Friday, January 5, 2007


Thursday, January 4, 2007

So I pity you.

Ye, oh scribe, ye who troubles over paper, screen, parchment. While writing may be your mistress, her courting long and painstaking, proverbial lashes really aren't quite the same. Am I a man of two mistresses? Well, there's the entire aregument of the factualness of my manhood. Besides, it's not really two- Men have done other things for their muses, no? And she's most certainly one to be able to focus that wild, wreckless creative passion that men seem to have. I mean, look at all those that pray to her.

And are prey to her. One in the same, I like to think. But, hey, I'm her "mail order boyfriend".

Well, seriously, it's what happened. She went to a website, put in a specific set of requirements, and out popped me.

Who she then waited a year for to be neatly packaged and properly fit for delivery.

Hell she even paid for air shipping!

But seriously folks-

The accounts were never setteled as to why the shield went down that day. While it's conceiveable that since it was the first time the shield had ever been known to be extended past it's first set boundries, and the results were thought of as to be "Unknown" at best, the fact that it worked was enough. Long enough for the people to see, finally, that they were safe, to sleep soundly in their beds for just one night. Long enough for the first ghouls to be drawn to the power of the shield more relentlessly than they had ever been drawn to the village before.

It's an unfortunate, yet boonful byproduct of that bloody night. The wall's an understaffed force, most sleeping under the comforting hum of the edge of the shield's faint glimmering curtain were quickly overun.

The years have passed and the grim memory of the massacre that night are forgotten. After they stopped coming, in endless, seeming unstoppable waves that night, they were never seen again. Towns once more built up around the curtain, their lands free of the malignant presence of the native wildlife. Outlying settlements now only needed infrequent patrols, and life continues as I now know it.

Half, if not more, of the city's squatter populace was decimated. Those that stood and fought along walls that had never fallen went as quickly as those gutted in their sleep- The night was left to those quick enough to run, small enough to hide. Those that ran never looked back, those that hid could only watch. There were rumors, of course. The generator had been pushed past capacity, sabatage by what remained of any sort of vocal minority, and, of course, sheer ineptitude of the ruling house. After the soldiers left, I kept my mothers garden with the rest of the small ones. The vultures returned, but kept their distance. Once within the shield wall we were deemed Official Citizens, enough for Peacekeepers to wander the fields. The boon came from the lack of further attacks, as families ventured from the cramped lower levels of the city proper to the now lucrative farmlands at the Fringe. I cept the small ones safe until they were picked up one by one by Peacekeepers- now homeless vagrants, they were shipped to the city for needy, sterile families. The garden is there, across the Market. See the tops of the sweetrush? The finally claimed it as well, walling it, granting "access", sudden funding for groundskeepers working off their latest relationship dispute.

Streets. Don't scowl, I can see: Your eyes. Watchful. The casual, confident lines of your shoulders. Leather cared for almost as much as the weapons it holds. Fits loose on you, though, that harness.

Royalty comes for a bit of looky-loo, their chance with a wilder's daughter. Dressed tough, Peacekeeper's civie's on loan, though you certainly found a better fit. It's the nails that always give them away. Fingers like that don't let dirt in their beds, except when no one's the wiser. You don't see scars like yours on a pretty boy.

Unless he's been a bad one.

That's when he told me he had a job.

Homoerotic wolves killing giant robots with eternal paradise on the horizon entailing the rescue of a beautiful godess from an imortal evil.

Yeah who wouldn't want to watch this stuff? I mean besides "manly men" but we know they all like cowboys and leather dudes.

Latin only exsists so that a plucky bespeckled female cohort can gasp it out in english.

You should dine on anything that you can finish eating and say "Now, sir, 'that' is a meal."

Why don't I just create some stick figures and make them say non sequitors all day.

Then I'll call it a webcomic.

Lord in heaven it's difficult to not write me into a goddamn story.