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Sep. 20th, 2009 @ 12:47 am For Laura
We are going to invade Denmark.
It wasn't our first choice of coup.
But I'd rather have a second rate revolution
than burn buildings without you.
We'll throw off those shackles together.
The locals will praise our names.
When presidents look at the havoc we're wreaking
They'll know that we're not playing games.

We'll set the world on fire.
We'll burn this mother down.
Nothing, Nothing can stand in our way.



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Aug. 19th, 2009 @ 12:56 am Ode
We long to be broken by you.
We throw caution to the wind.
We abandon ourselves for what could be,
ignoring the lessons of the past.
We die in you. A thousand deaths,
each day another blow, an offered wrist.
But you don't exist.
I cannot breath you in,
only wafting scents of vanilla.
I cannot feel you,
only fingertips tracing my spine.
I cannot see you,
only eyes adjusting to the moon.
I cannot taste you,
only coppery sweetness.
I cannot hear you,
only my name whispered.
We let you in again,
knowing what havoc you wreak,
not caring about the damages.
Maybe this time things will change.
We are different people now.
We have learned our lessons.
We will not be burned again.
We long to drown in you.
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Aug. 14th, 2009 @ 12:45 am Villanelle
Time heals your wounds, that's what it's meant to do.
A sentiment the broken-hearted hold.
A pity then, the sentiment's not true.

How long you wept. "It takes a year or two
to thaw your love. Remove it from the cold.
Time heals your wounds." That's what it's meant to do.

The shoulder of a friend will see you through.
Clichés give you the strength to become bold.
A pity then, the sentiment's not true.

Draw from your inner self, be someone new.
Don't wait to find your joy 'cause you've been told
Time heals your wounds, that's what it's meant to do.

Consider boxed advice given to you.
If when you open them you would unfold
a pity, then the sentiment's not true.

Time does one thing, it makes a person who
needs not empty words awash with mold.
Time heals your wounds, that's what it's meant to do.
A pity then, the sentiment's not true.
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Aug. 13th, 2009 @ 02:51 am A week of poetry begins. Tonight, the sestina.
Come with me and let us look at stars.
We'll talk to stave off sleep.
Perhaps luck will be with us and we will see one fall,
hurtling towards the earth, a hundred sixty thousand miles per hour.
We'll leave the radio on if you don't want to talk.
Don't listen to the voice in your head saying no.

There was a time when you would never answer no.
Our possibilities as numberless as stars.
But then you said "We need to talk."
You couldn't stand to lose any more sleep
pondering what you'd say, wondering the best hour
to let the hammer fall.

It didn't happen overnight. We let each other fall
by the wayside. We spent no
time for one another. Just one hour
each day could have kept the stars
in our eyes. We could have taken it from our sleep.
We could have shown our love through actions, not just talk.

It still hurts to see you. We can't talk
like we used to, letting words fall
out our mouths. Our old desires sleep.
Or lurk. We have to tell them no.
We shouldn't lay under the stars
and ignore the hour.

We can't pretend this is some long-forgotten hour
where the last thing on our minds was talk.
The freckles on your back were my constellations, my stars.
I navigated them when we would fall
into bed. I never told you no.
Together, intertwining limbs, we'd sleep.

Without you, all I want to do is sleep.
I long to dream just one more hour.
None of this would haven happened had you said no
the first time I approached you to talk.
Somehow, we let our defenses fall.
It's a shame we couldn't read our fate in the stars.

An hour may feel like no time at all when we talk,
but everything ends. What stands will always fall.
All things someday sleep, even stars.
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Mar. 21st, 2009 @ 09:35 am (no subject)
Edward opens the door and we follow him in. It's a small room, sorry, cell. As long as I call things what they are, I can still hold onto these last few shreds of dignity. It's bare, the lights reflecting harshly off the white walls and floor. White. Edward's always joking like that. My eyes adjust and I make out what's cowering in the corner.

Shit.

It's Liz, Marko, and Jon. Please don't recognize me. Oh, God, don't let them know it's me.

They look up. Marko is lit up with frustration, his eyes darting over the four of us, leaving daggers with his gaze. His eyes meet mine, but they're blinded with hate. He doesn't see my face beneath the scars, beneath the mask. Jon sits serenely, lotus position, like always. He barely registers our presence. His eyes close and his head bows as soon as he notices.

Liz stares at Edward. He's the only one not wearing a mask. He's the only one who really is the monster he portrays. She starts to speak, her tongue loosing a syllable, but then she takes in the 3 other men in robes. Fel and Sik just stare ahead, waiting for orders. Or trouble. I try to do the same. But I'm glancing over my friends for damage, trying to see how much they've suffered at the hands of my new friends. She must have seen that I was different. That I wasn't a stone block. She stands up. Fel reaches to his belt, but Edward moves his hand just so, just enough to calm Fel down.

Liz cocks her head to the side. I know she's starting to notice me. I know she's going to recognize my chin, my teeth, my ears. Something will give me away. She takes a step forward.

If Edward doesn't know we're connected, he'll put it together and I'll be caught in a lie. If he does know we're connected, then he's playing a game and my life depends on winning it.

Liz takes another step, this time I can tell she's headed toward me. Another step. Her brow furrows. "Adrial? Is that you?"

When she gets to me, she'll rip off my mask. Really, he has nothing to lose. If I am not Adrial, we will kill her, but she probably realizes she's going to die here no matter what. If I am Adrial, she's hoping that I'll save her. That I'll drop the act and save everyone. But I'm not ready for that. There's still so much I don't know about земля под паром.

"I knew you would save us. Marko said you betrayed us. He swore it was you in London," Her voice wavers, probably remembering the figure waving his hand on the window. It was me, for the record. I did betray them, but I had to. I knew what I was doing.

Edward's lips slide into a cold smile. Good. He knows I know them. He knows I worked with them against him. He knows I'm a traitor.

She steps forward again, this time cutting her stride short. If I am Adrial, I would have shouted out, pulled out my dagger and killed Edward. Marko would fight Fel, and Jon would take care of Sik. We'd run out of this cursed house and fly home. I'd explain why I infiltrated the cult, why I used them as my entrance ticket. They would forgive me when they saw how much good it did. We were all willing to sacrifice our lives to stop земля под паром, though we never really expected we would have to. But right now, in this room, so close to the end of it all, I am not Adrial. I cannot be Adrial.

My hand flashes to the dagger on my belt. My fingers clasp around the hilt, the obsidian blade sucks some of the light out of the room. Liz smiles. Why do you have to smile? Her eyes go to Edward. She doesn't see the dagger plunge into her throat.
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Mar. 16th, 2009 @ 08:57 pm (no subject)
Guess what I got back today?
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Nov. 9th, 2008 @ 12:49 am (no subject)
I lost my internet connection.
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Oct. 21st, 2008 @ 07:48 pm (no subject)
Everyone knows that Bill Hickok died with a pair of aces and eights. What they don't know is that he had the highest hand at the table.
"Your raise," Jon nodded in my direction.
"His body's not even cold yet and you wanna keep playing?" Chris spoke up. An honest and forthright fellow, he was considered by some to be the moral backbone of the camp.
"I ain't denying that Bill's dead. But I also ain't denying that we got twenty dollars on this table that one of us is going to walk away with," Jon sneered. "We all started this, but only four of us are gonna finish."
Now, I pride myself on following the rules, but I never heard of someone dropping dead at the table. I mulled the situation over in my head and gave my opinion. "I say we finish the hand. None of us have seen what he's holding, so we'll just give him his last card and pretend like he's all in."
"Sounds fair to me" Zac muttered. I think they were the first words out of his mouth that game.
"So raise," Jon snapped. Just between me and you, I'd rather be facing down an Cheyenne than a preacher playing cards. But Jon's money is just as good as anyone else's, though he takes it from the collection plate.




It's not done, I just want to get some down since I am leaving and won't use the internet again tonight maybe.
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Oct. 20th, 2008 @ 11:24 pm (no subject)
Due to circumstances beyond my control, I only had internet for 10 minutes tonight. So I am not able to put up the second of the writing exercises, specifically, Zac's. However! To show that I am thinking about it, I will give a small excerpt.


Everyone knows that Bill Hickok died with a pair of aces and eights. What they don't know is that he had the highest hand at the table. Now, you may not be a card player, but the rules don't cover a man getting shot in the back while there's twenty-two dollars on the table. There were 5 of us playing. Four, if you don't count the dead man. Myself, Zacary, Jonathan, and Chris.

I hope to encourage anyone who wants to kick start my creativity to do it. I figure if I can write a poem with a bunch of x-words, there's nothing I can't do. Is that just asking for trouble?
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Oct. 19th, 2008 @ 09:15 pm (no subject)
Horror Comedy.
Every word has the letter x in it.
Courtesy of Xirax. It will be a poem.

Terrible horror film

Sexy fox coaxes buxom pixie Xenia.
Onyx codex, Toxic texts...
Vexing nexus, maximum hexes. Axman exits nexus.
Sexy fox redux. Faux sex.
Six axes. Six boxes.
Nexus waxes! Fix nexus?
Fox axed. Sexy minx exits. Ex-vixen.
Nexus taxes, poxes.
Axman jeux.
Xenia-axman-apex!
Climax: Xenia jinxes axman, exerts moxie, exiles axman, nexus exeunt.
Faux codex?! Xenia taxis Texas.
Oxen.


That's the first one. It's not perfect. Jennie read it and gave a suggestion. And wouldn't you know, it was much better than what I had down. We are a TEAM.
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Oct. 19th, 2008 @ 03:08 pm (no subject)
Give me the following.
Genre.
Arbitrary restriction.

I will write something with your suggestion and rule. Thanks for jump starting my creative engine.
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Sep. 27th, 2008 @ 11:28 pm There will be no divorce
I feel very odd today. I went to the release of the new set for Magic: The Gathering. If you know me at all, you know that I love playing Magic. I love making decks. I love reading about the game. I love just organizing and looking at the cards and talking about the game. That's why I feel so weird right now.
I went to the release and I didn't have fun.
I feel so divorced from the game. The people out here have a totally different perception of Magic. There's no kitchen table. There's no real feeling of "let's just play the game to have fun." Maybe this has always been the case for others, but I don't look at it like that. I don't know if I can really describe this feeling. It's probably that I just have competing in tournaments. (Or the very existence of tournamenting, even in things I like or am skilled at)
Anyways. This divorced feeling. I'm sitting there, looking at my cards and just thinking "These are childish useless things. I could buy more cards, or I could spend the money on something else." I was surrounded by 300 people who play Magic and I just felt out of place and unwelcome and "above it all". Note the quotes. I know no hobbies are really better than other ones. But seeing all the cards and people, I just felt like the whole thing is kinda dumb. It's just a silly game.
It's like I've become removed from the game. I'm looking at it like an outsider, not like a player. So the excitement is gone, the joy is gone. I look at all my cards and I feel nostalgia, but I don't think that my appreciation is growing in any way.

So the question is, is this a negative thing? Is this a sign of me "growing up"? I don't feel like that's the case, since Magic is a game, just like Settlers or Shadows Over Camelot. And I still like board games and videogames.
Are my tastes changing naturally? Am I just becoming a person to whom Magic doesn't appeal?
Is it weird that I just want to keep my cards? Not sell them, but hold onto them for sentimental value?
Are there things in your life you liked and then one day, you just kinda stopped caring?
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Sep. 20th, 2008 @ 06:37 pm Skeptical Christianity I
If every day you recognized that you got angry at people, and you wished you could become less angry, that would be a good thing. I think the problem is when people pray without doing anything about it. If I pray that I get a job, but don't do anything about it, what is my prayer? If I pray to feel God in my life, but don't change my behavior, what good does the praying do? To believe that simply by asking for something we somehow will receive it is irrational.

I grant that sometimes your prayers are answered. I know some of mine have been. When I was in college and I walked out of the classroom after a midterm, I asked nobody "Please let me have passed that test." Sometimes I would pass that test. I wasn't praying to God. I was simply hoping for an outcome aloud. If I had instead said "Please Lord, let me have passed that test," then it becomes a prayer. But what is the difference? In both cases I have already taken the test. The outcome is already determined. If I pass the test, was my prayer answered? If I fail, was the answer no?
Now let us say that instead I pray before the test. I study, since a prayer without action is no prayer at all. Then I pass the test. Answered prayer then, right? Well, no. I did what I could reasonably be expected to do to pass the test, so I passed. I knew the answers, or I didn't. By studying, I maximize my chance of knowing the right answer.

But those examples rely upon me and my skills as a test taker. In order to truly study prayer, we need to have something divorced from said prayer. Perhaps if we have people pray for someone with a disease, but not tell the diseased about it. That should work, right? Well, maybe, except we also need some people to pray that the person gets better. A different person to get worse. A group of people praying to Shiva, Baphomet, Zeus, and nobody. Because if I say I believe in God, I am also saying I don't believe in all those other Gods. And if the person who has strangers praying to Zeus on his behalf gets better, then what is my response? "Well, Zeus didn't answer their prayers, so they would have gotten better anyways?" That's a total cop out. I can't say God answers prayers, but only mine.

So, I think that I'm going to have to start considering the complicated connections between organisms. The actions I perform affect people in my immediate vicinity and people I don't even know. You can't be aware of the consequences of everything you do. Maybe just by my praying that you feel loved, I keep you in my thoughts and are nicer to you. This makes you feel loved. But that's an easy one. Perhaps my praying for your health changes something imperceptible and tiny, but something that exists. A collective unconscious of a sort that my prayers influence. But now we're just getting ridiculous. I know my actions have consequences, but saying that something like me asking for help changes your life is a stretch of chaos theory to me.

Okay, so if I believe in Jesus, then were does that leave me? Perhaps the point of prayer is not to actually receive things, but to become aware of the things that we want. Maybe learning that the things we want are not the things we need. In the asking for health, I become aware of my mortality. In asking for blessings for the sick and afflicted, I become more aware of the need for compassion. In asking for safety, I become aware of the need to comfort.
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Sep. 12th, 2008 @ 05:31 pm (no subject)
When I was younger, I thought it was "Flamin' Yon."
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Sep. 5th, 2008 @ 05:02 pm (no subject)
Another week, another week of doing nothing at all.

Also, I want chocolate ice cream like whoa.
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Aug. 30th, 2008 @ 01:43 am (no subject)
I wish I was at PAX
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Aug. 29th, 2008 @ 01:27 am (no subject)
Pending the results of a drug test and credit check, I may have a job starting Sept. 8.
Good thing I studied for the drug test.
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Aug. 26th, 2008 @ 03:07 pm (no subject)
Last night I went over to Jennie's house at like 10. She asked me if I wanted to make bread as her roommate just got a bread maker. A robot that bakes bread, if you will. I did not get to sleep until 3 am. "Was it worth it?" you ask. To answer I reply with a single question. Which one of us has freshly baked bread today?
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Aug. 20th, 2008 @ 11:29 pm (no subject)
I have been playing entirely too much Fallout 2 lately.
Oh, why do I love it so?

Also, D&D was a rousing success.

This weekend I'm going to a cabin in the middle of nowhere. It's like 30 people, so kinda cultish. As long as there are no goat sacrifices to Baphomet, I think I'll be fine.
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Aug. 16th, 2008 @ 11:47 pm (no subject)
Nothing new.
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