I don't know why I did this, but the results were amusing enough to justify it.

( Which Tarot card are you? )

( I'm going to make you famous! )

( You are about to view content that may not be appropriate for minors. )

OKAY.

I am not an icon maker, buuuut... I made icons.

I was really bored and I thought that lines from Gintama needed to be iconed? So I have made a Photobucket account and everything for them and the upload was pretty painless, the link gets automatically copied when you click on it... I see there's a special Photobucket option on the LJ image inserter buuuut I'm ignoring it. For now.

Preview:
       


( Many many Gintama icons )</div>

Title: In Another World
Author: memopanda
Rating: PG
Pairing/Character/s: Ryuuken
Word Count: 1140
Warning/s: None.
Summary: In another world, Ryuuken would have lived life very differently.
A/N: I really should be revising for exams. Hah! This fic is also available on fanfiction.net.
Feedback: Yes please! Be gentle.
Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to KT.

 I have tried to write this as coherently as possible. I should be in bed; it's unlikely.

I have been spending a lot of time on Livejournal scrambling around trying to give support to the anti-movement. The new Russian owners, SUP, honestly only care about the business side of things so it is unlikely they will change their minds about this. (They have got rid of basic accounts.) There is a strike on March 21st.

I am getting into good writing habits. I use Darkroom, and it's really excellent. I will also now start writing stories I want to read instead of looking for them (starting tommorrow, because there is no time today). As well as this, I am now waking up at 5AM every day to get some writing in first thing. I usually wake up at 6AM going on 7AM, so we'll see.

Most of my free time I am staring into space turning possibilities over and over in my head.

The weekend has just ended, and I have made another breakthrough. Home. London. The UK. The western world. It's too boring. Nothing's happening here. I long ago discovered that inspiration comes from actually experiencing things but - our lives in developed countries are so sanitised. We barely experience anything.

The revelation came while I was reading a magazine at a relative's house. There was a very long and passionate article about a lawyer's battle against Guantanamo Bay in it. It was, frankly, terrifying. The worlds we think we live in are so different to the realities of those around us, people who are plucked off the streets and handed over to the US to keep diplomatic relations afloat. The worlds in which we live are not going to be the ones written about in the history books in the future.

The history books will lay out the invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq with damning clarity. The history books will have subsections on Guantanamo and Abu Ghraib, and will discuss the motives of the American government and how they were Wrong. (For an example of this phenomenon, turn to history books that mention the internment of Japanese Americans during WW2.)

The children of the future will know the harsh realities of our world better than we know it ourselves.

Because we are letting terrifying events pass us by - without even noticing. Home. Home is so boring - nothing ever happens. I sometimes wish to have lived in apartheid-era South Africa, so that I could have protested against inequality and Made the World a Better Place.

Because - nothing's wrong with the world any more, right? Everything is good in the Now.

Truth is, we're going to be judged in the future on how much action we take Now. I want to go and see this injustice for myself. Because actually, home is pretty boring. Suicide bombs don't happen every day where I live. Nobody (or so I believe) gets tortured. Life is decent.

But what about the poor kids in Iraq, blown to smithereens by their own angry countrymen? What about the mother with the sickly baby in Gaza, chased out of her own country because Israel won't give her any electricity to heat the bottle, dammit. I have to go see for myself, so I know what the hell is wrong in exact, crucifying detail. So that I can Write about it. So that at least some of the future generation will know that we weren't all stupid, all the time.

Some of us did try. Please forgive us, since it wasn't enough.

I need to get out of England. Time to magically become a war journalist?

Welcome to my journal! I am a writer.