Bagatelle in the Waters
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Sunday, January 31, 2010
"Well,” said Pooh, “what I like best — ” and then he had to stop and think. Because although eating honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn’t know what it was called.
Labels: inspiration
Undisclosed Desires
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Labels: inspiration
Underwear Personalities
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Basically, he changed personalities as casually as we ordinary people change underwear.
Why isn't that just lovely?
Note to self: try to never commit.
Labels: inspiration
Rochvell: The Upperclassmen
Monday, December 28, 2009
Monday, December 28, 2009
Rochvell is a country heavily similar to the British Rengency era, the early 1800s of English history. This is especially so for the terms of address adopted by the people in the area, amongst the upper class, where the pecking order is strictly established and strictly maintained. There are four main ranks that make up the true upper class of Rochvell, four main titles that are reserved solely for the family and the children in that same family. Marrying into a family does not entitle the person to the title: like a last name, it is only available to the person born into the family. Upon marriage, the title they originally had is preserved for both the men and women, but the children will automatically inherit the higher rank.
Blue-bloodedness does not equal to a title or rank, but honours are. Meritocracy ensures that the most able of men are given their rightful rewards, a fact that is spread among the middling classes. Any and everyone can earn himself a place within the upper class, and adopt the honour and wealth that comes with a title, as long as they have done something of importance to either the public or the ruling family. However, the ranks of the upper class remain mostly stationary, and it is almost unheard of for a person to rise in rank amongst the upper class.
After the death of every ruler, there is often a major reshuffling of the lower ranks, and while there is little pruning, there is generally a shift of power. As the rulers tend to generally make peace with the powerful (the combined powers of the dukes alone is sufficient to overthrow them) but they also wish to keep their trusted alliances in the powerful side. As a result, while few of the high-ranks are demoted or pruned, many more (in comparison to the norm) are promoted to higher ranks, especially to the ranks of Earl.
The four main ranks of Rochvell's upper class are as follows:
Duke
Dukedom is reserved mainly for those with relations to the ruling class, and is usually held by the closest of friends or relatives. As a result, dukes and duchesses are the tightest knit group of upper class. Secretive and often mysterious in their affairs, dukedom is rumoured to be the hardest circle in which to survive. With their elite minds and powerful members, the rank of duke is an exception to the otherwise meritocratic system. A famous example of a family bestowed with the title is the Grimmauld house, whose acting head, Zepharia Grimmauld is the brother of the ruler's wife. The position was earned during the warring periods, and has been studiously maintained by the acting heads year after year with their famously meticulous pruning of the corrupt and the greedy.
Marquis
Marquis is the highest rank attainable by the general public. It is a difficult position, to be at the second rung of the power pyramid, with the positions generally given out to the military men, foreign embassies and the trusted court officials of the ruler. They are usually men who are from powerful lineages of their own, and as a result are generally undisturbed in their seats. The rank of marquis is the most revered, (unlike the dukes who are awed) and they are also heavily responsible of the people or the military. However, due to the power each individual possesses, and the immobility of the class, there is a significant struggle for power in the ranks, with the military often being the ones seeking more power.
Earl
Being an Earl is often synonymous with being a former trusted acquaintance with a ruler but also an acquaintance whom the ruler does not want attention to be drawn to. They are paid well, but given little power to, and as a result, the standard Earl may seem no more than a very rich man and nothing else. However, Earls are often the men with the largest networks and connections: trading, export and import are sectors that are often dominated (if not fully monopolized) by the class.
Viscount
Viscounts are similar to the Knights of the English empire. The entire class seems to be completely dominated by members of the military, though there is the odd athlete and teacher. It is generally seen as a pretty title, with little else to offer. Viscounts are still considered commoners in every way, and usually live like them, as no power is given to them and the pay is little more than a one-time stipend.
Labels: Rochvell
Maybe Tomorrow
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Labels: inspiration
The Tugboat Complex
I’m in the wrong body. I must have stumbled in. All the love I want to give, gets caught between every rib. What does that make me? I have good intentions, but no way of sharing them.
Labels: inspiration
The Two of Us
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Labels: inspiration
Monologues: unnamed
Monday, October 19, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
The last time we saw her, there were flowers just blooming on the trees.
There birds were just returning, and there was a nippy wind like there always was.
Everybody was dressing up in our best, going out and about to visit their kin.
Everybody was just getting out their lighter cardigans and sweaters.
Everybody else was keeping away their heavy coats and scarves.
The last time I saw her, it was spring.
I heard from her mother, what happened.
I myself went into her room, and saw what happened.
It was surprisingly quiet, unlike how she usually was.
Everybody knows her.
Everybody knows who she was.
Everybody knows who she used to be.
Nobody bothered to find out how she is.
I remember how she was though.
I think everybody remembers.
How could one forget?
The black hair, always windswept and messy;
the lips, glossed and plump, always pulled into a smile;
the tanned face and the many freckles, like stars on her face;
the eyes, sparkling and bluer than the sky, charming and laughing.
Everybody loved her.
Apparently, not anymore.
I talked to her mother,
(accompanied by one cup of tea that went cold)
and she seemed surprisingly eager to talk,
(as though she kept something inside for too long and it burst)
she just talked and talked and talked.
(and I thought that she would never ever stop)
I listened and nodded.
I left when she started to cry.
(I hate it when people cry)
She told me that she never saw it coming.
I don't think anybody did.
It was just another chilly night,
on the fifteenth of January.
She had dressed in her pajamas,
(blue eyes, brown hair, brown skin)
and the last words anyone heard her say was
"I'm going to sleep for a while now. Don't try to wake me."
Nobody's heard from her since.
She's not dead.
I sat by her bedside, in that white wicker armchair she liked so much.
I sat there, on the green cushion that padded the hard seat.
I sat there, and watched her, as she whiled the hours.
She was indisputably asleep.
Just like she said she was.
It's so quiet in the room.
When I sit there, I feel like an intruder.
The creak of the wicker sounds like thunder.
Everything seems so pristine and calm, undisturbed.
When I sit down in that wicker chair she used to occupy,
I feel like I have somehow spoilt something, disturbed the peace.
When I sit by her and watch her still, unmoving self
(well, she breathes, so she does move a little)
I feel like I'm looking at something private,
something she doesn't want me to see.
The last time I saw her, she was awake and smiling and chattering.
The last time I saw her, it was spring.
Spring is over.
after dark by Haruki Murakami,
insomnia at 1:13 in the morning.
Labels: monologues
about one xREDballoon
about meIt was the username that was adopted either in late August or early September of 2009. It was the combined effect of too many games on Orisinal (especially High Delivery) and also her long-time love for how the large red carnival balloons when they fly away.
about meFinalized as a digital signature only in November of the same year, it has since been used everywhere: her previous Gaia account, her account on bubbl.us, and of course every recent endeavor on web and graphic design. It was an aim of hers to use it as something of a brand. From her sketches to simple blog layouts, one xREDballoon presents is her favourite signature as of now.
about meone xREDballoon is the internet handle of a girl, born on a wet day in the early morning of late February. Although astrologically she is a Pisces, she displays many of the Aquarian traits, possibly as a result of being born near the time. She likes the concept of beauty in its most primitive classical form, ruffles layered upon each other generously for flounce or decor, detailed black lace be it crochet or woven, a whole palette of colours from turquoise to grey. She is charmed by the way an old well-read book smells on a wet rainy day, and the way the pages feel, all crinkly and wise under her fingers as she turns the page. She loves the inviting appeal of a blank notebook, and a good gel-ink pen in the colour of the sky.
about meLearn more about her in her personal blog.
about And Then She Fell
about meAndthenshe-fell@blogspot was named as such in October 09, on a whim and on a wish to match the layout that time. And Then She Fell was a lot of things back then: a roleplay layout (in bbcode), a roleplay idea (which was never developed) and also the words emblazoned in huge Ruritania upon an image which showed a falling girl. That was the beginnings of this writing blog as the all-new concept of And Then She Fell.
about meFrom the start, And Then She Fell has always been a semi-personal blog. While visitors are not unwelcomed, no particular effort is put into censoring the content or to sound polite. Just as well that the blog touches on intangible unimportant things, for if it were to talk of life and its nuances, things would sour quickly and it would become a blog of cynical views and criticism.
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