Nights Awake 2.0

Writer

2010-01-25T23:00:00.000-08:00

When I stepped off the train, I had no idea where I was going. Truth be told, I had no idea where I was. People marched past me in all directions, eyes straight ahead. Purposeful. They knew, but I stood still, a step from the train.

The door slid shut behind me, and the warning bell blared. I took another step forward, away from the train as it slipped away down its track. Even it knew where it was going next.

This story began as so many of mine do: with an impression of a moment, but no end in sight. It's easy to lose momentum when you start without a destination. Really, it's like starting by standing still. No momentum at all. Just a tableau, an image. More a poem than a story, if anything.

Is this a failure, or an exercise? A release, or a pointless spinning of wheels? Obedience, or foolishness?

And here, the bitterness enters. It's not easy, this process. It's that much tougher regaining ground, having stood by for years and watched the clock run. Wanting it to be easy.

There's a parable. A king entrusts three of his servants with large sums of money. Two put the king's resources to work, and gain more. The third buries his share, only to dig it up later. The king is pleased with the first two. The third, he hurls out of the castle.

I remind myself a little too much of the third guy.

It's long past time to get a shovel, dig up the gold, and go to town.

hey nap kids

2007-09-18T23:07:00.000-07:00

Don't forget where we all started now

Another year going by.

-

At least this time, I like the city.

He said

2007-09-18T23:03:00.000-07:00

The lean
at the last moment, he did.
there was a whisper
and I tried so hard to listen, I didn't.
Repetition
in my mind I hear it, over & over.
What words
you'd think I was nothing.
Cash out now
before it, it's already too late.

Change. Recovery.

2007-08-26T23:00:00.000-07:00

MOving on.......MOVing On.... MOVING ON...
In caps it has more presence
Change
change
New locations
Loss for words but not lost at all
Just fallen down and desire to get up
Missing
missing
Recovered
I stand and exist
Still,,
change.changing.
MOVING On

Reflection of a Bon Voyage

2007-01-02T15:07:00.000-08:00

A Boy sits lost below a mirror
The crow's wing of hair hides his profile
A broken spider with misted lenses
Let fall by his tsunami crash to the floor
All in one moment, she was too far away
and in the end, it wasn't the hearstrings
that she pulled with her that gave.
All in one moment, so many things
had gone south this winter

a sunbeam on hardwood floor
a Christmas in summer
a walk at night, but safety

She went as she had come
"Accelerando!"
And slowly, self-importantly, he stood up
His whole world asking
"T'es-ti tant?"
"T'es-ti titan?"
Too late, he'd decided the answer was "Yes."
His sometime-twiney arm
Grasped the only music he had,
Gripped his cedar confidence,

And played her on her way.

An Oft Told Story

2006-12-25T19:31:00.000-08:00

[a repost of the Christmas story I wrote a few years ago, on ...delerium. Merry Christmas, all.]

The First Noel, 2004

The Hanukkah travel rush was over, and Bethlehem was quiet again. Hence, the corner where Ben Simon worked the graveyard shift hadn’t seen a car pass in ten minutes. He looked up from his English textbook and peered across the street, to the small booth where his friend Isaiah worked. They had both gotten late-night jobs at gas stations at about the same time, and frequently used faux company loyalty as an excuse to pick on each other. Diagonally across the intersection from Ben was a third gas station manned by Mordecai Steinberg. While Ben and Isaiah had the occasional squeegee fight in the middle of the empty road, Mo usually stuck to his booth dutifully, reading the Torah.

Tonight was too cold for squeegee fighting, and the batteries had just run out in Ben’s Game Boy. His parents were mad at him for working on the Sabbath, and he had homework due on Monday.

Ben was all but dozing off when someone knocked on his Plexiglas window. He started and sat up on his shop stool.

“Sorry. What do you need?” Ben rubbed one eye with his palm as he looked up.

Outside the window stood a young woman wearing a military dress uniform. She was all straight lines – vertical spine, squared shoulders, and perfect uniform creases. And yet her face was gentle, hinting at a smile. Ben had no doubt she could take him apart in a hand-to-hand fight, and no one would make fun of him for getting beaten up by a girl afterwards.

Her eyes grabbed his, very pale and very clear, and she smiled. “What are you doing here?”

All at once, the world burst open. Light poured through the dingy windows of the gas station, and left no shadow. Ben Simon’s ears popped, his eyes widened, and he threw up his hands in terror. The woman outside the window threw light like a pure white sun, her smile only growing wider.

“Don’t be afraid!” she whispered to Ben. “I bring good news. The best news the world has ever heard. An hour ago, right here in Bethlehem, a Savior was born. The Messiah, Ben. Right here.”

At her words, the fear began to drain away. Ben lowered his hands and looked at her. Her eyes were bright and full of joy, and they stole his breath away.

The Messiah. Here.

He found his breath, struggled to pull it in. “Wh-“

“Not five blocks away. Down the street,” she said, lifting her arm to point, “you’ll find a newborn, wrapped in cloth. He’s in the laundry room of the hotel, lying in the sink.”

Ben barely had time to picture the King of Kings in his makeshift cradle before the angel looked over her shoulder, laughing. A battalion of soldiers in the same uniform, burning brighter than the day, swept in on wings of gold and silver, filling the intersection and the surrounding streets. Their voices shook the walls of Ben’s booth as they shouted, “Hallelujah in the highest! Peace on Earth to the favored of God!” There voices were as joyous laughter, filled with love and zeal.

The angel looked back to Ben, her wings unfolding like the sunrise. “Go, go!” she shouted giddily, and he lifted herself from the ground. Behind her followed the rest of the brilliant soldiers, shouting their chorus again and again. Moments later, the night was quiet again, and Ben could hear only his own riotous pulse. He stumbled out of his booth, staring at the sky, until he finally looked down to see Isaiah and Mordecai standing next to him.

“You... you heard that. You saw it,” Ben stammered.

“I know which hotel she meant,” Isaiah started, stealing glances at the stars. “We should... I mean, we’ve gotta- Mo! Wait!”

Mordecai Steinberg had turned and run headlong back toward his gas station, pumping his arms like an Olympian. He spun about breathlessly and shouted back:

“I’m getting my car! Don’t move!”

* * *

“Fernando! Is it refreshing?”

“Crap, I’ve got no bars. We hit a dead pocket... no! Wait, there it goes. What does it say?”

“Turn around! Shaun, turn around!”

The van halted sharply, and the young man and woman in the back braced themselves as best they could. Bina Zarafshar clutched at the notebook computer on her lap as the monitor swung forward and down. The cord running from the computer to their team’s cell phone snapped taught, and Bina caught her breath.

“Ai!”

Fernando noticed at the last second and pulled down his hand, slackening the cord. He chuckled nervously and sat down. “That was bad. Almost tugged it right off your lap.”

“It’s okay. It’s fine. Wait. Did we-“

“Yes, yes, we got dropped. But we’ve got good reception here. Good spot to reconnect.”

Shaun parked the van and climbed into the back.

“How close are we?”

Bina looked to the chart. The latest data from the feed had been factored in, and the numbers were huge. Monumental.

“Oh, we’re close.” She couldn’t help but laugh. They were almost on top of it. “Try turning right back at that last intersection.”

Fernando nodded and grinned eagerly. “This is too good. Too good. You should redial now.”

“Oh! Right.” Bina double-clicked the link to her ISP, and the cell phone began dialing. None of them considered the absurd charges they were racking up, connecting to the Internet through an international call. The signal shot through the atmosphere, and a few moments later, the connection was up again.

“Good,” said Shaun. “You let me know if we get dropped again, okay?” His eyes grinned every bit as much as his mouth. He hopped back into the driver’s seat.

“Of course. Just brake easier!” Bina looked back to her screen. She logged back into the University network, and the feed began again. “All right, we’re receiving data... yes, definitely turn right back at that intersection. The stream was almost off the chart right there.”

“Let me see,” Fernando said, leaning in to see the screen. Bina turned it toward him, and he laughed aloud. The graph, which read “Divine Particle Density,” showed a spike in an already remarkably high, steady level at about the time they had passed the intersection.

“When we show this to the Nobel committee,” Fernando smirked, “do you think they’ll mind the name ‘divine particle?’”

“It’s as good a name as any for what they are,” Shaun shouted from the front, putting the van back in gear. He swung the vehicle around as fast as he dared and headed back along the road. “Tell me the convergence hasn’t moved.”

Bina shouted back, “No, it hasn’t moved for hours! And it has to be in this town... where are we?”

“Bethlehem!”

“No, what country?”

They all laughed. For all they sleep they had gotten in the past week of tracking and traveling, they should have been exhausted. But sleep was far from their minds.

* * *

No one was doing laundry this late, thankfully. There was a slight draft from under the door, but other than that, the room was warm enough. Joseph leaned on the wall by the sink, sleeves rolled up, looking down at his son. He hadn’t stopped grinning for hours. He couldn’t help but think that there was a better place to put him, but he had dried out the basin well enough. And besides, the child had been sleeping peacefully since the doctor had left.

Joseph sighed happily and threw a glance at Mary, who stirred on her cot. A few thin, dark curls still stuck to her wet forehead, and her face was still ever so slightly flushed. Joseph knelt by her side, by his wife’s side, and let himself just stare at her face. Her mouth was barely open, her breath steady and calm. A nice change of pace from... had it only been an hour ago? He shook his head in awe and smoothed Mary’s hair back from her face.

“My God,” he breathed, “you’re amazing.”

Her breath drew in sharply, and her eyes flickered open.

“Oh! Did I wake you up? I’m sorry...”

“No, no, it’s okay,” she said sleepily, squinting her eyes and stretching. “Is the baby still...”

Joseph nodded. “Yeah. Still asleep in the... sink.” He chuckled despite himself.

Mary smirked, shaking her head from her prone position. “The sink. Oi.” She slipped her hand into her husband’s, catching his eye. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Joseph squeezed her hand and held her gaze. He merely nodded, and leaned in to kiss her.

It was then that the doorknob turned. The couple looked up sharply as a young man poked his head into the room.

“Hello?” he said.

“Hello,” Mary replied. There was suddenly no sleep in her voice, and she sat up on her cot.

The young man was jostled forward by someone behind him. He stepped through the door, and two other teenagers followed, all scanning the room expectantly. They all wore blue uniforms with the logos of three different gas stations on their breast pockets. Their eyes settled on the sink in the corner at the same time. The one in the back gasped. “Is that... is the baby...?”

Joseph threw his wife a confused look, and found her doing the same. “How do you...”

“This way! It’s got to be right here!” came a woman’s voice from outside, speaking English.

A moment later, three Americans burst into the laundry room, carrying a laptop hooked up to a cellular phone. They all wore wrinkled, lived-in shirts and jeans, and were watching the screen of the laptop with awe in their eyes. The only light-skinned one of the three, who had nothing in his hands, looked urgently to all those assembled in the small room.

“Please, tell me one of you speaks English.”

The three gas station attendants, Mary, and Joseph, all began speaking at the same time, in English.

“Oh, thank God. Look, there’s a completely unique quantum event happening in this room, right here! We’ve been tracking it from America for the last nine months, and... what is it?”

Bina had set down the laptop and walked over to the sink, almost in step with Ben. Joseph took a step toward them, but Mary put a hand on his arm. The Jew and the gentile peered over the edge of the basin.

And there, wrapped in three of his father’s old t-shirts, was the child, his breath whistling softly through his nose. If peace were a child, it could be none other than this. Ben’s breath caught in his throat, and Bina’s eyes lit up.

“It’s him.”

“It’s a child,” Bina gasped.

Joseph breathed deeply, still uncertain. “How did you know we...?”

And all at once, the rest of the new arrivals realized that they had found what they were seeking. Suddenly they were all laughing in delight. Ben knelt by the sink, eyes locked on the Anointed One. Shaun grabbed Fernando by the shoulders, tears in his eyes. “A child! Of course it’s a child!” He turned to Mary and Joseph to explain just as Mo Steinberg did the same, and they launched into their stories as one.

“Wait, wait, wait!” It was Ben, who only now looked back up from the sink-turned-cradle. He held up a hand for silence, and turned reverently to Mary and Joseph. “What is his name?”

Mary met his gaze, slowly beginning to smile again. “His name is Joshua.”

They all took in the name in silence. Fernando grinned and nodded in approval. “Joshua. Jésus in Spanish. It means...” His voice trailed off.

Mary nodded with him. “The Lord saves.”

5 years.

2006-12-19T00:47:00.000-08:00

the concept started. began. and grew.......

a quote from years past.

Something of a journey I take... life starting to make sense only to be taken from me.. taken after taunting me with the one thing I need, want, yearn for.. unjust in everyway that this maker should take my ever reason for existence. My eyes wander but my head is not straight.. I cannot concentrate and others wonder what is wrong with me... I drive poorly in this state... drive myself to insanity... what a journey only to think, think that it could be taken when I know it will not be...

what happened to a life of purity.

happy birthday, NAP.

Vacation

2006-12-18T03:15:00.000-08:00

The Sun.
Giver of warmth and light.
That which calls life to bask in radiant glory.

The Sea.
Eternal expanse of perfect blue.
Untold beauty hidden in the depths.

The Wind.
Capricious shepherd of the leaves.
Courier of sweet scents and lover's sighs.

A secret place.
In my soul.
Longing to be shared.

2006-12-13T05:05:00.000-08:00

This Iis What I Supress

Contraversy ( a very very bad mood in black and red)

death to the unbellevers (or do I ?)

a crash, bang or slash
you keep me wighting
and i see red

all you had to do was hear when i speek
but you instead sccreem me how wong im

nothing ever enuff and i fell sick

-----
if any one is reading see me in the next few weeks gvie me a hug

2006-12-06T02:34:00.000-08:00

The middle of the city can be the quietest place in the world
if the only thing you want to hear
is something that someone can't say to you.

joy in small packages

2006-11-28T16:22:00.000-08:00

what joy.
it is.
garlic.
popcorn shrimp
and wine.
:)

Ours Is The Generation...

2006-11-04T01:56:00.000-08:00

...That refuses to trust even the government that governs for them.
...That carries an mp3 player, a cellphone, and a video game system; all of which play mp3s.
...That uses them to block out the other people in their world.
...That psychoanalyzes children for not sitting still five hours at a time.
...That works jobs that they hate five (or six) days to enjoy two (or one).
...That reminds you that anything that happens is an event.
...That holds entire business meetings in jargon that means nothing.
...That medicates if they happen to feel anything.
...That supports freedom when someone else is fighting for it, and gives it up when we are.
...That can use political propaganda to ignore any story they don't want to hear.
...That screams for anarchy and an ambulance at the same concert.
...That knows the entire value menu of their favorite fast food, but can't spell Shakespeare.
...That supports a war that has killed over 60,000 people, and calls itself the "Culture Of Life."
...That eats its young.

They Ache And I Know That I'm Falling...

2006-10-28T13:19:00.001-07:00

What am i to do with these broken wings?

college.

2006-10-23T23:15:00.000-07:00

i got in.

Flight

2006-09-27T20:07:00.000-07:00

This is my brink-poise on canyon’s edge
A question mark perched on
My shoulder like an inky bird
I think too much but
If this all star falls, I follow
Oh, vertigo is fearless
Just my body lusting for the ground
This is the cold steel wind
A storm to brace against
A mirror to stare into
And find myself
Such darkly swirling water

If I fly away, will you fly away

Sosimo's Ambush

2006-09-27T06:59:00.000-07:00

Winterborn Second Class Janus Balin did not have anything even remotely close to a good feeling about this deployment. There had been no secret that he was to be ambushed. The Strategoi had predicted that there was less than a five percent chance that the Colombian Government would actually send the allotted number of troops to present themselves openly as had been demanded in the call to sortie; they'd been a nation of leftist guerrilla combatants far too long for that. So here stood Janus, in the middle of a God-forsaken plot of land on the border between the rainforest and pasture, waiting for what was sure to come.

He'd been chosen for several reasons, of course. He was the recipient of several experimental combat implants recently approved by the Special Medicine Corps; in fact, he'd adapted to them so well he'd been asked to donate genetic material to the eugenics department for further investigation. It seemed that he was one of the one in a million whose immune system tolerated medical augmentation without the nightmare symptoms of rejection and migration. There were members of his unit who needed constant medical procedures to retain their implants, and rumors within the divisions were rife of individuals with any number of complications: ossic filaments that migrated out through the skin, ocular implants that projected slowly out of the skull, cyber-ganglia that went missing and were later found on chest x-rays, and the pervasive complaints of dissociative disorders. Janus never showed any grave complications, even with the highly visible transdermal elements, and because of this he and others like him been chosen as shock-troops to be sent to nations that were termed less technologically advanced. Specifically he'd been chosen for his extensive training in resisting interrogation. In a situation where it was near certain that he'd be taken by surprise, there was no question of taking risks of another nation reverse-engineering a Winterborn.

As he made his way to the clearing marked as the rendezvous point, his ocular GPS leading him to within a meter of the exact coordinate, he reflected on all these details. He'd barely muted his Wearman (one of the perks of his specialization) when two men emerged from the underbrush, artificial foliage covering their clothes, and assault rifles projecting from under their arms.

"No further, amigo. There are others around who see you too." Halting, Janus stood impassive. This was the moment he'd been prepared for. These men would surely try to take him captive as quickly and easily as possible.

As the two advanced on him with zip-tie manacles, he took a deep breath and tried to calm the surge of fear inside him. His eyes shut, he recalled back to his earliest days of training, imagining himself in that refuge he'd been trained to cultivate…

Little Janus was standing just at the edge of his uncle's pool, knees bent; poised to take his dive into the clear, deep water. From the first time he'd seen it, he'd thought his uncle's pool was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Uncle Claudius had done well in day-trading, and could afford not only a half-olympic pool, but a solar-powered filtration station that let him keep it without any chemical additives. The water was so clear you could see straight to the bottom, even in the fifteen-foot deep end. Year after year, even after they'd thought surely he'd outgrow it, he begged his parents to let him stay with Uncle Claudius for a month each summer. Claudius had taught him to swim at age six, and from the age of eight on, he'd taught Janus to dive. Nothing made Janus happier than preparing himself, poising himself perfectly, and then leaping to submerge himself completely in the cool, clear water.

He often imagined himself to be a dolphin, an animal that needed air only to breathe, but who truly belonged beneath the surface of the waves, nestled in those depths that at the same time muted all the sounds of the outside world and amplified all the noises of the aquatic world.

Taking a deep breath, reminding himself that he'd have to breathe out just a little from his nose as soon as he hit the water, Janus closed his eyes and leapt in after his Uncle's dime. Under the water, he usually opened his eyes to see the coin and retrieve it, but this time he kept them clenched shut. Somewhere far away, he had the sense that something terrible was happening, and if he opened his eyes, that terrible thing would be just before his eyes. For some reason, it didn't seem like he was dropping toward the pool's floor at all any more. That sense that something awful was all around him had sunk deeper into him, into his gut, as surely as he'd descended toward the pool's blue-painted abyss. Try as he may, he couldn't shake the feeling off, to open his eyes, to find the shining dime his Uncle had tossed into the pool, but somehow he just couldn't. He knew that soon Uncle Claudius would begin to wonder what had happened, would be worried. Probably he was already frantically unbuttoning his linen shirt, running toward the edge to follow the young boy. Janus knew if he didn't do something, if he didn't kick up toward the surface, he'd begin to drown, but his muscles weren't his own, his arms and legs wouldn't respond. The panic rose in him, and blindly, he willed every fiber of his body up toward the surface, the tiny coin forgotten, he HAD to come up for air, and soon.

"Dios Mio." The Colombian sniper was fighting back every reflex in his body, telling him to disgorge the contents of his stomach onto the thick carpet of leaves and rich soil below him.

Everything had gone horribly wrong.

Since he first joined the Fuerza de Despliegue Rapida almost ten years earlier, he'd never seen anything like this. One moment Lino and Velasco had been stepping in toward the man, restraints in hand, and the next, their throats had been spraying their very life on the trunks of the trees all around them. Three of the other men among them had rushed in immediately, and in a movement that was almost a ballet, the monster there on the ground had thrown one of them back into the brush with awful celerity, and more horrifying, kicked a hole in the other. Truly, the third had stopped straight in his tracks, dropping his rifle at his feet, unable to do anything but gape at his comrade falling to the ground with a gaping wound through his abdomen, as that horrifying whirlwind dressed in black had descended then on him. There were muted reports as the two other snipers had fired on the Winterborn, one falling wide, and the other catching him in the leg, spinning him violently to one side. Incredibly, there had been no slowing his mad frenzy of violence, and the whites of the fellow rifleman's eyes had been clearly visible as the fighter had flexed his legs deeply, steel visible through the flesh of his torn thigh, and leapt almost six meters full-on into the sniper, dragging him from view in the branches. Barely a second later, the sound of the silenced rifle barked again, and the second shooter fell from his perch. Sosimo, the sniper, hadn't made a single sound since his whispered invocation to God, and he prayed with all his heart that the blood-smeared horror in uniform below hadn't spotted him in his heavy camouflage, but even as he swore to God that he would never touch another weapon in all his days if only he was spared, his devout sentiments turned to dread as the Winterborn stepped back into the clearing, dripping with the remains of Sosimo's fellows, and leveled his gaze straight at the sniper; but in that instant, God had intervened.

Gasping, Janus fell to his knees on the hot concrete beside the pool, and the world swam around him. There was a sickening moment of disorientation, as his boy-self coughed water from his lungs and his man-self took in the green of the forest all in one moment. Looking down at himself, it was just as it always was: There was blood on his boots, blood up to his elbows, he even tasted blood in the back of his throat. As his artificial and organic ligaments relaxed, the wire-thin titanium filaments retracting back under his fingernails, that same compelling force that had driven him only seconds ago lifted his eyes to a clump of leaves resting on a heavy bough above him, and all at once, the Winterborn found his voice.

"You are to go back where you came from. You are to tell your superiors everything you saw here. You know what i can do; if you fire at me while i leave, i can make sure that you go back to your barracks less than a man. Go and report."

And as the sobs welled up in both men, Janus turned his face away, and began his slow, agonizing trudge back to his extraction point, Sosimo's tear-choked Ave Maria fading behind him.

Truth in

2006-09-12T22:07:00.000-07:00

it is safe to say.......

and true to say it.

it will never. be. enough.

Sweet, a Wiki!

2006-09-09T13:40:00.000-07:00

Dudes, we have a wiki! And i swear i didn't write it myself, although it seems to have been either written or edited by someone who knows the project pretty well. Dude, we're internet-famous! We can start calling snack foods breakfast!

P.S.
Could i possibly ask LJ to be in charge of the wikipedia entry? i wouldn't ask if she wasn't the most web-savvy amongst us. Pweeeeeease, Jen? Pweeeeeeeease?

Apples to apples, dust to dust.

2006-09-07T17:28:00.000-07:00

(best if read in the Ask A Ninja voice)

Without Wes Borland, Limp Bizkit is just an annoying, whiny white guy in a red hat.
One step removed from Bright Eyes.

Blah Song

2006-09-06T21:39:00.000-07:00

can we call it even?
even
blah set blahdeeblahdeelahblah
i had to ask didn't i?

i just had.to.ask..

Revenge of the Son of The Mecha-Pt. 2

2006-08-16T13:41:00.000-07:00

Cwruidth: a kitten plotting brutal killing sprees isn't enough for you?
Cwruidth: What do you want from me, Ashley?
Cwruidth: i'm a mere mortal!
Ashulee: blood.
Cwruidth: ...
Cwruidth: :(
Cwruidth: all of it?
Ashulee: not all of it. maybe like a quart.
Cwruidth: does it have to be mine?
Ashulee: yes.
Cwruidth: well, i've had worse. How do you want it, in a wine bottle?
Ashulee: in a large hourglass.
Cwruidth: that's novel
Ashulee: I thought so.
Cwruidth: i don't really have the cash for that, would you accept one of those two-soda bottle tornado things?

2006-08-15T16:27:00.000-07:00

Ashulee: I kind of got that way about my last bf... I was, and still am kind of convinced that I've loved him more than anyone and was totally planning to ask him to marry me. but... then he would call me all the time while I was working or out with friends and couldn't talk, and after getting off the phone I would worry the whole rest of the day about the discussion we were going to have later about his feelings and how they were hurt by my having a life when he needed to talk... and communcation sorta broke down because he apparently appreciated a lot about me, but only really stated it when he was sad or angry or sexually dissatisfied, and when I said I just needed some space for a while, it got way worse with the jealousy and calling for fear of losing me... until one day I was like "GOD DAMMIT I CAN'T TAKE ANYMORE OF YOU" and I went kind of scary insane for a short while there... :Cwruidth: um
Cwruidth: Ashley, i'm going to level with you here... that's exactly the sort of nightmare-horror that insecure guys like me need to be shielded from at all times.
Ashulee: ah.
Ashulee: I am sorry.
Cwruidth: to a guy with almost no connection to his own feelings like myself, that story is borderline-Lovecraftian.

7 years.

2006-08-01T23:52:00.000-07:00

nightsawake sometimes never had so much meaning
so much
that...
so much that i sit and smile at the absurd nature of it all

how many night sawake did i sit
and wonder
spent my Nights Awake And I Wonder
'wow wow hah'

i could always go on
and i will

but there are still those nights
nights
awake
and i wonder.....

a leaf falls...

2006-07-28T23:58:00.000-07:00

l(a

le
af
fa
ll

s)
one
l

iness

~ee cummings

(i still love this.)

dear You

2006-07-28T23:55:00.000-07:00

dear You,
you left me
unanswered with a yes or goodbye or no
preferably a goodbye
and a good luck with the future
but i alas
i sigh and nod
unfinished business which
one will remember when a
song comes on the radio
or a car with a certain license plate
comes into view
random yet so
damn substantial that
i still bring it to be in my consciousness
but here is my
Good Bye and my postsecret
i will never forget
but i have moved along.

sincerely your old past,
j

boxes

2006-07-28T23:50:00.000-07:00

cardboard boxes could never hold me tighter in
each move a closer step to something which i am
not quite aware of
as of yet
all this so called 'stuff' i 'stuff' in my
boxes
the limitations there of
limiting me so and yet so reususable
if unpacked
and repacked
but still limited
this so called 'stuff'
i have not seen in months be it so
the bottom of my
closet
yet i find old memories
tucked in left disasters
yesterdays tomorrows
and tomorrows last weeks
old receipts
smiles and toothless grins
wearing paisley prints
and lace and more floral
neatly tucked away
this so called 'stuff' i feel is so
confined in
cardboard boxes could never
define me so

Aberthol's Report

2006-07-22T11:42:00.000-07:00

The woman at the reception was shaking her blonde head ardently at the man at her desk when Winterborn, First Class Aberthol approached the door.
"No, Sir. The Hegemon cannot see anyone at this time. His schedule is very full at the moment; he has many other people to see." Looking up at Aberthol, she gave a nod of appreciation and indicated the door, pressing a button under her desk. "You may go in, Winterborn." The man at the desk nearly jumped out of his skin at the word, his head snapping around to catch a glimpse at one of the famed Winterborn. He must have been a foreign delegation of some sort; Aberthol thought as he crossed the threshold, everyone in The Hegemony knew what a Winterborn looked like.
He proceeded down the long hallway with its blue wall hangings between the windows, walking briskly to reach the inner office of The Hegemon. As he entered, he saw two men that anyone in The Hegemony would have recognized instantly. One was The Hegemon; the other was his Second, The Warrior-Prophet Mortimer Khan. Both had their short, hollow swords drawn, and were swinging them through the air with the intricate changes of speed that produced the flute-swords' music. Stepping just inside the door, he waited a moment until he would be in harmony, and swung his own, in the brief series of tones that indicated a Winterborn, First Class.
Immediately, the two stopped and turned, both smiling broadly.
"Come in, brother." Said The Hegemon warmly, "may i offer you something to drink?" Aberthol smiled and nodded "Orange juice perhaps, brother. But please, i will get it myself if i may." The Hegemon nodded, then added,
"Excellent. We are eager to hear your report. Mortimer and i have a bet as to whether the Japanese were horrified by or envious of The Fedayken." As he crossed to the room's small drink service, Aberthol spoke back over his shoulder.
"Horrified. There is a profound effect in seeing soldiers that young, especially when their voices are heard. i chose to lead them up the beach to the Fedayken marching tune. It's very effective."
A knowing glance passed from the Warrior Prophet to his friend as Aberthol joined them.
"This song, Aberthol, can you play it for us? i've never heard it." The Hegemon shook his head, holding up a hand.
"No, don't bother. The effect isn't the same without the drum, much less without the children's voices. Perhaps we'll have your second squad pass in review once their apprenticeship is complete... Aberthol." Aberthol noted the pause as The Hegemon's eyes darted to his name patch, but he was not offended. The Hegemon was famously poor with names. Aberthol knew very well that the man knew to whom he was speaking, even if the name had eluded him a moment. "Is there anything of note to report? i understand that yours was one of the delegations that did not come to an engagement."
"No, brother, but that's hardly surprising to me. You see, the Japanese were privy to a sort of demonstration of the abilities of the Fedayken before the choice to withdraw or sortie was made." The Hegemon's expressive eyebrows showed a moment of confusion.
"A demonstration? What sort of demonstration?"
"There was a covert attempt on my life during the parley. No shot was fired. One of my Fedayken spotted the shooter, probably the glint from a lens, and killed the man with his knife. Lucky for Kenichi, i'd say. If i'd been shot, the Fedayken would have killed them to a man, doubtless."
"Save one you mean." The Hegemon added, referring to the Fedayken tradition to send one survivor back as a witness. Usually the man was sent back without his clothes, or worse.
"Of course, though i do feel some small doubt. They are incredibly loyal, brother. Not just to each other, but to their Officers. All the same, i still can't wrest from them which one threw the knife. i have my suspicions of course, but i'll never be sure."
"They'll never tell. Sometimes after a time they won't even admit it happened. They'll tell people you did it yourself." Supplied Khan. Aberthol wondered about that name, Khan did not bear the slightest mongoloid feature. If anything, Aberthol would have guessed him African, though a light skinned one. He might even be some Hispanic or another, but surely not Mongol. On an impulse, he blurted out,
"Brothers, who was the second man to be named a Winterborn? Everyone has heard of Mortimer Khan, but i've never heard who the second was." The Hegemon smiled faintly.
"Well, one might say it was Mortimer Khan, after me. But the second man pronounced a Winterborn by me was posthumous. i bestowed it on an old gym class teacher of mine. That man was hard in ways that would make your Sergeant cry for her mother." At the door, another tune was heard; the next Winterborn First Class had arrived to make his report. "And now brother, i'm afraid you'll have to excuse me. This is a busy time for me. i hope you will come soon when i have some free time. Can you play Go?" Aberthol nodded.
"Yes brother, though not well, i'm afraid."
"No matter. The pleasure is in the playing. Another time then, brother." Bowing his head slightly, Aberthol took his leave, smiling and welcoming his brother on the way in. He made his way out the great hall, past the desk where the foreign secretary was still pleading to present himself. As he passed, he thanked the woman there, and went along his way, back to his duty.

The Fedayken

2006-07-18T06:24:00.000-07:00

((This is part of a larger story i've had elements of in my head for some time now. This chapter played itself out in its entirety while i was on the metro, on my way home, so as soon as i got in, i sat down and tapped it into MS Word To Your Momma. The larger story tells the tale of The Hegemon and his Court, The Winterborn, Rennaissance Men and Women all, who are at once Diplomats, Bodyguards, Confidants and Elite Special Forces. In The Hegemony, the lowest ranked Winterborn is still called "Honored Sir" by any member of the Military, and "Winterborn" by any civillian. Likewise, The Winterborn address any member of a service by rank, as he would a subordinate, and addresses any civillian as either "Sir," "Madam" or "Citizen." Winterborn, despite their rank, which ranges from Winterborn Acolyte to Hegemon, all address each other either by name, or as "Brother." The overarching plot details how The Hegemony spreads slowly to unite the entire world. Certainly, not all of it is peaceful, but The Winterborn are cunning diplomats and excellent at social subtleties, and often find more inventive ways of showing The Hegemony's power than relying on their impressive combat training, which is spoken of in whispered tones even by The Mossad. This chapter is the exposition of a division of The Hegemony's Special Forces: The Fedayken.))

Winterborn First Class Aberthol stood facing the Japanese General on the sand. His manner did not look like a standard military's attention stance, but this General might know enough about the Winterborn to know that the left foot slightly forward, knees slightly bent, hands barely touching at the waist was their equivalent. Behind him, the Platoon Sergeant oversaw the Second Platoon securing the armored landing craft to ready status. Soon Platoon Sergeant Aella would be at his side, here in front of her arrayed Fedayken Platoon.
Aside from Aberthol, Aella was the eldest here, along with each squadron leader: 14 years of age. The first division, Botticelli angels in black uniforms, was made up of 12 and 13 year olds, and the second squad, of 11 year olds. As they had made their way up the beach from the shore, Aberthol playing the flute accompaniment to the Fedayken marching song, his keen eyes had watched General Kenichi's face run the gamut from confusion and revulsion to horror, as he realized that this was a true military unit.
Tapping the long, hollowed zatoichi that served as the flute against his leg, Aberthol still saw that look in the Japanese's eyes, though his face had turned stoic. As Aella loped over to take her place by her Commander's side, the Winterborn remarked to himself on the strange panoply of names they had assembled here. Winterborn were well known for their suspicions about the power of names, and Aberthol was no exception. Here before him was Kenichi: 'The Strong One,' his Fedaykin Platoon Leader, Aella: 'The Whirlwind,' and lastly Aberthol himself: 'The Sacrifice.' There, arranged regularly in the sand, the Winterborn could almost picture them all as some perverse tarot spread, but what did it portend?
Then there were the other names here; Major General: perhaps that had stood for more once. Or no doubt the Imperial Army had given them more poetic titles, before globalization took over, and made the 'Japanese Ground Defense Force' out of 'His Illustriousness The Emperor's Heavenly Army of Freaking Justice,' or whatever they'd called themselves. Then there were the elegant names, Winterborn: The Hegemon's (Not that Aberthol thought of him as The Hegemon; all Winterborn were brothers, everyone in The Hegemony knew that.) translation of the ancient Vedic 'Kshatria.' And then The Fedayken; the shock-troops whose name The Hegemon had drawn, so apt, from a dusty volume of his childhood.
The Winterborn's train of thought was interrupted by the piping voice of the Platoon Leader, presenting herself. The clear voice held all the softness and youth of her age, but the tone and the precision betrayed her precociousness and training.
"The 24th Fedaykin Platoon is all accounted for, Honored Sir. 2nd Squad has secured the landing craft and has formed ranks." Turning to the General, she added "My sincere apologies, Sir. The 2nd Squad is still in apprenticeship to the first. They do not act as quickly as they ought to yet." The General bristled and finally spoke, looking at Aberthol, not the girl.
"What is hell is this, Winterborn Aberthol? Your communication was that this was to be a formally arranged engagement, with a short parley beforehand as opportunity for withdrawal! Now here you show up with… with children! And not one tenth of what was agreed!" Calmly, his face betraying no emotion, his eyes staring at some point one hundred yards behind Kenchi's face, Aberthol replied,
"General Kenichi, the proper form of a subordinate rank addressing a Winterborn is 'Honored Sir." The General's face flushed a dark hue, and he opened his mouth quickly to speak with sparks dancing in his eyes, but The Winterborn cut him off. "i personally command only ten platoons of Fedaykin, each two squads of eight. i believe your platoons are three squads of ten? That's simply a matter of semantics, i'm afraid. What happened, i fear, is that what you see here is my own personal platoon, assigned to my person as a Winterborn, First Class. When i told them that they were to stand with me against ten infantry divisions, my other nine platoons begged me not to dishonor my own abilities by bringing them. i tried to reason that this sortie was a symbolic one, as My Most Honored Brother had ordered it, there were forms to follow. My nine platoon leaders gave up begging me, and begged Him, saying that Winterborn First Class Aberthol was too loyal to His Brother, and risked debasing himself. They were not the only ones who did. Every Winterborn commanded as i was, is standing right now before a general of some country as i am." By this point, the Nippon General was blanched white, his mouth slightly open despite his military bearing.
"Your Hegemon has greatly insulted us! Does he think us no match for mere children?"
Before even Aberthol's preternaturally swift reflexes could stop her, Aella had bared her teeth and drawn the two small knives from her belt, her eyes ablaze with the fanatic fire that made the Fedayken terrifying in battle. The Winterborn considered ordering her to stand down, but she might claim that Kenichi was trying to sow discord in their ranks; grounds for declaring an attack if worded correctly. Instead, he spoke softly, turning his head to look down at the youth.
"Sergeant, would you fight this man on my behalf, if i asked it?"
"You flatter me, Honored Sir." She looked up, and Kenichi surely saw the hunger in that look, seeking his permission, her young body tensed like a whipcord, prepared to wade into those hundreds of men with nothing but two short knives.
"And if you did, would your brothers and sisters protect you?" The Winterborn heard movement in the Japanese ranks, but he didn't dare break eye contact with this young girl. Fedayken were loyal certainly, unfailingly loyal, to their own deaths, but those with an independent rank like Hers often used their initiative in situations like this. Better to keep her attention.
"Of course they would, Honored Sir! Just as i would protect any of them! These are my brothers and sisters, Honored Sir!" Her face had lost some of that intensity, the seeds of horror and confusion in her features at hearing a Winterborn speak something so close to blasphemy. Aberthol looked back to General Kenichi and gave the man a hard look.
"You see how it is with them then? They would not-"
He was cut off by a flash of light in his peripheral vision and a strangled sound from his right. All heads turned to look, and saw a Japanese Infantryman's rifle lying in the sand, next to a camouflaged hump that had just fallen out of some scrub brush some sixty feet away. The Winterborn turned, and looked at his platoon, scrutinizing for any sign that might show which of them had thrown the knife behind his back. As he searched in vain, he heard low whispers behind him in Japanese.
"Right in the eye…"
"Must have been twenty meters…"
"Hardly even saw him move." Turning his face back to the General for a moment, Aberthol's mind was a tempest. He wasn't sure what exactly to do in this situation. He'd been sent to this spot because he'd been taught Japanese manners and social cues, but nobody had ever taught him the proper Japanese etiquette for when one has been saved by a subordinate from an assassination attempt. Realizing that he could err on the side of caution, and at the same time drive home again the reality of what these men were standing in front of, he smiled internally and called out in a hard, commanding voice.
"Which one of you threw that knife? You were not ordered to break ranks." Not a one of them moved, and The Winterborn swept his steely gaze over them. "This is your last chance to come forward. If no-one confesses or denounces another, you will all be punished with insubordination." Without a second of hesitation, all sixteen right hands shot into the air, just as he'd known they would. Doubtless they knew he knew it, too. Nodding, he barked, "So be it. As you were." The hands dropped, and The Winterborn again turned to Kenichi, who was no longer hiding in the least that he had become terribly uncomfortable. "General Kenichi, no doubt you were not expecting your parley to play out in the that way it has. As was agreed, the option is now opened for either side to withdraw from the field of battle." He inclined his head slightly, and stood to await the General's response, which followed a bow of Kenichi's own, perceptibly lower.
"We graciously accept, Honored Sir. We will resume negotiations effective immediately."
As the two armies dispersed, Platoon Sergeant Aella began to fill Aberthol in,
"i've checked ahead, you won't be able to report in person for at least two days. 45 of the 249 other delegations have already reported the same success, and are in line for their audiences with The Hegemon. 14 others report that the sorties were a success, with a grand total of 7 casualties, two each in Moscow, Palestine and Switzerland, one in the Congo. Other-" She broke off as The Winterborn raised a hand, cocking an ear. Yes there, carried on the breeze, the soft sobbing of a handful of grown men behind them.

2006-06-07T17:45:00.000-07:00

i wish i knew how to post
the combination of:
Sunset
La Place de Trocadero
Five Iron Frenzy's "Spartan"
and Two of my Favorite people saying "i love you." in two wonderful ways.

i'm deeply convinced that if i could, i could stop war as we know it.

2006-06-07T04:45:00.000-07:00

so I had a dream were i was trying to to show some one something next thing i know im in the deil waching one of the most betfull people i have ever meant walking down a drefent asile and all i could do is things two things I will never see her again and I want to escape

oh and for the record I hate my FUCKING DREAMS!

Suggestive?

2006-05-10T15:12:00.000-07:00

Shades of Mercerism
Each and every night
grace a mon chicano
what i wouldn't do/give
for a penfield box or
even just two handles
to hold myself steady.

2006-05-02T13:39:00.000-07:00

i want a geologist to tell me.
i want him to tell me if there's an intermediate step between coal and diamond.
Because i happen to know that the word "Diamond"
comes from the Latin for "Inconquerable,"
and at the very innermost, that's what i want.
A core that is made by pressure and hardship, but utterly invincible.

2006-04-30T00:06:00.000-07:00

the room was empty and slient the walls were white there were no doors or windows and he paced quitely clawing the corners and one day as if out of this mist of she appered someone of unspoken beauty the one that whuld show the why out of the empty room there eyes locked for him it seemed a long time and before he could say the incantation the would keep her in sight she fade away he was still traped inside the room ever so offten caching a glimps of escape

Null-Terminated Life

2006-04-29T07:17:00.000-07:00

01100001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01110011 01100001 01101101 01100101 00101100 00100000 01110100 01100001 01101011 01100101 00100000 01101101 01100101 00100000 01100001 01110111 01100001 01111001 00101100 00100000 01110111 01100101 00100111 01110010 01100101 00100000 01100100 01100101 01100001 01100100 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01110111 01101111 01110010 01101100 01100100

Larmes

2006-04-21T16:42:00.000-07:00

When she died,
i cried for justice.
When i knew that justice could not be had,
i cried for the world's loss.
When i realized the scarcity of those who knew her,
i cried for my own loss.
When i could not cry any more,
i cried for the loss of nostalgia.
When i found its futility,
i cried at my cynicism.
When i made peace with its realism,
i cried for the wasted days.
But
When i thought of any alternative,
i cried.

inner fire

2006-03-22T02:36:00.000-08:00

sometime i fell like im on fire
like the days when i have the one line that gets the whole room laughing or the rant that get me motvated (roachs twinkes orbit soda rambo and the beting of elder snakes , dont ask)
or
when the burning contents of my insides burn there way up to the back of my mouth just to burn right back into my stomach wich sum days seems like a very small part of hell that no happy just staying inside of me
or

when i get lost in a though that manged to get thought all the TV like static of my mind takes hold and never lets go (thank you MR.Cortez)

so il ask waht is your flame .

ZERO

The Great Physician

2006-03-09T09:29:00.000-08:00

The church halls were strewn with the sick and wounded. Deep, livid wounds with flowering infections. Hellish fevers cooking bodies from inside. Limp, useless limbs and slack, dumb mouths.

Among them walked men and women with gentle hands and soft voices, and scars. They moved as one body, consoling and attending and praying. And slowly, the sick and wounded among them stood, healed.

"This place is amazing."

"Yeah," said a man, helping to lift a cripple to his feet. "All the nurses used to be patients."

where i started

2006-03-03T14:32:00.000-08:00

never forget where you started
where you came from
and never forget to look ahead
at where you are going

the road may have its dips
and many bridges and forks to cross
but at the end

never forget

you'll get there

2006-02-17T04:17:00.000-08:00

it's not that i like nicotine,
or that i think it's cool,
or that i need something to fidget with.
i detest smoking for all these reasons and more.
it causes terrible illness.
it causes a horrible addiction.
it causes you to smell and taste terrible.

It's just that sometimes...
i get so conflicted inside,
so fraught with my own problems,
it feels like if i don't

eat fire
or
drink lava
or
breathe smoke

i just might lay some waste, and sow the fields with salt.
What can i say?

pour toi.

2006-02-10T18:03:00.000-08:00

carry your heart with me

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars
apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

ee cummings

An Homage to 16-Bit RPG's...

2006-01-28T22:14:00.000-08:00

Those of you who played these growing up probably still have nightmares like this...

Initiative

2006-01-25T22:44:00.000-08:00

Sputtering, Ross woke up. Once again, that homicidal devil cat had curled up on his face. He flailed at the pudgy tortoiseshell thing until it leaped onto the coffee table, then behind the TV. Ross could feel his eyes swelling already as he swiped the fur from his face, his vision blurred from sleep and dander.

“Mhnn.”

Eventually, he realized the fuzzed-out form next to the window was Geoff, his roommate. Detail gradually resolved, and he saw that Geoff was wearing a suit, and pulling back the curtain to look out. Ross yawned until his jaw popped.

“Ow! Sonuva…”

Geoff looked up from the window, smirking copiously. “Ah, you’re up. Good. I see you didn’t make it to bed. Again.”

“Yeah, it happens.” Ross scratched at the all-over itch he always got from sleeping in his clothes, and Geoff turned back to the window. “Something outside?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Geoff said, nodding slowly. “Oh, yeah.”

“Huh.” Breakfast would be good. “We got any bagels?”

Geoff didn’t respond. He only peered out the window, chuckling to himself. His shoes, Ross noticed, were freshly polished.

“Dude, what are you looking at?”

His eyes didn’t leave whatever-it-was outside. Ross could just now hear a helicopter overhead.

“Well,” Geoff said, reaching up to straighten his tie, “you know how we’re always talking about taking over the world?”

Ross ruffled his own hair, flakes of dried hair gel floating down to collect on the coffee table. “Uh, yeah. Like, buy up all the toilet paper factories and hold the world hostage?” He chuckled. “That one might work.”

Geoff nodded generously. “Sure, it might’ve.”

Huh?

“Huh?”

“Well, I wasn’t doing anything yesterday, so…” Geoff shrugged. “I did it.”

The cat jumped on top of the TV and mewed, seemingly at Ross. Ross glared at it for a moment, then… he gave his roommate a high eyebrow. “The toilet paper thing?”

“No, no. The one plan with the manifesto and all the pies. It worked.”

That one was Geoff’s idea. “…wait, it what?”

“Yeah!” Geoff let the curtain go and scratched the cat’s head. It closed its eyes and leaned into his fingers. “I set up the website last night, it got like a billion hits, and the revolution was on! It was over by dawn. We win.”

It was Ross’ idea to use the Internet. He rose from the couch, which groaned. Ross looked back at it. Like sitting on an old man. “So…” He pulled back the curtain.

Outside stood a squad of fully armed soldiers, all wearing orange berets and holding M-16s. An Apache circled overhead, bristling with Sidewinder missiles and rocket pods. Geoff smoothed his slicked-back hair, grinning in approval.

Ross allowed himself to stare for about thirty seconds. “Um… who are they?”

“Those, my friend, are our elite bodyguards. The Order of Phoebe.”

Ross choked on himself, clapping a hand over his own mouth to avoid laughing aloud at the highly trained warriors at the apartment’s front door. “Oh, my… you didn’t tell them-“

“Psh! No! You kidding?” The cat mewed again, this time at Geoff. He waved one hand at her. “Hush, Phoebe.”

“Dude.”

“Indeed.”

The two stared out at their troops for a few minutes.

Geoff sniffed the air, then looked Ross up and down, unapprovingly. “You should get a shower. We’ve got a speech in like, an hour.”

Ross nodded grudgingly and started down the hall. He paused next to the bathroom door. “So, we don’t have any bagels?”

The Apache came around for another pass. “No,” Geoff said over the sound of the rotors. “But I’ll get someone on that.”

Temptation

2006-01-24T23:30:00.000-08:00

"Don't do it," He said.

"Well, in that case,"
I replied,

"consider it done."

As A Friend Would Say, "Your Moment of Zen..."

2006-01-13T19:55:00.000-08:00

Siddhartha Gotama,
563 BC - 483 BC,
Wise, Compassionate, Totally Metal.

Advent Now

2005-12-29T10:07:00.000-08:00

I've reposted my Christmas story of last year on my blog, and it's gotten me thinking. I focused on the classic Christmas story and didn't get into the world surrounding it, but... what would that world be like?

Here's the premise: Jesus is born in 2004. 2005, if you like. Thus, Christianity doesn't hit the scene until at least 2035. What does that do to the world, especially Western Civilization? Cwruidth, I wanna hear your thoughts on this one. Heh.

Examples:

1) The British form no substantial colonies in North America.
2) The Rennaissance takes on a distinctly different flavor, if it happens at all.
3) What the heck happens to Rome?

Obviously we have no Protestant Reformation, no Spanish Inquisiton, and no Crusades. No Roman Catholic Church in the West and no Greek Orthodox in the East.

*head spins*

Have fun.

2005-12-25T16:12:00.000-08:00

i can't describe how eerie it is
to recognize someone who was your best friend
but who you don't even know.

2005-10-16T02:50:00.000-07:00

there is something in me and it needs to get out
but its comfortable and has a hearty appetite
a single glance at a pair of stars coronas
drowned in an ocean i can never defend
can drop hoarfrost on everything i feel
maybe if i just turn up the volume
and drown out the daggers in everyones polite words
the guitar strings will cut the tendons and the veins clean away
and a coarse voice will boil away the skin and flesh
as the drum pounds the bones to dust
and i might just come out as nothing at all
an empty space built on nothing but effects
and empty of all its own causes

Prelude in C# Minor, by Sergei Rachmaninov

2005-10-12T00:03:00.000-07:00

When the first note came to him, he was on the couch, just sitting down with his tea. The first cloud of the storm. Three unmistakable chords, dum-dum-dum – the first measure, always separate in his mind – and he was already lost. His empty left hand drifted in space, conducting – dum, dum… dum… dum…. A pause, not silent for the ringing note, but a breathtaking pause.

Dum…. And on it came.

It took him everywhere. Partly, he sat on the couch with a smile and a sigh, holding a mug of orange pekoe. Mostly, he was in distant castles, outside in the rain, and next to her on the piano bench. Behind her, his gaze warm on her back. All at once, the music was a dark shade, warm, and imposing.

It was a song that could bring cloaks and capes back into style.

He stood as she played on. Outside, the gray rained quietly, listening. Setting down his mug on the counter, he crossed through the kitchen, slowing his step to an almost ceremonial march as he met the threshold to the living room. He could see the oil painting on the opposite wall, the humorously low chandelier in the middle of the room, and the last few keys of the piano.

Her hand flickered into view, plucking a note from the top of the scale before descending back out of sight, to deeper chords.

It took him a full chorus to step into the room. It was the last. Her hands lingered, fingers poised over the keys as if drawing out the notes through her very sinews. In a wave, her arms and shoulders relaxed, and she smirked up at him.

“You like that one?”

Tell me.....

2005-09-25T20:31:00.000-07:00

For what, is there........
to be happy about?

2005-09-21T23:20:00.000-07:00

"How much of me can you replace and still be me?"

The man had that unstable look Sean often seen on people recently. As though he were looking at the same room that Sean saw - the same two chairs, facing each other, the diagrams on the wall, the notices on the LCD bulletin board announcing new insurance options for cybernetic implantation - but seeing something else. His last patient had looked like that, before and after the surgery.

It was a strange question Mr. Collins asked.

"To answer your question, Mr. Collins," said Sean to the older man, after thinking scattered thoughts for a moment, "uh... I think that might be more a matter of philosophy than medicine." Guiltily, he glanced at the clock. His next consultation was at 3:00... or maybe 3:15. Either way, time was hurrying right along.

Mr. Collins nodded distantly, and the afternoon sun glared from the long-bald patch spreading quickly from his brow to the crown of his head. He looked up, turning his shaky gaze on Sean. "Huh? Oh. Well, what about one of those full-body prosthesises?"

"...sir, you... well, it wouldn't be covered by your insurance. Usually, full-body prosthetics are only for multiple amputees, or quadriplegics..."

"Oh, I'll pay for it," Mr. Collins said, shaking his head. His eyes hovered on Sean, then flicked to the certificates on the wall. "I've got the money. I just want a new me." And he laughed a laugh which, Sean thought, sounded awfully like someone crying.

Sean's coffee had gone cold. Still, he lifted his cup, thinking. Mr. Collins was still smiling vaguely, his eyes hinting at... desperation, Sean realized. Sean set down his cup.

"If you're interested in cybernetics, I would definitely recommend an eye replacement, or something along those lines." He stood and reached over his desk, grabbing two pamphlets from the drawer. When he handed them to Mr. Collins, the older man stared at them for three seconds, then looked back to him.

"I heard that, with the full-body one, they have software that works with your brain."

"They do. Interface software, mostly. But you can run most of the same programs with just an eye replacement."

Mr. Collins fidgeted in his chair. His own cup of coffee had been empty for twenty minutes. "But like, there's nothing that could change... my personality or something?"

For a moment, Sean's mouth tried to form words that his mind could not. "Uh... no. There's nothing like that." He struggled through a moment of silence and said, "My recommendation is, take home those pamphlets, do some more research on the Internet, and think about this for a while." He nodded for emphasis, trying to catch Mr. Collins' eye.

"...okay." Mr. Collins stood, for which Sean was extremely grateful. 3:05. "I'll think about it, doc."

"Good," said Sean, standing and leaning on his desk. As he reached for the door, Mr. Collins' cell phone rang. The default ringtone. He reached for it, checked the caller ID, and turned it off with a wince.

He was halfway out the door, but Sean had to ask. "Mr. Collins?" A tinge of almost-fear as the unstable gaze came back to him. But he had to ask. "Is that what you really want? To just... get a new body and reprogram your personality?"

As soon as he said it, he wished he hadn't. His heart sank, watching the eyes of his would-be patient.

Mr. Collins, however, didn't notice Sean's regret. "Oh, yeah," he replied. "But I still wanna be me, though."

He laughed again, a laugh that could just as easily have been a scream, and left.

2005-08-28T01:58:00.000-07:00

[Tall, Dark Stranger]: haha i was playing bloody knuckles with this girl the other day and i broke her hand
[Tall, Dark Stranger]: hahahaha
[Tall, Dark Stranger]: it was great
Cwruidth: Dude, [name omitted]. Sometimes, i'm pretty convinced that you're [name omitted].
[Tall, Dark Stranger]: lol
Cwruidth: no, like. F'reals.
[Tall, Dark Stranger]: there is no more truly moving religious experience than beatin on a woman
Cwruidth: what about enlightenment?
[Tall, Dark Stranger]: what about it
Cwruidth: not more religious?
[Tall, Dark Stranger]: nah, i think thats more spiritual rather than religious
Cwruidth: hmm. i see. What's the second most moving religious experience?
[Tall, Dark Stranger]: cheatin on a cheater
Cwruidth: third?
[Tall, Dark Stranger]: hmm, i think the third would be that holy vindication that you feel after you get someone to concede a point to you in an argument
[Tall, Dark Stranger]: you know how good it feels when you're just completely and totally enraged to the point that you feel that if you knew how to, you could start an atomic reaction just with the power of your mind
Cwruidth: well, you know that in all the chemical bonds in all the molecules in your body, you contain as much energy as many many suns; meaning that you could, at any time you want, release all the energy contained in every weapon ever discharged in the world, if you knew how to get at that energy, and really wanted to make a point.
[Tall, Dark Stranger]: thats fourth
Cwruidth: this is quite a religion you've got worked out.
[Tall, Dark Stranger]: amen

Imagine the cost of research and development.

2005-08-24T23:38:00.000-07:00

Ever just wiggle your fingers and watch the tendons move under your skin?

We live in a shell of such complexity that - to a point - it can be split open, or crushed, and it will repair itself.

I can think of three ways off the top of my head that my body is totally unique. No one else has my fingerprint, nor my retinal pattern, nor my DNA. There must be others.

If we systematically break down our muscles just so, they will grow back, stronger. No, you heard that right. Stronger.

The largest organ of the body - the skin - is supple and elastic, has a built-in cooling / waste elimination system, and is pressure-sensitive over its entire surface.

And it's all powered by water and plant matter. Meat optional.

Seriously. Too freakin' cool.

A Brief Foray Into Speculative Paleogeography...

2005-08-23T02:13:00.000-07:00

Am i the only one who thinks that it would be wicked rad if Pangea had been shaped like a big dinosaur?

Pirate Story Hour

2005-08-23T01:49:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time (but not so very long ago as you might think) there was a girl named Paddraigin Ktothayle. Now nobody could pronounce this girl's name, so they mostly just called her "hey you" or "you. with all the hair". Now this girl was working as a shop assistant, and was entirely miserable because of it. Of course she always greeted the customers with a smile and a nice little chat, but she longed for something which she could not define.
Now one day our girl was toiling away in this shop when someone she had never seen before came crashing through the door. he was dark and mysterious in a not-at-all-unattractive fashion, and was wearing a strange outfit which she was entirely unfamiliar with.

Audience interjection: Ooh! Mystery and Outfits!

(Now, you and I know that this was the infamous Captain Cwruidth of the dread ship "Seventeen," a pirate of the blackest reputation, but she did not travel in circles where such things were spoken of)

Audience: Oooh!

So the girl merrily prattled away, talking about the weather, the shop and anything else her mind settled upon. Except of course gossip, which you will recall she had no use for... As she did this the Captain stalked about, gathering supplies for his ship (which was hidden in a cove nearby).
Then, all at once, a man burst through the doors. Brandishing a pistol with a crazed look glinting in his eyes, he screamed at the girl to open the till and empty the contents into his waiting pockets. The Captain, not wanting any trouble during his brief time in port, was trying his best to be unobtrusive. He felt certain that she would hand over the money without any fuss.

(nothing could have prepared him for what happened next...)

Audience: Eep! Whatever did she do!?

Bending down slowly, her hand found the solid metal handle of the tillbox. And without warning... KLANG! She swung it up and connected squarely with the side of the robber's head. As he reeled, she brought it down on top of his head so hard that coins seemed to explode from within the box. He fell, and as he turned back from grabbing his pistol from the floor, he realized too late that she had already found her weapon.

Audience: Gasp!

An enormous pitchfork (one of the shop's many wares) skewered his flesh and pinned him to the surface on which he lay and as he died, the last thing he saw was her sweet face peering down at him.
After a bloody moment's pause, the stranger stepped out from the shadowed corner. "I am the Fel Captain Cwruidth, Pirate of a Reputation Most Black. I am the most feared man on land or sea and I captain a ship of the most bloodthirsty, ruthless and dangerous men alive. And that" he said, pointing to the biological mess on the ground "was my first mate. I have never seen a more wicked man in all my days... and you felled him with a pitchfork and arms like angelhair pasta."

Audience: Indeed! I quite recall saying just that!

The pirate removed his hat with a reverent expression on his face and bowed his head to his friend the Ex-Pirate. Then, he extended a (rather large) hand to the girl, saying "Since you got the best of James the Cleaver, you are now my new first mate. What is your name, praytell?"

(he actually phrased it in much rougher terms than that, but he was indeed a pirate so we have no recourse but to forgive him his tongue)

Audience: Well naturally! When i said i recalled saying JUST that, i surely meant that i recalled saying words to JUST that effect!!

Well, when she rattled off her name, he turned three shades of vermillion and even puce as well. "There can only be one sailor aboard with a gaelic name, and that is damn well going to be me. Any more would be bad luck and a nuisance to boot. So... we'll call you Shrike, after the cruelest and most vile songbird to ever grace the skies."
And Shrike (for Shrike she was) grinned carnivorously in agreement. So together they quickly liberated a few more things from the shop (useful things like sealing wax and biscuts along with a few wicked looking knives) and made it back to the cove just before the law enforcement did.

Audience: Huzzah! Stickin it to the man!

The sea spray rose to meet them, the sails filled and as they moved out of the cove Shrike was introduced to a very suspicious crew. They were all for throwing her overboard but for two things. One was that she was covered in blood and glaring most terribly, and the other was that the Captain insisted that she wouldn't be bad luck, for she wasn't actually a girl. She was a girl, he said with a grin, but only in the ways that matter the most. He laughed heartily at that, but was met with blank stares from his crew.
And as the ship disappeared in the distance, back in the cove they could still hear the Captain's laughter echoing off the wet stone walls.

And that is the story of How Shrike Became Cwruidth's First Mate.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Special disclaimer should be made that these characters are fictional, and that any resemblance to people, living or dead, is possibly coincidental.

This has got to be good for something...

2005-08-23T00:20:00.000-07:00

I am made of water
...
and I am crying myself away.

2005-08-19T04:19:00.000-07:00

Sad drunk and poorly
Sleep in really late
Sad drunk and poorly
Not feeling so great
Wandering lost in a town full of frowns
Sad drunk and poorly
Dogs digging up the ground

[Chorus]
And I feel the light in the night and in the day
And I feel the light
When the sky's just mud and grey
And I feel the night when you tell me it's OK
Coz you're so great and I love you

Tea, tea and coffee
Helps to start the day
Tea, tea and coffee
Shaking all the way
City's alive, a surprise so am I
Tea, tea and coffee, get no sleep today

-Lyrics courtesy of Blur: "You're So Great"

grrrr (there should have been something else here but nooo...)

2005-08-18T01:14:00.000-07:00

Sometimes i wish my computer was a person so i could punch him/her in the face if you asked or told someone to do something and they kept asking you if it was ok you might want to punch them too am i right people come on i think its time to show them whos boss so lets turn them in to people damnit

or

not

@#R)

Something that needs to go in something else

2005-08-11T02:18:00.000-07:00

One boy's face is the reverse of a storm;
All perfect calm but tempest in the eyes.

NO fun! NO fun! NO fun!

2005-08-04T00:38:00.000-07:00

It's too quiet in here...

"Where do we go from here?
The words are coming out all weird
Where are you now when I need you?
Alone on an aeroplane
Falling asleep against the window pane
My blood will thicken
I need to wash myself again to hide all the dirt and pain
'Cause I'd be scared that there's nothing underneath
And who are my real friends?
Have they all got the bends?
Am I really sinking this low?

Baby's got the bends
We don't have any real friends

I'm just lying in a bar with my drip feed on
Talking to my girlfriend waiting for something to happen
I wish it was the sixties I wish I could be happy
I wish I wish, I wish that something would happen

Where do we go from here?
The planet is a gunboat in a sea of fear
And where are you?
They brought in the CIA, the tanks and the whole marines
To blow me away
To blow me sky high

Baby's got the bends
We don't have any real friends

I want to live and breathe
I want to be part of the human race
I want to live and breathe
I want to be part of the human race
Where do we go from here?
The words are coming out all weird
Where are you now when I need you? "-Courtesy of Masters Thom Yorke and company.

All the doubts were someone else's point of view.

2005-07-26T00:37:00.000-07:00

So I've been Nightsawake AWOL for a while. Thought I'd break my silence (with a brick of self-control? heh.) and post. A poem I wrote a short while ago:

Swing. Shift.

They smiled from conflict and
lessening hope
until the day that
the monuments they'd built began to fall apart
All the tiny pieces yearned to be free
and shifted.
The boy and girl quickened their paces
fast-stepping to set down their loads and re-assemble
(if pieces are lost, they're gone for good)
She took matters into her own hands
He let the chips fall where they may
I stood, helpless bystander
wholly unsure
I held nothing
No small pieces building a ruin
I run for nothing
I am the cosmic wait-ress
Shifting only from one foot to the other
Pencil poised
to fill an order of amour
at the sad cafe.

What is...

2005-07-23T17:58:00.000-07:00

'What is the point?'

I ask myself.

'...Really?'

with, naturally, a nod to Miss LJ...

2005-07-19T15:00:00.000-07:00

One day, you will look for me...

and i will be gone.

2005-07-13T20:50:00.000-07:00

"You know what?"

They lay still twitching and panting.

"Wha?"

Her eyes fluttered, her mind still elsewhere

"i really like you."

He grinned back. She laughed, hair falling across her face as her head fell back "Yeah, i do. Like, more than a friend." Her eyes went wide with mock surprise

"You mean, you like, like me?"

"Yeah. A lot."

She narrowed her eyes at him, smiling wryly.

"How long have you like liked me?"

-laughter ensues-

A Sight to Be Held...

2005-06-18T01:54:00.000-07:00

He's a 1950's advertisement for the future, this boy.

In one pocket, a device that links him to friends and family;

just a push of a button!

In another, a two-pound slab that carries every piece of music the boy owns.
In another

(This boy's pants, they're the height of efficency, designed by the military itself),

a folding screen,
hours of entertainment inside.
His eyes see the world through bulletproof plastic,
ground to a curve so precise, it takes a laser to know it curves at all
Eyes that can be as bright and green as the warmest lagoon,
but most days, grey as the sea with the clouds that lay behind them
in a mind split apart,
so it can care for him,
so his right hand can play a piano,
but not his left.
Still young enough,
his country doesn't even afford him all an adult's rights,
but he's sure he knows his future,
sure he knows
that every one he loves goes away.
All the promise that the future of this future he advertises can hold
waiting for him to be the change he wants to see,
but still that damning voice
that shackles him to all the abandonments
of the past
speaking every language this boy knows,
to scratch that heart inside him that he
knows is black as coal
and
prays that pressure and hellfire
have made
into diamond.

a sitcom moment

2005-06-17T10:21:00.000-07:00

In boxers and bed-head, Tim tromped groggily downstairs. The unmistakable scrape of Joy Behar's voice scratched at the air from the living room. Eyebrow raised, Tim peered around the corner to see Kevin, bowl of Lucky Charms beside him, legal pad in hand, watching The View.

"Dude," Tim grumbled, scratching his forehead, "what are you doing?"

Kevin scribbled something on the pad as the studio audience burst into applause. "Recon."

Tim squinted at his roommate for six seconds, then turned and stumbled for the kitchen.

"Hey," Kevin called around a mouthful of cereal, "I got tickets for The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants at 3."

Tim groaned. "That's way too deep in enemy territory."

"You can't airstrike love!" Kevin shouted, shaking his spoon.

"Mrrf."

Inside Out

2005-06-05T17:48:00.000-07:00

how can it be easy to write when you have this little demon sitting/lurking over your shoulder?

coffee breaks. indeed.

a potential story prompt

2005-05-25T23:34:00.000-07:00

It was electric. The code flowed from him like the Word of God. His fingers flew on the wings of angels, shafts of light against the dark keyboard.
His hands went still for a moment, in the middle of a keystroke. A strange calm came over him, a stillness. A sense of certainty. He looked down and saw that his little finger was pressing down firmly on the small black key labeled “Ctrl.”
Control.
He felt himself smiling. Indeed, he thought.

I Am Winterborn

2005-05-23T05:23:00.000-07:00

Dry your eyes, and quietly bear this pain with pride.
For heaven shall remember the silent and the brave.
And promise me: they will never see, the fear within our eyes.
We will give strength to those who still remain.

So bury fear, for fate draws near, and hide the signs of pain.
With noble acts, the bravest souls endure the heart's remains.
Discard regret, that in this debt a better world is made.
That children of a newer day might remember, and avoid our fate.

And in the fury of this darkest hour we will be your light:
You've asked me for my sacrifice and I am Winterborn.
Without denying, a faith is come that I have never known:
I hear the angels call my name and I am Winterborn

Hold your head up high-for there is no greater love
Think of the faces of the people you defend
And promise me, they will never see the tears within our eyes
Although we are men with mortal sins, angels never cry

So bury fear for fate draws near and hide the signs of pain
With noble acts, the bravest souls endure the heart's remains
Discard regret, that in this debt a better world is made
That children of a newer day might remember, and avoid our fate.

And in the fury of this darkest hour we will be your light:
You've asked me for my sacrifice and I am Winterborn
Without denying, a faith in God that I have never known:
I hear the angels call my name and I am Winterborn.

And in the fury of this darkest hour,
I will be your light:
A lifetime for this destiny,
For I am Winterborn.
And in this moment...
I will not run, it is my place to stand.
We few shall carry hope,
Within our bloodied hands.

And in our Dying,
We're more alive than we have ever been.
I've lived for these few seconds:
For I am Winterborn.

And in the fury of this darkest hour,
We will be the light:
You've asked me for my sacrifice,
And I am Winterborn.
Without denying, a faith in man
That I have never known:
I hear the angels call my name,
And I am Winterborn.

Within this moment now,
I am for you, though better men have failed.
I will give my life for Love:
For I am Winterborn.

And in my dying I'm more alive, than I have ever been:
I will make this sacrifice for I am Winterborn.

Tell Me...

2005-04-24T04:24:00.000-07:00

Do you share in my joys?
Are you smiling to see me in love with a wonderful girl?
Do your eyes fall downcast when i can't remember what the trick was to tying your shoes?
Or when it's hard for me to remember your face?
Do you cry for our memories when i remember you telling me your favorite color in the woodchips under the slides?
Can you dance with me while i'm asleep?
Tell me you're here with me.
Tell me you allways will be.
The man i am becoming will always have a twelve year old guide.
Reminding him
That he needs a sweatshirt when it's cold.
That he needs to remember how to listen.
That grandma says everyone deserves Courtesy.
You will never grow old for me; i will remember you always.
Smile for me, Sunshine.
The moon is Silver for you.

To the Teeth.

2005-03-10T20:00:00.000-08:00

I've grinned and had to bare it all.
Some times I'm left on my own back porch up high. Sunlight shining.
Cigarettes burning down the innocence.
The world is unforgiving. As is the sun.
Up high, I am but fragile in nature.
My limbs just a slave to the mind which cannot yet make a sound and profound decision.
Like a robot to search, a reputation to destroy the security.
The sun embalms me as I learn to understand the point of the light coming down.
You can spend hours trying to please everything and everyone.
But at night you are to your own lack luster advances. You are but the one that puts yourself to rest at dark.

It was the smoke that unfurled.
I've grinned and had to bare it all.
For in your eyes I seek a difference,
But in the reflection of your dilation becomes a realm of a whole generation.... the unknown.

Courtesy. THAT is what i aspire to.

2005-02-23T00:53:00.000-08:00

A courteous man is quick to retract his own words, rather than question the words of another, a courteous man would sooner doubt the truth of his own words than the truth of another's. A courteous man considers how his appearance will make others feel, and does not protest at the appearance of others. A courteous man is honest, and respects the words of all those before him as honesty. A courteous man is quick to forgive and beg pardon for himself, and slow to point blame at another. A courteous man presents himself at face value, lest he deceive others, and assumes that others act in sheer candor, lest he distrust them. Courtesy is doing what does not profit you that another might appreciate your deed. Courtesy does not bend, does not twist, does not lean to suit motives. Courtesy dictates that one control one's own self, and neither seek to control another, nor seek to force another to control one's self. Courtesy demands total responsibility for every action, every feeling, and thought, but with the other hand, grants total control over the same. Courtesy demands mercy in justice, and justice in mercy. Courtesy demands truth, and courtesy demands Love. In these, Courtesy demands no less than the most truth and Love that any person is able to give. Above all, a courteous man always assumes that everyone he meets is being more courteous than he.

Pass-off story!

2005-02-21T23:28:00.000-08:00

"You do not have crazy mutant powers."

"Yes-huh."

Tybalt rolled his eyes. "Saying that doesn't make it so."

"Yes-huh," said Nineveh emphatically. She glared up at her older brother. "You're stupid."

"Oh, nice." Tybalt tugged at the strap to his backpack, wishing Mom would just get the car fixed. Walking his sister to school was grating away his patience. And his already fragile social standing among the other 8th graders.

Nineveh smiled the smile so many had already learned to fear: the mischievous grin of the 7-year-old prodigy. "I'm gonna use my spooky mutant powers on that subsitute teacher who always says my name wrong."

"Oh, they're spooky now. Give him a break. No sub's got any hope of getting NIN-uh-vuh the first time."

The little girl raised an eyebrow, seemingly tugging a corner of her mouth along with it as she smirke deviously. "It's Mr. Jimbly. The guy who used to call you TY-balt."

"Oh, well then. Do your worst," Tybalt chuckled. As he said it, they rounded the hedgerow into the schoolyard. There, none other than Mr. Jimbly, wagging his finger at a boy who was walking across the top of the monkey bars, stomping fingers.

"Watch me go, Tibs." Nineveh dropped her backpack and kicked it to one side. "Hey, Jimbly!"

(NEXT!)

Past Curfew

2005-01-18T01:10:00.000-08:00

"I don't think we can continue like this much longer," the interrogator said frankly.

Across the table, Marin spat to clear the blood from his mouth. "Yeah," he replied hoarsely, "you're probably right. So lay off and please... just ask me something. Anything."

The interrogator only stared across the table. His wrist tilted up and down, tapping the hard plastic truncheon against the thick, varnished wood. One tap a second, for fifteen seconds. And then, on the sixteenth second, with a snap of the interrogator's wrist, the truncheon flipped through the air and thudded into Marin's eye. Marin yelped in surprise and pain, cringing as best he could. The handcuffs binding him to the folding chair rattled as he flinched against them.

"Answer the question!" bellowed the interrogator, standing suddenly. His chair groaned backwards across the concrete, rocking as it hit the floor drain.

"What question? You haven't said-"

"Your blood screen came back before I came in here," the interrogator said in a calm, even voice. "You're psychic. I know you can read my mind, so read."

Marin shuddered at the sudden change in tone. He lifted his head slowly, leveling a swollen eye at the tall, thick man in uniform across from him. "I'm not a telepath."

The interrogator stood quite still for a moment, then walked, step by step, across the room, to retrieve his truncheon. "Psychics have a strict curfew, and you did not have a pass. You were completely unauthorized to be out." He stooped and picked up the plastic club.

"Please, I'm-"

"I'm going to ask one more time. You'd better listen, and answer carefully."

From outside the sound-insulated room, there came sounds of a commotion. The interrogator's eyes glanced to the door, but quickly refocused on Marin.

Marin turned and stared at the door. Distractedly, he said, "I'm not a telepath."

The interrogator tightened his grip. "Sounds like you wanna waive your last chance."

And then, Marin heard it clearly. We're here, said the voice. Now.

"Finally," Marin said, and glared at the interrogator. The truncheon, as though shoved by invisible hands, leapt upward and rammed into the uniformed man's jaw. He stumbled backwards into the table, and the truncheon flew from his hand and around behind him. It spun viciously, clubbing the interrogator's shoulders and neck until he buckled and fell.

The weakest link of the chain of Marin's handcuffs split, and Marin stood. The truncheon clattered to the ground, and Marin gritted his teeth. Moaning aloud, the interrogator hovered off the floor, hands raised to defend himself. Marin rubbed his head with one hand and pointed at the interrogator with the other.

"Not a telepath," he said. And with a snap of his wrist, the man in uniform hurtled out of the unbarred window, scattering glass on the interrogation room floor. He did not scream.

Come on, Marin. We need you out here.

Marin stared at the jagged windowpane until he heard the thump. Then, he beckoned to the door, which opened to him. He stepped out of the interrogation room, to join the revolt.

Parrrrtay!

2005-01-16T21:28:00.000-08:00

Here's a game Breyean, Lieselmunky and The First Mate thougt up at Rick's Dessert Diner: You're planning a party, and you can invite any five people, who may bring someone with them, and can include one mixer/gate crasher. Celebrities, fictional characters, friends of yours, whatever, just try not to re-invite anyone, because that's just awkward. The only rule is: make it ten-four hard-core cool. These parties are taking place in Tortuga, on seperate floors of the same building, but all of them share a single bathroom.
Because they were already on another blog, i posted the original three parties.

Brian is inviting:
Fox (from Aesop's Fables) [Smuggling in a whole crapload of other foxes]
Orr (from Catch 22) [brought a pair of crab-apples]
Kelso (from That 70s Show) [wanted to bring Jackie, but she doesn't like costume parties]
Haruhara Haruko (from Fuliculi) [dragged along kid]
The Joker (animated) [brought Harley]
and his mixer is: Baloo from Talespin

Andy is inviting:
Donkey (from Shrek) [brought the dragon]
Inigo Montoya (from Princess Bride) [may bring Fezzik]
Childlike Empress (from Neverending Story) [Brought Bastian]
The Tick (!!!) [Brought either Arther or Wooden-Boy]
Indiana Jones [Brought some woman]
and his mixer(s): Brak and his date Milly Thompson (from Trigun)

Liesel is inviting:
Ford Prefect (from Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy) [came alone but will leave with Haruhara Haruko]
Captain Hook (the book version) [Asked Tink, but wound up bringing Smee]
Jareth the Goblin King (from Labyrinth) [Came by himself]
Donald J. Shimoda (from Richard Bach's "Illusions") [brought a fellow pilot]
Batgirl (the Adam West version) [brought a galpal]
His mixer is: Holly Golightly (from Breakfast at Tiffany's)

Liam is Inviting:
Shadow (From American Gods) [Brought Sam]
Siddhartha Gotama (The OB, Original Buddha) [Brought Jesus, but as Krishna's Avatars, to cover his bases.]
Isaac Newton (Will sulk with a book under the punch table; will only come out if Aristotle shows up, so he can heckle him, or if someone smart enough to talk to asks him to.)
Ludwig Van Beethoven [Brought Tarja Turunen, from Nightwish: will sing some of his pieces when the punch gets spiked)
Ender Wiggin [Brought Bean, who will end up talking to Newton]
His mixer is: Nicholas LeSangeur

The Sound of Silence

2005-01-05T02:45:00.000-08:00

Hello darkness, my old friend,
I've come to talk with you again,
Because a vision softly creeping,
Left its seeds while I was sleeping,
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence.
In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone,
'Neath the halo of a street lamp,
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence.

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more.
People talking without speaking,
People hearing without listening,
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dare
Disturb the sound of silence.

"Fools" said I, "You do not know
Silence like a cancer grows.
Hear my words that I might teach you,
Take my arms that I might reach you."
But my words like silent raindrops fell,
And echoed
In the wells of silence

And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made.
And the sign flashed out its warning,
In the words that it was forming.
And the sign said, "The words of the prophets
are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls."
And whisper'd in the sounds of silence.

the above song is by Simon and Garfunkel (who knew?)
any ways i dod not know why but this song when i first herd it in art history 300
hit me on menny drifent levels
any ways i was wondering if i could find a host if maybe i could phost some of my picsure on here with the admins aprovel of couse
will here to my firstt phost

ZERO

The Oath of the Order of the Dragon

2004-12-20T23:40:00.000-08:00

On Earth alone, there be our treasure's store.
Our pleasure in their pain.
Of song and silence, let there be no more.
May only noise remain.

Ohne Dich

2004-12-18T20:46:00.000-08:00

i'm going into the pines;
That's the last place i saw you.
But the Autumn casts a cloth over the land,
and over the roads behind the wildlands.

And the wood is so dark and empty;
Wow is me, oh woe.
And every bird has ceased to sing.

Without you, i cannot live, without you
With you, i'm just as alone as without you.
Without you, i count every minute, without you
With you, every second stands still,
they're not worth minding.

On the branches and boughs,
everything is so quiet and lifeless,
and my breathing becomes labored...
Wow is me, oh woe.
And every bird has ceased to sing.

Without you, i cannot live, without you
With you, i'm just as alone as without you.
Without you, i count every minute, without you
With you, every second stands still,
But they're not worth having, without you

Rammstein: "Ohne Dich" ("Without You")
Translation: Liam Powers

"Egyptian bells are ringing when it's her birthday, my sweet nothing I'm talking about you there's a hurricane blowing your way."

2004-12-17T01:17:00.000-08:00
Today is a day for celebrating the miraculous fact that I've managed to not die for another year.

We celebrate this herculean feat by setting a cake blazing with fire.

The more years I accumulate, the more chance I have that the fire will burn off my eyebrows.

I am not quite sure what this is supposed to symbolize.

We also celebrate with presents.

They help.

2004-12-12T22:39:00.000-08:00
Victus Mei Animus Cum Conscientia:
Quod Me Nutrit Me Destruit.

Finally figured out how to post to this.

2004-12-11T03:43:00.000-08:00
I wish that I could somehow figure out how to convert the time I waste into useful and productive time-units.

There has GOT to be a formula somewhere for that.

Notes from the Antagonist

2004-12-10T01:15:00.000-08:00
When it was all over, I closed my eyes. The tears kept coming, regret flowing over. I sobbed through clenched teeth and tried to take it back.

I couldn't.

Every ounce of my will focused. Every muscle straining. I racked my very existence trying to undo what I had done.

I couldn't.

What's done cannot be undone. Once said, the words can't be unsaid. I prayed, suddenly, for the first time. I prayed that this would be the end.

It wasn't.

perhaps

2004-12-04T22:34:00.000-08:00
Oh how interesting! A little inspiration to get something that was.
From something that was to something that is.
And from something that started as nothing.
From nothing that became something and ended as quick as it began.
Perhaps, perhaps.
A little motivation, a little inspiration a little point of view.

Sentiment of My Waking Hours...

2004-11-30T01:11:00.000-08:00
Do you wrestle with dreams?
Do you contend with shadows?
Do you move in a kind of a sleep?
Time has slipped away.
Your life is stolen.
You tarried with trifles,
victim of your folly.

-Dirge for Jamis on the Funeral Plain, from "Songs of Muad'dib"
Author: Frank Herbert

Frustration

2004-11-26T01:04:00.000-08:00
Dreams are wonderful tools used by our subconscious to direct our actions in the waking world.
Sometimes these dreams come to wonderful conclusions where all the players meet their happy ends and all is right and well in the world.
Sometimes these dreams are shattered and broken, stripped away by unfortunate instances where it seems the forces of evil have turned their eye upon you for no particular reason at all.
And then there are those most wonderful of times when your dreams are so close to fulfillment, and yet still elude your grasp...somehow.
Even worse are those times when your dreams brush your fingertips, giving you just a brief taste of what could be, and then dash away again only to continue eluding you grasp indefinitely.

Eraser = Anger; Nose = Life

2004-11-21T21:59:00.000-08:00
When there's an eraser stuck up your nose,
The whole world smells like eraser.
Take the eraser out of your nose.

Monday morning in a retail job

2004-11-16T21:07:00.000-08:00
In silence I stare at a wall of white-trash snack food.
The cartoon cob on the bag of Corn Nuts clenches its fist in anger and screams
“If you’re looking for trouble you’ve found it buddy”
I turn away for I know it lives a lie.
The door opens
The cold and the din of morning traffic enter seeking refuge and perhaps a candy bar.
As soon as they enter they are gone, replaced by an amalgamation of noise, flesh, and currency.
After a transaction of false smiles and meaningless courtesy, our time is done.
I return to the wall greeted by the image of a cow on the bags of beef jerky.
I laugh at the cow its fate so like my own.
Born to toil, raised to be weak, and destined to be slaughtered for the enjoyment of a being whose motives I cannot comprehend.

Pass-Off Story; Continue in Comments

2004-11-14T02:10:00.001-08:00
Okay, everyone should know the rules of the pass-off story: Limit one sentence/clause per person per post, no run-ons, lists or otherwise cheating. Without further ado...

Once upon a time, there was an orange penguin named Alphonse.

"These are the times that try men's souls:"

2004-11-09T21:11:00.000-08:00
When Justice is over-ruled by Law
When Peace is attainable only by War
When Freedom is sabotaged by Organization
When God is only a device for Immortality
When Progress is stifled by Traditional Ignorance

And Baby, these are any old time

-credit goes to Mason Williams

Tigers

2004-11-09T21:05:00.000-08:00
A tiger cub
When with its peers
Will play the day away,

Yet tiger cub
Receives the jeers
Of those who shy away.

Though tiger cub
When in its veldt
May come across a man

The tiger paw
May be witheld
When man extends its hand

Now paw withheld,
The man withdraws
And calls the cub aloof

Same man, when chased,
By tiger claw,
Is found upon his roof.

When tiger play
Is had by young
One bats his friend around

And friend bats back;
His clever tongue
Gives loudly rolling sound

But tigers know
Their company;
They know their habits well

They do not jump
Or turn and flee
If they smell tiger smell.

When tigers stretch
And show their claws
They know not to beware

For tiger knows
Its own kind's paw
And knows the dangers there.

The End.

2004-11-07T21:00:00.000-08:00
All things end,
endings come from closure.
Closure is the element of change
that people crave in their lives.
Closure brings endings, the minute
reward of completion.
Because of these things,
beginnings are perilous times.