helgaleena healing line http://helgaleena.mylivepage.com
Ani tub.jpg

photomanip by my LJ friend Bodeewan
http://helgaleena.mylivepage.com/image/286/1647

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helgaleena healing line http://helgaleena.mylivepage.com
Obi-tub.jpg

photmanip by my LJ friend Bodeewan
http://helgaleena.mylivepage.com/image/286/1645

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helgaleena healing line http://helgaleena.mylivepage.com
Prelude to a Kiss.jpg

photomanip by my LJ friend tickles_ivory
http://helgaleena.mylivepage.com/image/286/1643

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helgaleena healing line http://helgaleena.mylivepage.com
Anakin-Palpatine.gif

Japanese fanart found by my LJ friend asdv
http://helgaleena.mylivepage.com/image/286/1641

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helgaleena healing line http://helgaleena.mylivepage.com
Obi-Ani.jpg

Star Wars fanart by my LJ friend luscious_sarah
http://helgaleena.mylivepage.com/image/286/1639

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helgaleena healing line http://helgaleena.mylivepage.com
Wraith Squadron.jpg

by Crisby30. More Star Wars affirmative action.
http://helgaleena.mylivepage.com/image/286/1637

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helgaleena healing line http://helgaleena.mylivepage.com
9de1scd.jpg

humorous photomanip, not by me. Anakin's pimped-out ride.
http://helgaleena.mylivepage.com/image/286/1635

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helgaleena healing line http://helgaleena.mylivepage.com
trinithakura.jpg

These are the deities of the Lords of the World at Jagannath-Puri. They predate the Flying spaghetti Monster and Mr. yellow Happy Face by millenia.
http://helgaleena.mylivepage.com/image/286/1633

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This blog is much more intelligent than I am, with many more features than I am used to.  Oh well.

It has imported very old entries from Livejournal, and ignored the new ones. ??? 

Meanwhile, I am able to get some dirty pictures off my hard drive and up into cyberspace where they belong. Because i share the hard drive with my young child. Oh yes. One must try not to embarrass one's children.

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helgaleena healing line http://helgaleena.mylivepage.com
http://www.aphroditesapples.com
Aphrodite's Apples Press. 'Make it hot, but give it a plot!"

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My brain has been hijacked by Finnish death-metal and Herman Li. Who would have thought. It's all that freshly ironed hair going in circles through the air around their goatees and sweaty torsos.
I like the suburban Napalm Death. I like Marco Hietala but not his orchestra. He has such great teeth. So does Dave Grohl.
Force help me, I am prey.

Oddly, this is just when I need to understand Dorsk 81. Who is as smooth as an avocado and has been part of a genderless species for centuries. His cranium has light-up hemispheres and his eyes are soulful and golden. Why am I not channeling Moby? --cuz David Bowie's got too many man-lumps.

In other news, I am not paid for work done in September yet, which means my spouse nags me to nag my boss. Not fun. Kvetch. That's what you are here for, dear blog. I did send her a little mousy meep-mail. My conscience is technically clear.

I so want my happy foreseeing to come true, even if the darkest is yet ahead. I superstitiously don't even want to write it.
Hung up on husband and ripped out my heart by accident. Stayed up till midnight sending healing to nearly anonymous photo of teen in costume of a Twi'lek. It's like pointing from accross a crowded stadium to the folk with the ambulance on the other side. Intent, intent. Must go by instinct even when logic says elsewise, when self is being recalcitrant.

I posted art and then did major revisions on it right at the deviantart. I wonder if my fics suffer in the same manner. Actually, I'm thinking they do. They're splatting out in bits as if the printer head is gummy.

Uncle White is down to his last buck. Khaleen's getting tortured. Doctor Balls likes the nylon-hair ziggy stardust. Spiff is writing spy Draco. Quinlan Vos is Ani's new master.Angel has six stories in the oven at once. There's gonna be a showdown on Vendaxa. Aughisky anatomy is still fluid. The yule tree isn't up yet. Another thing to be nagged about unless I---
take a nap and wake up aching... Oh yeh, Wintersmith. So many fictional worlds that we look avidly toward so as not to feel the smack and grind of our asses to the pavement.

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Today somebody that i don't even remember from high school wrote a letter to me, because my mother sent a postcard on the occasion of some class reunion, and she googled my town. Of the mutual classmates she mentioned, I only vaguely recall one name, due solely to alliteration. Shit and crap. I did not want to have to look in this mirror just now. I wanted to just deal with other things and pretend not to be as dysfunctional as i am capable of being....but this rant is ranting itself in me and I am needing badly to spew it.

Dear old acquaintance with the smiley-face by your sig?

I am very pleased to hear that your are approximating the statistical norm with your life, that you are happy with your geek husband and your children in university, and your suburban ranch home and your diverse high school classes, whom I am sure you're inspiring the pants off, no matter what their sex or sexual orientation, because you are so darn nifty.

It's nice that you have quite fond memories of me, and hope I am happy in my family and setting, because I have no idea who the hell you are. I really couldn't care less. I was miserable in high school, and wouldn't attend a reunion even if it paid by the hour. Unlike you, who skip back religiously every five years, you say. Gag me now.

Guess what? You and hubby are very content with life? I am not. I am lying in the bed I made out of my life. Since I've been clinically depressed since I was six, which you failed to pick up on back when I was around you, it's no surprise that since high school I've tried to kill myself frequently, and had to give up that hobby when I became a parent. So now I write gay porn on the Internet under a pseudonym, instead. What would your precious high school classes make of that?

Plus they put the love of my life in prison, for no good reason, for what is essentially a life sentence, and we, the nuclear family, have to put up with that chronic injustice every goddam day. It tends to make me a wee bit escapist, but for the sake of my loved ones, I am treading water. No, I can't say I'm happy with my life, quite frankly.

And I think I know why my mom sent that post card to whatever committee is in charge of these reunion things. She wants to have something she can be proud of. So she leaves out a few facts, just says where we live, and that I am married with child. But I am not---ever---going to reply to someone who is essentially a complete stranger, however well-meaning, who knows my actual name and address, with the bitter truths I feel free to admit here. Never. Fuck that.

Because I don't want people showing up at our fishing shack by the freeway, where the rent barely gets paid, and rubbing my nose in my obvious failure to live well and prosper. When my guts are hurting, and the taxes are past due, and my Pollyanna bit slips, I want the world gone. Or me gone from it, which isn't allowed. You will never get an answer from me, and it's not your fucking fault. It's entirely mine, okay?

Mea maxima culpa. Now go away.

Sincerely, helgaleena-fullofit.

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Ojom is a cold and liquid world, with floating continents each ruled by a commune, and a very low population in each of these. The eight armed females are the natural leaders of these, like queen bees, with an octobrach council. The orbiting colonies now outnumber the surface ones, but are similar in organization.

Crop gravel is an essential of life, and a scarce resource on the homeworld. Prospecting for minerals is thus a career for adventurers, like Dexter. Ord Sigatt is where he has ended up, and, pursuing his more sociable instincts, spends most of his time running the bar and running guns. But just like some races go out to harvest fruit, Dex periodically goes out to harvest gravel. It is there he finds former customers in distress-- a chilly padawan and an ambushed master.

I think he will be the one to inform Obi of which minerals should be catalyzed by the sabre to become explosive, or to burn for fuel, and to help him dig out Qui. But they are also going to be in a tent over a cold desert night. Maybe all three of them. Six big hands, after all, and a hot avian metabolism... and cloacas. And sweaty. Yes, kiddies, Dex has teeth, and lips. The bony plate on his head is saurian, and the truncated quills are what he has instead of hair. He did not suckle--instead he drank crop-milk, as do all the newly hatched. This 'billing" can be an interspecies indulgence, certainly. The females have nothing 'down there" to enter the cloaca. The male's organ is only a gonopodium and is not for wastes. Yummy.

Like avians and reptiles, no external ears. Dex thinks Obi-Wan's shell-like ears are so cute!

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