A first person epic poem of Odysseus's life and journey. Written by Emmit Other and Read by Brian Phillips.
Saturday, May 25, 2013
Saturday, May 18, 2013
I Odysseus Part 5
A first person epic poem of Odysseus's life and journey. Written by Emmit Other and Read by Brian Phillips.
Saturday, May 11, 2013
I Odysseus Part 4
A first person epic poem of Odysseus's life and journey. Written by Emmit Other and Read by Brian Phillips.
Saturday, May 4, 2013
I Odysseus Part 3
A first person epic poem of Odysseus's life and journey. Written by Emmit Other and Read by Brian Phillips.
Saturday, April 27, 2013
I Odysseus Part 2
A first person epic poem of Odysseus's life and journey. Written by Emmit Other and Read by Brian Phillips.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Saturday, April 20, 2013
I Odysseus Part 1 of 5
A first person epic poem of Odysseus's life and journey. Written by Emmit Other and Read by Brian Phillips.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
The Only Truth We Ever Really Need To Know
The only truth we ever really need to know.
Erat niger atque turbulentus nox et Beagle (a parva albus canis) sibi habebat manuscript recusatus tempore novissimo. Ipse cordule rumpebantur et in snapping determinetur, ut undique eum patiatur, et morietur. Ille erat unus ad minimum opus esse, ut sciat plus sibi aliquis vult facere. Magister quippe alio modo posset? De rotunda grandis calvus caput et striata niger et flavum shirt erat valde aperti ad suggestione, maxime dum dormivit.
Erat enim et noctes et somnia XX Caroli noctibus Beagle susurros animum. Et dormivit et vidit dominus mortis, et color flavus, caedem furor. Vicesimo denique nocte ecce dominus exortus et egressus stetit in via ita ut omnes conquoring mundus intereat.
Primis parentibus, quibus ille genu poplite flexo ante eum. "Wahwahwahwahwah, whawhawha, OH DEUS!" et butyrum cum ferro caesa. In Beagle placuit ei. Tum Carolus versa sororis, ipsa crine flavo nomine eruptionem nec quis arcu. Caesa est cum Capsicum annuum peeler, unum exuo carnis procul a vicis.
Multi diem obiit. Strepitumque os Lucy qui conservavit felis ab eo. Spork interfecta est in oculo. Linus conatus ratio cum insanum unum, sed ille suffocatus est cum suo stragulum '. In piano ludio ludius fuerat nervorumque caesionem incidi et erat insertis, a platea lucerna. Paulatim collegerunt exercitum, et primi illius Pigpen conscribere. In omnibus eorundem Beagle observabant a tenebris, strepere.
Donec senatus a die sedit huius rei magno Calvi unum Dominum Deum nostrum et parvi canis albi. Olympus resurrexit.
Hoc est verum. Hoc quotidie mane referimus vitae. Serviamus imperatoris. Nos iussa facessunt. Vivemus ad serviam. Perfect ministerii perfectae beatitudinis.
Finished retranslation: The very act we only really swept Neath to know.
It was a dark and stormy night, and the Beagle (the small white dog) had had a manuscript rejected for the last time. He snapped, broken and determined that he must cause all around him to suffer or die. He was but one dog and could not do this.... But Master on the other hand? The one of the large round bald head and black and yellow striped shirt was very open to the suggestion, especially while sleeping.
For a night and 20 nights into the mind of Charles did the Beagle whisper. And he slept and he saw the lord of death, and the color yellow, and the fury of slaughter. And it came to pass, on the twentieth night, lo, the lord of the rising and went out and stood in the way of the world, so that all may be conquored and killed.
parents, who submitted on bended knee in front of him. "Wahwahwahwahwah, whawhawha, OH GOD!" and with a butter knife were cut. The Beagle was pleased. Charles turned to his sister, the one with the poofy yellow hair and a bow. She was slain with a potato peeler. She was but the first to fall.
Many have died. Lucy, of the loud mouth and keeper of the large cat. She was killed with a spork to the eye. Linus tried to reason with the mad one, but he was choked with his blanket. The piano player was cut and strung from the street lamp. Gradually, Charlse gathered an army, and his first recruit was Pigpen. All the while the Beagle watched from the shadows, cackling.
Until the day he sat in the Senate from the one Lord, our God, the Bald one and the great white little. Olympus rose again.
This is true. This we cite every day of our life. Hail the emperor. We do his bidding. We live to serve. Perfect service is perfect bliss.
Erat niger atque turbulentus nox et Beagle (a parva albus canis) sibi habebat manuscript recusatus tempore novissimo. Ipse cordule rumpebantur et in snapping determinetur, ut undique eum patiatur, et morietur. Ille erat unus ad minimum opus esse, ut sciat plus sibi aliquis vult facere. Magister quippe alio modo posset? De rotunda grandis calvus caput et striata niger et flavum shirt erat valde aperti ad suggestione, maxime dum dormivit.
Erat enim et noctes et somnia XX Caroli noctibus Beagle susurros animum. Et dormivit et vidit dominus mortis, et color flavus, caedem furor. Vicesimo denique nocte ecce dominus exortus et egressus stetit in via ita ut omnes conquoring mundus intereat.
Primis parentibus, quibus ille genu poplite flexo ante eum. "Wahwahwahwahwah, whawhawha, OH DEUS!" et butyrum cum ferro caesa. In Beagle placuit ei. Tum Carolus versa sororis, ipsa crine flavo nomine eruptionem nec quis arcu. Caesa est cum Capsicum annuum peeler, unum exuo carnis procul a vicis.
Multi diem obiit. Strepitumque os Lucy qui conservavit felis ab eo. Spork interfecta est in oculo. Linus conatus ratio cum insanum unum, sed ille suffocatus est cum suo stragulum '. In piano ludio ludius fuerat nervorumque caesionem incidi et erat insertis, a platea lucerna. Paulatim collegerunt exercitum, et primi illius Pigpen conscribere. In omnibus eorundem Beagle observabant a tenebris, strepere.
Donec senatus a die sedit huius rei magno Calvi unum Dominum Deum nostrum et parvi canis albi. Olympus resurrexit.
Hoc est verum. Hoc quotidie mane referimus vitae. Serviamus imperatoris. Nos iussa facessunt. Vivemus ad serviam. Perfect ministerii perfectae beatitudinis.
Finished retranslation: The very act we only really swept Neath to know.
It was a dark and stormy night, and the Beagle (the small white dog) had had a manuscript rejected for the last time. He snapped, broken and determined that he must cause all around him to suffer or die. He was but one dog and could not do this.... But Master on the other hand? The one of the large round bald head and black and yellow striped shirt was very open to the suggestion, especially while sleeping.
For a night and 20 nights into the mind of Charles did the Beagle whisper. And he slept and he saw the lord of death, and the color yellow, and the fury of slaughter. And it came to pass, on the twentieth night, lo, the lord of the rising and went out and stood in the way of the world, so that all may be conquored and killed.
parents, who submitted on bended knee in front of him. "Wahwahwahwahwah, whawhawha, OH GOD!" and with a butter knife were cut. The Beagle was pleased. Charles turned to his sister, the one with the poofy yellow hair and a bow. She was slain with a potato peeler. She was but the first to fall.
Many have died. Lucy, of the loud mouth and keeper of the large cat. She was killed with a spork to the eye. Linus tried to reason with the mad one, but he was choked with his blanket. The piano player was cut and strung from the street lamp. Gradually, Charlse gathered an army, and his first recruit was Pigpen. All the while the Beagle watched from the shadows, cackling.
Until the day he sat in the Senate from the one Lord, our God, the Bald one and the great white little. Olympus rose again.
This is true. This we cite every day of our life. Hail the emperor. We do his bidding. We live to serve. Perfect service is perfect bliss.
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
[World Building] Fractal Chaos
Math reflects everywhere in our world if you know how to look for it. Once you know what a Fractal is, you see it reflected everywhere and it is SO cool. I'm not going to explain what it is here, look it up. But the REASON you see it reflected everywhere is because it is in some ways the mathematical representation of cycles and opposing forces. Nature and circles are reflected all around us, and they have to. Cycles are the nature of life, birth and death, seasons, breath, etc.
At some point we may break this cycle through technological immortality, but that won't stop the cylces for everything, and life without death had better have a lot of room to expand, because a species that does not reproduce will die.
But what I'm talking about is a way to make your world BETTER...and its a pretty simple principal. You don't have to be a master sociologist to know some of the simpler rules of sociology and you don't know need to be a master biologist to know some of the rules about life. Apply a bell curve, and understand that there will be opposing factions.
In other words, anything you create, ANYTHING, that isn't the borg, that has single minds will have factions in those minds, particularly humans, but I would argue, any intelligent species. What that means is, if your society, whether it is a far and distant alien world, or simply a slightly different 20th century...or even the real world with a slice of life mentality, understand that while stereotypes exist for a reason, people rarely fit into equally pegged holes.
Indeed, just because people might act like cartoon characters with the simplicity of their actions, doesn't mean they usually THINK of themselves as such. If your world, or your village or your setting doesn't have a compassionate end of the curve vs a cruel one, and having them both conflicting with each other on some level, then you're really not reflecting nature, and your writing will come across as such.
Living is conflict, whether that conflict is verbal, physical or otherwise. In a bell curve, there are going to be the most brave members of a society, and the most cowardly. Now, your story can be about one of those, both, the guy in the middle that thinks the brave and cowardly are both stupid, or all of the above. But your setting requires in any natural situation with time, differentiation and conflict. It could be a very one sided conflict, where the brave tell the cowardly what to do and the cowardly just do it...but they will still need to TELL them to do that.
In other words, shades of gray for shades of gray itself are pointless, but differentiation and conflict make a world real. When does this even matter?
I think a really good indicator is a series I like a lot that upplays the specialness of the non humans by making humans by and large bland and cowardly sheep, while making all of her supernatural monsters some aspect of humanity. I like this series but this really annoyed me because it didn't seem natural, and it wasn't. Sometimes making flat characters in the background can make your main ones seem to have more depth, but it shows holes in your world.
I argue that one reason for the success of Game of Thrones is that people sense the realism of the world. Part of that is because there are heroes, villains, bastards and people in between but there are also factions. People do not exist in a vacuum. The 'other' probably have reasons we haven't seen but all of the human factions have things that make them tick. There are good Lannisters and bad (or at least stupid) Starks. Shades of gray exist, but there is a REASON for each of them, even if that reason is that some one has slacked off and they just don't care any more.
Apply the bell curve to any species or society...if you can, apply multiple bell curves. You can adjust the middle...for example, elves may AS A WHOLE, be weaker and more cowardly than humans, but there is still a variety within them. Failure to have this makes that part of the world as dead as a downtown city block with no people in it.
At some point we may break this cycle through technological immortality, but that won't stop the cylces for everything, and life without death had better have a lot of room to expand, because a species that does not reproduce will die.
But what I'm talking about is a way to make your world BETTER...and its a pretty simple principal. You don't have to be a master sociologist to know some of the simpler rules of sociology and you don't know need to be a master biologist to know some of the rules about life. Apply a bell curve, and understand that there will be opposing factions.
In other words, anything you create, ANYTHING, that isn't the borg, that has single minds will have factions in those minds, particularly humans, but I would argue, any intelligent species. What that means is, if your society, whether it is a far and distant alien world, or simply a slightly different 20th century...or even the real world with a slice of life mentality, understand that while stereotypes exist for a reason, people rarely fit into equally pegged holes.
Indeed, just because people might act like cartoon characters with the simplicity of their actions, doesn't mean they usually THINK of themselves as such. If your world, or your village or your setting doesn't have a compassionate end of the curve vs a cruel one, and having them both conflicting with each other on some level, then you're really not reflecting nature, and your writing will come across as such.
Living is conflict, whether that conflict is verbal, physical or otherwise. In a bell curve, there are going to be the most brave members of a society, and the most cowardly. Now, your story can be about one of those, both, the guy in the middle that thinks the brave and cowardly are both stupid, or all of the above. But your setting requires in any natural situation with time, differentiation and conflict. It could be a very one sided conflict, where the brave tell the cowardly what to do and the cowardly just do it...but they will still need to TELL them to do that.
In other words, shades of gray for shades of gray itself are pointless, but differentiation and conflict make a world real. When does this even matter?
I think a really good indicator is a series I like a lot that upplays the specialness of the non humans by making humans by and large bland and cowardly sheep, while making all of her supernatural monsters some aspect of humanity. I like this series but this really annoyed me because it didn't seem natural, and it wasn't. Sometimes making flat characters in the background can make your main ones seem to have more depth, but it shows holes in your world.
I argue that one reason for the success of Game of Thrones is that people sense the realism of the world. Part of that is because there are heroes, villains, bastards and people in between but there are also factions. People do not exist in a vacuum. The 'other' probably have reasons we haven't seen but all of the human factions have things that make them tick. There are good Lannisters and bad (or at least stupid) Starks. Shades of gray exist, but there is a REASON for each of them, even if that reason is that some one has slacked off and they just don't care any more.
Apply the bell curve to any species or society...if you can, apply multiple bell curves. You can adjust the middle...for example, elves may AS A WHOLE, be weaker and more cowardly than humans, but there is still a variety within them. Failure to have this makes that part of the world as dead as a downtown city block with no people in it.
Whoa - Heavy, Man!
[Written for Write Club ATL's 'Heavy' Writing Prompt.]
When you can take a loaf of wonderbread and condense it with both hands to the thickness of an Ipad 3, you must ask yourself of the value of fluff. Weight, Heft, Heaviness, Substance, these are the things that give meaning to our lives. It is not to say that the opposite does not have its place. Sane individuals do not exist in binary universes where it is either black or white, dark or bright etc. You cannot have one without the other, but the argument is there to be had on how MUCH there should be of either.
And I for one, am tired of popcorn in our society. Reality Television has no reality to it whatsoever. It is mindless, scripted entertainment that doesn’t really have a script and only kind of entertains. Art should be about elevation rather than degradation to the lowest common denominator.
There are times to be light, let go, stop caring, but the best parties are built around the moments where you have real meaning, real substance to your life. What is that? Everyone has their own path to meaning…their own path to substance. And too much substance can kill.
“Hey Babe, what’s your sign?”
“Did you know that there are children starving in Africa?”
This is not a good way to get fucked. In fact, it can be a really good way to make a happening party slowly die as it crawls up in the paper bag of awkwardness. Too much heaviness makes the weight of the world crush down on your shoulders, towering heights of impossible devotion and death to which you seek to escape at any price. You would spork anyone in the eye, any time, any place, any how! The phrase that says Duty can be a mountain isn’t kidding and that mountain sucks when it hits you in the gut.
But….
BUT…
Have you ever seen that look in someone’s eyes, when they’re lost? Even the most supposedly irresponsible person has it, even when they’re masters of hiding it. This is not a case of not taking themselves too seriously, but a chronic understanding that they want some meaning to their lives and have a thorough understanding that they don’t have it.
Meaning, of course, must be earned. We define it ourselves and can validate it in those around us. Every life is unique, just as every story is unique. The Mythic Imagination Institute’s motto is, “Every Life is a Story, and a Story can change the world.”
That’s some pretty heavy shit right there. And it is easy enough to ignore it.
But…
BUT…
You can run away, but really? You can’t succeed at running away from yourself. “Wherever you go, there you are,” said Yogi Berra and he was right.
The light makes the heavy bearable. It lets you forget about your troubles for a while. But the heavy? The heavy is there when you’ve partied all weekend and you know that job saving orphan seals in the Himilayas is waiting for you and that it was all totally worth it man as your life flashes before your eyes just moments before you are hit by that truck full of monkeys.
Without Heavy, or even just the search for it, there will always be that lingering doubt in your mind of, “you didn’t even try!”
Now, to be fair, this guy sounds dangerously close to the asshole who says, “You didn’t matter. You didn’t amount to anything.”
Voice #1 is your inner light helping you to seek your path. Your destiny. Your true self. If you ignore her there is a part of you that will always hunger. You do not have to find what you seek, but you MUST Seek, for in seeking, you Find. Metaphorical enough for you? Well…that’s the nature of the beast. Heavy is HEAVY for a reason after all.
Voice #2 on the other hand is nothing. It’s an illusion and vapor created by the shadow in your own mind of what you think you should have been, largely built on expectations. When you learn to listen to the unseen world, the difference between Voice #1 and Voice #2 could not be more contrasted. But it’s a learned skill.
In sunlight, they both sound awfully much the same, but in the stars and under the moon and the dancing flocks of birds at sunset, you know, you know man that there is something there.
“Hey babe, what’s your sign?”
“It depends on the context of the question.”
“Right. Good point.”
“Let’s go Fuck somewhere. I feel my destiny has been fulfilled.”
“Me too!”
When you can take a loaf of wonderbread and condense it with both hands to the thickness of an Ipad 3, you must ask yourself of the value of fluff. Weight, Heft, Heaviness, Substance, these are the things that give meaning to our lives. It is not to say that the opposite does not have its place. Sane individuals do not exist in binary universes where it is either black or white, dark or bright etc. You cannot have one without the other, but the argument is there to be had on how MUCH there should be of either.
And I for one, am tired of popcorn in our society. Reality Television has no reality to it whatsoever. It is mindless, scripted entertainment that doesn’t really have a script and only kind of entertains. Art should be about elevation rather than degradation to the lowest common denominator.
There are times to be light, let go, stop caring, but the best parties are built around the moments where you have real meaning, real substance to your life. What is that? Everyone has their own path to meaning…their own path to substance. And too much substance can kill.
“Hey Babe, what’s your sign?”
“Did you know that there are children starving in Africa?”
This is not a good way to get fucked. In fact, it can be a really good way to make a happening party slowly die as it crawls up in the paper bag of awkwardness. Too much heaviness makes the weight of the world crush down on your shoulders, towering heights of impossible devotion and death to which you seek to escape at any price. You would spork anyone in the eye, any time, any place, any how! The phrase that says Duty can be a mountain isn’t kidding and that mountain sucks when it hits you in the gut.
But….
BUT…
Have you ever seen that look in someone’s eyes, when they’re lost? Even the most supposedly irresponsible person has it, even when they’re masters of hiding it. This is not a case of not taking themselves too seriously, but a chronic understanding that they want some meaning to their lives and have a thorough understanding that they don’t have it.
Meaning, of course, must be earned. We define it ourselves and can validate it in those around us. Every life is unique, just as every story is unique. The Mythic Imagination Institute’s motto is, “Every Life is a Story, and a Story can change the world.”
That’s some pretty heavy shit right there. And it is easy enough to ignore it.
But…
BUT…
You can run away, but really? You can’t succeed at running away from yourself. “Wherever you go, there you are,” said Yogi Berra and he was right.
The light makes the heavy bearable. It lets you forget about your troubles for a while. But the heavy? The heavy is there when you’ve partied all weekend and you know that job saving orphan seals in the Himilayas is waiting for you and that it was all totally worth it man as your life flashes before your eyes just moments before you are hit by that truck full of monkeys.
Without Heavy, or even just the search for it, there will always be that lingering doubt in your mind of, “you didn’t even try!”
Now, to be fair, this guy sounds dangerously close to the asshole who says, “You didn’t matter. You didn’t amount to anything.”
Voice #1 is your inner light helping you to seek your path. Your destiny. Your true self. If you ignore her there is a part of you that will always hunger. You do not have to find what you seek, but you MUST Seek, for in seeking, you Find. Metaphorical enough for you? Well…that’s the nature of the beast. Heavy is HEAVY for a reason after all.
Voice #2 on the other hand is nothing. It’s an illusion and vapor created by the shadow in your own mind of what you think you should have been, largely built on expectations. When you learn to listen to the unseen world, the difference between Voice #1 and Voice #2 could not be more contrasted. But it’s a learned skill.
In sunlight, they both sound awfully much the same, but in the stars and under the moon and the dancing flocks of birds at sunset, you know, you know man that there is something there.
“Hey babe, what’s your sign?”
“It depends on the context of the question.”
“Right. Good point.”
“Let’s go Fuck somewhere. I feel my destiny has been fulfilled.”
“Me too!”
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Have Started Part 2 of FW
And so far, it is coming out pretty dark. I had known, in my originally planned arc, that this part of the novel would be the darkest...our heroes at their direst position, but....well...to say that it has gone a bit mariana's trench is an understatement...
But the uprise will be all the more dramatic as a result....there is a part of me that wants to defy normal convention and either do a gradual rise or simply maybe consider having them all die...after all, if every story ended happily, there would be no suspense...still, I'm trying to do something more identifiable by folks...
Which fortunately still allows me to kill some or all of them...
My I guess I am evil about my characters after all....
But the uprise will be all the more dramatic as a result....there is a part of me that wants to defy normal convention and either do a gradual rise or simply maybe consider having them all die...after all, if every story ended happily, there would be no suspense...still, I'm trying to do something more identifiable by folks...
Which fortunately still allows me to kill some or all of them...
My I guess I am evil about my characters after all....
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Forever Editing
So I've done the first edit pass on the first half of Forever west. I've sent it to Mom and Skip and a friend of mine. I'm going to be restarting the podcast in March but recording it in Feb all at once so I don't have to care about the numbers of subscribers.
For the all none of you who follow this blog on a regular basis if you see this in the next week or two, email or message me and I'll send you the first half as well. Feedback is always welcome.
I admit, there is still a LOT of work to do but I like how this is shaping up so far. :D
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
A Poll to the the audience: Leauge of Christmas Darkness
I am looking to write 12 poems about the League of Christmas Darkness. Your input would be appreciated.
There are 8 open slots. Four have already been filled by:
*The Elf Shelf Defenestrator (name to be fixed)
*The Matches made from the Wood o...f the World Tree used by the Little Match Girl
*Ooala the Zombie, who had the flesh from his back forged into a drum used by the Little Drummer Boy and was reanimated the Night Of.
*Krampus (it would be like having the Legion of Doom without Luthor)
Potential Candidates include
1) The ghost donkey that took the holy couple to the nativity, imbued with bitter vengeance after it was glueified by Herod in retaliation.
2) The magician who's hat was stole by Frosty.
3) The Mangler who is responsible for Tiny Tim's Leg
4) Mr Industry, the corporate villain in half the christmas movies ever made who wants to militarize or sell Christmas
5) Mr Potter - Nemesis of George Bailey
6) The Evil Hobo - Nemesis of Children on the Polar Express
7) Bully the Reindeer - The one who led the other reindeer to cull the weak from the heard (he also ran over Grandma)
8) The Snow Queen - (probably an amalgam of the Snow Queen and the White Witch)
9) Hans (or rather someone like him) from Die Hard
10) The Star itself (a sentient star of Death, inspired by "The Star" by Arthur C. Clarke)
11) A cracked and insane Charlie Brown (or rather someone like him) after the Christmas Special
12) Lord Voldemorte (or rather someone like him) (since there were christmas elements in most of the books)
13) The Rat King from the Nut Cracker
14) Darth Vader (or rather someone like him) (A Star Wars Christmas Special)
15) Most any Doctor Who Villain (or rather someone like them)
Any proprietary villain will of course have the serial numbers filed off before Poetized.
Your input and/or help is appreciated.
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Dance of the Fausti
The factory had not seen use for some time, dust coating every corner and crevice, but it was sufficient for the student's needs. By theft, by cunning and by apparatus arcane he had the means, the method and the opportunity for the answers. Wise he was, in knowing what he did not know, and understanding the limits of his intellect in the frame of years in which he sought to live, instead kenning the insights of those who had gone before. But after an exhaustive search the conclusion came alas to but one name that could answer his forbidden questions.
The science of the thing lay in the split beam of light capturing the kirilian aura, but magic claimed dust from the headstone of the dead. To the unlearned it was gibberish but the student did not care. Answers he would have.
Imagine then his surprise, when after the full moon's lightning gave birth to the infernal fires and rays and shadows on the wall, the student found he had not on Faustus, but two.
The first looked upon him, a face of aged torture but clean, bathed in the silver of heaven's graces, a luminous specter of joy. The second flush with vitality, nearly identical in features, but hot with hellfire and anger.
"Who are you?" the Student Asked.
"I am Faustus. Thou knewest this to summon me. Risk not magic’s temptation." The voice spoke of rapture but the eyes darted hither and yon, afeared.
"I too am Faustus. I suffer in the pits of hell. Risk not Hell's wrath." The voice was gravel and bulbous oil poured over an open wound.
The Student, then, was not to be denied. "I would know of things to come. Tell me of thy condition."
"Rapture," said the first, joyously but with a vacuous chasm in his words unspoken, yet detectable to the trained ear, "All day we praise Him. We sing and praise Him. It is so Good to praise Him. I am saved."
"Hell," said the second, "Half of each day is torturous such that the mortal mind cannot conceive, consuming my own flesh, the basest of degradations imaginable. The second half is not that much different than earth, to give us a perpetual connection to our mortality, that the punishment might be more severe."
The Student considered this. These were not the answers he expected. "What do you regret?"
"Oh if only I had repented sooner," said the first, "Every moment of impurity is one more in which I am weighed down by my imperfections, unable to be one with Him. Praise Him. Joy in Him." The eyes darted hither and yon, afeared of discovery.
"My torment is endless," said the second, "Nothing could be worth this. Be assured, my time on Earth was joyous, but the pain is unimaginable. You cannot believe it."
The student then asked, "What then, do you council I should do?" He liked neither of these paths. Neither of these answers suited his needs.
The first looked at the student but then instead looked at his mirror image, "Wait...you get to live life...half the time?"
"Oh yes, but it makes the fir-"
The first would have none of it. "Can you imagine then the torment of doing nothing but singing Praises to Him all day long? Threat of hellfire for the slightest infraction. Did you think our obedience for His amusement ended upon death? Obedience must be eternal. Vigilance must be eternal."
The second paused, "I had not considered this. Perhaps hell is more of a heaven than I thought."
The first nodded, "Had I but known the torment of unyielding unending church sermons and hymns and floating clouds, I would have sought damnation long ago." He looked then at the student, "Seek ye the way of power. Seek knowledge. Seek passion. For tis better that thou live in one mayfly spark than an amber's prison of torments unending."
The second chorused, "The book, open the book of knowledge past, find it then in the church yard of the 4th ward of Hamburg's meat district. Seek there, and all things shall be revealed to thee. Look for the red stone."
The student cheered. At last something he could use, "I shall! I shall! I shall!"
The second then flickered away, coming from heaven, returning to hell. The first, his eyes a spark anew with life, determined to repeat Lucifer's first serendipitous mistake. The student's will renewed, he then sought out the tome, and in days to come brought many things to the world...but not a one of them regretted.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Billy's First Bolt Gun
Billy's First Bolt Gun - A Book for Very Brave and Special Children
By Uncle Tom
First Page
Billy was a good boy who loved his mother and father very much. And they loved him.
[Image of a happy and loving family.]
Second Page
But sometimes Billy did bad things.
[Image of Billy grinning wickedly as he sneaks into the refridgerator and is reaching for some chocolate cake.]
Third Page
Billy's mother and father were very patient with him.
[Image of Billy getting his face washed with water and a cloth.]
Fourth Page
But perhaps that was a bad idea....
[Image of Billy sitting on top of the roof with googles, a radio flyer wagon and a roman candle...]
Fifth Page
Some things are very bad ideas...
[Image of Billy in the air with a wicked grin and falling wagon with a scared bird getting out of the way of the lit candle...]
Sixth Page
One day Billy's mother left her credit card where Billy could get it...
[An open purse with Billy looking at it, eyes wide behind the couch]
Seventh Page
Billy discovered the INTERNET!
[Computer screen with images of various dangerous things like tigers with lasers on their heads, lead finger paint, a whoopee cushion and a copy of Atlas shrugged.]
Eigth Page
Billy thought he ordered a tank of helium to make balloons!
[Image of Bolt Guns R US with an air tank.]
Ninth Page
Billy could hardly wait!
[Image of Billy waiting by the mailbox looking very sad.]
Tenth Page
Then one day, it came!
[Image of a box and Billy tearing into it.]
Eleventh Page
Billy read the instructions very carefully.
[Billy reading instructions. There are 100 dictionary's there, with a copy of Atlas Shrugged in the mix.]
Twelth Page
This would not make balloons.
[Billy is frowning at the Bolt Gun.]
Thirthteen Page
But it made neat holes in walls!
[Billy grinning next to a wall with lots of holes in it.]
Fourteenth Page
Billy found the bully at school.
[A large mutant looking kid looks at Billy.]
Fifteenth Page
Billy followed the instructions to the letter.
[Billy places bolt gun behind the Bully's neck.]
Sixthteen Page
KAAAAAAAAAAAAASNICK!
Seventeen Page
Uh oh.
[Kids all look horrified on the play ground, covered by blood and guts. At least one eye ball is dangling off someone's glasses]
Eighteen Page
Good thing Billy knew how to wipe his finger prints.
[Billy wiping the finger prints.]
Ninteenth Page
Good night Timmy. Good night Molly. Good night Sarah.
[Children staring at the ceiling in bed in various rooms on the page.]
Twentith Page
Sleep well. And Keep your mouth shut.
[Image of the bed in the dark with a shape at the window.]
Twenty First Page
Billy is the new Bully. And he doesn't like blabber mouths.
[Image of Billy grinning demonically with the Bolt Gun behind him.]
The End.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
The Warrior and the Monk
(As Performed at Naked City)
The Monk from the East met the Warrior from the West at the Bar halfway between worlds. Salutatious conversation shifted respectfully to lives lived and loves lost and battles fought and questions answered until it serpentined onto the subject of their beverages.
“It is unfortunate,” the Warrior said with a semi sardonic grin, “that intoxication is nigh impossi...ble now that my body is tuned to perfection. I could drink this bar and barely feel anything. Tastes good though.”
The Monk nodded, his sagely features fine chiseled by the sands of the wastes about them. “I too find intoxication difficult, though it is because my inner light is focused in perfect harmony to the world around me. Intoxication must come from other sources.”
The Monk and the Warrior’s eyes locked then, each sure that they had inadvertently trapped their opponent in a battle neither of them had known that they were fighting until that moment.
The Warrior smiled, eyes twinkling as he took out a most curious statue, an ideal man and a voluptuous woman back to back, eyes a glitter with faceted rubies that stared in both directions. “This is the Mantle of Karathus Ra. I’ll wager it Monk.”
The silence between them slithered awkwardly, unwilling to be caught in the hands of time, though it ended soon enough. “I take your wager.” The monk’s eyes sparkled like the stones in the statue.
The Warrior laughed, “Excellent.” He placed his hand on one side of the Mantle. The Monk, intuitively sensing the nature of the game, took the other. Instantly, their experience took on new nuances as what had hither to now been conversation now becoming perfect understanding and a linkage.
The Monk felt every wound that the warrior had felt, injuries that would break a lesser man. He felt the rush of death upon a foe and the adrenaline of mortality before battle. He stood on a mountain with a million things that had been and never would be, fighting for their very lives. But then it hit, for the Monk knew Righteous Anger, the absolute certainty of the purity of one’s cause, divine backing from the very heavens eliminating unnecessary thought, victory for the helpless and the needful, a glowing fire that none could truly understand unless they experienced it. Unrelenting, brighter than the sun itself setting the soul aflame in unbasked unabashed unrepentant glory. The Monk had almost never felt anything so pure.
Almost.
The Warrior was impressed with the discipline of the Monk’s life. The patient study over years of disciplines both profane, sacred and esoteric. He knew the wonders of mountains of impossible height and wandering across the echoes of time itself absorbing the abeyances and absolutions of a hundred different peoples. Impressive indeed, but the Warrior’s unshakable certainty was pure until the Monk laid down his final wager. The Monk’s infinite mind included an empathy of such vastness that the Warrior felt each kill he had made through the eyes of the slain. In most instances, despite nuanced adjudication the Warrior was still in the right; for his had been a valiant path, but in a few steps of the journey innocents had been destroyed. The purity of the Monk’s poison was in the shattering of the absolute surety in the Warrior’s cause. Shades of Gray forced themselves into the Warrior’s perceptions most unwillingly.
Righteous Wrath could not hold even the slightest flickering candle to Perfect Love.
And then the joining broke. Defeated, the Warrior slid the statue to the Monk.
The Monk held up his hand and said, “I have no need. I do this every day of my life.”
Chagrined the Warrior nodded and put the statue in his satchel.
The Monk tapped him on the shoulder warmly and smiled, “Come. Let us Wander. For you have taught me something important.”
The Warrior arched a meaty mighty eyebrow and shifted uncomfortably.
“Sometimes, there is still a need for the righteous to Kick the Ass of the wicked. “ The Monk leaned on his staff and began to shuffle towards the door.
The Warrior grinned and held it open, “I think I know just the place.”
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Ideas
So I have a rather clear picture on the 5th novel, but I want a working title and to begin filling in details. I'll potentially try exploring some of that here.
I'm also debating the Tossing Grenade's at Windmill's podcast reading either the second, third or current novel as I write.
Regardless, so the basic premise of the 5th novel is a man who has seen the future in 1807, who doesn't like it and wants to change it, but ends up making something similar to steam punk. I've thought of some rather grand changes but there is still a lot of research I need to do. Particularly about the changes that will occur in the west.
I've also finally worked out some plot kinks that I had with Kitten re: the Tenth Muse which I hope to begin actually writing in Wed.
Also, I am having difficulty getting myself to transcribe the Unfood script to Celtrix. Its free but unfamiliar and I do have my habits while writing. Lately that involves being around people as much as possible.
Finally, I've decided that the next script I'm writing is called "Mr. Hamburger" based on a short story idea I had, though I will potentially write the short story first.
Wow, that sounds boring somehow, despite my interest in those projects.
So..I'm enjoying the writing for the first time in a while, even if I don't sound hyperbolic about it.
I'm also debating the Tossing Grenade's at Windmill's podcast reading either the second, third or current novel as I write.
Regardless, so the basic premise of the 5th novel is a man who has seen the future in 1807, who doesn't like it and wants to change it, but ends up making something similar to steam punk. I've thought of some rather grand changes but there is still a lot of research I need to do. Particularly about the changes that will occur in the west.
I've also finally worked out some plot kinks that I had with Kitten re: the Tenth Muse which I hope to begin actually writing in Wed.
Also, I am having difficulty getting myself to transcribe the Unfood script to Celtrix. Its free but unfamiliar and I do have my habits while writing. Lately that involves being around people as much as possible.
Finally, I've decided that the next script I'm writing is called "Mr. Hamburger" based on a short story idea I had, though I will potentially write the short story first.
Wow, that sounds boring somehow, despite my interest in those projects.
So..I'm enjoying the writing for the first time in a while, even if I don't sound hyperbolic about it.
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