OHAI.

Multiposts ftw.

LION

(23 juillet au 22 aout) pour le 21 février 2009

♥ Un événement des plus inattendus survient et provoque un surprenant revirement de situation! Cela signifie pour vous un renouveau important.

Hold.

À T=-292°C, PV=0. Dans PV=0, V ne peut être nul (nous n’aurions pas d’échantillon), ce doit être P qui est nulle. Si P est nul, ça veut dire que il n’y a pas de collisions de molécules sur les parois. Les molécules sont immobiles, donc il n’y a pas d’énergie cinétique.

J‘ai débalancé

De 4,76$.

Playlistlove

• James Yuill – No Surprise
• Mystery Jets – Two Doors Down
• Dararock – Fa fa fa
• Calvin Harris – The Girls
• Daft Punk – Prime time of your life
• Lady Gaga – Retro Physical
• Daft Punk – Robot Rock
• Mars Volta – Televators
• Daft Punk – Superheroes

Touchdown celebrations

Duck duck goose

I wish I could dance like this

Bowling

Collage

No Surprise

If you need me, I will run to you
And if you call me out of the blue I will run to catch you as you fall on me
And it’s no surprise that you’ll soon forget about me

If you want me, I will be right here
And if you want me you will notice me here

25 things about my sleeping habits

1. I can’t fall asleep resting on the left side of my face because of second ear piercing (although most times that’s the side I wake up on).
2. 99% of the time, I sleep with a pair of socks on.
3. I sleep with the bottom of the sheets curled under my feet, because I hate coldness of the end of the bed/breeze sobre mes pieds.
4. The open end of my pillowcase is placed on the left side. This is more out of habit than anything.
5. Every day for one year, I went to sleep listening to Fall Out Boy’s From Under the Cork Tree album.
6. Every day for six months, I went to sleep listening to My Chemical Romance’s Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge album.
7. Every day for six months, I went to sleep listening to Explosions in the Sky’s All of a Sudden I Miss Everyone album.
8. I sleep with one pillow, but two blankets&one duvet, even in the summer.
9. Until last year, I used to always sleep with the curtains open.
10. In the summer, I will sometimes randomly wake up at 2, 3, or 4 in the morning, sit upright, open the window, and look&listen until the sound of the city in the summer lulls me back to sleep. This’ll usually happen every twotothree days.
11. My cellphone must always be within arm’s reach when I fall asleep.
12. Sometimes I wake up in the morning with my cell open&lying under me. Wtf, sleeptexting much?
13. I always put a little vaseline on my lips before going to bed.
14. I can’t go to sleep with wet hair, but I always take a shower at night. (So I just end up waiting for an hour before creeping into bed.)
15. The only bed [other than my own] that I can fall asleep in easily is Amanda’s. …. Apart from when Beebs keeps sniffing at me, and licking my face, and being Beebs.
16. I love love LOVE being in cars in the summer before the A/C has kicked in, and the air is still thick&drowzy. Makes my head swim and sleepy and happy.
17. One of the simplest things in life that makes me happy is when I change the sheets after taking a shower, so I go to sleep surrounded by crisp, sweet-smelling freshness.
18. I don’t usually remember my dreams unless I’m interrupted&woken up by a text message.
19. Shannon used to be my alarm clock, texting me at 6 in the morning as she was in math class and using bacon as a threat if I didn’t get up&get ready for school soon. <3
20. When I was little, I used to sleep with my favorite books underneath my pillow. When I was little, I used to break a lot of book spines.
21. I have this thing where I love falling asleep in cars when they’re moving&the right music is playing.
22. I have never been able to fall asleep in class. Or in the daytime in general. It sucks.
23. Mr. Norrington = essential.
24. The walls surrounding my bed are full of things that remind me of my friends, because I sometimes like re-reading them things so that I can fall asleep happy.
25. My favorite duvet cover is my playboy ones, because the buttons at the bottom snap shut really well.  (:

Some words of wisdom from our friend, Ne-Yo‘s mother:

Don’t let the sun set on an argument.

Never wake up with yesterday’s drama on your back.

[courtesy of Mix96 Virgin Radio]

The first sentence of my first book:

and as the sun filtered through the window and heated the nape of my neck, I realized the whole thing had busted open like a split lip on a Sunday.

“I’m actually only wearing a shirt.”

And all it takes is one text message – one single message – to press a button and be shot back to a hot summer’s night, where the only thing that matters is a good time. Everyone holds hands into the crowd, and you can smell the city around you spell out Quebec. It becomes one of those rare occasions when eavesdropping is okay, because you’re laughing with strangers as if you were old friends, when really all you have in common is that you’re here. And tonight, for a couple minutes, it’s okay to sing out loud and to have your voice heard. Tonight, you don’t want it to go unnoticed, because you want to be part of the crowd, you want to all have the same pulse. And as your heart beats in time with infectious smiles, you can’t help but look up and laugh at the sheer nowness, at how perfect everything looks, sounds, feels. The song’s final chords are played, and the crowd starts to wake up. You shuffle through twisting, improvised, non-existent rows, hands no longer clasping one another because we all know that everyone is alright- that we’ve lost each other, but that we’re still all here. And as soon as you break out of the crowd, we all start running. Towards what, it doesn’t matter. But we rush back, ignoring the ice cream on our fingers and the sand in our hair, only thinking about moving forward, our thin soles pounding uneven pavement. For a moment, we don’t worry about how we’ll be separated by unfamiliar walls of concrete in a matter of days. Because this is what it’s all about. This is all we want. And this is all we need.

Merci Winsane.

The sound of thick air and drugs swell, guitar rifts swaying her head back and forth. She turns the volume up, letting the thick, pounding drum skins drown her lungs. She tugs at her shirt, sitting on that raspberry rug in front of the radiator with the wind, letting her chills blow away. The turquoise sweater is more like a dress, swimming on her dark skin with fervor, clinging to her bones before dancing away again, and never growing tired of teasing her angles with the feeling of possibility.

She pops the pills to the beat of the bridge, images of a never-ending night road running through her head like a toddler who understands urgency, but not the mechanics of its own legs. Tired, drunk voices echo through her head, and she pushes them away. They pile up like dry sand. She grits her ivories together, purses her desert lips, closes her vaselined eyelids. One more for luck.

She opens the cabinet door open, its corner nearly leaving an angry crimson across her cheek. Bottles and jugs are pushed to the side, until she finds what she didn’t know she was looking for. She nods with polite acknowledgment to the skull and crossbones. The first swig is taken. The guitar fills the air her throat just gasped for, its tissues burning for sanity. The next one goes down smoother, her eyes twist shut, her chest heaving, her white-knuckled pianist fingers gripping the white handle. She imagines her insides turning white. She’ll set the jug down carefully, so as not to spill anything. The cap lays in her calm, porcelain hands. They will find each other again in a few hours.

The parents will check up on her later. They heard the bathroom door click shut; they will know she’s been in there too long. They will hope for creativity, the red roads having become tiresome; a chore to clean up. The whole act will have grown stale, to be honest. A little blah; a little lackluster. They’re hoping to have  a more interesting story to tell this time.

She speaks as if it were a Saturday picnic, telling the girls how to divide the jewelry when she’ll be dead, looking at them through black eyes, calculating who will get what with a proud smile. She says she doesn’t want anyone at her funeral; her family won’t know what to do when the time comes.

He’ll come in kind-hearted, wondering if he’ll be getting a good hug or the cold end of an impatient shrug. He’ll leave, the door ajar, hoping it’ll be kept open. The slightest sign of affection…

It’ll be slammed shut before his feet will have reached the other end of the hallway, and he will sleep with bloodshot eyes, wishing boys could cry and men could sob.

She’ll get home tipsy. Or mad. Or tired.

Straight to bed, not bothering to turn off the hall light that was left to show her the way. It’ll always be there, and it’ll always be silent by dawn. It’s these little home comforts that she’ll never notice, but that will always prevent her from leaving.

She’s just getting started by the time everyone has fallen asleep, typing away as quickly as she can without making a ruckus. She’s been impatient to turn her real life on, knowing it’ll be over in a few hours when the world starts to wake up again.

It’s nights like this, I wish I could write.

I lost it ever since we made that truce.

I remember the night air best.

The lights started dancing even before the sun went down, but the air said it all. It was moody and restless, hot and thick, trickling down the side of your face though you never showed it. We walked the same street three times, and passed the sex shop twice. You promised we weren’t lost, and I believed you. They said you were smart, so I believed you.

The night air was sweet and kept me from flinching when your breath reminded me of how he used to taste. I thought of pineapples and oranges, and tried to keep from breathing in. We continued walking, and I never complained about my too-tight shoes. I didn’t want you to think me incapable.

You crept up behind me, making me spin into your arms. You thought it was romantic; I felt no butterflies in my veins. You insisted I stay close; I didn’t realize that meant tracing my neckline with your nose and hearing your breath tell me nothing I wanted to hear. Your fingers held my curves and I could feel your heart hammering another girl’s name. It didn’t seem fair to lose it all on a street I would never recognize but always remember. It didn’t seem right that you already knew where to go, what to touch. You knew the way down a path I had let overgrow with weeds and secret solemnity, following it so unquestionably that, on that clear blue night, through that betraying summer air, I shut my eyes and willed the thunder to stop.

I awoke only after his breath moaned in my ear for the last time. His presence felt heavy against my body, pinning me to the cold hard gravel. I tried to heave it off, keeping an ear out for his returning footsteps in case he decided to come back for another round. I gripped my clothes around me, the only skin I felt hadn’t been rubbed raw. I could still feel his touch, his breath, his grip… no matter how many bars of soap I have gone through, the mere thought of his skin shivering against mine is enough to send me back into the swirling fog of gushing tears and falling water.