sorry been busy
so been a little crazy, no posts. did get a nice comment about Letters from the Earth, so I did another post….starting to sort out where I want to go with this.
[tags] fiction, blogging [/tags]
so been a little crazy, no posts. did get a nice comment about Letters from the Earth, so I did another post….starting to sort out where I want to go with this.
[tags] fiction, blogging [/tags]
I am going to be putting these little pieces of…well…literature I guess it could be called (that’s being nice) onto deviant also. Maybe I’ll get some feedback there? Who knows.
Thirty seconds.
This is how long it took for her eyes to close.
This is how long it took for her to stop crying.
This is how long it took for her to die.
Pinned in pain and twisted metal, I could do nothing.
I could only count.
…..
micro-story/prose I guess, this is the shit that I pops into my head while lying in bed. (maybe a good title for a new category)
[tags] fiction, micro-story [/tags]
The blood moon awakens crawling shadows,
riding on gusts of wind.
A woman screams in pain
a slap rings out
a child cries in shock
final gasp and one life
replaces another.
The child, now quiet, smiles
firelight dances across rows
of sharp teeth.
The blood moon, the dying breath,
the tools of taste and tearing,
omens and portents,
bad for the tribe.
The old man calls for banishment
and no one questions him.
Laughing echoes the chasm
feet dance and scratch the earth
“I smell food, my brothers
as was foretold, as was promised”
Here, on this rock,
it is so soft and small
only a small bite for us all”
A fetid nose sniffs and pushes
against cold hairless skin.
No warning, a flash and
teeth sink into warm hairy skin.
A howl, chorused by laughing,
fills the night.
Under the blood moon
the child smiles.
“No food is this brothers,
sent we were, tricked,
to teach, to share our stories”
[tags] poetry, tricksters, myth [/tags]
Decided to post on Letters from the Earth tonight, who knows, just was in the mood. Feel free to read it.
[tags] fiction, religion, musing [/tags]
Heh, ok, so I finally, in week two, started to write for this thing. Talk about bad timing, first the oral surgery put me out of sorts, then I had to work more hours than normal. Excuses, excuses. But this time I sat down and wrote. Got about 1500 words done, only 48500 to go!!! I’m not read to show the link to the text yet, its still really really rough. As they say though, this month is about quantity, not quality, and boy is that true : )
[tags] writing, novel, nanowrimo [/tags]
Recently I have come to accept that the only way I will develop my writing, the only way I will feel accomplished, is if I start by writing something everyday. It might not be much, or even relevant to the world, but it feels necessary. And then I see this contest that is going on here, http://www.nanowrimo.org where you have to write a 50,000 word novel in one month. Nov. 1st to Nov. 30th. The purpose isn’t to create a work of art, but to simply produce. So, here I have a combination of events; my decision to write more, the month of my birthday, and this “contest”. So yeah, I am thinking about it. I have many ideas, none that I think will feel the gaping wound of 50,000 words. But well see. What about my thesis? Still will work on that, and this kind of output will help me focus I feel. So, its the first day, I think I have my idea. More on this later.
[tags] writing, novel, contest, month [/tags]
4:30am
Roughly four hours of sleep and it is 29 degrees outside.
As I begin my long walk, the chill cracks open memories of a much colder place.
I pace my march with the broken lines in the frosted gray ground.
Something pulls my gaze towards the street.
There it lies, its head and paws stretched out, as if sleeping
its lower half, gone, replaced by two feet of tangled entrails.
Its white collar reflects the street lamp above.
I imagine Bast, the Egyptian Cat Goddess, faintly forming.
She is amazing in her sleek beauty and suppressed rage.
I am not allowed to leave, there must be a witness to this rite.
She devours the exposed remains,
then gently cleans the face of her ward.
She circles three times the lost one, the looks at me again.
She is suddenly lit up with light that grows brighter.
When the car passes, she and her Child are gone.
Free to leave, I start my long walk, and move on.
[tags] fiction, journal, mythology [/tags]
Carl Hoggens was just supposed to be going to a baseball game with his family.
He didn’t know that at the end of the third inning he would get an unexplained, embarrasing and painful erection. Or that in the beginning of the fourth inning he would break three of his fingers when his fist crushed his wife’s cheekbone and jaw, killing her in a rage he doesn’t remember.
And he wasn’t the only one.
Frank Hurtz was officially on vacation as far as the NSA payroll department was concerned. Only four people in the government knew the real reason for his being in Burbank, California. Frank would normally not attend such a social event as a baseball game, too many people, too many minds. But his research told him that this could be the epicenter of an event. When the wave of lust hit he knew that he was right. His heart raced as his eyes instinctively found each exposed flesh, each curve. He couldn’t trace the source, the power was so strong that the emotions were reflecting from everyone around him. He hoped that it wouldn’t get out of control. Fourteen minutes later, lust would turn to hate and the stands would become a medieval battlefield. When the anger came, while the others gave in to it, Frank fought it, blood came from his nose, eyes and ears, the world spiraled beneath him and he fell. It may have saved his life.
Bobby Hawkins was a twelve-year-old baseball fan, and he was in love…..