, I have the best grades in all my classes, even better than that Potter...
The defense against the Dark Arts Teacher made a few mistakes last class, telling the class that Wolfbane grew somewhere where it did not. As you could have guessed, I corrected them with relish.
I haven't gotten a letter from home since last year, not that care. I could care less whether I was informed about how my father still doesn't know his own name, and how my mother is doing much better since I put the hex on him. It was her fault she was getting plumetted into the ground everynight by my squib father. I should have made her put the bloody charm on him, if she hated the treatment so much; she married the bloke.
This concludes my journal entry for the day, or week, or month. Until I bloody want to update again... |
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