1. Think of the first word that comes to mind when you think of me.
2. Go to http://images.google.com and search for that word.
3. Reply to this post with one of the pictures on the first page of results -- don't tell me the word.
4. Put this in your own blog so that I can do the same.

Since Tarrie seems to confuse a lot of people a lot of the time I thought I would try and clarify a few things. The header links are really useful for giving a summary to a lot of the things she goes on about and there are a few things in her userinfo but there's no such thing as too much information. Um, right? :p

( Pooka Lies // Tarrie's Insane Babbling )


( Shapeshifting )


( Chimera )

Hope it's been of some help. :)

Things are hard when you're the only person you know like you.

You Are The Key Character
"It's what I was meant to do."
You are the true enigma. No one knows much about you, you do not understand much of yourself, and your life seems to carry no purpose. Yet regardless of everything around you - everyone knows that you are here for some reason, even if no one yet knows what that is. Things seem to simply fall into place for you. Almost as though some force is working either through you, for you, or around you. No matter your troubles, ou have been sent here to unlock something. This is your destiny.

Which Classic Story Role Do You Play?
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Can I say I don't like this question? No one should slap anyone with any kind of fish. Poor fish! Even if it's a dead fish imagine if up in fish heaven or down in fish hell (which is probably a barbecue of some kind) and you see that your ex-body is now being used to smack the media's annoyances upside the head. It almost makes the toilet seem like a joyfulsome memorial. I'm going to slap people with a fake trout, a trout that never will or never has felt the distress of connecting with a bubblehead heiress.

( Round One: Tarrie vs. Anne Rice )

And the Sidhe. To see a Sidhe thwapped in the face with a decomposing fish and have a string of bloodied entrails dangling from his or her hair. And down their clothes. And in their shoes. Their court shoes. And court clothes. Fishy gutty silk.

Exceptions to the non eco-friendly nature of this question could be made for that.

Michael the three inch high cherub has his own journal.

isitadream

Skeptics! Terrible, awful, unspeakable things, skeptics!

"I do not believe. The fact I do not believe makes it true. It is not my truth but a universal truth. It is fact."

Not so. What many skeptics have yet to learn, despite best attempts from some to try and teach them, is that it's not a matter of truths and facts and proof but a matter of perception. Because you aren't willing to believe you won't see. Because you don't see you won't believe. Round and round we go and everything gets darker with each rotation.

There are lots of different types of skeptics. Some of them are only jaded or sad people that may have once looked up at the sky and seen shooting stars but lost themselves along the way. Some are simply too afraid to trust in something they can't define or explain with formulas. Then the worst, the most fright-making. The ones that would, and do, actively rid the world of the magical and mundaneless. I'm not afraid of being or becoming one, there's no need to fear that, I'm afraid of them.

I am someone who does rely on others having a certain level of gullibleness. *grins* But I am gullible too so it's ok. People say that because I believe all kinds of things that they don't and are sure they shouldn't. But I know that these things should be believed and so I think they're skeptics. Maybe I'm gullible to believe in mortal-people.

The merry-go-round of perception.

Answer these questions and put in your journal and see what people think of you.

1. If you had to describe me in three words, what would they be.

2. What would you do if you saw me on the other side of the street.

3. How do I effect your life.

4. What do I mean to you.

5. If there is one thing you would love to do to/with me, what would it be.

6. What would you write on my tomb stone.

7. What would you class as my best feature.

8. What part of me annoys you the most?

York!

I have a someone that is very eager to meet you.

Will you come and see him?

I have a whole bunch of great treasures. Some of them I found, some of them were given, some of them were borrowed. *grins* My Everything and Anything bag. That's pretty special. But I really want a Mask of Tears or a Fez of Brigadoon and a Book of All Tales... That one most of all...

Bat is my most treasured but he's not my possession. He's my friend. He is himself and just happens to be in my possession. Sometimes he would argue that I'm in his. He says I might, technically, be older in years but he's far wiser. And he won't wear a collar. Or a leash.

Does something filled with lots of other somethings count? Me and my sisters made a box of us. It started off with pictures and regular stuff like that but now it's got all kinds of things in it. Some silver leaves we painted. Wooden beads. Some gold thread. Locks of hair from Stephen, Aaron and Justin. It helps me remember lots of things. It helps me remember why I stay Here.

There aren't enough trees. Sprawled out on a branch, she muses as she stares up at the sky. A sky absent of dragons, of winged beasts from the deep realms of imagination. The blues are dulled, the clouds less white and fluffy, the air not as crisp as it could be. Even the leaves seem to droop a little.

Planting trees and flowers everywhere. Vast fields of fauna in suburbia. Grassy sidewalks of tall, green shoots. An endless sea of colours in a place so built up and monochrome. Butterflies would fill the air like the smog does now. Animals unafraid of human contact would walk along the street like anyone else. Stopping occasionally at small ponds to frolic in the water. There would be no need for this mortal seeming, this pretence of being just like everybody else. It wouldn't matter anymore. They could all walk freely like they did long, long ago.

But humanity is far too jaded to appreciate it. They wander through the banal, the mundane unable to think of anything more. Perhaps they couldn't cope with anything more. Maybe that's why they were so commited to convincing themselves the fae weren't real. Then the world just stopped believing in its dreams.

A little girl trots an imaginary horse and she watches intently. The child isn't grasping reins that aren't there and talking to the air in front of her. She sees the pale pink horse with the silver mane flowing in the breeze. An impossibly long tail that whips around like a hundred pair of fluttering wings. They break into a canter across the park, a trail of sparkling embers trailing in their wake. A grin of pure, unbridled delight spreads across her face. One hand strokes the empty space above her lap. Where her tail would be if it was there.

"What do you think, Bat?" she asks the dog curled at the base of the tree.

A gruff, snuffled reply about disturbing his sleep. Awake now, he scratches an ear and takes a wander to stretch his legs. He doesn't stray too far from the tree. People can be funny about a dog with no collar strolling around without a leash.

If there was one thing she could do, that would be it. Show everyone the world as she sees it. Let the dreams and beings that are veiled now shine through to anyone that wants to see them. Show them the true faces of the fae and watch their eyes light up. Take her friends to the Dreaming and have all the things they wish were real spring to life. Lift them up from their World of Darkness, if only for a little while.

Oh, this one is easy. The Knowledge and the Knowing. Being aware of who I am. Me, myself and I. *laughs*

Without this, there would be no living. A part of me would die. Metaphor, negatory. A part of me would be lost forever. Then would come the Forgetting. I wouldn't be who I became. Who I had always been and didn't know. Who would I be? Me, without myself and I? The person I was Before? Sometimes it doesn't seem like there was a time before anything else. I know there was but it's fragmented. You can't go back to fragments. Can you? Would you?

The art, the beauty, the music, the moon landing, the inspiration, the Glamour. The Dreams. None of this and it's back to death. Again, lacking metaphors.

And... other people. Without them, life is insufferable. Kith, kithain, family, friends, strangers I have never met, will never meet, even the Banal. Unless they're Those Kind. Everybody needs you. When you feel small, alone and insignificant, rest assured that you are part of something far, far bigger. You just can't see it. But some of us... some of us do. And We will miss you if you leave Us again.

All teenagers are freaks. Just some more than others. I myself am not so strange and unusual. Not for some parts, anyway. If you look closely, you might see a flicker in the eyes. Or maybe there was nothing at all. Or maybe I'm yanking your chain. The fun's in the finding out.

I've been known to go by Tarrie. Tarrie Torres. Where I'm from, what I do, these things aren't that important. I'm from the town of Around, the city of Here and There. A realm, a world, your own imagination. People argue about it still. Like I said, it doesn't really matter. If you're Irish, I'm a myth. But don't worry, you were wrong about almost everything.

Some people may call me a trickster. A prankster, even. I prefer to think of it as creative outlets for my time. I haven't pulled that many stunts in my time. And none of them have been serious. There's a line between mischief and nuisance. Is it my fault that I'm easily bored? Eccentric, even?

What else... I'm a firm believer in magic. The arts are a wonder. I'm passionate about the enviroment. I don't see what's so hard about putting litter in a trash can and not shooting things. In my world, you're the hunted. I like the mysteries of life. Stop trying to solve them already. You're never going to win and you're taking all the fun out of it, ganacht?

People. I like those too, so don't be shy. I can't bite you hard like this.