Pixie's Warning to the World:

My Psych Project “My Hero”

Sonja Pixie Tierney — Tue, 07 Jun 2011 02:23:45 +0000

My hero’s name is Thy Ad-chan, a super big, super fast ninja. His super ninja thyroid gland works double time, and his rich ancestry combined with an intenses discipline of martial arts, he is ready to save the day… At night… When ninjas are at their best.

He also has an amazingly over productive adrenal gland, helping to pump up his muscles and push his ability to cultivate strength through production of cortical steroids. This is one buff ninja.

His brain has learned to process his ninja skills through a super efficient pituitary gland, and larger sensory and motor areas. He is quick to perceive and lightning fast with a response, his pituitary gland processes and pumps the other hormones efficiently. The neurons in his brain produce high amounts of norepinephrine so while he can sometimes be a little moody or aggressive, as all good ninjas should, he has increadable learning and memory functions, he is also a bit horny at times, but how do you think ninja clans come about if not for promiscuous ninjas?

The high amounts of thyroxin pumping through his veins have sped his metabolism to such an incrediblerate that he can run at least tree times as fast as you or I, however he also avoids McDonald’s, and doesn’t smoke, which could have something to do with that. Even so, this causes him to need a lot more food for nutrients and support his energy output.

One could study ninjitsu and eat right to become more like Thy Ad-Chan but I would assume this mix of characteristics of the brain and mix of chemicals is not one that we could work to achieve within ourselves without heavily medeling with our chemical balance.

Grimey

Sonja Pixie Tierney — Mon, 16 May 2011 09:31:06 +0000

Don’t you ever just hate;

The big waist of paint;

On the canvas they call it art;

I wanna tear it apart;

It’s just dirty.

The work of my hands;

With the brush and the paint;

They say I’m I saint;

But I aint, I’m just dirty.

It reminds me of you,

And the venom you spew;

The lies that you chew;

Youre so grimey;

Your words are untrue;

And your rhymes never do;

Just like you, theyre grimey;

Youre waistin my time;

With youre lies that dont rhyme;

You call it art;

I wanna tear it apart,

Youre just grimey.

The Tale of Patty Pity & Tough Love

Sonja Pixie Tierney — Tue, 26 Apr 2011 06:18:25 +0000

There once was an old woman named Patty Pitty. Patty owned so much stuff that people thought her land was a junk yard. Her house was so full that she had nothing but a walkway through the piles of stuff. You could only step foot on the path that ran from her door, to her couch, through the kitchen, bedroom, and to the toilet and shower. She had so much stuff that her bathroom door couldn’t shut. Her bedroom was filled and the bed was covered. Piles reached to the ceiling. Patty had to sleep on the couch because you couldn’t even find her bed amongst the piles. She had hundreds of books, hundreds of movies, hundreds of games, figurines, nick knacks, lamps, plants, canned goods, blankets, toys; you name it, Patty had it in abundance. She lived alone with her junk. Sad and sick. As empty as her house was full. So she tried to fill her loneliness with dogs, a horse, chickens, and rabbits. But Patty was very sick and didn’t see how pathetic she was, all she wanted was for other people to see her pain and help her, so she told them about how sick and poor she was. Patty was too sick too work, she was sick in her body, and sick in her emotions, and sick in her mind. She was so far removed from the outside world that she could no longer socially function, she couldn’t even interact with people in a normal way. Patty Pitty’s daughter felt bad for her and loved her very much but could not get Patty to see the truth. She tried talking to her, asking her to get some help, and praying for her often. But Patty didn’t seem to want to fix her problems, only get sympathy and have others take care of her. Patty was really sick, but she wasn’t very honest. It was true that she couldn’t work but she could have taken care of herself. You see, Patty would often ask everyone for money to pay her power bill, but she somehow always had satellite tv. She also had internet and dvds so she had no need for her satellite. Her daughter explained how she could stream the news and tv shows on her computer, and watch all her hundreds of dvds, this made patty mad. She could have saved money by dropping it. She also never rode her horse, but she over fed it. She could have made money by selling it, instead of waisting money on keeping it. She had rooms upon rooms, a yard, and an extra gutted trailer filled with marketable goods, but she didn’t sell them. She let everything pile up and just blamed the world. Patty’s daughter suggested a good flea market nearby and offered to help her mom, but she was yelled at for her ideas. When her daughter suggested not running lights all night, turning the tv off at night, and a few other ideas for saving on power, Patty became angry with her again. Finally a day came when Patty,s daughter was very short on money and could not assist her mom. She needed to buy tiers so that she could get her license and drive herself to work, she was out of food, and out of dog food. Her check was going to be short by half and she now had doctors expense, it was going to be tough. She also knew that she was going to have t pay more than usual toward the phone bill this time because of some changes made, and that helped Patty too because it kept her home phone, cell, and internet on, and Patty never had to pay for it because her ex husband and daughter always worked it out. She still felt like nobody helped her though. Patty always felt entitled, and resented her daughter for paying her own bills instead of giving Patty money continuously. Patty called it “helping me out” but her daughter just thought of it as putting a band aid on a bullet wound. Patty would die amongst all of her worldly goods and never take care of herself. She didn’t even mind that she had turned into the kind of person who’s refrigerator was so full it was stuffed and could overflow, both of her freezers were the same, and her cubords, table, and floor were all stacked with dry foods; but would complain about being hungry and ask for money even yet…but she never ran out of cigarettes. Her daughters heart broke under the weight of seeing her mother be so manipulative and sick, but she just couldn’t keep throughing money into a bottomless pit. It was time her mother finally helped herself. She knew it would be hard to tell her mom no, but it was what had to be done. She determined that if Patty had to face her daughters tough love that she would start making better choices instead of trying to have everybody pay into her ever growing need. You see, Patty had more than enough, she wasn’t even really in need, she thought she was, but she could have made money to get by off of selling her piles of stuff. Its not like she would miss it, she probably doesn’t even remember what 75% of it is. If she tried to take care of herself, maybe her family wouldn’t be so prone to thing of her as a money hungry moocher. They would be more open to helping out when she really did need. However, Patty wouldn’t see things this way and as usual would make her daughter out to be the bad guy. But hey, they call it tough love for a reason. She knew Patty wouldn’t see it like this, but forcing Patty to harvest her own crops in life was the most real help she would ever get. You can put a band aid on a bullet wound, but it won’t heal it, it will just get worse; likewise, you can give to somebody who won’t help themselves, but the money runs out, the issue remains and then you just become part of the problem. In John 5:6-9 Jesus asked the man “do you want to be made well” and he just gave Him excuses as to why he couldn’t be. You see, that man was a beggar, you can’t beg if you’re well and can work. Jesus didn’t sympathize for him, He just told him “pick up your bed and walk”. The man had to do it on his own and God made it possible.

Sarit Hadad’s “Shma Yisrael” Lyrics

Sonja Pixie Tierney — Sun, 21 Nov 2010 20:13:32 +0000

Kshealev bohe rakeloim shomea
Akeev ole metoh aneshama
Adam nofel lifne sheou shokea
Vetfilat tanah roteh et admama

Shma Israel elohay ata akol yahol
Natata li et hayay natata li akol
Beenay dima alev bohe besheket
Ouhshe alev shotek aneshama zoeket
Shma Israel elohay ahshav ani levad
Hazek oti elohay asse sheloefha
Akeev gadol veen lean livroah
Asse sheigamer ki lo notar bi koah

Kshealev bohe azman omedmilehet
Adam rohe et kol hayav pitome
El alo noda ou lo rotse lalehet
Le elohav kore al saf neor

Shma Israel

When the heart cries
only God hears
The pain rises out of the soul
A man falls down before he sinks down
With a little prayer (he) cuts the silence

Shma (Hear) Israel my God,
you’re the omnipotent
You gave me my life,
you gave me everything

In my eyes a tear,
the heart cries quietly
And when the heart is quiet,
the soul screams

Shma (Hear) Israel my God,
now I am alone
Make me strong my God;
make it that I won’t be afraid

The pain is big,
and there’s no where to run away
End it because I can’t take it anymore
(make the end of it because I have no more energy left within me)

When the heart cries,
Time stands still
All of a sudden, the man sees his entire life
He doesn’t want to go to the unknown
He cries to his God right before a big fall

LLama Lizards Meet the Scary Goat Monster

Sonja Pixie Tierney — Fri, 22 Oct 2010 05:27:40 +0000

I’m very hungry.

Absence

Sonja Pixie Tierney — Thu, 10 Jun 2010 03:46:48 +0000

So I’ve been gone for quite some time as you must know if you were a reader. I went a long while with no computer and no internet access other than on my phone….. not so great for the blogging…. so by the time I finally bought a laptop, and a car to get to IHOP’s wonderfully free wi-fi, all of my content is lost! My posts on God, gone; posts on politics, out of office; poetry, dead; and anything else I might have contributed is forever no more. SO…. My famous abortion post, well you find it here, and of course this also means nothing left of my gamer posts so bye bye Legend of Zelda Tribute. lol Oh well. Fresh start, new beginnings, & a trippy new layout. Here goes everything…..

Flying Ninja’s VS the Zombie Nachos!

Sonja Pixie Tierney — Mon, 07 Jun 2010 04:16:48 +0000

This story all began when I was sitting on a stone bench, just outside my house, and I saw a girl fall from the sky. I didn’t know she was a girl at first, I just noticed to object falling at great speeds and land in my vegetables. Shame really, it was going to be an excellent harvest this year, but down she came. On the second thought, maybe the story started when she fell, however that happened, or maybe before that, when she boarded the sky-ship in the first place. Well, however it started, the fact was, she ended the lives of several good looking plants in my garden.

When I reached the garden, there she was, rubbing her bum as if she had just slipped on some ice, but otherwise, didn’t have a single scratch on her. This of course was my first cause of alarm, that and her outfit. She was wearing a black skirt, a white t-shirt, and a black denim jacket that had the words “Amber Trade Co. 2059” sewn in across the shoulders in pink thread, black and purple knee high stockings, with steal toe boots, and brown leather gloves.

I approached cautiously, as this was all very suspect, and in an even, nonchalant tone of voice I asked if she was ok.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine, thanks for askin’!” she said as bubbly as golden retriever.
“That was quite a fall,” I observed, “You aren’t hurt at all?” She must be one of them, she can’t be human.
“Yeah, over a mile I’d say! Must be some kind of record. I fell off my sky-ship, doin’ repairs, ya know? I thought I was a goner this time!” She blushed, looked to the eastern sky, then down at my vegetables. “Say are these your turnips and rutabagas?”
“Well they were….” I said, taking in the vegetological carnage.
“Oh.” She paused. “I’m sorry. Hey at least I landed on vegetables nobody likes!”
“Well Im a vegetable farmer and I don’t even know know if turnips an rutabagas grow together, or at the same time of year, or need the same climate. Those were just the two vegetable names that I pulled out of a hat…… way to go.

“Vegetological carnage?” disgusted with her work, Sophianna closed her laptop and stepped outside for a smoke. “At this rate, I might as well name my book Flying Ninja’s VS the Zombie Nachos!” she laughed. She felt a little more defeated each and every time she tried to write and realized that she lost the story as soon as she had it. This had to be a faze, all great authors must go through this, or something. Well, maybe. The facts were facts, she lost her magic. You know, the magic in all children that attract them to the magic in little old men on park benches, near fire places, & in the back of book stores. That “something special” that made stories worth knowing, worth reading aloud to be heard.

Ok so maybe she was just on the wrong path. Why was she even thinking about that story line in the first place. After all, she wanted to be like Beatrix Potter, or maybe Rudyard Kipling. Even to be known as “the next N E Bode” and that is in fact just an alias, was better that being known as “the latest nobody.” Ok, maybe she just needs a muse, or a vacation? Why not? Why not run away on a train with nothing but a sack of necessities, a blank book, and a pencil; the way it it used to be done. Ok, maybe a plane and a credit card as well. Something had to give. If she had resorted to “vegetological carnage” as a serious statement in the opening page of her book when she didn’t even know if vegetological was a word, she knew she had lost her magic.

Sophianna put her cigarette out on the side of the porch rail and paused to watch the smoke elipse. Then all at once there was a beautiful scene in her mind.

A young woman, dressed in green, rich brown skin, in her hand was a glass of crystal clear, cold spring water. She leand back against the grassy knoll and sipped it, laid her head to side, closed her eyes, and let the tears slip out as she thought about her true love, who was under a spell. The fae girl rolled over on to her side and the trees mourned with her as they gave forth all of their golden petals that genteelly swayed as they fell, each on its own course but all sharing the same rhythm as the covered the girl and coated the ground.

What a beautiful image. A great expression of emotion. Too bad she didn’t have a story to explain the scene and that she couldn’t write about it if she did. She took a deep breath and went inside.

As Sophianna fell onto her bed she took a sip of water and laid back, and as she began to cry over her loss of magic storytelling and the horror of growing up. She rolled over on her side away from the window and closed her eyes. Just outside, as she mulled her life over, the rosebush gave all its petals in grievance; but she never saw a thing. Her last thought before drifting to sleep was simply “vegetological carnage?”