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Post by ARTI GREENBURGH on Aug 24, 2011 1:47:59 GMT -5
| [atrb=style,background:url(http://www.amazingpaper.com.au/persistent/catalogue_images/products/CHIYOCHISAI.jpg);opacity: .80; width: 430px; padding: 6px, bTable] | [atrb=width,450,true]
[style=text-indent: 10px; text-align: right; font-family: pristina; font-style: bold; font-size: 30px; background: #668014; height: 10px; line-height: 0; color: #A4DCD1; padding-bottom: 5px; text-transform: lowercase]i'm the queen of the world[/style]
[style=text-align: right; background: #668014; opacity: .75px; height: 10px; font-style: italic; font-family: courier new; text-transform: lowercase; font-variant: all-caps; letter-spacing: 2px; font-size: 12px; padding-bottom: 5px; margin-top: -10px; color:#A4DCD1]i bump into things[/style][style=background:#668014; padding: 5px; margin-left: 2px; line-height: 0.1; margin-top: 2px; -moz-border-radius: 100px 100px 100px 100px; border-radius: 2px 2px 2px 2px; float: center; margin-left: 50px; margin-right: 1px; width: 300px; line-width: 3px;][/style]
[style=color:white; background:#668014; width,300px; border: red 0px solid; opacity: .8; padding:12px; font-size:10px; text-align:justify; font-family: arial narrow; height: 390px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: auto;text-align: justify; padding: 8px; font-size: 13px; margin-right: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-top: -15px; font-family: Times New Roman; color: #A4DCD1;]The precipitation of Castelia City always smells a bit like an armpit. What's worse is that it's awfully easy to become a victim of a false forecast and end up a mile away from home without an umbrella.
Mommy and Daddy were planning to order Chinese takeout. They received a coupon in the mail offering three entrees for the price of two. Instead of ordering three, eating two, and saving one, they invited their beloved progeny Arti over for dinner. He was named for Art Garfunkle, who was a musical partner to Paul Simon, who named his song "Mother and Child Reunion" after a chicken and egg dish from a local Chinese takeout place. Life is funny like that.
Art was headed southward on Skyarrow Bridge when the storm converged upon the city. Blue skies were smothered by a blanket of damp steel wool. He cast his face- haphazardly smeared with foundation to cover some pretty wicked acne- upward just in time to watch two heavy raindrops splatter on his glasses. He grumbled and wiped at the lenses with the cuffs of his hot pink zip-up hoodie. Somewhere up in the heavens, a voice like a mighty bronze bell proclaimed, "You ain't seen nothin' yet!"
Art studied the rush-hour traffic under the metal grate beneath his feet. His untied shoelace dangled limply through a hole, connecting his being with the unmoving sea of red and yellow lights below. He pondered this and his stomach rolled in his abdomen. The wet pops and splats of rainfall became more frequent. Art reached over his shoulder and yanked his hood tightly to cover his newly-washed hair (what a novelty!). He pulled his foot upward and the lace by extension, then stood on one leg to tie his shoe, thus separating his world from that of the traffic once and for all. It was commonly accepted that flamingos stood this way for hours on end, but the appeal of doing so utterly baffled Art. His own equilibrium was not no easily maintained. He tottered in place and thrust his hand outward to grab the railing. Despite his spindly legs and affinity for the colour pink, this much was certain: Art was not a flamingo.
The rainfall's intensity increased. Pungent, dirty water soaked through the fabric of Art's hoodie. Coldness tickled his skin and raised his hackles. Barely-visible red hairs stood erect on his arms and legs, scratching back at the dampening fabric. It was instinct to place his hand over his pocket, a measure to protect the rectangular lump that was his smartphone. Art lurched forward and broke into a run.
He no doubt looked goony, but long strides took him far. He made it from the center of the bridge to the Skyarrow-Pinwheel gate in two minutes, which was a record (unbeknownst to him). Art huddled beneath the awning of the gate, composing himself before making a grand entrance. His phone buzzed in his pocket. Extracting it from tight, wet pants proved to be a task, but he managed. The screen read "HOME" in big white letters. Art used his finger to slide the "answer" bar on the touchscreen. His teeth chattered.
"Hi Mommy!" He chirped.
"Your Father, Art," a husky voice with traces of a German accent answered.
"Sorry, Daddy," Art said.
"Mommy won't be home for a few more hours. Staying late."
"Well, I'm already on my way. What now?"
"Dunno', Art."
"Love you, Daddy."
"Be seeing you then."
A click from the other end. Art clicked the lock-switch on his phone and vocalized again, "What now?"[/style]
[style=text-indent: 10px; text-align: left; font-family: pristina; font-style: bold; font-size: 30px; background: #668014; height: 10px; line-height: 0; color: #A4DCD1; padding-bottom: 2px; text-transform: lowercase]i spin around in circles[/style]
[style=text-align: left; background: #668014; opacity: .75px; height: 10px; font-style: italic; font-family: courier new; text-transform: lowercase; font-variant: all-caps; letter-spacing: 2px; font-size: 12px; padding-bottom: 5px; margin-top: -12px; color:#A4DCD1; text-indent: 10px;]and i'm singing[/style]
[style=text-align: left; opacity: .75px; height: 30px; font-style: italic; font-family: georgia; text-transform: lowercase; font-variant: all-caps; letter-spacing: 0px; font-size: 12px; padding-bottom: 5px; margin-top: -12px; color:white; text-indent: 0px;]WORDS... 596 ; TAG... nonono ; NOTES... nonono ; MUSIC... "New Soul" - Yael Naim ; CREDIT... gan nello trancy-ness [/style]
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Post by lenaynay on Sept 13, 2011 19:16:15 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, z-index: 2; position: relative, bTable][style=-webkit-transform: rotate(30deg); -o-transform: rotate(30deg); -moz-transform: rotate(30deg); width: 100px; height: 100px; background: #FFFFFF; padding: 5px; margin: 30px 0px 0px 20px; float:left; clear:left; -webkit-box-shadow: 0 1px 5px #888; -moz-box-shadow: 0 1px 5px #888;] [/style][style=-webkit-transform: rotate(-30deg); -o-transform: rotate(-30deg); -moz-transform: rotate(-30deg); width: 100px; height: 100px; background: #FFFFFF; padding: 5px; margin: -30px 0px 0px 25px; z-index: 3; position: relative; float:left; clear:left; -webkit-box-shadow: 0 1px 5px #888; -moz-box-shadow: 0 1px 5px #888;][/style][style=-webkit-transform: rotate(190deg); -o-transform: rotate(190deg); -moz-transform: rotate(190deg); width: 100px; height: 100px; background: #FFFFFF; padding: 5px; margin: -30px 0px 0px 20px; float:left; clear:left; -webkit-box-shadow: 0 1px 5px #888; -moz-box-shadow: 0 1px 5px #888;][/style][style=-webkit-transform: rotate(-10deg); -o-transform: rotate(-10deg); -moz-transform: rotate(-10deg); width: 100px; height: 100px; background: #FFFFFF; padding: 5px; margin: -20px 0px 0px 30px; float:left; clear:left; -webkit-box-shadow: 0 1px 5px #888; -moz-box-shadow: 0 1px 5px #888;][/style] |
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style,border: 13px solid #FFFFFF; margin: -300px 0px 0px 70px; width: 450px; z-index: 1; position: relative; -webkit-box-shadow: 0 3px 5px #888; -moz-box-shadow: 0 3px 5px #888, bTable][atrb=style, padding: 10px 10px 10px 73px; background: #e8e5ff url(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v630/iridescentjohn/Tarnishes%20Cycles/bg-circles.png); border: 1px dotted #ccbdcf;][style=color: #ffffff; line-height: 12px; font-family: Georgia; margin-top: -35px; text-align: left]hands touching hands
tag;; burgh words;; 734 notes;; SORRY IT SUCKS AND TOOK SO LONG
reaching out touching you[/style]
[style=text-align: justify; letter-spacing: 1px; font-family: Tahoma; color: 7d687e]
"Come on, Ari! Just a little more working, please?" An expert trainer and powerful gym leader should have control over her pokemon, right? They should be completely and totally willing to do whatever she asks them to do, seeing as she's got the experience, training, good looks, etc. But this stubborn little Smeargle just didn't seem to want to do anything. Well, that was totally true. He had things he wanted to do, they just didn't coincide with what Lenora wanted him to do. He was currently standing in front of the dark-skinned gym leader, swinging his tail back and forth while he stared up at the weak Raticate. The Raticate's trainer was smirking; he thought he had this battle in the bag. A weak Smeargle and a weak woman who couldn't even get the poor pokemon to Sketch? No, he wasn't worried at all. "Raticate! Use Super Fang!" Lenora's eyes got wide. No longer was she worried about winning the battle. She was worried that her precious gift from Arti was going to be attacked, almost unfairly.
But no. Ari seemed to avoid the attack easily and then turn to look up at Lenora as the Raticate went stumbling away. He was giving her a look that said "Do I really have to be doing this?" With a sigh and a resilient groan, she used the diversion of the distracted Raticate to switch out Ari and Ingrid. The Stoutland came bounding in, her fur billowing out behind her as she sped up and rammed herself into the side of the dazed Raticate, knocking him out with her sheer power. Lenora smiled brightly as the battle finished and looked over her shoulder as she shook hands with the loser. Ari was perching himself by the window, staring up with his tail poised against the page, but not really sure what he was doing. He looked like he was a mixture of confused but also focused at the same time. Lenora smiled apologetically at the trainer and wished him luck for the next time he decided to come in for a battle. She turned to Ari and put her hands on her hips.
Ingrid joined her, standing next to her trainer and staring at the little Smeargle, who seemed to not notice all the staring. "What are we going to do with him, Ingrid? I want him to find his passion but I also want him to be functioning properly. Where in the world did Arti find this one? Well, then again, it is Arti." She paused to smile, as if remembering a pleasant memory. "One of the best kids I've gotten to babysit for. I wonder how he's doing, now that he's all grown up. I guess I should check on him?" She proposed out loud, looking up at Ingrid. The Stoutland gave a happy bark and nudged the phone that was clipped onto Lenora's waist. "Maybe I should invite him over..." She pondered, untying her apron and throwing it over her shoulder. "Maybe cook for him too?" She asked.
Ingrid gave a bark of approval. "Alright, then we'll invite him over." She grinned and swung the apron over the top of Ingrid's back who left the study, trotting back up the stairs to put the apron near the counter. She rejoined Vincent who was curled in the corner, taking a nap. Lenora stared at Ari as the phone rang and she paced back and forth, looking outside at the rain that had started to pour down. Jeez, she hoped that trainer had gotten home safely. "Hello, Arti? It's Nora! I was wondering if you might want to come over? Catch up and chat for a bit? I've got a curious Smeargle here that probably misses you too. He's turning out to remind me a lot of you and I wondered if you might come over and maybe help cheer him up? I'll make you whatever you want, so long as you name it now and I can run out and get it before you get here. I'm not taking no for an answer, Art! She warned with a grin, rubbing a hand over the Smeargle's head who looked up at her with blank eyes, rubbing his dry tail against the bare canvas. "And hurry, please?"
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Post by ARTI GREENBURGH on Sept 25, 2011 23:40:36 GMT -5
| [atrb=style,background:url(http://www.amazingpaper.com.au/persistent/catalogue_images/products/CHIYOCHISAI.jpg);opacity: .80; width: 430px; padding: 6px, bTable] | [atrb=width,450,true]
[style=text-indent: 10px; text-align: right; font-family: pristina; font-style: bold; font-size: 30px; background: #668014; height: 10px; line-height: 0; color: #A4DCD1; padding-bottom: 5px; text-transform: lowercase]i'm the queen of the world[/style]
[style=text-align: right; background: #668014; opacity: .75px; height: 10px; font-style: italic; font-family: courier new; text-transform: lowercase; font-variant: all-caps; letter-spacing: 2px; font-size: 12px; padding-bottom: 5px; margin-top: -10px; color:#A4DCD1]i bump into things[/style][style=background:#668014; padding: 5px; margin-left: 2px; line-height: 0.1; margin-top: 2px; -moz-border-radius: 100px 100px 100px 100px; border-radius: 2px 2px 2px 2px; float: center; margin-left: 50px; margin-right: 1px; width: 300px; line-width: 3px;][/style]
[style=color:white; background:#668014; width,300px; border: red 0px solid; opacity: .8; padding:12px; font-size:10px; text-align:justify; font-family: arial narrow; height: 390px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: auto;text-align: justify; padding: 8px; font-size: 13px; margin-right: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-top: -15px; font-family: Times New Roman; color: #A4DCD1;]A wicked fork of lightening followed by a tremendous thunderclap was Art's cue to slip through the doors to the cozy interior of the gate. The walls were tan with a speckled brown pattern, illuminated by the flourescent lights set into the wainscoting. Institutional carpet stretched the length of the rectangular building. It was orange but for a yellow stripe running down the center. The yellow had been worn down considerably by countless filthy feet, but the orange was as vivid as it had been on the day it was laid. The thought crossed Art's mind: "The orange parts are lava!"
Art sizzled from the shoes up as he clung tight to the warm wall beneath the weather ticker. "Castelia City, 85 degrees and stormy." Another thunderclap sounded outside, the grumbling of great ponderous cloud-beasts trudging in from the west. His phone rang in his pocket, vibrating his belt-buckle and the zipper of his pants. He fumbled once more to answer, but he freed the thing a moment too late. Soon after, the "missed call" and "voicemail" notifications blinked on the screen.
"Lenora?" Art raised one gingery eyebrow desperately in need of plucking. He performed the smartphone obstacle course with considerable speed and grace, despite his shivering fingers and achey, knobby knuckles- the slidebars, the passcodes, and pressing "one" to listen to his messages. Lenora wanted to see him again.
At first, she had been a playmate- years beyond Art, but eager to help her mother in caring for him. When she was old enough, she took on full responsibility. Lenora's house was a second home. The sage green tweedy couch in the den became as familiar and beloved as Art's own twin-sized bed. Though he and Lenora had been constantly present in each other's lives, they fell out of touch once Lenora devoted her life to archaeology and soon after, leading a gym. She was even busier now. Art had his very own pokemon gym, which he led clumsily, and he was able to briefly speak to her at the regular meetings. However, coffee-dates and like were not permitted by either's schedule. What had possessed her to call him so suddenly like this? Some freakishly rare doldrums in her hectic life? Possibly a sudden fit of nostalgia? Fate smiled and so did Art, but Fate probably looked much prettier doing it.
Art set off in the direction of Nacrene-proper, following rusty railroad crossing signs along the commercial route through Pinwheel Forest. There were no sidewalks, as those who walked through the forest were trainers, and they often opted to take the longer route. A semi truck blazed past not three feet from the rubber toes of Art's shoes. "MoraTel Solutions," read the blue, no-nonsense lettering on one side. The words smelled like the underside of a foam mousepad- synthetic, chemical, florescent lights and cubicles- and Art itched his wrists in nervousness about what sort of cargo the truck could be carrying.
Art considered for a moment that he might look homeless. He rehearsed his defense in his head, should a cop decide to harrass him about it. No sir-or-madame-or-person-of-non-binary-gender, I am headed toward my home right now. It was true, Nacrene City WAS Art's home. His parents were there, his education was there. Birth, adolescence, puberty, and very bad dreams were all rooted in the soil of Nacrene Heights.
The Nacrene-Pinwheel gate was less current than the previous one. Its colour scheme consisted of the same orange, yellow, and tan, but they were aged and earthy, retained from the gate's remodeling in the 70's. There were more grayed pebbles of filthy chewing gum mashed into the carpet. The wood-panelling on the walls carried the stale odour of cigarettes from back when it was legal to smoke in the gates. Three trainers huddled in the corner, shivering and standing around an unfolded map of the region. As Art walked past, he could see that it was one of the new editions which contained info about each city's gym and the leader. He caught a glimpse of green and copper, colours he recognized from each reflective surface he passed. The name read "BURGH," a single word in all-caps. It didn't smell like MoraTel, but Art still itched his wrists. He was in, he was out. The trainers never noticed.
The area of town directly outside the gate was not exactly welcoming. Art pondered this, but concluded that the gate's placement was decided out of necessity. Tall, thin houses painted in dour shades of off-white and shale lined the streets. A few of them had cellophane duct-taped over windows that had broken. There was a vacant lot to Art's right. The earth had been turned there, readying it for a building project. The area was morose. The scattered trees, though covered in leaves, did not look as if they were thriving. They were merely present in their surroundings and appeared to be very bored. The air tasted like tongue depressor. Art moved onward.
Nacrene City was gradiated- on one end were the sparsely-inhabited skids near the gate, which faded into the lively, gentrified cluster of warehouses and galleries that comprised downtown. Downtown flattened out into the sprawling pleasant suburbs of Nacrene Heights, the nebula from which Art's wholesome stardust was spawned. Art would see all of it that evening.
The City's pride-and-joy was the pokemon gym, which doubled as a natural history museum. It was situated in the middle of downtown, its elegant gothic architecture starkly contrasting with the gritty warehouses-turned-lofts that surrounded it. Art had lived in one of the lofts for about three months before a contract fell through, forcing him to move in with his parents. Art slept in that loft for 9 weeks and in that time, it had become dear to him. Being separated from it like that was painful, and as such, Art preferred to avoid the building. He took the "long route" to the gym.
After bumbling through a maze of sidestreets and alleyways, Art arrived at the museum. It was closed for the evening and the door was most definitely locked. Nonetheless, he plodded up the stairs and pounded on the door, making as much noise and production as possible. Certainly, he could have simply called Lenora and asked her to let him in, but what would be the fun in that?
[/style]
[style=text-indent: 10px; text-align: left; font-family: pristina; font-style: bold; font-size: 30px; background: #668014; height: 10px; line-height: 0; color: #A4DCD1; padding-bottom: 2px; text-transform: lowercase]i spin around in circles[/style]
[style=text-align: left; background: #668014; opacity: .75px; height: 10px; font-style: italic; font-family: courier new; text-transform: lowercase; font-variant: all-caps; letter-spacing: 2px; font-size: 12px; padding-bottom: 5px; margin-top: -12px; color:#A4DCD1; text-indent: 10px;]and i'm singing[/style]
[style=text-align: left; opacity: .75px; height: 30px; font-style: italic; font-family: georgia; text-transform: lowercase; font-variant: all-caps; letter-spacing: 0px; font-size: 12px; padding-bottom: 5px; margin-top: -12px; color:white; text-indent: 0px;]WORDS... 1038 ; TAG... LENORA ; NOTES... here ; MUSIC... "Blake's Got a New Face" -Vampire Weekend ; CREDIT... gan nello trancy-ness [/style]
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Post by lenaynay on Dec 25, 2011 15:27:53 GMT -5
[STYLE=width:300px; background-color:#F5F5F5; height:300px; overflow:auto; font-size:10px; font-family:arial; text-align:justify]Lenora turned to the side, putting her phone into her pocket and looking off out the rainy window. She thought for a moment, one hand on her hip. She made an executive decision. One that she hadn't made since she'd been a young girl, growing up in a family of two younger sisters that she had to look after, along with Arti. She felt so much love for the ones she spent so much time taking care of. She'd been given so much responsibility when she was younger that she just got used to it. But it was rough when she first started out and she, eventually, just had to take a week to herself. It was a week away from Arti, her little sisters, and her expectant mother. And she just dedicated it to doing things that she thought she was supposed to like doing. Dancing, going out with friends, singing loudly, writing music. And after that week of 'discovery' she realized that...well, she missed her sisters. And her mother. And Arti most of all. She didn't count on missing the odd little redhead as much as she did. But she missed him. And so, when she went back to caring for her sisters and Arti, she gave him more attention and more of her time. He came over more often and he became part of the family. When she moved back into being the responsible caring girl she was raised to be, she did keep developing her love for music. Her mother was very strict about her listening choices though and made sure that she only listened to the music that her mother approved of. Lenora grew up with this, not really caring until she was on her own and didn't have much to do in her gym besides look for fossils, train her pokemon, and take on tiny trainers. With some of the excess money she had been given, she spent it on getting a speaker system installed in the museum upstairs from her private study. She picked up her morose Smeargle who was low staring out the window, waving his tail at it as if he was going to paint on the window. She held him to her generous bosom as she went to the stairs, looking around to make sure she didn't forget anything. The two Stoutland were curled around each other in their beds and her books were in neat stacks on her desk. With a nod, she ascended the stairs and stepped into the main area, looking around at her museum. She came to the door and put the quiet Smeargle on the desk where the visitors were clocked and logged in. He looked after her curiously and she bent down behind the desk, pulling out the small cord from underneath the cabinet. She pulled a small iPod from her pocket and plugged it in, putting it on top of the desk next to the Smeargle. She laid her apron out on the desk and stretched her arms over her head, preparing to do her dance. She was proud of the dance class she'd taken last year, learning certain dances that made her smile and re-connect with the music of the popular masses. Sometimes she felt detached from society with her being a powerful gym leader and always just working with her fossils and quiet digs out in the desert, when she scheduled time away from the gym, which wasn't that often unless it was something that was worth it. Just as the music started up, she looked up at grinned, seeing Arti at the door. " Art!" She called, walking forward and kicking her shoes off as she pushed the door open for him, smiling at what felt like her younger brother. [/style] IF THEY LOCK ME UP AND THROW AWAY THE KEY template by EMERALD of BACK TO NEVERLAND[/center][/td][/tr][/table][/center] |
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Post by ARTI GREENBURGH on Feb 25, 2012 16:44:28 GMT -5
| [atrb=style,background:url(http://www.amazingpaper.com.au/persistent/catalogue_images/products/CHIYOCHISAI.jpg);opacity: .80; width: 430px; padding: 6px, bTable] | [atrb=width,450,true]
[style=text-indent: 10px; text-align: right; font-family: pristina; font-style: bold; font-size: 30px; background: #668014; height: 10px; line-height: 0; color: #A4DCD1; padding-bottom: 5px; text-transform: lowercase]i'm the queen of the world[/style]
[style=text-align: right; background: #668014; opacity: .75px; height: 10px; font-style: italic; font-family: courier new; text-transform: lowercase; font-variant: all-caps; letter-spacing: 2px; font-size: 12px; padding-bottom: 5px; margin-top: -10px; color:#A4DCD1]i bump into things[/style][style=background:#668014; padding: 5px; margin-left: 2px; line-height: 0.1; margin-top: 2px; -moz-border-radius: 100px 100px 100px 100px; border-radius: 2px 2px 2px 2px; float: center; margin-left: 50px; margin-right: 1px; width: 300px; line-width: 3px;][/style]
[style=color:white; background:#668014; width,300px; border: red 0px solid; opacity: .8; padding:12px; font-size:10px; text-align:justify; font-family: arial narrow; height: 390px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: auto;text-align: justify; padding: 8px; font-size: 13px; margin-right: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-top: -15px; font-family: Times New Roman; color: #A4DCD1;]Art’s theatrical raindance came to an end as he rushed, fists a’throbbing, to Lenora and the cozy interior of the museum. He flung his arms open to embrace her, whether she was ready to accept or not. While he had long since learned it unwise to breach the boundaries of a respected elder, seeing her here and now was a sudden sweet novelty- overwhelming and warm, compelling. With his arms around her and his cheek pressed into the wooly resistance of her hair, he detached himself from his dimensions.
Art inhaled deeply, taking in the dusky coffee smell of her hair product, and tugged himself backward through his personal mythology, erasing the conscious experience of Arti Present. He invented a diorama of the past, a shoebox Nacrene of faded construction paper and shredded cottonball clouds. He put himself there- after a midsummer gale, but long before Hebrew school and the formation of a cartilaginous bulge in his throat. He happily imagined slender white boy feet in Daddy’s soggy rainboots, and the twisted, dendroid forms of storm-felled branches rising from the uncut grass of neighbors’ yards. He strained to be all hair and freckles and teeth again, with nothing stupid or grownup to get in the way of what was most essentially Arti. No boyfriends, no breakups, no zits, and no taxes, only a lithe, radiant child shape, held momentarily still in the dusty folds of a Mother’s apron.
An ambulance wailed a few streets over and Art’s continuums converged and melded, drawing him peacefully back into a centered reality. He basked for a moment in the cognitive afterglow before letting it disperse into the cool, hermetically-sealed atmosphere of the museum lobby. The embrace itself evaporated as well, and Arti withdrew, acknowledging the subtle ache beneath his solarplexus.
“What’s new, Earth Sister?” His voice cracked when he spoke.
[/style]
[style=text-indent: 10px; text-align: left; font-family: pristina; font-style: bold; font-size: 30px; background: #668014; height: 10px; line-height: 0; color: #A4DCD1; padding-bottom: 2px; text-transform: lowercase]i spin around in circles[/style]
[style=text-align: left; background: #668014; opacity: .75px; height: 10px; font-style: italic; font-family: courier new; text-transform: lowercase; font-variant: all-caps; letter-spacing: 2px; font-size: 12px; padding-bottom: 5px; margin-top: -12px; color:#A4DCD1; text-indent: 10px;]and i'm singing[/style]
[style=text-align: left; opacity: .75px; height: 30px; font-style: italic; font-family: georgia; text-transform: lowercase; font-variant: all-caps; letter-spacing: 0px; font-size: 12px; padding-bottom: 5px; margin-top: -12px; color:white; text-indent: 0px;]WORDS... 307 ; TAG... LENORA, BURGH ; NOTES... It's like opening the Ark of the Covenant or something... ; MUSIC... "Half Moon" by Blair ; CREDIT... gan nello trancy-ness [/style]
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