The Clock Doesn't Love You

One thing that has always fascinated and irked me is the way that letters and numbers look together. For example, names, and my own name. I don't like the way my name sounds too much, but I like the arrangement and combination of the letters. Also, my birthday, 8/27, I enjoy. Beyond the fact that it's 2x2x2 and 3x3x3, I like the rise and fall of 8 down to 2, then back up to 7. The numbers look comfortable beside each other. They're different enough to look interesting, but not so strange as to be awkward.

I tend to mix every conceivable sense into my perception. For instance, I integrate color into those numbers. 8 is a rich blue, an indigo, 2 is a bright red, and 7 is a calm green.

I hate it when my writing contains mostly i's. Like that last sentence. I enjoy undulating through o's and u's, masticating an "a", but e's are even, a balancing sort of vowel. You put it on the end of words like "bake," "cone," "tune," and "fine" to soften the strength of the rest of the word.

Sigh.

Not what I meant to talk about at all.

Ariane and I are doing well. October 5th makes a year together. I can't tell whether it feels like all of my life or about a week.

Doom and Cookies is back, Wednesday nights/Thursday mornings at 1am. I need new music.

Dungeons and Dragons twice a week. Jake's campaign is enjoyable; I love playing a rogue, even though I dislike not having spells. Hell, "bluff" practically IS a spell, if you use it enough. My Dragon campaign is in danger. I have to get the players working like a party soon, or it's gonna fall apart. If I can run a campaign with 8 people in it, I will know I am turning into better DM.

Work is easy, but I've been calling in way too much from sickness. I hope they don't fire me.

Parthenon started out easy, and then life happened. I need to get back on that.

Talking to parents again in one form or another. Tension, yes. But not nearly as much as there has been in the past.

Fought last night. I am so out of practice. I was taking hits and blocking instead of dodging, and I'm paying for it today.

Meeting tons of new people, some of whom I despise, some of whom I hope to be friends with for the rest of my life.

Food time with new friends.

-LSmaug

So, for one of my online classes, we discussed if we should celebrate Columbus day. I got sick of so much white guilt, so I posted this as one of my responses:

"I think feeling guilt because of violence is an innovation of the 21st century.

"War, and the advancement of culture by the sword, has been a part of human history since the Egyptians and the Babylonians. The reason main reason that large civilizations exist is because at some point or another, a king, emperor, or warlord conquered and enslaved most of the population of another culture.

"We tend to shake our heads in disgust at the Europeans who conquered native races, but what were the native races doing before Europeans conquered them?

"The Aztecs, the Mayans, and the Incas were powerful, advanced cultures because they had already captured and enslaved a large majority of the peoples surrounding themselves. All three were warlike and violent peoples, and in fact, the Incas were involved in a civil war when the Spanish arrived, the Mayans had degenerated into warring city-states, and Cortes easily found enemies of the Aztecs to ally with to overthrow them.

"Conquering another culture to gain access to their resources is a part of history. 'Total war' and fighting for ideals has caused far more harm than simple monarchies battling for power, but I digress."

-LSmaug

PS: Today is my birthday. It is also a minor Roman festival, the date of the first signing of the Kellogg-Briand Pact (a completely failed treaty that attempted to end war), the day Moldova declared it's independence from the USSR, and the date of launch of Mariner 2 (an expedition to Venus).

I promise I'll post a more in depth update soon. So, #1, comment on what you would like me to talk about in my next post.

#2, I was talking to my friend Robbie's girlfriend, and she was talking about a family that used to help their school put on plays. The name sounded familiar, so I asked about one certain person, and she confirmed that we were thinking of the same person.

This person I met through MySpace in like... 11th grade. He was a musician who was look for poems and lyrics and such to write music for, so I sent him a few of my things, and he put one of them to music.

Her eyes widened, and she said, "What song?"

And I tried to sing a few lines of the lyrics I wrote, which will follow shortly.

Apparently, she used to date him, and it was her favorite song that he played.

Roflmao?

-LSmaug

PS: Exhaustion

Oh, that sinking feeling
The boat is going down
But you can't flick a finger
And you know you're gonna drown

The rain is falling harder
Than you recall it could before
The weight is like a shackle
And it binds you to the floor

The waves are climbing higher
And they slap against the wall
Your tiny ship can't take it
And you can't even crawl

You see the darkened skies
With your indifferent eyes
Howling winds torment your face
But they can't seem to leave a trace
The storm consumes your boat with glee
And swallows your lonely misery...

And silence rules the seas once more...
Your exhaustion rests on the ocean floor...

So.

I've been crashing at the D-pad, chilling with Devin while Derek is out of town and Jake is out of the country, splitting my time between work, sleep, looking for an apartment, and playing WoW, but mostly playing WoW in my spare time.

For those of you who don't play, it really isn't a game. It's like a hobby, or a club. It's a place you go to meet people and relax, and have fun. $15 is more like club dues than paying for the same game over and over again.

I've been thinking about the stories I've been writing for years, and mostly, they don't mean what they used to. Some of them, like Blue Inc. and Man in the Metal Mask, *were* my life for large portions of it, and most, if not all are relics of depression, dissociation, and loneliness.

I remembered a wishbone story that I read once about two crazy (in the good way) old men who ran a book shop and played chess together. They had a parrot that said over and over again "Write what you know! Write what you know!"

So I'm thinking, I should write what I know, now.

And I'm getting an idea for a story about a guy who's playing an MMORPG for the first time, and meeting and becoming friends with people. So basically, I'm going to have two sides to every character: Their in-game persona and the person they are in reality.

I want your ideas: What's a character / reality combo you'd like to see in a story?

-LSmaug

http://podcast.thisamericanlife.org/special/223_RocketMan.mp3

A band of people brought together by classified ads cover Rocket Man by Elton John.

Awesome.

-LSmaug

PS: the world is quiet here.

So I think I just got kicked out of my parent's house.

...

Sweet?

-LSmaug

PS: The world is quiet here.

Clauses in the constitution:

Supremacy Clause
-Dictates that federal laws are higher than state laws

Commerce Clause
-Dictates that the federal government is to regulate interstate commerce

Necessary and Proper Clause
-Dictates that the federal government can put forth any laws "necessary and proper"; often called the "elastic clause" because of the broadness of this definition

Santa Clause
-Dictates that the federal government has the power to regulate Christmas

* * * * *

In America, we have a system of dual federalism - not to be confused with DUEL FEDERALISM where all matters of state are settled by honorable combat.

* * * * *

Making constellations

* * * * *

Bum: "Oh, boy! What a *Great* Depression!"

* * * * *

A token of my lady's affection: "I LOVE ERICA" written in purple ink on a piece of Dale Earnheart stationery

* * * * *

A sticker I got from my JMC 360 teacher of a blue paw print.

* * * * *

Epilepsy Awareness Month flyer; due to pending lawsuit, the annual Epilepsy Awareness Month Formal Ball Fund raiser/Rave may be canceled.

* * * * *

A burst red balloon from Ariane and I's one month. Which also happened to be Election Day. Which is where the balloon came from.

* * * * *

Chinese finger trap...maybe from Rocky?

* * * * *

Pieces of paper from a night of improv:

"Switch Places!!!"

"Hey you over there with the long hair; keep pumping that derrière"

"Are we going to Milwaukee? Cause my penis has taken up residence there."

"Your sister was so much better than you"

"YOU BROKE MY LUNGS"

"I like dirt in my sandwiches."

* * * * *

Piece of paper from when Dan Hollis came to my JMC 360 class and told us you've got to use "All the bricks in your wall."

* * * * *

A card I received at the radio station, along with a cupcake and an Ariane:

Your absence is noticed with severity

Awww...

[picture of a flower] <-Cute shit

ERICA
(wants to be noticed)

Erica is so good at writing cards
:3
Ariane asjg I can't spell...

Cards=shout outs

Cupcakes=awesome have one watch for the arsnic [sic]

Sarah Lane can't spell...

Tyms :( miss you.

Sam

Charlie

* * * * *

-LSmaug

PS: The world is quiet here. A little tooooooo quiet.

I was introduced to the basic principle of reincarnation and redemption at a very young age. This is because my room was always messy.

My brothers and I had a knack for collecting useless junk and storing it in our rooms for eons. From kids-meal toys to LEGOs to books and CDs, our rooms overflowed with colors, shapes, sizes, and textures, covering carpets and flooding floors.

My parents were, and are, big fans of using simple phrases to convey ideas, and then using the same simple phrases over and over again. For example, instead of saying, "It's time to take a shower," my dad would usually say, "Rinse the prince." It got the idea across and flowed off the tounge well.

When it came to room cleaning, the phrase was, "Sometimes you've got to make a mess to clean it up." The idea was, that to adequately store all of our stuff, we had to pull it all out and sort through it, selecting which objects to keep and which objects to get rid of. The process was painful - destroying all those precious plastic pieces of crap, but ultimately would would never return to our videogames until our rooms were tidy again.

And that is the basic principle of life that I live by; that to achieve something better, you have to give up something you have now. Through pain, happiness; through longing, contentment.

Through death, we can achieve life.

Sometimes you've got to make a mess to clean it up.

= = = = = =

Everything is so fucking upside down.

= = = = = =

I like that I'm writing more, but I need to read more, too. For ideas. And I need to talk about stuff I'm writing.

= = = = = =

I would like to put here, emphatically, that the best cure for writer's block is manual labor. If you're have trouble with a story or something, get up, and mow a lawn, move heavy boxes, take a walk, whatever. The muse is loosened by the sweat of your brow.

= = = = = =

As I find stuff to give and throw away, I've been taking picture with my phone. I'll talk about some of the stuff I'm getting rid of.

1. A pin I had that read, "Band". My 9th grade band-and-health teacher, Mr. Price, gave them to our band. He was a very creepy, amazing guy who is now married and disappointingly normal. I think seeing him normal is even scarier, in some ways.

2. A paper that says "Caution: This Product Can Burn Eyes." that I used to hang on my door. I thought it was clever. Like, people saw me and said, "Aaaaaugh! My eyes! They burn!" Yeah. Shut up.

3. A foam samurai knife?? I guess it was my brother James' that he took back from Japan...

4. A tiny plastic camera that you can look through and see pictures. There's a name for that sort of toy, but I can't remember it. My yearbook teacher Ms. Leithmann gave them to us. She was a hardass, but it was the best yearbook our school ever produced.

5. A "bracelet" I made out of a red textbook cover. I used to wear it all the time.

6. A WVCEA name tag with my friend Chae's name on it. We always used to switch name tags when we went places.

7. Most of you may not know, but I used to have bunches of stuffed animals. Like, dozens of them. I got rid of most of them a while back, but I culled the remaining ones.

8. A piece of paper that said "DEATH BY CHOCOLATE" I stole from Harless because I thought it was hilarious.

9. A regulation chess set from my brother Kevin, now in my dad's possession.

10. A piece of a model helicopter from my model-building phase that lasted about 2 months and three models.

11. A tiny green and pink dolphin key chain. When I got my first set of keys, to hold my house key and library card when working as a volunteen, my mom got me two dolphins, the one mentioned, and the one I actually used, which was blue and yellow and not nearly as ghey. Even though it was a dolphin. It broke.

12. A picture frame from my junior-senior, when I was a junior. Contained the four class officers toasting the graduating seniors. I ran around with the four of them for an afternoon during school and took the pictures. Other picture that did not make it in: Pretending to dump contents of the glasses on teachers, toasting while on the swing set, toasting while upside down on the monkey bars, pretending to fill them with water from the fire hydrant, throwing them away, toasting by the minibus, and toasting by Mr. Keefer's car.

13. A red, white and blue cat-in-the-hat style hat.

14. An AWFUL yellow tie with wolves on it, hand-me-down from my brother Kevin. Kevin was a big fan of wolves when he was younger. I held onto it because it was the WORST TIE EVER.

15. Blue bunny ears, bent beyond repair. My mom used to help our class out by volunteering with the food our class sold weekly, and on holidays, she brought costumes in for the students helping her. I so happened to be helping around Easter.

16. A large plastic manta ray from a lego set.

17. Gold and blue mardi-gras style beads from senior prom.

18. A tiny, quartz cat.

Hmmm...

= = = = = =

-LSmaug

PS: the world is quiet here.

Give me just a second.
I'll find something to say.
Had I just a minute I'd have made the great escape.
What could he do?
What could he do when she said
"I - want - I want you"?

What'll it take for you to surrender?
I gave you a taste. Oh how you've grown.
This great trial, this self denial
It's a trial to leave you clean 'cause I like it dark and low,
You know.

Rare blind recognition rushed in with a breath.
Turn to salutation.
Slyly, she said "haven't we met?"
Let our history repeat itself one too many times
For every time we return to our scene
It seems less like a crime.
What could I do?
What could I do when she said, "I - want - I want you"?

What'll it take for you to surrender?
I gave you a taste. Oh how you've grown.
This great trial, this self denial
It's a trial to leave you clean 'cause I like it dark and low,
You know.

What'll it take for you to surrender?

-Again, Again, and Again - Blaqk Audio

= = = = =

More D&D stuff!

*** The Wild Ones (Gnolls)
---Vicious, but not bloodthirsty, violent, but not cruel, the gnolls are a barbaric people who live in a constant state of war against the Dryads, the Lupin, and the Werewolves.
---Gnolls see the forests as deep, dangerous places where dark things lurk; monsters come out of the forest to kill gnolls, so the gnolls retaliate by cutting down and burning trees.
---The gnolls are divided into scattered family groups; some gnolls have aligned with the Werewolves, and a select few have deserted to the Lupin.
---The gnolls are mostly nomadic, raising sheep and goats in herds. They see the Dryads planting trees to extend the forests as an encroachment on their grazing lands and a direct act of war.
---Many ancient gnoll family groups have been completely eradicated during the increased violence of recent years.
---Gnolls’ ability to dash into enemies and stun them makes them deadly in large numbers, as foes with find themselves completely helpless.
Gnolls
Favored Class: Barbarian
-Medium Size
Low light vision
Base Speed: 30ft
+2 STR
+2 CON
-2 INT
+2 bonus to Survival checks
Proficient with all simple weapons
Have Weapon Focus and Weapon Specialization with Spears and Throwing Axes (+1 on attack, +2 on damage)
+2 dodge bonus to AC
Dash Attack
-Character level/3 times a day (min 1), a gnoll can add (character level)/2 (min 1) to his attack and damage rolls on a single attack. The target makes a fortitude save with save DC = 10+total damage from the attack; if they fail, they are stunned and unable to act for 1 round.

= = = = =

More story!

For a few months, everywhere he went, Shannon asked people: “What do you think you’d have to do to go to hell? Murder someone? Watch child pornography?” He got quite a few answers, quite a few glares, and quite a few brightly colored tracts seeming to indicate that just about anything he did could end up sending him to hell.

Some stared him straight in the eye and told him there was no afterlife; this is all there is and he should not ask such stupid questions, but should do another shot of Everclear and enjoy life. These answers mostly came at parties and bars. Other people told him about the flow of nature and the inevitability of death and rebirth, of reincarnation and eventual oneness with the universe.

Some people told him people who didn’t do good things went to hell. Some people said that if you committed suicide, you went to hell, which severely disturbed him.

A few people told him everyone goes to heaven. He asked them, “What if I was to rape you and then both of us went to heaven? Would that be heaven to you?”

He got sprayed with mace one of those times.

One funny old bartender sat him down and asked him whether he thought hell or heaven could exist on earth.

“You’ve got to consider, ‘What if we’re in the afterlife right now?’” he said. “I mean, what if everyone here died somewhere else? Then what is this? Purgatory?”

He filled Shannon’s glass with more whiskey, and when Shannon pulled out a few bills, the barkeep waved them aside.

“Seriously! Is the world you see around you horrible or good?”

Shannon stared around the bar, seeing sad old men watching a sports game and a businessman at the end of the bar, his tussled hair limply shrouding his face, one hand still gripping a bottle of “lite” beer. He saw a couple greasy college students moving in on a whorishly dressed girl who was basking in the attention.

When he spoke, Shannon spat disgust. “It’s awful. Nobody who has anything gives a damn about it, and everybody else doesn’t have anything to give a damn about. I mean, we know our lives are miserable. Why do we do everything we can to keep them going? Why do we spend billions of dollars trying to give the goddamn Africans the same style of life as us? I’m…rambling, I guess. ‘nother shot?”

The barkeep indulged him. “I’m sure you’ve seen something good.”

“Well, I…” Shannon slurred. “I guess you’re doing something nice, giving free drinks to a man who’s already drunk. But ish…ish…is this really gonna help me? I mean, I’m jusht gonna wake up with a worse headache. Or…you know, the…”

The barkeep stared harder at him. “Nothing beautiful at all?”

Shannon laid his head on his arms and bawled.

“You see a lot of ugly so you know what good looks like,” the barkeep said. “I don’t expect you to believe it, and it’s probably a lie, but it’s a nice lie.”

He stopped and took Shannon’s glass away.

“All this talking can’t be good for you… let me call you a cab.”

* * * * *

[MORE STORY: Just scene change]

Shannon was drifting down the river, unfeeling, unknowing.

He had seen a great white light speeding towards him, and when he was out of it, all he could see, the world as he knew it was the unthinkably huge grey sky, so horrifyingly close that seemed seconds from falling and crushing the whole earth, and yet so massive that it was an infinity away from him.

He heard a splash here and there as some ghastly creature flitted by his head or dove in and out of the murky waters.

A branch appeared above him.

It was gone.

The whole process, to an outside observer, would have taken almost half an hour. His body had floated under a tree with gnarled branches overhanging the murky channel.

Lifting his hand took a thousand years. Laying it down took a day. Blinking was a journey into darkness, and opening his eyes was a mind-shattering experience.

He realized his head was shrieking in agony, and he managed to reach his hand up to try to massage his temple.

His thumb went into his head. He retracted it, and saw it was covered in clotted blood. He tried to stand up, but the water was just high enough to cover his head. He tread water as best he could with his head swimming and his limbs unresponsive. With the last of his energy, he managed to make it to the river’s bank and heave himself out of the water.

The ground was muddy and covered in withered grass. Incredulously, he looked as his surroundings.

He was in some sort of mangrove; everywhere, large, black, spindly trees clawed out of the water like skeleton fingers. All of them were completely leafless and bare. Each one jutted to the sky and then bent back on itself, like they should have gone straight up, but a cruel hand broken them and shoved them back to the ground.

He sat on the bank and watched the river flow somberly by, giving murky gurgles and melancholy trickles. In the limp current, he saw bodies, hundreds of bodies; bodies with throats slit and bodies in short skirts. Bodies with heads crumpled and bodies almost torn in half. Bodies of men and women, gazing forever upward, uncaringly moving with the river and mouths open like fish gasping for breath.

A short, grubby woman caught his arm as he fell. She helped him to his feet with her claw-like iron grip and steadied him.

“New here?” she said in a sinister, but slightly musical voice.

He nodded. He studied her face; though there were deep lines and leathery wrinkles, from her brilliant green eyes and facial structure he could tell she had once been a beautiful woman. A wickedness sat on her lips and teeth when she talked, and her eyes gleamed with a palpable greed as she looked at him. The hand that clutched his elbow was as strong as a clamp, but he could feel the grinding of the bones in her hand and the stiffness from arthritis.

“What’s your name, dear?”

“Sh-Shannon,” he replied, trying desperately to figure out where “here” meant hundreds of dead bodies in the river.

Her mouth dropped open and she went pale. She clenched his arm harder, now using it for support instead of trapping him beside her.

“Oh, shit,” she said.

= = = = =

-LSmaug

PS: "Older dancers gag at what 'new talent' seems to mean / Smaller tits and younger limbs can cause a fit of rivalry / But it is a job, it pays a lot. / Is it disservicing someone? / And is it good to get these men worked up so sex- so sexual?"

PPS: The world is quiet here

http://www.theonion.com/content/video/experts_agree_giant_razor_clawed

My God, I love the Onion.

The vegetable as well as the fine news source.

-LSmaug

I wrote a bunch... on my laptop. Which does not have internet. When I find a USB drive, it will be transferred to here.

I can crank out over a thousand words a day, at least 2-3 pages in an hour. If I wrote that much, an hour ever day, I could have a 200-300 page book written in four months. Or fifty pages each for four different novels, as is likely, but still.

= = = = =

My pastor plays chess with the devil on Sundays.

= = = = =

Check that, my dad had a flash drive

A 15 meg one.

Wow.

= = = = =

Sooooooooo... for D&D, I read through the Complete Adventurer, the Libris Mortis and Oriental Adventures. A few things:

1. I will be allowing prestige classes. I'm going to be forcing characters to multiclass for the first ten levels, and I found some really cool ones that would add to character development. I'll nerf them or strengthen them as necessary.

2. I drew a preliminary map! I'll scan it sometime, if people remind me. It's in pen and colored pencil

3. I was going through a great deal of trouble to come up with my own "Shaman" class, when it turns out there's a shaman class in oriental adventures that does most of what I wanted anyway. I also like the Sohei, which are melee combatants sworn to protect religious institutions; they're almost a barbarian/paladin cross.

4. I found a class called Spellthief in complete adventurer which, a), rocks, and b), perfectly fits in with goblins in my campaign. Goblins are carefree, wandering, highly magical creatures with a taste for magical items, which they can eat to gain special abilities. Spellthieves lose some rogue abilities (though not sneak attack) but gain the ability to siphon off unused and protective spells from a caster! It works perfectly! Yay!

5. I'll try posting some of the races here, a few at a time. Today's Race: the Moche.

***The Subjugators (The Moche)
---Deep beneath the ocean, a magnificent, intensely magical kingdom of peace and wisdom was born. These merfolk built incredible, massive cities in tune with nature, constructed entirely of crystal-like corals. Then they were exterminated by a warlike race of crab-people.
---The Moche believe in violence like most races believe in peace; they see brutal actions as a completely legitimate means of conducting business. This partially cultural, because their thick shells and fearsome claws means they are born ready to fight and hard to injure.
---Driving the merfolk empire to extinction alienated the Moche from most races, but when they offered to excavate the cities at the bottom of the sea and sell the artifacts, they made a few business partners – mostly elves, gnolls and lizardfolk.
---The Moche dig out the bases of buildings, and the buoyant coral floats to the surface, where they can carve off pieces of the beautiful corals to sell.

Moche
(monstrous humanoid)
Large size
20ft movement
+2 STR
+4 CON
-4 INT
-2 CHA
Claw Attack
– 1d8 damage, bludgeoning x4 crit CC
-On a critical hit with a Moche’s claw, the enemy takes the damage roll x2 every turn as internal bleed damage, that can only be healed with a cure spell or a heal roll of 10+(bleed damage)+ Moche’s level

Curl Up
– A Moche can curl up into a ball once per day. The Moche gains temporary hit points equal to level x constitution modifier and damage reduction level/2 (min 1). While curled up, the Moche may not move or take any sort of action that requires movement of any kind. The Moche heals constitution modifier x2 damage per round until either it moves or its temporary hit points are gone.

= = = = =

Greg was an intelligent, promising student five years ago, back when he was enrolled in a good university with a science major and several scholarships. His professors and peers would look at his papers, tests, and behavior and think, “There is a man who is going somewhere.”

As it turned out, he was going to hell.

He thought he was already there.

Greg worked as a night security guard for some government buildings an hour outside of town, at least an hour by foot, because there was no way in hell he could afford a car. The rent and utilities on his shitty studio apartment and enough food to keep him going cost the majority of his paycheck. He had thought of trying to sell government secrets, but it didn’t really appear that there was anything secret enough in the mostly empty warehouses he had to walk among for 12 hours a night – 8p.m. to 8 a.m. The good part was he only had to work four days a week.

He could see the buildings now, ugly, iron industrial-age hulks that should have been torn down decades ago and replaced with office space. Glancing at his cell phone (no minutes left, but it still worked as a clock and a weak flashlight), he noticed he had a few minutes before his shift started, and he’d be damned if he was going to go into the compound a fraction of a second before he had to.

He breathed in the night air, humid and slightly noxious, and waited.

He checked his cell phone/clock/flashlight. He got up.

Trudging miserably, he relieved the day guard and slunk up the staircase to the guard’s office where the chess sets were waiting for him. His boss was a former semi-pro chess player who was delighted when he finally found a decent challenger. They always had at least 3 games going on at once, switching back and forth on each board who was white and who was black. Currently Greg was white on two boards and black on the third. Greg preferred black; it was far easier to react to an opponent than to strike first.

His strategy showed; he was doing miserable on the first board because he hadn’t advanced quickly enough, and on the second, his boss was probably within 4 moves of checkmate unless one of them made a major mistake. On the third, he had successfully scattered and divided white’s pieces; it was just a matter of time until he hunted each one down. Greg briefly considered throwing the other two games just to get an advantage. Sighing, he moved his pieces, and scribbled the moves onto the papers beside each board. He signed out a company gun and picked up a book that he had hidden in an empty filing cabinet.

He had been caught twice already for reading on the job, but since he hated raising his electricity bills for things like lighting his apartment, and his job bored him out of his mind, it seemed the perfect way to speed up the night.

The cameras had few blind spots scattered around the buildings, and he patrolled between these, stopping to read a few sentences each time. The effect was titillating when reading a thriller, but frustrating when reading a book on physics. He had finally become bored enough with the library’s selection of horror and mathematics, and had picked up a romance novel; it was anything but. He got so bored with the thing that he dropped it into a container marked “BIOHAZARD.” An hour later he jumped and remembered that it was the library’s book, not his, and unless he wanted to pay another goddamn fine he should fish the thing out of the trashcan.

He pulled the triangular plastic lid off the orange container and found the book mercifully at the top of a pile of soiled gloves. With great caution, as there were a few syringes poking out at odd points, he retrieved the book and went on break.

In the guard’s office, he flopped into his boss’s chair, put his feet up on the desk, and groaned. His stomach chided him for not bothering to pack a snack and his mind whirred furiously about absolutely nothing at all. He tried reading the book again and dropped it instantly. He watched the monitors, completely uneventful, and wiggled his finger into his ear. What the hell was this place for anyway? Nobody was ever here except for guards like him, and they were all contracted from the same security company. He pulled off his cap and rubbed his short, dark hair vigorously. Sighing, he laid his head on the desk and closed his eyes.

A loud banging woke him several hours later. He snatched his cap and clamored to feet, ready to apologize and plead for his job, until he realized it was coming from the monitors. Blearily, he could make out a group of people gathered around the entrance to one of the warehouses, smashing open the lock with a sledgehammer. There were five of them, two taking turns hammering at the door, the other three hanging back and glancing around watchfully.

Heart pounding, he pulled out his gun and ran to the intercom.

“Halt, intruders...uh…. You are trespassing and should, um… leave immediately. Further attempts at…um….the destruction of property will be handled severely.”

One turned around and gave the finger to the camera with an snide smirk.

“Buncha dumb teenagers think they’re gonna have some fun on a week-night,” thought Greg. “Little bastards.”

He raced out of the office, cursing under his breath, gun at the ready. He had never fired the thing before, except a few times a month at the shooting range, but the grip felt reassuring in his hand. Who the fuck wasn’t afraid of a man with a gun – even a rent-a-cop?

“Hey, punks! Get the fuck outta here!” he shouted hoarsely. He tried to steady his voice and get the faint shakiness out. “Hey! Come on! This is private property!”

He heard the lock shatter and the chains being flung to the ground. The huge, rusted steel doors were opening.

“Hey! That’s private property! Get out of there!”

They were all already inside when he reached the doors. He stopped and stared into the blackness, darkness within darkness, the gate to all mystery. His hair stood on end, and he could feel his stomach clenching harder than he could ever remember. His legs were shaking and his hands were freezing despite the muggy, stale summer air.

He went inside.

Shuffling shapes moved around in the massive enclosure, but he couldn’t pinpoint any one person.

“Show yourselves! Get the fuck out of here!” he shouted, and heard his word echoing throughout the building.

He cursed his flashlight, back in the office, and pulled out his cell phone. In the dull blue light, he saw the men at work, pulling bodies off of racks and forming a pile in the center of the room. Their eyes were glazed over and dull, and their movements were stiff and clumsy. The one who gave him the finger was observing the work of the other four, idly scratching his chest.

“You’ll leave,” he said. “If you know what’s best for you.”

The other four turned towards Greg and began lumbering towards him. He gripped the gun hard.

“Get away from me! I’m warning you, I’ll shoot!” Greg screeched, his voice flaring upwards.

The first one reached him and slammed him in the head with a haymaker that knocked him to the floor. Stunned, he spat blood and stared at his assailant, a withered middle-age man in the rags of a business suit. Greg scrambled to his feet and fired, once, twice, three times, hitting the man in the chest, throat, and eye. Unblinking, the man swung his arms down onto Greg’s, and the gun and cell phone went clattering to the floor.

The leader walked over and kicked Greg in the face. He bent down, picked up the gun, and turned it on Greg.

“See you in hell.”

The cell phone screen turned off.

Greg felt nothing for a long time.

-LSmaug

PS: the world is quiet here.

A Bible in a refrigerator next to the geography book. Someone gave me that leaf, but I don't remember who. This man paints his rooms with his tattoos, and this man has no room but his body. I need to get rid of all my possessions, or at least most of them.

Glow sticks create a history of dances and memories, a chain link fence to hold in my mind. You can tell the quality by the necklaces.

OK, I want to run a D&D campaign over the summer, perhaps through LJ...

Thoughts?

-LSmaug

Random:

Why are there never any half-dwarves?

I mean, what the hell?

-LSmaug

Semi-Complete List of Races for my next D&D campaign:

-Humans (two distinct cultures)
-Elves
-Dwarves
-Covrus (raven-like harpies
-Orcs
-Dryads
-Lupin (dog-people)
-Gnolls
-Lizardfolk
-Moche (crab-people)
-Goblins
-Plaguebearers
-Mutations
-Werewolves
-Cyclopes

But Not:

Gnomes
Halflings
Most half-breeds

-LSmaug

An acquaintance from high school committed suicide yesterday.

So my "one friend dies a semester" trend continues.

I didn't really know the guy all *that* well, but it was sort of out of the blue.

-LSmaug

PS: the world is quiet here.

My most recent post was to remember Ariane and I's 4-moth.

We've been dating for six now.

* * * * * * * *

Dreaming a lot lately. Every night I dream that my entire top gums and teeth are falling out. I could spit out my whole top row of teeth. I can move them all as one unit up and down against the top of my mouth.

I dream that the world is coming to an end at it turns out I was in charge of the world the whole time. God gets a promotion so now it's down to me, a Buddhist monk, a witch, and a nun to see who get to control heaven.

I am a pirate-mercenary finding a merchant's daughter before assassins get to her.

I am screaming at an old friend at a cookout

I am walking down a road in fall.

I am yelling at a five year old who stole me LEGOs.

I am fighting zombies, trying to keep a city alive.

* * * * * * * * *

I just wrote three pages for a class in under an hour. Why don't I just fucking write something?

Working on a short story for Monster Clutter.

Written some of my Christian zombie novel.

Written a little of the desert story.

Working on my next D&D campaign.

Thinking about writing a story based on the Dao de Jing. Or maybe a D&D campaign.

* * * * * * * * *

I want to listen to music more, and I'm trying to...I'm just so busy lately.

* * * * * * * * *

3.1 patch for WoW came out. 30 minute cooldown on Hearthstones. Some new fun stuff for paladins. Woot.

* * * * * * * * *

Ugh, I never talk to my brothers anymore.

James:
http://deliciousbreadcomix.blogspot.com/

Kevin:
http://www.unlikelyink.com/

Paul:
::sad face::

* * * * * * * * *

Nobody's really afraid of death. Nobody's really afraid of coming back to life. They're afraid of coming back as somebody else.

* * * * * * * * *

Ceremony

I will tell you something about stories
They aren't just entertainment
Don't be fooled
They are all we have, you see,
all we have to fight off
illness and death

You don't have anything
if you don't have stories

Their evil is mighty
but it can't stand up to our stories
So they try to destroy the stories
let the stories be forgotten
They would like that
They would be happy
Because we would be defenseless then


...

The only cure
I know
is a good ceremony
that's what she said.
-From Ceremony, by Leslie Silko

* * * * * * * * * *

When I read that, I thought, "Whoaa...that's beautiful. Wait a minute...did that just say 'that's what she said?'"

Then I burst out laughing.

And three people in the class giggled and said in unison: "That's what *she* said!"

-LSmaug

PS: the world is quiet here.

"Some days when I'm far away
In a lonely room in a cold seclusion
Some nights when I'm wound so tight
There is no release, there is no solution
In hell there's a big hotel
Where the bar just closed and the windows never opened
No phone so you can't call home
And the TV works, but the clicker is broken
But in the darkness I see your light turned on
You know my weakness, you know how I respond to

"Blonde over blue
Your hands are cold, your eyes are fire
Blonde over blue
They shine as though you're burning inside
One word from you is all I need to be inspired
Blonde over blue
I need your inspiration tonight

"These days there's a million ways
To be pulled and torn, to be misdirected
These times there are sins and crimes
On the morning shows for the disconnected
I look and I write my book
And I walk away with the wrong impressions
Don't care 'cause I've done my share
And I need some time for my own obsessions
It doesn't matter, I've let that life go by
It's been forgotten 'cause all I wanted was you

"These days not a damn soul prays
And there is no faith 'cause there's nothing to believe in
These days only good luck pays
If we don't get paid then we try to get even
I look and I write my book
And I have my say and I draw conclusions
Some nights when I'm wound so tight
There is no release, there is no solution
But in the darkness I see your light turned on
You know my weakness, you know how I respond to

"Blonde over blue
Your hands are cold, your eyes are fire
Blonde over blue
They shine as though you're burning inside
One word from you is all I need to be inspired
Blonde over blue
I need your inspiration tonight."

---Blonde over Blue, by Billy Joel

-lsmaug

PS: The world is quiet here.

Seventeen thousand nine hundred and ninety eight.

Seventeen thousand nine hundred and ninety nine.

Eighteen thousand.

For five hours he had been sitting in the empty room, clicking his heels against the wall, head on the floor, sitting as if his world was twisted ninety degrees differently than the real one, and he'd be damned if he was going to change to fit what the world said. The blood had run out of his legs, making them spike with itchy pain, but he just banged them incessantly, keeping time by the pounding of his feet.

Eighteen thousand and thirty.

Eighteen thousand and thirty one.

Eighteen thousand and thirty two.

There was some sort of dim illumination in the room, but not enough to cast definable shadows. His theory was that each of the plain white tiles was glowing weakly.

Eighteen thousand forty four.

Eighteen thousand forty five.

He was ardently in control of his mind, determined not to succumb to fear or doubt, and had been counting to seal the fact that he was conscious and alive. Or dead. But if this was the afterlife, he'd rather be awake for it, rather than being neither alive nor dead.

And if was just a long, boring dream, it didn't matter what he did.

Eighteen thousand sixty seven.

Eighteen thousand sixty eight.

Eighteen thousand sixty nine.

Never mind the fact that he felt a little sweaty, and the chill of the room intensified his shivering. Never mind the fact that his stomach was starting to murmur and whine. Never mind that he could not for the life of him remember his own name or anything about how he looked, besides the fact that he had hairy, pale hands, a plain white shirt, black pants, a belt, underwear, socks, and shoes with no identifying marks and a head of hair that when he pulled a few strand out, were purple.

This was someone's idea of a sick joke, and he knew it.

Eighteen thousand ninety one.

Eighteen thousand ninety two.

Eighteen thousand ninety three.

He sighed.

Eighteen thousand ninety five.

Eighteen thousand ninety six.

Eighteen thousand ninety seven.

He closed his eyes.

Eighteen thousand ninety nine.

Eighteen thousand one hundred.

A door opened.

-LSmaug

PS: the world is quiet here.

I love the Onion more and more every day.

http://www.theonion.com/content/news/new_pain_inducing_advil_created

-LSmaug

PS: My "L" and "K" keys on my keyboard are broken... ^^;;;

PPS: the world is quiet here.