Muse Of My Heart

I usually live based on the closest exciting anticipation. However, right now, I have non. So I will read my Green List and try to make some up. * I am excited because school will be starting for me. There. Now that I have something to look forward to…I have to finish my other projects. See? I give up my own personal projects for a project of mass destruction, in character and general health. No I will not give them up. School comes before a job, and personal projects come before school, so a job only comes before…getting my hair cut? I don't know anymore, what it is I am supposed to be doing. But I know what I want to do. I want to learn Russian and get a degree of some kind and then once I have that I will take it and walk up to the school I have been dreaming about ( In my more realistic dreams where schools are still  to bureaucratic the death)  and I will get in and I will have my potential turned into purpose and I will use my purpose for the good. So there world! Take

I cannot become pretentious and claim to be a great writer or artist, nor that my works and words will ever hold any force to them, meaning, purpose. However, I can still write the words and be the artist i cannot deny. This country we attempt to live in makes disappointment inevitable. I dream that some day a great voice will ring out and eyes will finally open. This is the same dream in which money is made obsolete, for we can sustain on another and this earth, it's in our power. Wise people say that though I cannot act to change lifetimes, countries, all people, I can act to change small things, here, in my small pond. I can throw the tiniest pebble and its ripples will create small waves on the shores of my pond. I am not sure what pebble to throw, I am afraid the pebbles I would like to throw would either have no ripples and suddenly sink to the bottom or explode in a show of light and sound and be torn asunder.  So, i do not throw a pebble, I don't even vote half the time

Ilmari Ahti Yrvo was not usually called by his name. In the caravan where he grew up he was called Ari. In the city where he stayed to live a life of theiving luxury he was called Ahti The Wretched, and he was wanted for an amount of gold he could never have stolen in his lifetime. He was a con artist, a trickster and a fool if you ask his mother. The caravan was is only true home. His mother was Rom and therefore so was he. His father was also Rom. His father would drive their cart and care for the Tigers. They may not have had as magnificent a show as Cirque de Magnifique, but they did have the most beautiful tigers. Ilmari knew the tigers by name and they knew him by smell. They happen to love him, since they grew up as cubs all together. Ilmari learning tricks like the cards, dice and ways to get a lady to treat him with pity. All the while the Tigers, O and M, would learn how to jump, paw the air and roar to strike fear and awe into the crowds. Then at night Ilmar would crawl into