The Anti-Disney

So there was a post here previously detailing my raging substance abuse. And then I realized that it made me sound like a raging substance abuser. So I deleted it. No one needs to know how many nights a week I mix alcohol and sleeping pills before bed.

Anyway.....

This website is the coolest thing for anyone interested in fair tales: http://www.brown.edu/Courses/FR0133/Fairytale_Generator/gen.html
(We all know my fascination for original, pre-Disney taint, fairy tales is rivaled only by my fascination with serial killers.)

Selecting my functions, I generated quite eloquent, but strange, sample of fairy tale-ishness.

"Sugar and spice," the old woman beckoned as she held out palms filled with cinnamon falling between her fingers like sand. As she sprinkled it across the floor my head swum up in a dizzy spell of hunger. I could no longer control my feet moving towards the cheap gimmicks of an old woman.

Under my feet I felt the rhythm of aches and sighs breathe with each step I took. I felt like I was walking on quicksand. And indeed, when I tried to move my feet I could not feel my toes but only the inability to move them on the surface of palpable danger. When I turned to ask for his help he only laughed. Then I began to think it was he who was making my feet turn to stone.

The little man handed what looked like a small wooden piccolo. The small, thin object looked old but not dusty like the man’s worn garments. "A single note from this musical stick will bring rain from the heavens to satisfy this thirsty land," the little man said to me. "But heed my words, should you be tempted to produce sweet melodies to entertain yourself and those around you, mother nature will heighten the aching of the earth around you: the sky will heave torrents of rain producing a monsoon that will be echoed by the quaking of the earth as it splits, spewing forth fiery magma that will consume you and your vanity.

My feet, wearing their newfound bottomed shoes, pressed gently across the soils as not to wake the men clamoring upwards. But I still felt a shadow trail at my footsteps that did not feel like my own. As I walked faster the shadow moved behind me as well, sometimes touching my bare skin with sodden ground.

My family pressed their hands on various swells of my body as they embraced me with joy.

A familiar gold and silken robe of dragon scales was placed in my hands on account of me killing the creature. For an odd reason I could not help but feel regret. The girl with the white hair and her foxlike sibling did not mean any real harm but only wanted to protect the mountain as the men of soil bade them do.

I reccomend anyone with time to kill give this a try. I've also added it to my blogroll to the right of the page.


Cheers,
Alette


"The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears, or the sea."