"No, I do not love you."
The words were strong, if not a little sad, as they perferated the dark room.
The woman looked at him from across the room. What could she say?
"How could you say that?" was her reply. Simple, but to the point.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Famous Person I Like #47: Keith Flint
This week's Famous Person is none other than Keith Flint. Not quite a household name, but he's quite possibly contributed to the arts far more than Roland Flint ever has.
That comment has everything to do with my opinion of poets.
Keith Charles Keef Flint
Read (and watch!) more after the jump.
Keith Charles Keef Flint
Read (and watch!) more after the jump.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Re: Turning tricks behind the Olive Garden
Have you ever noticed the prevalence of people yelling into their cellphones in public?
No, you haven't. That's just something you assumed because you find it frigg'n annoying.
And you know why? Because it IS frigg'n annoying. You're just going about your own little business, when some jacktard has the audacity to start yelling into their phone. And the absolute worst part is when they or the person they are "talking" to is lacking in hearing capacity.
"DO YOU WANT PEANUT BUTTER PRETZELS?
THE PRETZELS WITH PEANUT BUTTER IN THEM.
DO YOU WANT SOME? PRETZELS. WITH PEANUT BUTTER."
The best part? He didn't need any of those coveted pretzels with peanut butter in them. (How does that even work? A loaf of bread and a bag of peanuts got frisky on the store shelf.)
But the moral of my story? Cellphone-yellage really isn't that common. Sure, you always notice it. It's frigg'n annoying. (Remember?) But do you realize how many cellphones are out there? A small number [people yelling into their cellphone] divided by a large number [people with a cellphone i.e. everyone] makes a ridiculously small number.
Basically: Stop running your mouths about people who yell on cellphones. It's like when some one starts talking about shaving on an airplane. Jerry Seinfeld covered the hell out of that topic 20 years ago. I'm not interested in reading your lame blog post *ahem* complaining about rude people in public.
Quit yer bitchin' and post more cat pictures, internet.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Update Frequency
For all intents and purposes, I want to have something new posted three times a week. This first week or so will be difficult, as I'm still working out the overall plot in Untitled Story.
The reason I haven't had any non-story posts this week is because I forgot. I'll do better. Honest.
The reason I haven't had any non-story posts this week is because I forgot. I'll do better. Honest.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Segment 1: Late Night
The moon was peeking through the trees, casting a silvery light upon the backs of the two children as they sat upon the bluff. As it rose higher and higher it became clear how exceptionally bright it was this evening, making the valley below seemingly more vivid than the prior cloud covered day. Once the moon was clear of its arboretum obstructions, the boy spoke.
“Do you ever wonder why we’re here?”
The girl, almost entirely unaware of the question, realized that he was waiting for her to answer.
“What do you mean?”
Growing slightly impatient, the boy pulled up a handful of grass and tossed it into the air as he replied,
“Why are we here? Who decided that me and my family had to move here?”
“The cervants did.” The girl’s reply came almost automatically. The general curriculum included making sure each and every child knew what the Civilian-Servants did and why they should trust these “Cervants.”
“No, the cervants just made sure we did. Someone else told them to do it. The cervants boss us around. Who bosses the cervants around?”
At that moment, a passing cervant searching for something in the timber overheard the discussion between the children. The bright yellow band around his left arm seemed immune to the color-altering moonlight as he swiftly moved from the tree-line to the children, casting a long, ominous shadow across their backs and into their view.
The girl quickly snapped around out of fear, only to see her worries confirmed. This cervant most certainly knew they were not allowed out this far from the city this late at night. The boy remained still. He knew it was a cervant simply because no one else would be outside the city.
The cervant simply bellowed, “This is not allowed!”
The boy watched as another shadow quickly grew beside the cervant’s. His eyes grew wide as the two shadows briefly connected with an accompanying crack that echoed slightly off the trees behind them.
The boy twisted around to see the cervant collapse to the ground. Standing nearly in his place was a man with a large, broken stick in his hands.
“Get home. Don’t let another one see you.”
The girl hadn’t moved, even blinked, since the cervant had arrived, but the boy jumped to his feet.
“Who are you?”
“I’m the guy whose going to kick you down the bluff if you don’t leave right now. ”
The man pivoted on one foot and began walking towards the tree line.
Both children finally realized how lucky they were and decided to stop questioning their fate. As they both scrambled for home, the man disappeared into the timber.
“I really need to quit doing that.”
The trees did not reply.
“Do you ever wonder why we’re here?”
The girl, almost entirely unaware of the question, realized that he was waiting for her to answer.
“What do you mean?”
Growing slightly impatient, the boy pulled up a handful of grass and tossed it into the air as he replied,
“Why are we here? Who decided that me and my family had to move here?”
“The cervants did.” The girl’s reply came almost automatically. The general curriculum included making sure each and every child knew what the Civilian-Servants did and why they should trust these “Cervants.”
“No, the cervants just made sure we did. Someone else told them to do it. The cervants boss us around. Who bosses the cervants around?”
At that moment, a passing cervant searching for something in the timber overheard the discussion between the children. The bright yellow band around his left arm seemed immune to the color-altering moonlight as he swiftly moved from the tree-line to the children, casting a long, ominous shadow across their backs and into their view.
The girl quickly snapped around out of fear, only to see her worries confirmed. This cervant most certainly knew they were not allowed out this far from the city this late at night. The boy remained still. He knew it was a cervant simply because no one else would be outside the city.
The cervant simply bellowed, “This is not allowed!”
The boy watched as another shadow quickly grew beside the cervant’s. His eyes grew wide as the two shadows briefly connected with an accompanying crack that echoed slightly off the trees behind them.
The boy twisted around to see the cervant collapse to the ground. Standing nearly in his place was a man with a large, broken stick in his hands.
“Get home. Don’t let another one see you.”
The girl hadn’t moved, even blinked, since the cervant had arrived, but the boy jumped to his feet.
“Who are you?”
“I’m the guy whose going to kick you down the bluff if you don’t leave right now. ”
The man pivoted on one foot and began walking towards the tree line.
Both children finally realized how lucky they were and decided to stop questioning their fate. As they both scrambled for home, the man disappeared into the timber.
“I really need to quit doing that.”
The trees did not reply.
Friday, July 8, 2011
Blockless
I have just recently killed off 2 years worth of writer's block.
Two years? Yea, I know. I must not actually be a writer then. Which I'm not. I'm just some schmuck with the occasional knack for words.
The two years is directly related to an outside influence on my life. This influence was removed in March. With it gone, my sense of creativity has slowly been returning. I have no outlet for this creativity anymore, so I've started this blog. I've joined the ranks of wanna-be journalists and soccer moms with free time.
I did leave out one part of having my creativity return. I could feel the urge to write come back, but I just couldn't do it. I needed something to be different. I had no comfortable way to write. No convention of word-smithing that suited my needs.
So, I bought this:
The Toshiba NB505-N500BL netbook.
I like to call it the Tosh.
This netbook is really satisfying. It's so much better than my old Gateway laptop that died a rather violent (and sparkly) death. When my laptop semi-exploded, I replaced it with a budget gaming rig. It's nice being able to play computer games released within the last 10 years, but I desperately missed the portable of my laptop. 300 post-tax dollars later, I now have something that can play Team Fortress 2 and something that lets me dick around on YouTube wherever there is Wi-Fi.
Two years? Yea, I know. I must not actually be a writer then. Which I'm not. I'm just some schmuck with the occasional knack for words.
The two years is directly related to an outside influence on my life. This influence was removed in March. With it gone, my sense of creativity has slowly been returning. I have no outlet for this creativity anymore, so I've started this blog. I've joined the ranks of wanna-be journalists and soccer moms with free time.
I did leave out one part of having my creativity return. I could feel the urge to write come back, but I just couldn't do it. I needed something to be different. I had no comfortable way to write. No convention of word-smithing that suited my needs.
So, I bought this:
The Toshiba NB505-N500BL netbook.
I like to call it the Tosh.
This netbook is really satisfying. It's so much better than my old Gateway laptop that died a rather violent (and sparkly) death. When my laptop semi-exploded, I replaced it with a budget gaming rig. It's nice being able to play computer games released within the last 10 years, but I desperately missed the portable of my laptop. 300 post-tax dollars later, I now have something that can play Team Fortress 2 and something that lets me dick around on YouTube wherever there is Wi-Fi.
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